Can Not Find the Heart I Gave to You (30 Rock, Jack/Liz)
Title: Can Not Find the Heart I Gave to You
Prompt: un_love_you #01. You were right about me.
Fandom: 30 Rock
Pairing: Jack/Liz
Notes: This is super angsty. Just so you know.
Word Count: 1,816
Rating: NC-17
Table: Over here.
Summary: In the beginning they were civil, sitting across from each other as if they were prospective business partners instead of future ex-spouses.
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Tina. Title is from "Glass," an Ingrid Michaelson song.
*
They decided to try one last time to do this without lawyers. In the beginning they were civil, sitting across from each other as if they were prospective business partners instead of future ex-spouses. He sat at his desk, talking about compensation, while she said things like that seems fair. But the facade fell away quickly, dissolved into them screaming at each other, going through variations of every fight they've ever had.
She supposes she should be happy this is going on after Jonathan's left for the evening. The possibility of them falling back into their recent habits is probably why he scheduled her for eight p.m.
Maybe he was looking for one last chance to fight.
"You're the one who walked out," he says. "You're the reason we are where we are."
He gets up abruptly and walks over to get himself a drink. She follows him, grimacing as she watches him pour the liquor and promptly down it.
"My fault? This is all my fault? I decided to divorce you out of the blue for no reason, right?"
"For no good reason. But you never knew how to behave like a rational human being."
"Is that so?"
He pours himself another drink. "In all the years I've known you, Lemon, you've managed to find every possible way to fail at every possible thing. That's not what happens with people who behave rationally."
Her laugh is sharp and brief. "I was right about you. When I first met you, I said, 'This is a bad guy, this is a guy you don't want to deal with. This is a guy you should stay away from.' I should've listened to myself, but I let you convince me you were something other than what you obviously are--"
"Exactly what did I do to you that was so awful? I never slept with anyone else, not even during the weeks you refused to touch me, barely even looked at me. I was willing to have children with you because it's what you wanted, and then you decided I wasn't the sort of person anyone should have children with. But I wasn't supposed to be affected by any of it--"
"And you weren't affected. You gave up--"
"I gave up? I have never given up on anything in my life--"
"Are you really going to go through your self-congratulatory bullshit now? You don't care about anyone but yourself, and you probably never have. You didn't care about anything I've said or done or felt for the past six months, maybe longer, you didn't even care when I lost--"
He puts down his glass. "Don't say it." It sounds like a threat, and she's almost scared. "Do you honestly think I didn't care?"
She doesn't know, didn't know, mostly thinks he was okay with not being trapped into fatherhood, but she remembers how he was after the miscarriage; so awkward and unsure and aloof. He's always known how to get her through minor problems, but he didn't seem equipped for actual tragedy. He didn't seem to want to deal with actual tragedy. He didn't seem to want to deal with her.
"Fine," he says, losing the menace but not the disdain. He takes a few steps closer and leans in as if he's about to tell her a secret. "You were right about me. I'm an awful person, I don't care about anyone but myself, I would've been a terrible father, I couldn't care less that our baby died. But I'm the only man who's ever loved you, probably the only man who ever will love you, so perhaps you're as awful as I am."
The breath she lets out catches in her throat for a moment. "Go to hell."
He leans closer, pressing her against the wall. She's acutely aware of how much bigger he is than her; he always knew how to make her feel insignificant. Before she can react or try to get away, he's got his mouth over hers. She pulls her head back and pushes him. The weight of her hands on his chest isn't forceful enough to move him, but he steps back.
"I hate you," she says. "I hate you."
He winces briefly, and this expression goes away so fast that she's not sure she has actually wounded him. "I know."
Then he's kissing her again. This time, she doesn't stop him. This time, she kisses him back. She pushes his jacket off, touching the back of his neck as she slips her tongue into his mouth, and he hurriedly removes his tie. His hands roam over her body, lingering mostly at her breasts. She moans despite herself, despite the fact that she doesn't want to be near him now.
Because part of her does miss him. She did love him. She still loves how his hands feel on her body.
His thumbs move over her nipples, their hardness evident through the two layers of fabric. He keeps kissing her, mouth getting rougher against her as he travels lower, down her neck and across the exposed part of her chest. His mouth is on hers again, kissing her hard enough that she can't breathe. His teeth graze over her bottom lip as he pulls back and pushes her skirt up. He pulls her underwear down, and she steps out of them and her shoes. Her head snaps back when he slips two fingers inside her.
