A/N: AND ON TO THE SMUTTING - Is that the heavy, citrusy scent of lemons in the air?

To be clear: this chapter contains sex. S-E-X. SEX. A whoo-whoo-dilly gets inserted into a bajango. There's thrusting. Coitus. Intercourse. Copulation. Fornication. Coition. Relations. Sex.

Oh, don't give me that look. Where did you think this was going?

They were so thoroughly wrapped up in each other, they almost missed their floor.

The elevator chimed politely, slid open, and then nearly slid shut again before either of them came up for air long enough to notice. Gunther took a little lurching half-step to catch the doors - but was no more willing to release his hold on Jane's waist than she was willing to relinquish her grip on him - the result being that they both staggered, and only narrowly avoided tumbling out onto the floor.

It was awkward, ungraceful, and they stumbled over the threshold in a tangle of lips and limbs. Jane stepped oddly - her experience with heels could be considered novice, at best - and accidentally bit his lip. Gunther drew a hissing breath between his teeth - whether in pain or pleasure she wasn't entirely sure. But he moaned - a deep, sensual sound - when she laved the spot with her tongue in earnest apology.

His hands were everywhere; her hair, her neck, her sides, dipping under the low cut of her dress in the back. He buried his face in the hollow of her throat to tease the skin there. It made her head swim and Jane suddenly felt unsteady; if he hadn't been holding her up, she surely would have melted into the floor.

She slipped off one shoe - but the strap of the other wouldn't budge. She bent a little, not wanting him to stop the magic he was working on her neck, her shoulder, - dear God, his hands were - oh - and almost sent them both - again - crashing to the floor.

Gunther caught her easily and lightly gripped her shoulders to hold her steady.

"You can take down a grown man..." he dropped a kiss on the skin of her exposed shoulder, "but you can't defeat a measly little shoe?" He chuckled at her sound of frustration. "Though I am impressed with your footwork. Would you like some help?"

"I just," Jane did a little one-footed hop, "can't seem to - It's stuck and - UGH - I think I broke my knuckle on his face, and I can't get it -"

Gunther's hands - they had been working their way down her sides - abruptly stilled. He stepped back and gave her a confused look. "You broke your..." he trailed off, scowling. "Wait, you're hurt?"

"I'll be fine." Jane gave a little unladylike grunt. The shoe remained firmly, frustratingly, in place.

"Not if you broke your hand." He dropped down to one knee to undo the strap for her. It resisted his attempts at first, and Jane was gratified to hear him curse softly under his breath.

It wasn't just her, then.

He did, however, succeed eventually. Shoe thusly removed and left forgotten on the floor, Gunther led her through the darkened room to what appeared to be a small wet bar area. He set her hand under the tap - she hadn't realized she'd been bleeding - and rummaged in a cabinet to produce a clean towel.

"I don't think it's too badly damaged," he said after examining it. The skin of the knuckles had split, and he was gently cleaning the wound as he spoke. "Maybe just bruised. You weren't kidding about knowing how to fight."

Jane gave a rueful little snort. "My sensei's going to kick my ass for fighting."

"Isn't that the point of learning in the first place?" Gunther asked, his eyes still on his work, frowning slightly over her broken skin.

"The point is to avoid physical confrontation, and if you absolutely cannot, to put your opponent effectively down."

"Well, I'd say you did that - his nose was definitely broken, and I'd bet the color of his face matches the purple of his suit."

Gunther dabbed some antiseptic on her hand, eliciting a hiss of pain.

"Poor Bunny," she said through her teeth. "He'll take it out on her."

Gunther stopped what he was doing, eyes meeting hers, his face now etched even more deeply with concern. "Is that girl in danger, Jane?"

"No, Algern- he doesn't get… physical. Except-"

"Except he tried to hurt you downstairs."

"Yes. Nothing like that's ever happened before. I don't…" She shook her head, still deeply unsettled by what had gone down. "He always preferred to cut with words."

