Fic II
Title: Giving In
Author:
propernice
Rating: NC-17 for basically 1,900 words of smut.
Word count: 1,979 (lol)
Spoilers: None
A/N: Okay. So. I'm shitty at naming fic, this one and the last one prove it. This is a sequel to this story over here but you don't necessarily have to read the first one to get this one. This fic is dedicated to
book232 because she was the first one to request a sequel. ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE. I'm also super SUPER nervous about this because I haven't written a decent smut fic IN A WHILE. Let me know what you think, but be gentle, please. Also, no beta because I'm hardcore like that.
Juliet has avoided James for the past week. After their encounter on the porch she doesn’t know where they stand or what they’re doing. She can’t look at him without remembering how his fingers felt tracing along the scar on her collarbone. She’s spent seven days convincing herself that she doesn’t want anything from him.
But she does. And even if she’s doing a good job of hiding it on the outside, her subconscious sure as hell isn’t letting her forget it. Three nights now she’s had dreams about his hands, his mouth, and she’s woken up frustrated - really not wanting to see him first thing. This morning though, she opens her door and runs right into a solid body. She’s still half asleep, hair tangled and eyes blurry, but she registers that he’s (once again) not wearing a shirt. “Why aren’t you at work already?” she asks quickly as she takes a step back.
Which is when she notices that he’s not wearing a damn thing. “What the hell?” Probably not what her dream self would have said if faced with this situation.
“Took the day off, and I thought you were already at work,” he says defensively. “What the hell are you doin’ here?”
“I took today off. I thought you were working a double with Miles.”
“So what, you thought you’d just have a day all to yourself in the house?”
Juliet opens her mouth and closes it quickly before finally speaking. “And you walk around naked when I’m not here?”
“I’m comin’ outta the bathroom, and my room’s right across the damn hall, it ain’t like I’m havin’ a Tupperware party in the kitchen!”
There’s a weird moment of silence where neither one of them says anything and they just stare at each other. The steam wafting from the bathroom smells like soap and aftershave but she tries to step past him, going around. Her plans are derailed when he grabs her arm to stop her, and she looks up, silently wondering what the hell.
“You been avoidin’ me like I got the plague. Now you’re schedulin’ days off when you think I ain’t gonna be around?”
“Now’s really not the time to have this conversation,” she says, trying to pull away but he doesn’t let go. Instead, she finds herself against the wall, his arms moving to trap her there.
“In case livin’ with me for over a year hasn’t clue you in, I don’t like to let things go when I’m right.”
She looks up at him, forehead creased. “What the hell do you think you’re right about?”
There’s hardly a chance for her to finish her sentence before his mouth is on hers. She tenses in shock, both hands moving to his forearms with every intention to push him away. But then his hands move to her hips, his thumbs stroke her skin, and she forgets what her plans were, exactly. He only moves his mouth away for a second before it’s on her again, and this time she gives in, parting her lips and kissing him back eagerly. The part of her brain telling her that this is an exceptionally bad idea shuts down when he pulls away from her and pushes the t-shirt she wore to bed up and over her head. Then his mouth is back on hers and the feel of them chest to chest makes her whimper, spurring him on
When he lifts her, Juliet doesn’t hesitate, just wraps her legs around him as he carries her the few feet to the bed, her mouth still firmly pressed against his. He sits on the edge of the bed, keeping her in his lap as his hands explore her sides and stomach. She finally pulls back to say something about this, about what they’re doing. Until his lips close over a nipple and she forgets every coherent thought she had. When her hips jerk against him, she shudders at the sound of his groan, raking her fingers through his hair. She pushes him back until he’s lying down looking up at her, but again, before she can say anything he makes a move, rolling them so that he’s over her. She can’t believe this, she has no idea why she’s letting it happen when she knows she shouldn’t, that they can’t do this, but the protests are dying in her throat as his mouth finally finds that scar again and his tongue traces its path.
Gasping quietly, she obediently raises her hips as he tugs the shorts she’s wearing down, tugging satin along with them. Her eyes are closed, she’s waiting for his next move, but there’s nothing. She’s almost afraid to look, but when she does he’s staring right back at her. Juliet’s never pegged him for an overtly romantic man. She knows he did what he had to during cons, she knows he was suave and told women what they wanted to hear to get what he needed. So it’s the fact that he’s not saying anything that makes her heart pound. His eyes are steady on hers, seeing her, and she’s positive no one’s made her stomach flip like this with a look. She’s not going to stop this, they both know it, and when he finally bends down to kiss her again she relaxes against the bed, wrapping her arms around him.
