Sooo okay. I was a little blocked when I sat down to write this, so I decided to abandon plot for a minute and just, ya know. Have some fun. So here there be ~1k words of plot followed by pure smut. Smutty McSmutterson. Midnight Train to Smutville. Smuts 'R' Us.

If that bothers you, you could easily skip this chapter and miss absolutely nothing important.

i stand out in the rain in the middle of the night
i wish that it could wash away the beast inside

the only thing i wanna do is kiss you
when i am coming deep inside of you
the only sound that i wanna hear
is the rain against my window as i hold you in my arms
-Everclear, "Portland Rain"

Olivia had the day off, and after Juice left she debated running a few errands. She could use some groceries (especially if one-man eating machine Juice Ortiz were going to be hanging around), and she needed to return Lyla's casserole dish—but ultimately she decided to be lazy, and to that end curled up on the sofa with a fat book. She was about a hundred pages in when her cell rang. She recognized Gemma's number on the caller ID and debated ignoring it, but eventually she flipped it open and hit send.

"Hey, Gem, what's up?" she said, marking her place in the book with a finger.

"Hey, Ollie."

In just those two words her voice sounded tense, and Olivia was immediately alert. She sat up and put the book aside.

"Today's your day off, right?" she continued.

Gemma knew perfectly well it was. They'd talked about it yesterday as she'd said goodbye. Her brow furrowed and she moved to the window. Lifted the curtain and peeked outside. She could hear the drone of motorcycle engines in the distance, and they were getting closer.

"Yep," she said. "Just puttering around the house, really. Probably gonna clean the bathroom next."

"That sounds nice."

"Uh huh." She wondered at the banality of the conversation and figured someone must be listening in on Gemma's end.

Two bikes appeared at the end of street, and Olivia's eyes narrowed as she focused on them.

"I just wanted to let you know we don't need your help around here after all. Chucky's got the chili under control, so you should just enjoy your day. Maybe we'll see you at the fundraiser tonight."

She hadn't had any intention of hitting the garage today, and Gemma sure as fuck hadn't asked her to help with the chili for the fundraiser. Something big must be going down, and Gemma wanted her well clear of it.

She cleared her throat and let the curtain drop. "You got any idea why Kozik and Ratboy just pulled up in front of my house?"

"Oh!" Gemma said with a little laugh. "I almost forgot. I sent a couple of the guys your way to take a look at that leaky pipe. They should be there any minute."

Olivia rolled her eyes. Obviously whoever was hovering over Gemma had never met Olivia. "Great, Gem. Thanks."

"No problem, Ollie. I've gotta go, but—listen, if you don't feel like coming to the fundraiser tonight, don't worry about it. I'll be sure to pass along your regrets to Mrs. Roosevelt. Or I'll have Eli do it when I see him."

Her heart stuttered. The Sheriff's wife was running the fundraiser? Well fuck. And the next part was clear, too: the compound was crawling with cops, and the oh-so-keen Sheriff himself would be stopping by any time. Steer clear indeed. She let out a small sigh. "Thank you, Gemma," she said, quietly.

"Take care of yourself, baby. We'll see you tomorrow."

The two women said goodbye and Olivia hung up the phone. She tucked it in her pocket and stepped outside to say hello to Kozik and Rat. Fucking drug cartels, she thought with an internal sigh. What exactly had she gotten herself into?

She had been wearing a bald spot in her living room floor for almost twenty minutes by the time Juice finally knocked on her door that night. It had only been twenty minutes because she'd already cleaned nearly every surface in her house to within an inch of its life. She'd also reorganized the bookshelf in her bedroom and alphabetized her spice rack. Made so much tea for Rat and Kozik that they were probably floating. Ate a hasty supper of leftovers and washed and dried each dish until it shone.

She froze when she heard his bike outside. He exchanged brief words with Rat (Kozik had been pulled elsewhere sometime that evening), and then a bike roared to life. The engine noise had almost faded before Juice banged on the door.

She threw it open and yanked him inside by his cut. "I was so fucking worried," she said. "Where have you been? Why didn't you call?"

He was briefly flustered, but the confusion cleared fast. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his nose to her hair. "I'm sorry," he said. "I should have. It's been a crazy day."