"Liz," he mutters as he feels her arousal against his skin, and she responds by gasping his name with the sort of reverence she used to feel.
"Jack," she mutters again as he brushes his finger over her swollen clit. "Oh God," she moans.
His mouth is gentler against hers before he shifts, kissing her neck as he starts to draw slow circles around her clit. She holds on to his shirt and starts to rock against him. Starts to buck her hips as he makes her come. He wraps his arm around her, holding her tight against him as his other keeps moving, prolonging her climax until she feels like her knees are going to buckle. There's tenderness to the way he nuzzles her cheek, tenderness also in his next kiss.
She's missed this, missed believing he still loves her.
Jack lifts her up and she wraps her legs around his waist. She's pressed against the wall for a while, squirming against him in an attempt to ask him to fuck her without having to say the words.
But he doesn't unzip his pants. He says, "Hold on to me," which she does.
He carries her to the couch, then turns around and sits down. She's straddling his legs and just looking at him, this man who's been a million things to her over the course of six years. Wants to cry, to walk out, to ask him to take her back, but she swallows hard and kisses him. She unzips his pants. He leans back and she wraps her fingers around his erection, stroking him as she rubs his chest.
After he pulls her into a kiss, she starts to lower herself onto his cock. He groans against her lips, says her name, softly kisses her chin. She rocks her hips, moaning as the sensation of her clit rubbing against him couples with the feel of him inside her. He moves with her, starts to thrust up into her. His fingers are pressing into her hips, holding her steady as he goes faster. She pushes his hands away. Pushes them away again when he goes to touch her back. Yet again when he tries to cup her face.
"Don't," she says. "Don't touch me."
He stops suddenly, his face blank, and then he's flipping her onto her back and kneeling between her legs. She gasps, but he doesn't ask her if she's okay. There are also no queries when him pushing back inside her causes her to whimper instead of moan. She wraps her legs around him and says his name, but he doesn't reply. Doesn't even look at her, head turned to the side and eyes focused on the floor as he starts to move. His thrusts are hard and fast, become more so when he grabs onto the armrest. It's a pale, mean imitation of what they were, but she still finds herself crying out in pleasure instead of pain. Even his attempt to punish her can make her come, and as she clenches around him, she wonders if that's what he wants. She wonders what he's thinking, but she has no idea.
She probably never knew. He probably only let her think she understood him.
He mutters fuck twice before he quickly thrusts a few more times, then he's groaning as he comes inside her.
Jack's still not quite looking at Liz when his gaze returns to her face, half-closed eyes roaming over her as if there's no one thing he can bear to focus on. He pulls away from her and zips up his pants, and she wordlessly watches him. Watches as he inches farther away from her, watches as he sits at the edge of the couch and rubs his face as if he's recently woken up.
Liz slowly sits up and puts her head in her hands. She starts to cry without really knowing it, suddenly feeling tears against her skin and hearing the sounds of her weeping. She wants to know if he's looking at her now, but she can't bring herself to glance over at him.
"I think we should do this through our lawyers from now on," she says after she calms down enough to be able to speak coherently. "I think we shouldn't see each other anymore."
"You're right," he says. "We shouldn't."
She wipes her eyes and turns her head. Their eyes meet and she stares at him, at his sad, dazed expression, and tries to think of something else to say. She's said too much already, but she can't walk out like this.
Finally: "I don't hate you."
"Yes, you do," he replies evenly, as if he's been resigned to this fact for a while. "Perhaps it's for the best; it'll make it easier for you to move on."
He's simultaneously somewhat detached, melancholy, and affectionate, like he's giving well wishes to a friend he hasn't seen for years.
"Yeah," she mumbles, standing up. "Sure." She's silent as she retrieves her underwear and puts them back on. Then her shoes. She rests her forehead against the wall for a moment before she turns to him. Asks, "Do you hate me?"
He pauses for a moment, like he's pondering whether or not he should be honest. "No."
She wonders later, when she's alone in her new apartment, if he decided to tell the truth. She supposes it doesn't really matter.
END
Prompt: un_love_you #01. You were right about me.
Fandom: 30 Rock
Pairing: Jack/Liz
Notes: This is super angsty. Just so you know.
Word Count: 1,816
Rating: NC-17
Table: Over here.
Summary: In the beginning they were civil, sitting across from each other as if they were prospective business partners instead of future ex-spouses.
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Tina. Title is from "Glass," an Ingrid Michaelson song.