This time when she closes her eyes, his mouth and hands are moving over her, somewhere between curious exploring and heated want before he decides to skip all allusions of taking his time. A hand pushes her thighs apart and she gasps, eyes opening in surprise, hips jerking, hands tightening against his shoulders. “Jesus, James,” she whimpers, eyes closing again as she rocks with no shame, concentrating on the feel of calloused fingers, the palm of his hand, and God, it’s been such a long time. She’d be embarrassed by how fast he pushes her over the edge if she had the capacity to form a single, functioning thought. The entire time she can feel him watching her as her jaw drops and she surges up against his chest, but she doesn’t care.
When his hand moves she whimpers until he moves over again, and she can feel him, hard and insistent against her, but still he pauses, one hand reaching out to push her hair out of her face. He doesn’t have to ask anything, she knows, and she wraps her legs around his hips. She’s still not sure where this puts them, but as he thrusts into her there’s only one thing that she can think: They’re doing this again. Soon.
His body is low over hers, resting his weight on his forearms as he moves so that his mouth can drag across her throat and down her chest. Her hands move up and down his back, over his shoulders, and she stops to feel the long scar on his arm. He groans and she opens her eyes, watching him watch her. His eyes are dark, forest green glazed over and yet still trying to take her in. She meets him halfway when he kisses her and she pants against his mouth, unable to hold back a low moan as he starts to move faster. He raises himself up, giving himself more leverage and sliding a hand down her side then under her thigh to lift her just enough. It’s perfect, and too much, and before she can say anything, her hips jerk out of rhythm and she comes again, crying out his name, fingernails digging into his shoulders. She hears him through the sound of her heart pounding in her ears, hears him choke out her name as he tenses against her and holds his last thrust, crushing her against him as she tries to breathe.
They don’t move for what feels like hours. Her face is buried against his neck, legs still twined around him, heart still slamming, and she feels him relax against her, falling to her side and pulling her with him. Now as she relaxes, she remembers those questions and doubts, the fear that this is something she can’t handle with him. His fingers push through her hair, getting stuck, reminding her that she never even had a chance to brush it this morning. But he’s gentle, working through the strands and combing it out slowly.
“You okay?”
His voice is low and surprises her, the question a loaded one. “I’m…are we?”
She watches his face, wondering if he’s thinking about other post-sex pillow talk. If he’s comparing how he felt then with how he feels now. She wonders if he ever saw the same things in Kate that he sees in her.
“I think we can be. And I think we better figure out if we’re gonna be stayin’ at your place or mine,” he says, gesturing at the door, meaning which bedroom.
That makes her sit up on her elbows a bit to look down at him. “Are you serious?”
“Well why wouldn’t I be, Juliet? Considerin’ I was right.”
The only time he calls her by her given name is when he’s making an attempt to have a serious conversation, and she tries to remember that as she looks at him. “Right about what?”
He looks a little smug, bringing an arm back behind his head. “Ever since that day on the porch, you’ve been thinkin’ about this. But I’ve been thinkin’ about it longer.”
She blinks slowly. “How long?”
He glances at her, and it’s almost like he’s trying to decide whether or not he can give this part away. But finally he sighs. “One of the hippie parties a few months ago. You were wearin’ that pink skirt and your hair was curly from the humidity. Pretty sure you were a little drunk, too. I was workin’ that night, but when I came in to check with Horace about somethin’ you looked right at me and you grinned like I was the only damn person you ever wanted to see.”
Juliet doesn’t know what to do with this, with the fact that he’s sharing something about her with her. She can’t remember the moment he’s talking about, and she drops her eyes to focus on a spot on his chest. “The porch was just a moment in a long string of moments. But I always thought…well.” She looks up at him for a second before avoiding his eyes again. “I never imagined myself as your type.”
“That’s ‘cause you ain’t. “ The look on her face makes him quick to speak again. “But that don’t mean I’ve been right about what my type is. Startin’ to think I didn’t hang out in enough libraries when I was younger.”
He gets a smile out of her at that, and she relaxes against him again, letting her head rest on the pillow next to his head. “So what is this, James? Where do we…what do we do from here?”
One of his hands is idly stroking up and down the curve of her hip as he thinks. “You ain’t gotta plan for everythin’ Blondie. Maybe we just see where this goes.”
She’s not sure she can do that, jump without a plan, but as his hand squeezes her side reassuringly, she finds herself nodding. “As long as you don’t go time traveling without me.”
James dips his head so that he can kiss her, pulling her against him again. “Only way I’m time travelin’ is if you’re with me and we’re headin’ back to 2004. Otherwise…what we got here’s pretty good, you ask me.”
Juliet closes her eyes, tangling up with him. “No more time travel,” she agrees before drifting, lulled by the feel of his hand and the words she’s repeating in her head.