"Kozik and Rat told me about the shooting," she said, her voice muffled against his chest. "They said nobody was hurt, but there were heads in a bag, including Armando's? President of Tucson, right? What the fuck, Juice?"

"This cartel shit." He eased away from her and dropped down onto the bench to strip off his boots. "It's fucked up, Liv. Way more than any of us bargained for."

She leaned against the living room doorway and crossed her arms. She studied him with a frown between her brows as he pulled off his boots. He stood and shrugged out of his cut and holster. His movements were stiff, his face—something.

"What happened, Juicy?" she said with a step toward him.

The gentleness of her voice stopped him. He turned slowly away from the coatrack, and when he met her eyes his face fell. "Chibs figured out what I did last night."

"Shit," she said on a long breath. "What happened?"

He hitched a shoulder and looked away. His jaw tightened. "He called me a coward. And he's right."

"Oh, sweetheart." She took his face in her hands and kissed him. His arms went around her again.

He muffled a sob against the side of her neck and she just held him while he cried. She ran her hand over his scalp and down his back, but she didn't try to hush him. She didn't tell him everything would be okay. She had no idea if it would, and half expected that it wouldn't. There was no point in meaningless platitudes. They were trapped in a hopeless, impossible situation, and the only thing either of them could do now was hold on tight and hope to fuck they could ride it out.

"Jesus." He sniffled hard and pulled away. "I cried all over Chibs, too," he said with a sheepish grimace. "I'm a fucking mess tonight."

"You're allowed to be a mess, Juice. Do you get that? You're allowed to fall apart sometimes."

He shook his head, a sharp denial. "Clay called me his son last night. When he gave me that patch? He said I was like a son to him, and the whole time he was talking all I could see was Miles's face. I could feel his blood on me."

Now she did quiet him. "Hush," she said and kissed him again. "You're here now. Here none of the shit out there matters."

He kissed her back, at first tentatively, but then with growing fervor. Her lips were hot and sweet against his, and he tore away only to skim his mouth down the side of her neck. He dipped his tongue into the hollow of her throat and planted soft, sucking kisses along the top of her shirt.

"Hey," she said, her voice a touch breathless. "Hey, have you eaten yet?"

He shook his head. "Don't want food," he muttered against her skin. "Just you, Liv."

"Hhmm. Come on, then," she said as she pulled away. He frowned in confusion and she laughed. "I thought maybe we could make it to the bedroom for once."

His expression morphed into a grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes. She stopped short. Her breath suddenly caught in her throat and for a moment she felt dizzy, like the world around her had just tilted and then straightened itself again.

She shook the sensation off and pulled him after her down the hall. He wrapped an arm around her from behind and kissed her neck. Lifted her off her feet as she laughed and dragged her through the bedroom door. It slammed shut behind them and he pressed her against it.

He paused for a moment to study her face. The flushed cheeks. The wide, laughing eyes. The full mouth. The freckles he could count in his sleep.

"What?" she said.

"Nothing." He hesitated. Dipped his head to kiss her. "Nothing," he whispered against her lips. He pulled her shirt over her head and got rid of it, and this time as he kissed her throat he didn't stop at her collarbone. Her breath hitched and caught as his mouth moved down between her breasts. Skimmed over her ribs. He ran his tongue around a burst of gray blossoms just above the waist of her shorts.

He unbuttoned them and she kicked them away. He licked across the scar on her hip, and then down. He found the scars on her thigh, the thick one higher up, obscured by her tattoo, and the thinner one down near her knee. He kissed them as though his mouth could heal her skin and the still-aching bones beneath it, and for just one wild, irrational moment she thought maybe he could.

He straightened and pulled her with him toward the bed, his lips never leaving hers. His legs hit the mattress and he stumbled, and they tumbled onto the bed together in a tangle of limbs. He rolled over on top of her and pressed his body against hers as they kissed.

He thought he could get drunk just from the taste of her alone.

When they first hit the bed she was fine. His mouth and hands were distraction enough, and she didn't even register his weight pressing her against the mattress. But then something changed—a shift, like back in the living room, but…not in a good way—and she felt a zing of panic flash through her. She fought off the urge to claw and bite and kick. She closed her eyes and took a long breath through her nose. His familiar scent washed over her: sandalwood and leather, clean sweat and a hint of cigarettes.

