#roachthelovebug

In fact, the only thing on his mind was the woman beneath him. How she's snuck her way into bed with him (again) is far beyond John...not that he's trying to figure that out at the moment. 

At the moment he's...well... he's preoccupied.

It's vicious, bordering violent. Nails and teeth and bruising grips. A full blown battle betwixt the two. She's gleaming with sweat, totally in her element as he ravishes her from above, her knees slung over each one of his shoulders. Practically bent in half, she grins up at him, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "That all you got, soldier boy?"

He growls. The sound is almost possessive. It's meant to scare her. It doesn't work. Kat merely laughs in his face. 

It's a strange satisfaction he gets from vein in bed with her. Being challenged in such a way should be demeaning, especially since he's used to his lovers writhing about beneath him and pleading for more. But this pleasure is different. This struggle to get some form of reaction...any form of reaction is the sort of satisfaction that comes with revenge. It's more fulfilling than an easily earned gasp or scream. It's like every tiny sound he gets from her is fought for. Revenge for the last thrust that only got him a roll of the eyes or a chuckle. Revenge for her managing to get him hard with only a touch. Revenge for her being able to get a strangled moan with a simple bite on the neck. Revenge is sweet.

And it's what they've been having all night long.

"I've...sl-ept with drunks who have...more finesse than you." She grinds out between violent gyrations of his hips. Another thrust, this one knocking her head against the bedpost. She drags her nails down his back. He grunts. She grits her teeth. He smacks her ass. She bites his shoulder hard enough to draw blood. "N-Not good enough, Braveheart."

In a flash, Katya finds herself with her face pressed sideways against the mattress, his hand tangled in her hair. There's a moment where she's empty as his free arm loops under her waist and drags her up so her ass is well in the air. "Now, Kat..." He slides in, "Keep teasing me... and I won't let you finish."

"As if you have the choice." She presses backwards against him, smirking over her shoulder. 

Mactavish leans over. Bites her shoulder. Slams into her with enough force to actually make her mouth fall open. A burst of pride. He grins. Slams in again. Drags his tongue over the shell of her ear. Digs his teeth in. Does whatever he can to elicit a response. It works, for a while. She's breathless, grasping the sheets with both of her hands, eyes squeezing shut and mouth falling open. Practically looking like a goddess. Until, the hands relax and she grins slyly at him. "Not...good...enough..."

A string of obscenities. John yanks her hair, pulling her onto all fours. Her cheek is coated with salty sweat and he can taste it sharply as he drags the flat of his tongue along scarred flesh. His hips are constantly rocking now, pulling the full way out before brutally slamming back in. It's rough. Violent. Desperate. It's drenched with sweat and blood. Need. Force.

Finally, just when John thought he couldn't hold out for one more instant Katya lets out a begrudging sound from the back of her throat. There's a moment where they're both right on the edge...and then she comes careening down in a wild clash of hips. Katya bites down on his forearm, causing him to moan loudly and topple over the edge as well, clinging to her. 

Breathlessness. An awkward shift. The untangling of limbs. A stuttering sigh. 

Silence.

Finally, "Fuck." Mactavish rolls from the bed and pulls the condom off, walking into the bathroom to flush it down the toilet. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Bruises, scratches, and bite marks riddle the skin across his chest. He turns slightly and winces. Bloodied nail marks run down his spine. One's still oozing a bit and, with a light touch, John wipes it away. He needs a shower. Bad.

He pushes the curtain out of the way, frowning slightly. A light dust has settled over the tiled walls. It's been so long since he's showered in his own apartment that there's dust on everything. John starts up the water and steps in, not caring that the water is so cold that it positively covers him in goose bumps. It'll warm up eventually.

The satisfaction is back when Katya slides the shower curtain open, smiling slyly at John as she steps in. She's covered with just as many marks from their encounter as he is. Probably more. "So, you couldn't stay away?" He smirks.

"I'm covered in sweat and blood and you're hogging the shower."

"Fair enough."

His lips automatically go to her neck, kissing softly along the bruises that his own hands and mouth had made there. Katya rolls her eyes. He keeps going. Lips trail to her jaw, then her temple, then back down. John starts forward, intending to press her against the shower wall and take her all over again.

But Katya's got other plans. 

"Uh, uh." She presses him against the tiles with surprising force. The cold and pressure stings his cuts and he hisses from between his teeth. Hands wander over his body. Down. Down. He groans. 

"Still sensitive...easy..."

"What part of this makes you assume I'm going to go easy?"

"Fair enough."

All over again. Teeth clash. Their tongues battle it out. Nails drag across skin, teeth dig in, vengeance is seeded into their hearts. For a while he tries to focus on  It ends up with her left knee slung over his shoulder and her right hooked around his waist, forcing him closer. He goes off the edge this time, squeezing his eyes shut and moaning heavily. She just smirks the whole time, looking awfully satisfied over something.

