Summery: He's addicted to her and while he should quit her, he also needs to breathe and he needs her to do that.
A/N: This is set in the future, the wonderfully angsty future that made me its bitch a couple weeks ago. For back story's sake, Kate's with mystery man. She and Jack have secret sexin' meetings. Jack doesn't have his yeti beard yet. And Ktina made me do it. Pretty much PWP. Also--I have no idea when desconhecido or Courting Memories will be updated, so don't ask.
There has to be way to quit her. She's more addictive then all the pain pills and liquor he shoves down his throat and so much worse for him then the drugs. The pills and alcohol'll kill him. He knows that. He's not hiding from it. He's not trying to change it.
But she's got his heart and soul in her iron fast, razor sharp clawed grasp and she's squeezing and squeezing until he's certain that he hasn't got any more blood to give and that's still not enough for her.
She won't be happy until he's dead.
And he runs back to her anyway.
The doorbell rings and he can hear her impatience through the thin walls. She hasn't got much time and he knows that but it doesn't make him move any faster. He'll open the door for her when he gets to it, and if she leaves, it'll hurt like shit but it might actually be for the best.
She doesn't leave--of course she wouldn't--and is still there when he opens the door three minutes and forty two seconds later.
Her eyebrow arches and she blows out a long stream of smoke.
"Those'll kill you," he says.
"And that won't?" she retorts, gesturing to the beer bottle in his hand with the hand holding her cigarette before bringing it back to her mouth and taking a quick drag on it.
"What'd you tell him this time?"
He hasn't moved to let her into the apartment yet and that's getting on her nerves. But she isn't going to be the one to break first. She's too stubborn for that. "That I'm stopping by this shithole for a quick fuck," she deadpans, dropping the cigarette and stomping it out with her heel. So what if it's in the middle of his hallway. The carpet's seen worse.
He smiles at her, cynically, and backs away from the door. If she wants to come in, then he isn't stopping her but he isn't pulling this viper into his life. She steps into the apartment a moment later, shutting the door behind her with a solid thunk.
"When's the last time you've cleaned up in here?" she asks, looking around with a disgusted frown. Her purse is dropped on the floor near the door, her shoes kicked off in relatively the same area.
She hums noncommittally, and shrugs out of her jacket which she drops on top of her shoes. The floor's just about as clean as anything else in this place so it doesn't really matter where she drops her stuff.
The viper's starting to show through as she grins at him coyly, approaching him and swinging her hips in that way she knows he's absolutely crazy about. "I've missed you," she says with a small pout. Her hands land on his chest and she moves them slowly up to his shoulders.
What's she doing is distracting but not enough to keep him from leaning over and putting his lips to her ear. "Liar," he whispers harshly, taking her earlobe between his teeth and giving it a small tug.
Her lips form a tiny 'o' and her fingertips dig into the rough skin on his shoulders. "Enough talking," she orders, pulling her ear away from his mouth and making up for the move by pressing her lips against his.
She isn't sure how he does it, kissing him always does dull all of her other senses but he's got her against the wall now, sandwiched there between the shitty wallpaper and his rock solid body and fuck if she doesn't enjoy every inch of the contact.
Her hand comes up to grasp the back of his neck, the tips of her almost too long fingernails digging into his skin there. She wants him to bleed by the time she's finished with him. She wants blood on his imperfect skin and she wants to put her mouth over it and lick it away.
The hand moves around to his shoulder, joining its twin, and she pushes on his shoulders. Enough of him being in complete control. She wants a little--all of it--for herself.
She breaks the contact between their lips, giving him yet another coy smile. She moves up on her toes, brushing her lips against his ear much like he did to her earlier. "Happy to see me?" she asks, nudging his hips with hers, delighting when he nudges back.
"Enough talking," he retorts, mocking her and crashing his mouth down on hers.
He started the kiss but she's definitely in charge of it--and him--this time and soon, she's got him against the wall, her breasts pressing against his chest, her hips grinding his. She has to bite her own lip to keep from moaning when he returns the movement because she's not going to be the first to moan tonight either.
"Fuck," he hisses when they break apart for oxygen.
She stares at him, panting and grins in response. "I plan on it."
She nearly attacks him, shoving his shoulders against the wall with much more force then is necessary and somewhere he hears something dislodging and crashing to the floor. Thank God it's not something glass or if it is, it doesn't shatter.
The kissing's nice, he won't deny that, but he's itching to feel some skin right about now and he shoves her back. Just enough space to allow him to reach behind his neck and pull his t-shirt off. He drops the garment at his feet and sends her a challenging look.
She purses her lips at him, amused but not wanting to show it, and grasps the bottom of her own shirt, a light blue camisole and pulls it over her head. Her curls swing free of the fabric and for a moment, he's mesmerized by the sight. He's always loved her hair. And she's not wearing a bra.
She notes the look in his eyes with another smirk and reaches up cup her own breasts. "Come and get it," she challenges.
He does, practically lunging for her and she giggles when her hip slams into the corner of his desk. Before this twisted affair of theirs, she wasn't one for masochism or even sadism but now it turns her on more the sweetest of caresses, the softest of words, the declarations of love that came with the first time they made love.
Half perched on the edge of the desk, she brings one long leg up and hooks it around his waist, pulling him closer because space is evil and will not be tolerated at all tonight. She smiles against his kiss, amused by his insistence and the underlying impatience that she tastes there and feels against her thigh.
Feeling wicked and deliciously so, she runs her hand down his side, moving inwards when she comes to his hips. It's not hard to conclude what she's heading for and he shivers in anticipation, letting out a breathless moan against her lips when she runs her fingertips over his tented jeans.