"You mean lies," he said flatly. He wrapped her hand in gauze and kissed the bandaged top. "Well, she's safe enough for tonight; I can guarantee you that law enforcement is going to keep him well occupied. I'll check in on her in the morning." He reached out to tuck a tendril of hair behind her ear. Her careful arrangement was beginning to fall apart. "And Jane? Whatever horrible, cruel things he said to you, tonight or at any time in the past - they're not true. Not a single syllable. Just pathetic attempts to bolster himself by dragging you down. I hope - I really hope - you know that."

A single, quick thought - stunning in both its clarity and its implications - meteored across her consciousness, there and then gone. My God, I think I could fall in love with this man.

Hell, she was halfway there already.

She stared at him - struck dumb by her realization, and nearly destroyed by its aching bittersweetness - then reached out to catch his face in both her hands. Her bruised knuckles were suddenly the farthest thing from her mind as she fused her lips once more to his, kissing him fiercely.

He let her. Let her press her lips to his, let her trace his mouth with her tongue, let her scrape his scalp and tug at his hair. He wasn't passive - no - he kissed her back with a fervor that was equal to her own, but he let her take the reins - let her touch and taste and take at her own pace - allowing Jane to direct this encounter on her own terms.

And dear lord it was good. No - he was good. He pressed himself against her, molded himself to her until their bodies were flush and she was backed against the low counter. Jane could feel the heat - the heat they were both generating - through the smooth cloth of his suit and the jagged lay of her scales.

She stopped for a moment, dizzy, needing to center herself, to catch her breath. The universe had shrunk again - and her lungs seemed to have shrunk with it.

What was he doing to her? What was she doing to him?

He understood - he must have, because he didn't say anything - just rested his forehead against her own and panted hot breaths into her hair, meeting her eyes with the same look of feverish, glazed desire.

He reached up to cup her jaw, maybe to tilt her head so he could kiss her again, and traced her lower lip with his thumb. It was rough, calloused, and before he could react she drew it into her mouth and rubbed at the pad with her tongue.

Gunther groaned, watching her mouth with the rapt attention of a half-lidded gaze.

She nipped his thumb and gave it a suck - pulling it deeper into her mouth - his response was immediate and pronounced; his hips bucked, grinding into hers in an instinctual, almost convulsive movement -

And then he was all over her, everywhere. He retrieved his hand to snarl it in her hair and pull her head to the side - exposing her neck to his mouth. His other hand traced patterns on her hip, her thigh, before dipping lower to dig his fingers into the soft flesh of the back of her leg. He tugged, intending to wrap her leg around his waist, but her dress was too tight. Jane had originally thought it offered her a pretty good range of movement, for eveningwear at any rate… but that had been when the only activities she'd anticipated engaging in were mingling and maybe - maybe - a bit of dancing.

There was no way it was going to allow her to hook a leg around him.

Gunther seemed to have come to the same realization, because he released her to drop down and place both hands on the outsides of her legs. His eyes locked onto hers as he dragged them up, up, skimming, caressing, teasing the long expanse of her calves with his rough hands, ruching up the fabric of her dress as he went. When he reached the backs of her thighs, her gown now bunched around her hips, he made small circles with his thumbs, causing her to squirm against him and whimper deep in her throat… then, abruptly, he wrapped both arms tightly about her and, with only the smallest grunt of exertion, lifted her bodily and settled her on the edge of the counter.

A second later they were face to face again, Gunther kissing her temple, the little space between her eyes, the corner of her mouth, then moving to suck gently on the lobe of one ear, teasing the small diamond earring that nestled there with his tongue, eliciting a breathless, hitching moan.

She felt his lips curve in a smile and then he was kissing down, down, tracing the halter of her dress with his lips. His mouth was hot, so hot, it felt like he was leaving marks - scorching, branding her with the heat of his need.

Jane pushed his jacket off his shoulders, momentarily trapping his arms at his sides. Taking full advantage of his brief imprisonment, smiling now herself, she raked her nails down his chest. He growled in response, tried to capture her mouth with his own, but she pushed him back and hooked her fingers under his belt so she could yank him forward, between her thighs, and press her core against the hard length of his erection.

She locked her legs around him, caught the edges of his jacket with her crossed ankles; a little maneuver that trapped Gunther's arms most effectively. He struggled against his confinement, scowling at her decidedly smug little smirk, and made small, guttural sounds of frustration as she teased at his chest.