What we got here’s pretty good.
Author:
properniceRating: NC-17 for basically 1,900 words of smut.
Word count: 1,979 (lol)
Spoilers: None
A/N: Okay. So. I'm shitty at naming fic, this one and the last one prove it. This is a sequel to this story over here but you don't necessarily have to read the first one to get this one. This fic is dedicated to
book232 because she was the first one to request a sequel. ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE. I'm also super SUPER nervous about this because I haven't written a decent smut fic IN A WHILE. Let me know what you think, but be gentle, please. Also, no beta because I'm hardcore like that.Juliet has avoided James for the past week. After their encounter on the porch she doesn’t know where they stand or what they’re doing. She can’t look at him without remembering how his fingers felt tracing along the scar on her collarbone. She’s spent seven days convincing herself that she doesn’t want anything from him.
But she does. And even if she’s doing a good job of hiding it on the outside, her subconscious sure as hell isn’t letting her forget it. Three nights now she’s had dreams about his hands, his mouth, and she’s woken up frustrated - really not wanting to see him first thing. This morning though, she opens her door and runs right into a solid body. She’s still half asleep, hair tangled and eyes blurry, but she registers that he’s (once again) not wearing a shirt. “Why aren’t you at work already?” she asks quickly as she takes a step back.
Which is when she notices that he’s not wearing a damn thing. “What the hell?” Probably not what her dream self would have said if faced with this situation.
“Took the day off, and I thought you were already at work,” he says defensively. “What the hell are you doin’ here?”
“I took today off. I thought you were working a double with Miles.”
“So what, you thought you’d just have a day all to yourself in the house?”
Juliet opens her mouth and closes it quickly before finally speaking. “And you walk around naked when I’m not here?”
“I’m comin’ outta the bathroom, and my room’s right across the damn hall, it ain’t like I’m havin’ a Tupperware party in the kitchen!”
There’s a weird moment of silence where neither one of them says anything and they just stare at each other. The steam wafting from the bathroom smells like soap and aftershave but she tries to step past him, going around. Her plans are derailed when he grabs her arm to stop her, and she looks up, silently wondering what the hell.
“You been avoidin’ me like I got the plague. Now you’re schedulin’ days off when you think I ain’t gonna be around?”
“Now’s really not the time to have this conversation,” she says, trying to pull away but he doesn’t let go. Instead, she finds herself against the wall, his arms moving to trap her there.
“In case livin’ with me for over a year hasn’t clue you in, I don’t like to let things go when I’m right.”
She looks up at him, forehead creased. “What the hell do you think you’re right about?”
There’s hardly a chance for her to finish her sentence before his mouth is on hers. She tenses in shock, both hands moving to his forearms with every intention to push him away. But then his hands move to her hips, his thumbs stroke her skin, and she forgets what her plans were, exactly. He only moves his mouth away for a second before it’s on her again, and this time she gives in, parting her lips and kissing him back eagerly. The part of her brain telling her that this is an exceptionally bad idea shuts down when he pulls away from her and pushes the t-shirt she wore to bed up and over her head. Then his mouth is back on hers and the feel of them chest to chest makes her whimper, spurring him on
When he lifts her, Juliet doesn’t hesitate, just wraps her legs around him as he carries her the few feet to the bed, her mouth still firmly pressed against his. He sits on the edge of the bed, keeping her in his lap as his hands explore her sides and stomach. She finally pulls back to say something about this, about what they’re doing. Until his lips close over a nipple and she forgets every coherent thought she had. When her hips jerk against him, she shudders at the sound of his groan, raking her fingers through his hair. She pushes him back until he’s lying down looking up at her, but again, before she can say anything he makes a move, rolling them so that he’s over her. She can’t believe this, she has no idea why she’s letting it happen when she knows she shouldn’t, that they can’t do this, but the protests are dying in her throat as his mouth finally finds that scar again and his tongue traces its path.
Gasping quietly, she obediently raises her hips as he tugs the shorts she’s wearing down, tugging satin along with them. Her eyes are closed, she’s waiting for his next move, but there’s nothing. She’s almost afraid to look, but when she does he’s staring right back at her. Juliet’s never pegged him for an overtly romantic man. She knows he did what he had to during cons, she knows he was suave and told women what they wanted to hear to get what he needed. So it’s the fact that he’s not saying anything that makes her heart pound. His eyes are steady on hers, seeing her, and she’s positive no one’s made her stomach flip like this with a look. She’s not going to stop this, they both know it, and when he finally bends down to kiss her again she relaxes against the bed, wrapping her arms around him.