Two hours later, his alarm is going off. The bed is empty next to him, neatly made in a smug defiance against sleeping over. Not that he cares. It was just revenge. She can have hers too.

He goes about getting ready as usual. Climbs in his car not half an hour later and heads towards base. It's not too far from his apartment. But the rough sex from only hours before is taking it's toll. Mactavish finds himself dozing at the wheel. It gets to the point where he nearly swerves into the car in the next lane over. He shakes himself awake and parks his car, walking through the front gate and getting clearance.

After a cup of coffee and a quick warm up session in the gym, he's feeling loads better. Even manages to get some of the never ending paperwork in his office done. Then he launches into his regular routine. 

However, at 1200 hours he's feeling woozy again. And maybe even a little sick. He excuses himself from range practice and hurries to the restroom, throwing up what he had for lunch. He spends nearly an hour in there, trying to get the sick feeling to go away. Fortunately, no one bothers him. Since it's right in the middle of the day, they're all busy at training or in meetings. The hallway is empty as he makes his way to his office at 1320.

One hour before he died, John was doing his least favorite thing in the world. Paper work. Neither his mind or his focus were really in it as he skimmed over files and filled out what he had to. Mactavish started to feel ill again. He set aside his pen and made to stand, but found that he could only make it a few inches out of the seat before feeling too light headed to keep himself standing anymore. For several minutes, it's all he can do to keep himself conscious. A cold sweat starts up and he can feel his heart rate quicken.

"Shit." John leans heavily against the desk and forces himself to stand. Legs shaking and arms outstretched, he staggers over to the door. Colors explode around him. Up and down get lost. The doorknob keeps slipping out of his grasp.

After an eternity, he gets the door open.

One objective; get to the infirmary. 

The air goes cold around him and John collapses against the wall. He pants. Struggles. Drags himself upright. Left. Right. Left. Right. Unsteadily he makes his way down the hall. 

Vision flickers.

He can't breathe!

Fuck, he can't breathe!

There's a thud as Mactavish falls to the ground, suddenly and utterly dead.

Twenty minutes later, his body is found.

Katya Carter is sitting in her living room, legs crossed, listening with mild interest to the radio scanner on her coffee table. She sips her drink. Waiting.

"We just found a body in the east hallway, sir."

"What the hell? Do we know who it is?"

"It's Captain John Mactavish sir..."

She smiles, leaning back in her chair. Revenge. She lights a cigarette. It had been almost too easy. Juvenile really. He'd been so eager to get back in bed with her. A few swipes of her fingernails and a light dusting of toxic powder on the shower wall and John Mactavish was on his way to death. Bastard had it coming, getting all sweet on her the second time around. Kissing the bruises like that as if it'd make them better. Pathetic. Sure, he was a good fuck, but way too sentimental for his own good.

Roach, trying to remain angry, fold his arms. "Now my kitchen is a mess."

"Hey, this was my house originally.

"Yeah, but you're never in it." 

"You wouldn't be either if you weren't on medical leave."

Roach motions vaguely at the flour covered kitchen. "Fine. You clean your kitchen." The smile is fighting hard to make it onto his face."

Mactavish blanches slightly. "You threw the flour at me!" 

"Only after you smacked my ass and made me spill the oil all over the place."

"That was your own fault."

"How was that my fault?"

"You're the one with the irresistible ass." Mactavish smirks, wrapping his arms around Roach and giving said ass a squeeze.

The injured man sighs and rolls his eyes. “You are far too sensitive for your own good sometimes, ‘sergeant’. Still a man on my team, aren’t you? Still have to keep you safe, don’t I?”

“Yes, but can’t you do it in a way that doesn’t involve you getting your arm turned into ground beef?” The younger man points an accusing finger at the ugly array of gashes and lacerations on Mactavish’s right upper arm, extending to his shoulder. The captain had thrown himself between Roach and an exploding grenade. Fortunately, none of the fragmentation had hit him, but glass and metal from a nearby car did. Most of it was blocks by his Kevlar. However, his arm wasn’t as well protected.

“What did you want me to do? Let you get hurt?”

“You could’ve DIED!”

“But I didn’t.”

“John, can we please be serious about this?”

“Oh, are we back on a first name basis all of the sudden, sergeant?”

“Ugh! You are infuriating.” Roach ties off the bandage, ignoring Mactavish’s pained hiss, and tosses the rest of the remaining roll into the kit. “I nearly had a heart attack when you hit the ground!”

“So you’re mad at me because you got scared?” The captain looks away, annoyed.

Roach finally can’t take it anymore. “I’m mad because you won’t let me care about you! You’re acting like I should just brush this off! I though you were dead, John!!”

Silence.

“You didn’t really…”

“Of course I did. It looked like you’d been killed by the grenade. Blood was everywhere, you had all sorts of stuff sticking into you, you weren’t moving…what the hell was I supposed to think?”

Mactavish slowly gets up and wraps his good arm around Roach’s waist, pulling him close to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m sorry…”

“I know…I am too. “

“So we’re square?”