She worked at the buttons of his shirt, kissing the exposed skin as it was revealed a few inches at a time. The planes of his chest were hard, and as lean and muscular as the lines of his suit had suggested. She stopped the downward progression of her hands just above his belt, then pushed them upward again, this time beneath the fabric of his shirt. He stilled and let loose a breathy curse, then shivered when she traced the fascinatingly distinct lines of his torso with her nails.

She let hand one trail up, all the way back up, to wind its way around his neck and pull him down into a kiss that made the whole world spin, the countertop seeming to pitch beneath her.

Tearing his lips away several crazed seconds later, he croaked a single, broken "Jane," the rough edges of his voice catching at something deep inside of her. She dropped her hands to the counter on either side of her body, gripping the edge of it white-knuckled, still feeling as if it were trying, somehow, to buck her off. He was finally able to free himself from the confines of his jacket; he shucked it off and tossed it to the floor, forgotten. His shirt joined it a moment later, and then he unhooked her halter. He pulled the fabric down slowly, his eyes flashing once more to her own, another lightning-quick glance seeking confirmation that this was wanted, that this was… okay.

He saw all the answer he needed written in her flushed skin, parted lips and panting, erratic little breaths. The scales of her dress whispered as they scraped against themselves, and while she had been expecting it - had steeled herself for it - she cried out and arched into him when his mouth found her breast.

Jane gripped his shoulders - her nails left little moon-shaped indents on his skin - in a futile attempt to ground herself. She was falling, falling and they'd barely even begun.

Gunther wound one strong arm around her, lending her support because Jesus, she was melting, she was… puddling against him.

His other hand crept back up the delicate skin of her leg, ventured past her knee and under the bunched skirt of her dress. He drew fascinating patterns on the inside of her thigh, circular planets and whorling galaxies, and rested his palm on the sharp bone of her hip. His thumb teased the edge of her panties - over and over - it drove her mad and made her giddy - she realized, distantly, so distantly, that her hips had begun to rock in time to his ministrations - oh God, wanton, she was being… so… wanton… and she found she didn't even care. She just needed… needed… for him to stop taunting her, for fuck's SAKE and… and...

She was wet, embarrassingly so, but he seemed so pleased at her obvious reaction to his… attentions... that it was hard to feel sorry. And then finally - yes oh yes, finally - he pushed the small scrap of fabric aside and brushed delicately, teasingly over the sensitive skin of her sex. He'd barely even started when Jane's climax overtook her - it was ridiculous, almost mortifying, how fast she came - and how hard.

She cried out, her whole body tensing and releasing, tensing and releasing as she rode it out, and he dragged his mouth back up to suck and nip at the base of her throat.

"Holy fuck, I-" she panted a moment later, when she was once again capable of something at least approaching coherent speech - only to have him cut off her words with a kiss that mirrored her own riotous, inarticulable emotions.

She was in a haze, so much so that Gunther had to repeat himself a couple of times before she even registered that he was speaking to her.

"-ane? Jane. Wrap your arms around me, kay?"

She obeyed unthinkingly; tightened her legs around him again too, once she realized his intent, and in the next instant he was lifting her, his hands snaking under her ass, gripping her there, pulling her up and settling her weight against him, and she locked her ankles at the small of his back and let her head fall to his shoulder as he carried her through the darkened space and into the bedroom.

Setting her carefully on the edge of the high, plush mattress, he quickly stripped off what remained of his clothing until he stood before her in nothing but his underwear. He smiled at her - a brief flash of white in the gloom that made her heart stutter a little bit in her chest - and then he was moving toward her, leaning over her, capturing her mouth again... one hand coming up to cushion the back of her head as he pressed her gently yet inexorably down onto the bed.

Jane, however, was in the process of coming back into herself, the delicious daze of her orgasm finally dissipating, to be replaced by a new sense of building anticipation. She stopped him, catching herself on her elbows and breaking the contact of their kiss. She was panting slightly, but her voice was clear and firm.

"No." she said, pushing him back and gesturing to his underwear. "Take those off."

