[ fic ] borrowed time
title: borrowed time
rating: r for language and adult situations
characters: jack bauer, renee walker
spoilers: through day eight, just to be safe.
warning(s): uh. dramatic irony?
summary: god, this feels good.
word count: 349
disclaimer: the characters aren't mine; the words are.
a/n: holiday gift-fic written for kcountess, who requested jack and renee. prompt: no more clouds up above me, bringin' me tears. title inspired by the same patty griffin song ("heavenly day," for those of you keeping score at home). apologies to those of you who've already seen this over on my journal; I used to be so much better at remembering to cross-post!
God, this feels good.
Renee's palm is a warm revelation against his cheek, and the smell of her skin is another. She's kissing him with the same kind of intensity she pours into interrogations; the insistent slide of her tongue in his mouth has him half-hard already.
Hefting her in his arms, he stifles a groan.
The sharp, twin pulls beneath the bandages on his shoulder and abdomen hardly matter, especially when her legs wrap around his waist.
She shifts her weight to better accommodate them both, her arms snaking tighter around his neck. She's everywhere he isn't, curves and muscle filling all the negative space between them, and fuck, he wants this - her - so much he's sure he'll embarrass himself within the next fifteen minutes.
He tilts his head four degrees to the left, sucking her lower lip between his teeth while shuffling toward the bed.
He shucks his clothes, smirking when Renee shoves his hands aside and yanks at his jeans, as rushed and impatient as a seventeen-year-old with a curfew. He'd be more self-conscious about his scars if not for the look in her blue-green eyes.
They tangle together on the sheets, and the suite shrinks to static. Time is no longer measured in sixty-second increments, but marked by every beat of his trip-hammering heart, and each near-silent sigh that leaves Renee's parted lips, instead.
He forgets about his injuries, forgets to be sore or aching or encumbered. Her voice in his ear cautions him, once, twice - easy, Jack. His answering growl must convince her otherwise, because her nails carve crescents into his shoulder blades, and her teeth sink into a spot just above his collarbone.
Afterward, he's spent and sweating, watching Renee's blown pupils return to normal as his lungs work triple-time to carry oxygen through his bloodstream.
Jesus, he thinks, leaning in to kiss the corner of her easy, self-satisfied grin, this doesn't feel good.
It feels great.
rating: r for language and adult situations
characters: jack bauer, renee walker
spoilers: through day eight, just to be safe.
warning(s): uh. dramatic irony?
summary: god, this feels good.
word count: 349
disclaimer: the characters aren't mine; the words are.
a/n: holiday gift-fic written for kcountess, who requested jack and renee. prompt: no more clouds up above me, bringin' me tears. title inspired by the same patty griffin song ("heavenly day," for those of you keeping score at home). apologies to those of you who've already seen this over on my journal; I used to be so much better at remembering to cross-post!
God, this feels good.
Renee's palm is a warm revelation against his cheek, and the smell of her skin is another. She's kissing him with the same kind of intensity she pours into interrogations; the insistent slide of her tongue in his mouth has him half-hard already.
Hefting her in his arms, he stifles a groan.
The sharp, twin pulls beneath the bandages on his shoulder and abdomen hardly matter, especially when her legs wrap around his waist.
She shifts her weight to better accommodate them both, her arms snaking tighter around his neck. She's everywhere he isn't, curves and muscle filling all the negative space between them, and fuck, he wants this - her - so much he's sure he'll embarrass himself within the next fifteen minutes.
He tilts his head four degrees to the left, sucking her lower lip between his teeth while shuffling toward the bed.
He shucks his clothes, smirking when Renee shoves his hands aside and yanks at his jeans, as rushed and impatient as a seventeen-year-old with a curfew. He'd be more self-conscious about his scars if not for the look in her blue-green eyes.
They tangle together on the sheets, and the suite shrinks to static. Time is no longer measured in sixty-second increments, but marked by every beat of his trip-hammering heart, and each near-silent sigh that leaves Renee's parted lips, instead.
He forgets about his injuries, forgets to be sore or aching or encumbered. Her voice in his ear cautions him, once, twice - easy, Jack. His answering growl must convince her otherwise, because her nails carve crescents into his shoulder blades, and her teeth sink into a spot just above his collarbone.
Afterward, he's spent and sweating, watching Renee's blown pupils return to normal as his lungs work triple-time to carry oxygen through his bloodstream.
Jesus, he thinks, leaning in to kiss the corner of her easy, self-satisfied grin, this doesn't feel good.
It feels great.