Juice. She was with Juice. Everything was okay.

She moved beneath him and he lifted his head to look at her. Something in her eyes made him pause: there was a sudden wariness there, a light he recognized from when someone came up behind her or she had her back to the room. He realized with a jerk that she didn't like having him on top of her, and he started to pull away.

"Wait," she said. "It's okay. I'm good."

But her smile was tremulous, and he hesitated.

"I don't want—"

"I know. I promise I'm okay. Don't stop, Juicy. Please."

His brow wrinkled and he dropped his head to kiss her again. He moved down slowly, easing his weight off of her, and she helped him get rid of her bra. He closed a hand around her breast—each one was a nice handful—and squeezed just a little. His mouth found the other one, and he kissed along the curve until he reached her nipple. She let out a soft gasp as he sucked, but he didn't linger there long.

He ran his tongue down her stomach, over the swell of her tummy, and when he reached her panties he slid his hand just inside and let his thumb brush against the fabric between her legs. She wiggled and he grinned as he mouthed the soft skin of her inner thigh. He knew she was ticklish there, so he ran the tip of his tongue in teasing little circles that made her breath hitch with giggles.

"You're a cruel man, Ortiz," she said as she ran a hand over his head.

"You love it."

"Beside the point."

"Hum." He tugged her panties aside and licked a line down her slit all the way to the curve of her ass.

She hissed out a sharp breath. He pulled her underwear off and grabbed her hips to haul her in closer. Draped her knees over his arms and buried his face in her cunt. He flicked his tongue across her clit, short, teasing darts until she writhed beneath him.

Each flick was like an electric spark, hot and sharp, and his teasing was making her crazy. She squirmed and tried to tug him closer, but he backed off with a grin. She bit out a frustrated curse that made him laugh.

"Juice—"

He cut her off by dragging his tongue down to her ass. He lingered there, swirling his tongue around her hole. He wriggled it into her a little, and her breath took on an interesting new cadence. He made careful note of that for later and licked his way back up again.

He lapped at her with long, lazy licks up and down. He lavished attention on her outer lips, and then thoroughly explored the inner. He avoided her clit and swirled his tongue above and around it, but then her pleas were too much for him to ignore and he captured the slick, swollen nub between his lips. He sucked it in and out. Flicked it hard with his tongue. She moaned and whimpered his name, and he moved on.

He dipped his tongue inside of her and swirled it. Pressed his nose to her clit as he worked his tongue in and out. She gripped the back of his head and rocked against his face.

"Juice, oh fuck, baby, that's—" Her words cut out with a moan and her fingers scrabbled against the headboard. She was mindless, lust-addled, and every brush of his mouth against her only wound her tighter. The feel of the sheets against her skin was almost more than she could bear, and a very faint, far away part of her brain wondered how he could possibly do this to her. Was she really so lost over him?

Yes, she thought, and at the noise he made she realized she'd said it aloud. She said it again, a little louder, and then chanted it in a soft litany as she finally loosened the white-knuckled grasp she kept on her control.

He bobbed his head up and down and lashed her with his tongue. Her wetness poured into his mouth and he drank it down like nectar. He felt her legs go tight. He didn't let up, and an instant later she was trembling and shuddering in the grip of her orgasm. He raised his head to look at her, a smile stretching his face, and thrust two fingers into her before the aftershocks had passed.

Her back arched in surprise. "What—? Ohh!"

His fingers twisted inside of her and he lowered his mouth back to her clit. He worked it with his tongue, licking and sucking and just barely scraping with his teeth, while he moved his fingers in a slow, rhythmic thrust. He stroked them against the front wall, over her G spot, and she almost came up off the bed. He grinned against her and did it again. Lapped his tongue down to meet his fingers and then licked back up again.

Her eyes were closed, her head thrown back. Her face was flushed and tendrils of hair stuck to her neck and temples. It was, he thought as he watched her, the sexiest sight he'd ever seen.