He looked like he wanted to argue, to protest simply because, Jane sensed, being slightly contrary was a part of his core makeup, his fundamental… Guntherness. But, like before at the bar, her forwardness made his pupils darken, his expression go nearly slack. He may have found awkward, clumsy Jane endearing, sweet even - it was possible he actually liked her on some level beyond that of a client - (Jane found herself desperately wanting to believe that, at any rate.)

But he really, really liked bossy Jane.

A lot.

He gave her a smoldering look, then complied - although with deliberate slowness, Jane couldn't help but notice. Yes, there was definitely something in his nature that seemed to very much enjoy… provoking her. He dragged his underwear down the long muscular lines of his legs, his eyes locked onto hers the whole time.

Her own eyes widened at what this action revealed.

Nice, she thought a bit stupidly, even her internal voice relegated, apparently, to monosyllables in this moment. Oh… nice.

He stretched out beside her, caught her lips with his own again, nibbling on the lower one for a second or two, then began to kiss his way down her body, lavishing attention on each of her breasts in turn. Before he could get any lower, though, Jane stopped him again.

It was difficult to do, but she had her own agenda now.

"Huh uh," she said hoarsely. "Lie back."

When he failed to obey immediately, she rolled up to her knees, pressed her hands flat to his chest, and pushed him back, until he was the one prone on the bed. It was her turn to grin down at him in the near darkness.

"Stay," she ordered, echoing back to him the single-word command he'd used on her downstairs, right after he'd intervened and just possibly prevented her from actually killing Algernon.

She hadn't been terribly appreciative of his interference at the time, but given how the rest of her night would have gone if she had murdered her ex, versus how it was going now, she found herself deeply grateful in hindsight.

So she commenced dragging her mouth down the length of his body, kissing and nipping as she went, making him shudder and groan.

When she wrapped her fingers around him, noting distantly that she couldn't even close them all the way - broadsword, indeed - he actually loosed a little whimper.

When she dropped a kiss on the tip, darting her tongue out to taste him, he bucked slightly beneath her, her name leaving his lips in an explosive exhalation. He almost sounded like he was in pain.

Almost.

And when she drew him into her mouth, he tangled one hand in her hair - not hard, not painfully, but with such grasping, desperate need that she felt an answering flare low in the pit of her stomach; a raw tingle of warmth arcing downward - God, again already?! - that made her squirm a bit against him as she gripped his base and stroked. Looking up the length of his body, she could see that his other hand was fisted in the bedclothes - a lot less gently than the one in her now-thoroughly-mussed hair.

He appeared to be on the razor edge of losing himself entirely. It was intoxicating, how powerful that made her feel.

Jane smiled and set to work trying to divest him of any last tattered shreds of self-control he might still possess.

She nearly managed it; nearly, but not quite. He stopped her before she could push him over the brink, surging upward into a sitting position with a breathy little growl, catching her face in both his hands and kissing her almost ferociously. When they parted for air, his eyes were pressed shut, a deep furrow between them, his breath coming hard and fast.

"My turn," he ground out, and proceeded to all but throw her backward onto the yielding surface of the bed. She found herself staring at the high, coved ceiling, struggling to control her own breathing as he ran his hands - they felt scorching hot to her in this moment - up the outsides of her legs; hooked her panties with his fingers, and tugged them down and off. He was a bit over-forceful; again, nothing to cause her any discomfort or harm, but she was sure she heard, and felt, the delicate fabric rip.

She decided she couldn't possibly have cared any less.

He leaned back on his knees for a second just staring at her, drinking her in with his eyes as she lay there in a decadent sprawl with her hair fanned out around her in a rumpled halo and her gown snagged about her middle - bunched up, bunched down, hiding nothing, and -

"Beautiful," he breathed, so softly she nearly missed it. "Perfect, Jane."

He lowered himself almost reverently and kissed his way up the inside of her leg as her breaths piled up and up and up in anticipation; grasping her hip with one hand to steady her, he slipped the other beneath her thigh and lifted, draping her leg over his shoulder.

She thought she felt him smile against her just as she'd done to him… but it was hard to tell, Jesus it was hard to… even think because… because… she knew it was going to be -

So good OH DEAR GOD SO GOOD.