Teasing him's not enough for her and her hand retreats upwards, undoing the button and zipper expertly. She plays with the fluff of hair above the waistband of his boxers before slipping her fingers under the elastic band and grasping his stiff member in her fist.
He mumbles something that could've been cursing but she doesn't care what it is. She focuses on the motions of her hand, pumping up and down and then switching to light caresses with her fingertips.
He's not as incapacitated as she thought and his hands certainly aren't as immobile because they're cupping her breasts. His thumbs run over her nipples and she arches into the contact, the muscles in her neck going slack causing her head to fall back. He stares at the white expanse of her throat for a second and then moves in to attach his lips to the skin there.
Her free hand comes up to cradle the back of his neck, holding his head exactly where it is but he has to go and ruin it by nipping at her skin. No marks on her. They've agreed on this.
She makes an impatient noise in the back of her throat and pulls his head away from her neck. "Bad," she warns, removing her hand from his boxers to further her point.
He frowns at her, annoyed by her chastisement and decides to get back at her by returning the favor. Shaking off her hands, he moves in to kiss her neck again, sans teeth, down the side of her neck, peppering her collarbone, and down her breasts, avoiding her nipples--much to her annoyance--and down her stomach.
Her jeans are going to be a problem and he undoes them, pushing them and her panties off after some maneuvering. He leaves them around her ankles to be dealt with later and moves his fingers back up her legs, moving inwards when he reaches her hips.
He teases her, parting her folds with sure fingers and she cries out involuntarily when he strokes her sweet spot. A smile touches his lips. She's not as immune to him as she likes to believe and he wants to further prove this to her. Still smiling, his head moves in and he attaches his lips to that spot, sucking hard and biting lightly.
"Fuck," she cries loudly, her hands finding his head and pushing him closer to her wet heat. Her legs fall open as best they can still bound at the ankles and before long, her hips are moving in tiny jerking motions, mimicking the movement of his fingers inside her.
She's so close and he chooses that moment to lift his mouth and remove his fingers and stand up again.
Her eyes snap open--when did they close?--and she glares as best she can when she's panting and so fucking close to coming.
"Bastard," she snarls.
It's his turn to give her a coy smile as he brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean.
She kicks her jeans and panties off her ankles and jumps off the desk. The sudden impact's enough to knock him off his feet and they go crashing to the floor. There's going to be a bruise on her knees and his ass come morning but neither of them care at the moment.
She makes quick work of his jeans and boxers, tossing them off to join her clothes. A devilish smirk touches her lips as she straddles him, and in a moment of revenge, she circles her sweet, wet heat over the tip of his member, delighting when he groans in frustration. It's what he gets for leaving her on the edge like that.
Her willpower turns out to be much weaker then she thought and it's no more then a couple minutes later when she stops teasing him and gives him all of her. When he's fully sheathed, she bites her lips and arches her back, her hips moving in small exploratory circles.
That feels fucking amazing and all but he'd rather be thrusting into her warm depth. He grasps her hips and steals control back by pushing her up and down on his member.
She lets him take control, too eager to reach her own release first and he senses that and he isn't going to let that happen. Not yet. He can be just as stubborn as she is. In a show of his quick reflexes, he digs his fingers into her hips and flips them over, hardly concerned with her wince when her back collides with the stiff carpet.
She doesn't care about the pain either. She's much more intent on coming and she narrows her eyes at him. Her hands grasp his shoulders, nail digging in until she draws blood and then she drags her fingers down his chest, pleased by the lines of blood that well up in their wake.
It hurts like hell and is one of the hottest things she's ever done. She pushes it even more firmly into first place when she arches off the carpet and clamps her mouth down on the marks. Her tongue darts out to lick the blood off and fuck if he doesn't love it.
She's still cleaning up after her scratches when he withdraws from her and pushes back in, harder and faster then she anticipated but it feels so good that she can't even begin to care. When she's this close, she'll take anything that gets her over the edge faster.
He thrusts and she moans. She moves her hips in time with him, meeting his every thrust and he moves faster. He presses a kiss into her collarbone and she moves her legs around his hips. She locks her ankles in the small of his back and he somehow moves even faster.
It takes one particularly strong thrust and it's just too much for him. He's gone, over the edge and there's a moment where he can't see anything but white and maybe stars if he could remember what stars are.
She feels him shudder and slow and that makes her move faster, eager to follow him into release. She finds it a few moments later, and cries out in a choked voice when she starts to tumble into bliss.
Going against another of their agreements, he moves his mouth from her shoulder and captures her lips in a heated kiss, his tongue mimicking the movements his hips where making moments before. She responds, lifting one hand to cup the back of his head, holding him there as she milks his tongue just like her inner muscles milk his orgasm.
They break apart a minute later and spend another minute staring into each other's eyes. The circumstances driving them apart are all but forgotten in that moment. It's just them, their bodies, and their love that just won't die, no matter how badly they want and need it to.
Her cell phone beeps and the moment's over. Sometime during sex she had been called and if it was him then she was in trouble if she couldn't cover her tracks well enough.
"I'll see you next week?" she asks, sounding shy for some reason. She's by the door and all that's left to put back on are her shoes and jacket. She reaches for the jacket, slinging it over her shoulder--her skin's still too heated to put on more layers--and steps into the shoes.
While she was dressing, he had retrieved another beer and he's now lounging on his floor, in just his boxers, the bottle pressed firmly against his lips.
She takes his answer in stride. They both have more then enough reason to be bitter with each other and she can't fault him his right now. "I'll call you," she says, digging through her purse for her phone. It was Claire who called. Thank God.
She leaves without another word and he considers throwing his bottle at the door but that would be a waste of good beer and his body needs it more then his walls do.
He needs to quit her but he also needs to breathe and so long as they continue their affair, he'll continue with his addictions.