#bsss2015

This is for the lovely and patient @charloedrama !!! I hope your Christmas was everything you hoped for!!! This fic was written just for you:) I do hope you enjoy!!

The Morning After-

She sips her coffee while she watches the morning rays of sunlight push through the blinds, and play with the dust floating in the air. She’s got one bare knee pressed to her chest, arms wrapped around it at she lifts her cup, the other is bouncing under the table in a rhythm that speaks to the anxiety battling the joy in her blood. She turns her cheek and let’s the collar of his shirt wrap her in his scent. She’d picked it up off the floor where she herself had tossed it some time late last night.

She woke just before dawn, the habit unbroken even by the presents of the soft, strong, male body in her bed. She had tried to bask in his warmth but couldn’t sleep, couldn’t lay there any longer and worry about the repercussions of her actions.

They’d been stealing time lately. Finding ways to be together. Late night TV and Thai food, a Sunday drive out of the city, a second (much better), dinner with Sarah and Sawyer. He’d shown up last night with nothing but a smile and mouth full of kisses.

He’d kissed her breathless every time, but nothing more.

She knows he would have continued their pattern of quiet nights and soul shattering make out sessions if she hadn’t pushed him last night. She knows he’s been burying his needs under the respect he has for her. He wears it like shield; protecting both of them; she knows he’s been using it to keep himself from falling too far, too fully without knowing what she could possibly be to him. She’s grateful for his restraint. Knows they’re friends before they’re anything else and that friendship is what’s kept her afloat through everything that’s come their way so far.

She doesn’t want to be the reason she can no longer turn to him.

They’ve kept it quiet at work, have made a habit of staying out of each other’s way, of keeping the need out of their eyes when they’re forced into the field together. It’s not an easy feat and she’s pretty sure they aren’t fooling anyone.

If she’s picked up anything along the way it’s that life is way too short to waste time wishing and wondering. And yet here she sits; wishing for clarity and wondering if she’s ruined the single greatest friendship she’s ever had.

There’s also a smaller, much softer voice in the back of her mind hoping for another opportunity to get him naked. She can’t fight the smile that pulls her lips as she sips the now tepid coffee and remembers how she’d been the one to bring her to this exact moment. How he’d done his best, been a true gentleman, and held back from her advances as best he could.

They’d been on the couch, just like the night before; his hands under her shirt, hers in his hair. His mouth a masterpiece of passion and patience, his body braced, muscles taught under her roaming hands. Somehow she’s in his lap, her knees flanking his hips and she can feel how much it takes for him to keep from taking them somewhere they both want to go but are too afraid to attempt. She has no idea why but all of a sudden she couldn’t find a single reason of any relevance to keep them here in this moment, to keep them from making something more of all the emotion and need and passion that’s been building between them. She remembers rocking her hips against him, remembers the way the air vibrated out of his chest and into her mouth and how he couldn’t not push back. How he lifted his back off the cushions, how his hands ended up at her throat, than her face and how he’d buried them in the hair at the at top of her spine. How he pulled his mouth from hers when she took the top two buttons of his shirt in her shaking fingers and started to part the soft cotton.

“Jane,” he’d said it like he couldn’t catch his breath, as if his heart was beating too fast and too hard for him to fully wrap his tongue around the single syllable. She knows exactly how that feels.

She’d lifted a hand to take his face, to pull him in until their foreheads bumped, met his eyes as she continued to slowly open the small, pearly, buttons down his shirtfront. He’d taken her hand and his eyes had gone still, they’d hardened instantly, giving off that defiant edge that she’s learned to love and hate in equal parts.

“Kurt,” she says his name and takes his mouth, once, twice, and pulls herself back before she can take them back under, “I wont hurt you, and I trust you not to hurt me.” His grip tightens in her hair, on her hand, his eyes close as his almost even breathing picks up again. “Nothing I can think of, nothing I can remember, has ever made me feel the way you do.” Her words are all but a whisper at the end, the gentle lift in her voice lacing them in faith and a touch of persuasion. “You can’t tell me you don’t want this.”

He’d dropped his hands to her waist and his thumb had found her hipbone, fingers spread across the scroll inked on at her waist. When she’d started the pull his shirt apart again, he did not try to stop her.

And now here she is; lukewarm coffee, a hummingbird heart and the mans shirt wrapping her completely in him. He’ll wake at any moment and who knows what tone he’ll take on the events she’d single handedly started. She instantly doubts herself and every decision she’s made since she’d gotten him naked last night. She’s so wrapped up in her own worry she doesn’t hear him until he’s made it halfway across the room.

He’d pull his jeans on but hasn’t bothered with the button so they hang on his hips and she’s appalled with herself when her mouth waters at the sight of him. He crouches down beside her chair, one hand reaching for the coffee cup in her hands, the other starts off in her hair and slowly makes its way down her back. It’s a gesture of comfort, of affection and it’s more reassuring than any declaration of undying love could ever be. His face is soft with sleep and his eyes are full of questions, and she’s almost positive his mouth is smiling but she can’t see it behind the coffee cup he’s stolen and lifted to sip from.

She rests her cheek along her lifted knee, wraps her hands around her shin and threads her fingers together above Ana’s owl.

He makes a face and sets the cup back down, this time out of reach. “Coffees cold, Jane.” He drops his hand to the arch of her foot where it rest of the chair, lets his thumb and his fingers play across the rise of her ankle. His other hand is rubbing circles along her back, small, soft motions that make her want to close her eyes and just lean on him. “Come back to bed,” he whispers, “your feet are cold.” He stands and waits for her to follow, holds a hand out for her to take, and he knows she understands he’s offering more than just a lift up from her seat. Knows he’s giving her a part of himself, and asking her to do the same, all without having to say a thing.

Last night was her choice, and this morning is his.

She reaches for his hand and sets all her worries aside. Knows he’s the most important person in her life; her greatest friend, and greatest love, knows she will do whatever it takes to keep that friendship first and to make sure that love has room to grow.