First, these puppies are not mine. Second, as mentioned on the tin, this is a space for Jem/Tessa drabbles. Specifically, those that are post-CP2 or a bit racier to place with my other drabble collection. Enjoy.
Disneyland.
Tessa raised a brow, but that brow aside, she attempted to accept the gifts gracefully.
"I'm afraid I'm a bit old for balloons and stuffed Pooh bears, darling."
Jem pulled his camera from the back pocket of his tightly fitting jeans that she'd been eyeing all day.
"But not too old for photographs, I hope?" After a moment's concentration, he located the on button and pressed it carefully. Jem had long been familiar with the principal of most electronics from his Brotherhood days, but in practice, he was quite deliberate with them, as one was with things that were rather new and slightly strange.
"No," Tessa agreed, "Never that."
His eyes twinkled and he spoke in a conspiratorial whisper, "They're for the one behind you. I'd place her at about seven. She's been on the same route as us for half an hour, and has been staring mournfully into every gift shop."
Tessa turned to see wistful brown eyes framed by messy bangs and pigtails, gazing excitedly towards the Princess Parade.
She watched those same eyes brighten in joy as she stepped forward and placed the gifts into the child's waiting arms. She heard the click and did not miss the flash.
As she trotted near to him, she slipped the camera from his hand, happily taking it upon herself to side it (rather slowly) back into his pocket.
He had surprised her with his gesture, caught her off guard. She almost asked him how he had known they had cause for such toys and decorations.
But he didn't know.
Jem drew her back from her thoughts with a kiss.
"Shall we? We did agree to see Epcot today, did we not?"
"We did."
She would tell him later.
After all, Tessa noted, she had a whole nine months in which to mention it.
Pauses.
He does it because he can. There is still a boyish part of him from another life that waits for her to bid him stop in the name of propriety, or embarrassment, or poor timing, but that moment never never tells him to stop because she doesn't want him to.
So he lets his hands move freely until her dress is a crimson pool of satin on the carpet of their apartment floor, and his own clothes are strewn to Angel knows where.
He watches the flush on her skin extend from her cheeks to the tiny indentations near her chest and on her shoulders where her underthings had been a moment before. He feels her hands caress his neck, pausing where the violin has made a more subtle mark on his skin.
They do not stop.
For once, for blessed once, there is no reason for it.
Nightmares.
Tessa awoke to a jolting sensation and froze. There was no attack, nor had the feeling been a product of her own dreams. Her eyes met the moonlight reflected off the night-stand mirror, and she closed them again, listening to a gasp followed by quick shallow breaths A rustle of movement, and she struggled not to move again as a warm hand slid over her stomach and she felt Jem pull her close.
She felt the warm breaths and the barest brush of his lips as he spoke, "Tessa?"
No point in feigning sleep, she turned her head, "That nightmare again?"
He didn't answer in words, only sighed, and Tessa knew it to be true.
She clasped her own hand over his, rubbing light circles over the dark clairvoyance rune.
He had described it to her, once, when they had returned from one of Magnus's parties, and they'd both had a bit of the wine (but not the punch, never the punch). He had started with a joke about the brotherhood—a pun on the 'hood' part—and somehow the mood had sobered quickly. He didn't look at her as he told her how he had adjusted to the quiet, and how "adjusted" was such a loose term, one that had nothing to do with becoming comfortable and happy and more to do with resigning oneself to never becoming much of anything other than silent ever again.
She breathed with him, and let their breath form a rhythm. The fix was the same as with any bad dream—to pause, and let the reminders of reality slip through.
She felt him lift his head behind her, looking about. The brothers did not use their eyes to see, did not enjoy the confusion of moonlight and darkness as it played over floral wallpaper.
The pressure of his hand against her lightened, and she felt his fingers splay under her nightshirt. He shifted slightly, and she felt him, half-hard against her inner thigh. He was too tired to make anything of it. They both were. He had been chasing a nest of shax demons all day, aiding the members of the local institute, and Tessa had her own errands to run.
But had they not been as human as they were, they could not have felt it. Arousal. Exhaustion. Aching. Love. Music.
She felt his whisper against her neck once more, even softer.
"Play something for me."
Instead of insisting as she had so many times before that she could show him what buttons to press if he wanted, and there was no talent or difficulty involved, Tessa simply reached for her old CD player and turned the speakers low.
A soft piano rendition of Brahms began, and Tessa let her eyes flutter closed. The arms around her stilled and the soft breaths behind her hair grew even.
The music played on.