Work Text:
The newest motor pool recruit, Andrew, has very obviously developed a crush on her. A tall, dark-haired, pleasantly good-looking man, he was usually the quiet type; he often preferred to work away in his own corner, avoiding most of the other mechanics and their workday small talk. And yet when Juliet was around, it seemed like he was always up for a conversation (or two), seeking her out for a second opinion over their colleagues who had double her experience, making sure to wave goodbye when she left for the day.
It didn't bother her- Andrew was a good mechanic, and his little workplace crush was just exactly that. She'd seen plenty of them, and even harbored a few of her own. He was perfectly polite about it. No, the thing that fascinated Juliet about Andrew's crush wasn't that it bothered her, or was in any way out of the ordinary.
It was that it seemed to bother James.
She'd noticed the way he tensed the first time Andrew had flagged her down in front of him, asking if she wanted to grab lunch together on their break. Juliet had shrugged it off, telling him she was already taken, but James had continued to brood at her side, his eyes practically burning a hole in the other man's retreating back.
Over lunch, she'd told him all about the new recruit. The way he favoured her, and the fact she obviously didn't return his interest as any more than a friend. She thought that was the end of it, watching him nod and move on easily to the topic of his latest book.
Except each day since, he had shown up without fail to walk her home, something that usually only happened when their shifts had the good fortune to align. He would take her hand where he knew everyone could see it, shoot poor Andrew a glowering look from across the shed. Then he would act like nothing had happened, take her back to their shared house and make her dinner as though he hadn't quit work early to show off in front of her coworkers like some kind of peacock.
At first, Juliet let the whole thing slide, convinced things would return to normal after a day or two... but after nearly a week she'd had enough of his antics, waiting for their front door to click shut behind her before rounding on him in the entryway.
"What are you doing?" She asks him pointedly, narrowing her eyes when he shrugs nonchalantly.
"Gonna have to be more specific," he quips, which only makes her cross her arms in frustration.
"You know what I mean. Are you really trying to tell me Horace let you go home early five days in a row?" Her voice is smooth, intentionally calm. Something this silly shouldn't be a fight. It shouldn't be anything.
But James Ford has never made a conversation simple in his life, and she watches his annoyance spark to life at being called out.
"What're you implying, Juliet?"
"I'm implying," she says carefully, "That you're being childish. I already told you that Andrew's nothing to worry about."
They've been together for over a year by now. It irks her to watch him being so petty, in a way that crawls under her skin towards darker, more nagging fears. She thought the trust between them ran deeper than this, well beyond insecurity over some guy she clearly wasn’t interested in. It had taken her a long time to stop comparing herself to Kate's ghost, to stop contemplating the what-ifs as she lay in his arms late at night. It had taken time, but she'd done it, believing in the blazing chemistry between them, believing in his words that he’d laid her to rest.
What was she supposed to think if he couldn't offer her that same faith, with someone she’d only just met?
He raises an eyebrow, taking a step closer. She can see the muscles of his jaw flexing, eyes locked on hers.
"It ain't my fault that Loverboy don't know how to take a hint."
"Maybe not, but I'm asking you to be the bigger person, here."
A surly little scoff leaves his mouth. "If you wanted the bigger person, Blondie, maybe you picked the wrong guy."
And now she's angry too, because he's better than that and they both know it. Where the hell was this coming from?
She's the one who moves closer this time, steeling herself for the inevitable pushback when she probes him again. Except now she's close enough that she's at eye level with his lips, and in spite of her frustration she can't help the way her gaze is drawn to them, full and pink. His tongue darts out to wet them, and it becomes much too difficult to remember what it was she was going to say. She can feel the heat rolling off his body, and when she raises her eyes to his, they're watching her darkly, darting down to her own mouth, the valley of her cleavage.
For a moment, they just breathe, staring each other down in silence as they stand there chest to chest.
She's not sure which of them moves first, but suddenly their lips are clashing together, her hands twining through his hair as he reaches to tug hard at the zipper of her jumpsuit. They stumble down the hallway, leaving a haphazard trail of clothes in their wake. Juliet moans as his lips attach themselves to her neck, teeth scraping along her pulse point, hand fumbling behind his back for the doorknob. She reaches to unclasp her bra as the door swings open, hitting the wall with a dull thud she barely registers. All she can think of is the feeling of James' hands grasping under her thighs to haul her into his arms, the way he carries her across the room like she weighs nothing. Depositing her onto the bed, he wastes no time before he's mouthing his way along her sharp collarbone, tongue tracing down to the swell of her right breast.
He plants open-mouthed kisses across it, tugs gently at her nipple with his teeth, and a faint whimper escapes from the back of her throat, egging him on. Her hands rest on his shoulders as she feels the heat of his breath against her lower belly, squeezing of their own accord when he leans in to brush his lips where she's too-hot and aching for him. Her plain, workday underwear is the only barrier between them- and it does nothing to hide how quickly he stoked the flames of desire in her, how soaked she already is. Years ago that sort of thing might have embarrassed her, but she can't find it in herself to be shy with him watching her like he wants to eat her alive. She'd let him do it, too, her hazed brain declares.