He gave her clit a long, slow suck followed by several short, quick ones. His fingers twisted, and with a breathless cry she came again. He whispered something against her hot, slick flesh that she couldn't understand, and slowly, slowly he eased his fingers out of her. He flicked his tongue against her one last time before he pressed his mouth to her thigh and pulled away.

She grinned down at him, a little drunkenly, and he moved up to lie next to her. She kissed him and savored the taste of her on his lips and tongue. She felt limp and warm and tingly all over, and her senses were still scrambled.

"I can't feel my legs," she said.

"Yeah?" he said. "Hhmm. I'll try to be more careful next time."

"Not complaining." Her expression stilled and she eyed him up and down. "You're still dressed."

"Uh huh." He shifted, and his cock pressed uncomfortably against his pants. "I probably should've taken care of that first, but—" He shrugged a shoulder. "I was busy."

"You were that," she said with a quirk of her brow. She unfastened his belt and her hand lingered near his waist. "I should probably return the favor."

"Um." He shifted again. "Well, you know, it's not really a quid pro quo thing."

"Oh?" Her head tilted. "I can never say that. It always gets tangled up in my mouth." She undid the button and tugged his zipper down. "You don't want to come?" she said, face furrowed with teasing concern.

"Er, no. I didn't mean—"

"Because if that's the case, then I'm sure I could make it last a very"—she kissed his jaw—"long"—brushed her fingers over the bulge in his underwear—"time."

He swallowed hard. "I'm sure you could," he managed.

"I think you kind of like that idea." She pushed his shirt up to his chin and licked a line from his bellybutton to the center of his chest. "Is that what you want, baby? Do you want me to tease you for a while?"

He let out a strangled gasp and moved against her hand.

"Or maybe," she said before he could answer, "you want me to tell you when you can come." Her lips curved in a wicked grin. "You want my permission first," she almost purred.

His mouth fell open and he was practically writhing as she stroked him through his boxer briefs.

"Ah hah," she said. She pulled away and sat back on her heels. "Take your pants off, sugar. Underwear too."

He hastily did as she said, his hands trembling and his movements clumsy as he kicked his clothes away. "Shirt?"

"No," she said. "We're gonna leave that for now." She leaned over him and kissed his chest. Ran her tongue along the tattoo that curved under his right pec. "So much ink," she said and trailed her hand up the inside of his thigh. "You're a decorated man, Ortiz."

He let out a long breath. "I'm thinking about—ah—thinking about another one. Across—across my chest."

"You'll have to show me the design," she said. "I'd be interested to see it."

"Uh huh," he said with a stuttering nod.

She leaned further, until she was half hanging off the bed, and he grabbed her leg in alarm. She shot an amused glance over her shoulder. Opened the bottom drawer of her nightstand and dug through the contents. He tried to get a peek, but she shut it before he could.

When she sat up again she had a bottle in her hand. He tilted his head to read the label and his eyes widened a little. She straddled his waist. Waved the bottle under his nose.

"I bet you're wondering what I'm doing with a bottle of lube."

"I, uh. Not a lot of brain cells working, but yeah. Kinda."

She threw back her head and laughed. Leaned down to kiss him long and slow. "I adore you, Ortiz. Did you know?"

A slow smile unfurled across his face. "I kind of suspected"—she swatted him on the shoulder and his grin deepened—"but it's nice to hear."

She dropped another kiss on his mouth and then straightened. She set the bottle on the nightstand and pumped some out into her hand. Her eyes were steady on his as she reached behind her and grasped his cock. His breath whooshed out in a rush. She stroked her slick hand up and down while he gripped her thighs hard enough to leave marks.

She wiggled backwards until her ass was pressed against his slippery length. She rocked her hips and he slid against her. They let out almost identical sighs of pleasure as his cock nestled between her cheeks and he moved his hips in an eager thrust.

She pulled his shirt over his head and kissed him. He grabbed the curve of her ass and squeezed her around him. Squeezed and released as their hips moved in sync. He reached for more lube. The sounds she made as he played with her hole made him nuts, but she pulled his fingers away with a shake of her head.

"Behave," she said, a little breathlessly.

"Sorry," he said with an unrepentant smirk.

Her mouth twisted. She lifted her hips. His cock slid free and he reached for her with a little moan. "Behave," she whispered, her mouth hovering above his.