This time when she closes her eyes, his mouth and hands are moving over her, somewhere between curious exploring and heated want before he decides to skip all allusions of taking his time. A hand pushes her thighs apart and she gasps, eyes opening in surprise, hips jerking, hands tightening against his shoulders. “Jesus, James,” she whimpers, eyes closing again as she rocks with no shame, concentrating on the feel of calloused fingers, the palm of his hand, and God, it’s been such a long time. She’d be embarrassed by how fast he pushes her over the edge if she had the capacity to form a single, functioning thought. The entire time she can feel him watching her as her jaw drops and she surges up against his chest, but she doesn’t care.
When his hand moves she whimpers until he moves over again, and she can feel him, hard and insistent against her, but still he pauses, one hand reaching out to push her hair out of her face. He doesn’t have to ask anything, she knows, and she wraps her legs around his hips. She’s still not sure where this puts them, but as he thrusts into her there’s only one thing that she can think: They’re doing this again. Soon.
His body is low over hers, resting his weight on his forearms as he moves so that his mouth can drag across her throat and down her chest. Her hands move up and down his back, over his shoulders, and she stops to feel the long scar on his arm. He groans and she opens her eyes, watching him watch her. His eyes are dark, forest green glazed over and yet still trying to take her in. She meets him halfway when he kisses her and she pants against his mouth, unable to hold back a low moan as he starts to move faster. He raises himself up, giving himself more leverage and sliding a hand down her side then under her thigh to lift her just enough. It’s perfect, and too much, and before she can say anything, her hips jerk out of rhythm and she comes again, crying out his name, fingernails digging into his shoulders. She hears him through the sound of her heart pounding in her ears, hears him choke out her name as he tenses against her and holds his last thrust, crushing her against him as she tries to breathe.
They don’t move for what feels like hours. Her face is buried against his neck, legs still twined around him, heart still slamming, and she feels him relax against her, falling to her side and pulling her with him. Now as she relaxes, she remembers those questions and doubts, the fear that this is something she can’t handle with him. His fingers push through her hair, getting stuck, reminding her that she never even had a chance to brush it this morning. But he’s gentle, working through the strands and combing it out slowly.
“You okay?”
His voice is low and surprises her, the question a loaded one. “I’m…are we?”
She watches his face, wondering if he’s thinking about other post-sex pillow talk. If he’s comparing how he felt then with how he feels now. She wonders if he ever saw the same things in Kate that he sees in her.
“I think we can be. And I think we better figure out if we’re gonna be stayin’ at your place or mine,” he says, gesturing at the door, meaning which bedroom.
That makes her sit up on her elbows a bit to look down at him. “Are you serious?”
“Well why wouldn’t I be, Juliet? Considerin’ I was right.”
The only time he calls her by her given name is when he’s making an attempt to have a serious conversation, and she tries to remember that as she looks at him. “Right about what?”
He looks a little smug, bringing an arm back behind his head. “Ever since that day on the porch, you’ve been thinkin’ about this. But I’ve been thinkin’ about it longer.”
She blinks slowly. “How long?”
He glances at her, and it’s almost like he’s trying to decide whether or not he can give this part away. But finally he sighs. “One of the hippie parties a few months ago. You were wearin’ that pink skirt and your hair was curly from the humidity. Pretty sure you were a little drunk, too. I was workin’ that night, but when I came in to check with Horace about somethin’ you looked right at me and you grinned like I was the only damn person you ever wanted to see.”
Juliet doesn’t know what to do with this, with the fact that he’s sharing something about her with her. She can’t remember the moment he’s talking about, and she drops her eyes to focus on a spot on his chest. “The porch was just a moment in a long string of moments. But I always thought…well.” She looks up at him for a second before avoiding his eyes again. “I never imagined myself as your type.”
“That’s ‘cause you ain’t. “ The look on her face makes him quick to speak again. “But that don’t mean I’ve been right about what my type is. Startin’ to think I didn’t hang out in enough libraries when I was younger.”
He gets a smile out of her at that, and she relaxes against him again, letting her head rest on the pillow next to his head. “So what is this, James? Where do we…what do we do from here?”
One of his hands is idly stroking up and down the curve of her hip as he thinks. “You ain’t gotta plan for everythin’ Blondie. Maybe we just see where this goes.”
She’s not sure she can do that, jump without a plan, but as his hand squeezes her side reassuringly, she finds herself nodding. “As long as you don’t go time traveling without me.”
James dips his head so that he can kiss her, pulling her against him again. “Only way I’m time travelin’ is if you’re with me and we’re headin’ back to 2004. Otherwise…what we got here’s pretty good, you ask me.”
Juliet closes her eyes, tangling up with him. “No more time travel,” she agrees before drifting, lulled by the feel of his hand and the words she’s repeating in her head.
What we got here’s pretty good.