He looks at her the whole time he's peeling her underwear down, discarding it only to begin slowly making his way back up the expanse of her long, pale legs. His fingers draw circles on the inside of her knees, mouth traveling from her ankle to her thigh, pausing here and there to suck at the skin. He finally reaches the juncture where her thigh meets her hip and she's so close to begging, fingers curling back into his honey hair to pull him forcibly into position if need be. Luckily for him, he quickly decides to put her out of her misery. Dragging the flat expanse of his tongue against her in a long swipe, sending her melting into the mattress below as a sigh rattles through her chest.
He builds her up, his soft, wonderful tongue dancing back and forth just the way she craves, making a little noise of approval as she squirms beneath his attentions. He slides one long finger inside her, then two, and she feels herself clench around them as they touch her deep, curling against her from within. She's close, closer every second, his fingers hitting the perfect angle to have her seeing stars on the backs of her eyelids, mouth sucking over the hood of her clit. Her breathing comes fast and shallow, head pressed back into the pillow, and she clenches her teeth together because she can feel it, all the pleasure coiling tight in her gut, ready to shatter-
But just as she's about to reach her peak, he backs off, his hand slowing its motion while the pressure of his tongue switches to light circles. It's maddening, and she lets out an addled groan of disappointment that sounds vaguely like his name, chest heaving.
He glances up as her fingers tighten and tug at his shaggy hair, imploring him, and she can see the spark of mischief dancing in his eyes as she tries in vain to grind down against his mouth.
She can feel his shit-eating grin before he tips his head to look at her properly, pressing a wet kiss to the inside of her quivering thigh before resting his chin on her hip. The entire lower half of his face is a mess, and a filthy little thrill darts through her at the sight.
"Something you wanted, Juliet?" He drawls, teasing.
The unsatisfied ache in her core is almost unbearable, and when she opens her mouth to beg him it comes out as a breathy whine. It still surprises her, sometimes, the noises he's able to drag out of her without even trying. She's never been an exceptionally quiet person, but she's also never been with someone so extensively practiced in matters of the bedroom- someone so wholly determined to put those skills to their best possible use when bringing her to the edge. Someone she trusts, utterly, to carry her there and send her careening over... no matter how infuriating he might be about the process.
"Please," she whispers. Watches his eyes darken, blown-out pupils eclipsing the blue and betraying that he's just as desperate for this as she is.
"Well, since you asked so nicely," he murmurs, breath ghosting over her sweat-damp skin, and she shivers. But then she can't pay attention to anything at all because he's picking up right where he left off, pressing his mouth against her with a hunger that leaves her gasping.
Her free hand grasps at the sheets as that dull ache begins to draw tight again, as her hips buck of their own accord against his tongue, seeking more friction. He hums against her, letting the motion of his fingers speed up, and she moans. It's too much, the vibrations of pleasure rippling down her spine in time with the pace of his fingers stroking inside her, the sweet pressure of his tongue and the drag of his stubble against her thighs. Too much and not enough, like stepping outside on a sunny day after years in the dark. She can't keep her eyes open anymore.
His right hand strays from her hip to seek out hers in the sheets, tanned fingers entwining with her pale ones and squeezing hard. Holding her.
That's all it takes; she's gone, tumbling through the door into the bright daylight, his hand in hers. She gives a strangled cry of his name as it washes over her, endless as he pushes her further and further, not letting up until she finally gives a gentle shove at his shoulder with a shaking hand.
He rises to his knees, breathing hard, finally shucking his boxers. Leaving a trail of kisses as he crawls up the length of her body, mouthing at the flat plane of her stomach, her sternum, the juncture of her throat. Finally, he meets her mouth and she drinks him in eagerly, stroking her tongue against his, humming a little possessively as she tastes herself on it.
It's James' turn to jerk his hips where he's pressed tight against her, the hard length of him brushing up where it's trapped between their bellies. She indulges him, wrapping a leg around his slender hips, rolling her own as she lets her hands roam over the broad expanse of his back.
For a moment, their urgency subsides as they grind together, his hand moving to cup the side of her face as he rests on his elbows above her. Stroking her cheek with his thumb, he lets a low moan escape his lips when she digs her nails gently into his shoulders. The short, blunted tips sting his skin while her mouth soothes, dotting kisses down his chin, across the line of his jaw.
Eventually, she can feel him getting impatient, his desperation pushing him beyond the threshold for foreplay. Still, she can't resist surprising him as he reaches down between them, using her hooked leg as leverage to flip him onto his back with a bounce.
She grins from her newfound position above him, curling down to kiss him once more as she straddles his thighs.