"I will," he said. "I promise."

She laughed softly and dropped down again, this time burying him to the hilt inside of her.

"Fuck!" he said, a strangled cry, and he jerked against her before he could stop himself.

She made a clicking noise with her tongue and bit him lightly on the chin. Her hips moved, a slow undulation as she clenched him deep inside. She was so wet that he slipped in and out of her with blissful, brain-scrambling ease.

"Good, baby?" she murmured.

He could only nod. She pressed her hand against his chest and used it as leverage to move faster. Harder. Her thighs were tight around his hips and he felt like every drop of blood in his body was in his pounding, aching cock.

He gritted his teeth and tried to focus. She laughed and shifted to change the angle.

"You want to come, don't you?" she said. She ran the fingers of her free hand down his face.

"Yeah—yes!—but not yet," he said. "Not—not until—until you say."

"Mmm, that's good. Good boy."

She lifted his hand up to her hip and held it there. She ground against him. She hadn't thought she would come again, but he felt so good, and the look of concentration on his face as he watched her with lust-blown eyes and that line between his brows was so fucking hot. Her teeth nipped his lip. He pulled her down to him and thrust up into her and her head fell back. Her nails dug into his chest. She tightened around him and her breath came in short, desperate gasps as the orgasm hit.

"Not yet, baby," she managed, and he jerked his head in a nod. He'd never wanted to come so badly in his life, but somehow he managed to ride out the heated grip of her climax without losing it.

She went still and ran her hands down his chest. Her eyes were steady on his, big and heavy-lidded. She tugged on his shoulder. "Come here."

He sat up and gathered her against him. She wiggled her hips until she was settled and he bit his lip almost hard enough to draw blood. His arms encircled her and her fingers ran over his skull and down the back of his neck.

"Your turn," she whispered in his ear.

He let out a breath and buried his face in the curve of her shoulder. She moved against him. He mouthed her soft skin and lifted her up and down on his throbbing cock. She moaned—a hot, breathless sound—and his control snapped. He thrust up into her and cried out; maybe her name, maybe to God, maybe just wordless nonsense. She gripped his head and he felt her shudder. His mind blanked and for a few moments he thought he might pass out.

When his head cleared again—sort of—he kissed her temple and licked away a trail of sweat that curled down from her hairline. He shifted beneath her and she gasped a little. "Humm," he said. "Did you—?"

She nodded wordlessly.

"Again—?"

She leaned back with a hazy half-smile. "Don't let it go to your head, Ortiz."

He shook his head, eyes wide and innocent. "Never." He gathered her against him and ran a hand down the long rope of her hair. She rested her forehead against his neck—a bare brush of her skin on his, not enough to hurt—and closed her eyes.

The peace of the moment washed over her, and with it a tiny stab of fear. She didn't trust contentment; didn't believe in it. So now, when she felt as content as she could ever remember, it made her uneasy. How could such sweetness last when the world outside was a tempest?

She was so quiet and still he thought she might have fallen asleep.

"Do you think it gets better than this?" he murmured into her hair.

"Hhmm?" she said, a soft, puzzled noise.

"I just mean—" He frowned and tried to explain. "I just mean I can't remember ever feeling better than I do right now." He made a frustrated gesture as she looked at him. "I don't mean the sex. Obviously that part was crazy and amazing and I'm looking forward to doing it again—"

"Already?" she said with a laugh.

"But I mean this. Right now. Does it get any better? Because I can't imagine it if it does."

Her expression stilled and her bright eyes turned serious. "I don't know, baby," she said after a long, thoughtful moment. "Maybe it does. Maybe it just keeps on getting better. Isn't that—isn't that sort of the point?"

His mouth quirked and he settled back against the headboard. She untangled herself from around him and stretched out along his side. He toyed with her fingers and watched the shadows from the tree outside dance across the ceiling.

He liked that idea, but he wondered if such a thing were really possible. When in his life had anything ever gotten better? Things only ever seemed to get worse.

"That'd be something," he said at last.

"Yeah, Juicy." She pressed her lips to his chest and he didn't see her bittersweet smile. "It definitely would be something."

Like I said...