His tongue found her and then she was practically sobbing, her hands winding in the bedspread, pulling, twisting at the fabric, head tossing helplessly from side to side as she panted his name because it was almost too much, too intense, and she'd really wanted to try to hold on longer this time but -

Oh… oh… God… OH

He slipped a hand between her thighs, pressed a finger into her, and it was over. She shattered around him, arching off the bed like a bow, a ragged cry ripped from her throat.

And it went on - and on - and oh fuck, oh - on.

When he crawled back up, she thought he'd be wearing that expression of his, that little self-satisfied smirk - but there was only lust.

Jane lay there, desperate for breath, unable to control the tremors that still wracked her body. Gunther stretched out beside her and pressed delicate kisses along her collarbone as she came back to herself.

Jesus, that had been -

When she was able to breathe again, to form a coherent thought beyond Holy FUCK, she righted herself and stood. He was naked but her dress was still caught about her middle. Her hands trembled as she worked the zipper - which, much to her frustration, was well and thoroughly stuck, having rolled over a bit of the tulle. She attempted to step out of the scaled dress, then to pull it over her head, but - lack of curves or no - she could not dislodge the damned thing without unzipping it further. At one point - (fuck Gunther and his fervent assurance that this was the sexiest, most invigorating strip tease in the history of man, she wanted the dress off) - she even spun in a circle, trying to capture the offending pull tab. He laughed, low and husky, probably enjoying the payback from her earlier teasing.

She recalled wondering - at the very beginning of the evening - if any part of this encounter would be free of awkwardness or embarrassment.

No. No it would not.

After a minute Gunther took pity on her and sat up. He grabbed a handful of her train and with all the confidence of a cat who has caught his prey, pulled her to him. He kissed her exposed breasts, tasted the dip of her cleavage, then turned her around and laved wet, open-mouthed kisses on her back. His hands found the zipper, but he had no better luck than she had; it was maddening.

If she was frustrated, having already found her release twice - he must be damn near out of his mind.

Gunther made one more attempt to dislodge the zipper; then, without warning, gripped the sides of the dress and simply ripped it open in a shower of aquamarine scales.

He discarded the dress and turned Jane back around. She bent and pressed her mouth to his, then crawled into his lap. Once seated, she ground down - his erection was hot, so hot, against the slick folds of her sex, that she almost exploded again right then and there. His latched onto her neck, her collarbone, leaving little marks with his teeth - his hands found her hips and coaxed her into a rhythm that had them both gasping for air.

"Gunther," she whined and traced the cup of his ear with her tongue, "please-"

In one smooth motion he flipped her over and deposited her on the bed. He moved away - she felt cold, bereft without the heat of his body against her own - but he returned a moment later, a condom in one hand. She took it from him, slipping it on before pulling him down to her.

He settled between her legs, his arms braced on either side of her, and brushed away a stray curl - it had stuck to her forehead with the sweat of their earlier exertions - with infinite, gentle care. He pressed himself against her entrance and she writhed beneath him, almost frantic now. "Please," she repeated, "oh Gunther, please."

He thrust into her hard and slow, burying his face in the crook of her neck - he was shaking beneath her fingertips - and heaved in several deep breaths before moving.

She gasped and whimpered when he drew almost all the way out and then hilted himself inside her again - and then he was finding his rhythm, and she was rocking her hips up to meet him, running her hands restlessly up and down the sweat-slick sides of his body, feeling herself start to build again, back toward - toward - God, how many times was she going to -

Her body was tensing, every part of her tightening as she careened toward what she sensed would be the biggest explosion yet, and Gunther groaned against her skin, then lifted his head, watching her face intently, hungrily as they moved together. When she was right on the cusp he caught her hands, first one and then the other, pushing them down to the mattress on either side of her head and twining his fingers through hers. He dipped his head until his lips were brushing her ear and whispered, "Jane, I've got you."

And the whole world burst into fragments around her.

She was flying, she was falling, she was going to pieces and she was the most whole she'd ever been in her life. He crashed his lips to hers, kissing her deeply, drinking in her cries, and she could feel that she'd pulled him over the edge right along with her, he was coming too, and - and -

When he released her mouth she buried her face in his shoulder, still climaxing hard, and thought that she never, she never, wanted this to end.