"They teach you that in Other-kwon-do?" He mutters between kisses, brushing back her hair where it falls in a pale curtain of gold around his face. The joke may have pricked at her once, but not anymore. Not with him gazing up at her like that, full of the awe you reserve only for wonders of the world, for precious things.
"Oh, yeah," she deadpans. "The Kama Sutra is required reading. Made for an awkward book club meeting, but it was worth it in the end."
His laughter rumbles through her and she can't help her own giggles as she sits back, watching his dimples etch themselves into his cheeks. They're still there when his face settles back into its fond expression, his hands closing around her waist as she guides him into position.
They're both breathing hard as she lowers herself onto him, a pleasured hiss whistling from between James' teeth as she inches her way down. She sighs when he bottoms out, head suddenly heavy on her shoulders, and she lets it tip back as she soaks in the delicious stretch of him. She knows it won't take them long this time, not with her body still trembling with aftershocks and him all worked up on the argument and the taste of her.
He gives a throaty murmur of her name, fighting to keep his hips still through the onslaught of sensation. His brow creases with the effort, but still he waits for her, watching her face intently for a sign that she's ready. She nods, mouth falling open as he instantly thrusts up into her heat, her breath catching as they fall into rhythm.
Gravity forces him deep and hard as they rut together, and the electrical current that sparks through her every time she meets his thrusts is only one of the reasons she loves it like this. The other is the privilege of having him splayed out beneath her, the vulnerability of it, the rise and fall of his chest under her palms. His trust in her grabs at her heart, burns all the way down to her core. To trust her not only with his body, but his heart; the man who'd stayed trapped behind Sawyer's facade for so many years, so afraid of leaving himself unguarded. Sometimes she loved him so much it felt like a physical ache, remedied only by the press of her face between his shoulder blades while he sleeps, the way his eyes light up when he sees her for the first time after work.
And this, of course.
She's close again already, riding on the edge, and she knows he's not far behind. One of his hands slides downwards from her hip, making her yelp as his thumb brushes across her clit. Perfect, gentle pressure, their pace growing more frantic as he winds her higher and higher. His eyes drift from her face to where they're joined, then back up again, as though he can't decide which he wants to watch more.
Her orgasm takes her by surprise this time, an elastic band snapping back into shape, and the way she pulses around him pulls him over the edge with her, choking out her name as he loses himself in his release.
She watches him shudder through half-lidded eyes, stowing away the image of the furrow between his brows, the lip trapped between his teeth.
They're both still shaking and panting when Juliet begins to rock her hips again, teasing him where he's laying below her with her hand trailing down the muscles of his abdomen. She feels his fingers dig hard into her thighs in response, clutching at her, and she hopes for a blistering moment that it'll bruise enough for her to feel it come Monday. Purple-blue-green smudges in the shape of his fingerprints. A fleeting, sordid memento for her to carry under the dark fabric of her jumpsuit.
"Baby," he groans, oversensitive, and it curls warm all through her body, fluttering in her stomach. She offers him a wicked, satisfied smirk but relents, leaning down to sprawl across his chest. Legs knotting together on top of the tangled sheets, she listens to the steady thumping of his heart as those long, damp fingers trace patterns between the notches of her spine.
He lingers, as he often does, over the ragged scar on the small of her back; the shape of the fleur-de-lis long faded from its original mottled red. She lets him follow the brand's outline for a moment, feeling the strange numbness of it, before tilting her head to kiss his chest.
When she catches his eyes, they're warm and gentle, but he can't hide the sadness that lurks underneath, the ribbon of fear. She thinks she understands it now, his jealousy, feeling his hand against the scar. The mark that had bound them together in blood, long before they ever touched.
To have grown up into his own worst nightmare, lashing out in his hurt and his anger. To have spent so many years alone, terrified to let anyone truly get close. To believe she deserved more than him, deserved a life with someone like Andrew, maybe, someone whose hands were simple and clean. Someone whose danger wasn't inscribed on her body like a bad omen.
To believe all that, and be selfish enough to want to keep her anyway, because he couldn't bear to give her up.
She wants to tell him that none of it is true. That his trust, his love, is far more than she has ever deserved to earn in this wretched place. That she doesn't think she can imagine a version of her life without him in it anymore, here or anywhere. But in the moment, as she opens her mouth, the words escape her.
So she settles for telling him she loves him instead, hoping that the way her voice cracks with emotion is enough to convey a fraction of how she feels.
She thinks it is, for now at least, because the sadness recedes, dissolving into their shared afterglow as the sun begins to set through the curtains.
"I love you back," he murmurs, voice low, and she smiles. She can't help it, because he looks completely blissed out: hair a messy tangle where she’d rumpled it, cheeks flushed, eyes shining.
"...Now will you please stop scaring my coworkers?"
He chuckles, pressing a kiss to her forehead, and she knows she has him.
"I'll think about it.”