*
They decided to try one last time to do this without lawyers. In the beginning they were civil, sitting across from each other as if they were prospective business partners instead of future ex-spouses. He sat at his desk, talking about compensation, while she said things like that seems fair. But the facade fell away quickly, dissolved into them screaming at each other, going through variations of every fight they've ever had.
She supposes she should be happy this is going on after Jonathan's left for the evening. The possibility of them falling back into their recent habits is probably why he scheduled her for eight p.m.
Maybe he was looking for one last chance to fight.
"You're the one who walked out," he says. "You're the reason we are where we are."
He gets up abruptly and walks over to get himself a drink. She follows him, grimacing as she watches him pour the liquor and promptly down it.
"My fault? This is all my fault? I decided to divorce you out of the blue for no reason, right?"
"For no good reason. But you never knew how to behave like a rational human being."
"Is that so?"
He pours himself another drink. "In all the years I've known you, Lemon, you've managed to find every possible way to fail at every possible thing. That's not what happens with people who behave rationally."
Her laugh is sharp and brief. "I was right about you. When I first met you, I said, 'This is a bad guy, this is a guy you don't want to deal with. This is a guy you should stay away from.' I should've listened to myself, but I let you convince me you were something other than what you obviously are--"
"Exactly what did I do to you that was so awful? I never slept with anyone else, not even during the weeks you refused to touch me, barely even looked at me. I was willing to have children with you because it's what you wanted, and then you decided I wasn't the sort of person anyone should have children with. But I wasn't supposed to be affected by any of it--"
"And you weren't affected. You gave up--"
"I gave up? I have never given up on anything in my life--"
"Are you really going to go through your self-congratulatory bullshit now? You don't care about anyone but yourself, and you probably never have. You didn't care about anything I've said or done or felt for the past six months, maybe longer, you didn't even care when I lost--"
He puts down his glass. "Don't say it." It sounds like a threat, and she's almost scared. "Do you honestly think I didn't care?"
She doesn't know, didn't know, mostly thinks he was okay with not being trapped into fatherhood, but she remembers how he was after the miscarriage; so awkward and unsure and aloof. He's always known how to get her through minor problems, but he didn't seem equipped for actual tragedy. He didn't seem to want to deal with actual tragedy. He didn't seem to want to deal with her.
"Fine," he says, losing the menace but not the disdain. He takes a few steps closer and leans in as if he's about to tell her a secret. "You were right about me. I'm an awful person, I don't care about anyone but myself, I would've been a terrible father, I couldn't care less that our baby died. But I'm the only man who's ever loved you, probably the only man who ever will love you, so perhaps you're as awful as I am."
The breath she lets out catches in her throat for a moment. "Go to hell."
He leans closer, pressing her against the wall. She's acutely aware of how much bigger he is than her; he always knew how to make her feel insignificant. Before she can react or try to get away, he's got his mouth over hers. She pulls her head back and pushes him. The weight of her hands on his chest isn't forceful enough to move him, but he steps back.
"I hate you," she says. "I hate you."
He winces briefly, and this expression goes away so fast that she's not sure she has actually wounded him. "I know."
Then he's kissing her again. This time, she doesn't stop him. This time, she kisses him back. She pushes his jacket off, touching the back of his neck as she slips her tongue into his mouth, and he hurriedly removes his tie. His hands roam over her body, lingering mostly at her breasts. She moans despite herself, despite the fact that she doesn't want to be near him now.
Because part of her does miss him. She did love him. She still loves how his hands feel on her body.
His thumbs move over her nipples, their hardness evident through the two layers of fabric. He keeps kissing her, mouth getting rougher against her as he travels lower, down her neck and across the exposed part of her chest. His mouth is on hers again, kissing her hard enough that she can't breathe. His teeth graze over her bottom lip as he pulls back and pushes her skirt up. He pulls her underwear down, and she steps out of them and her shoes. Her head snaps back when he slips two fingers inside her.
"Liz," he mutters as he feels her arousal against his skin, and she responds by gasping his name with the sort of reverence she used to feel.
"Jack," she mutters again as he brushes his finger over her swollen clit. "Oh God," she moans.
His mouth is gentler against hers before he shifts, kissing her neck as he starts to draw slow circles around her clit. She holds on to his shirt and starts to rock against him. Starts to buck her hips as he makes her come. He wraps his arm around her, holding her tight against him as his other keeps moving, prolonging her climax until she feels like her knees are going to buckle. There's tenderness to the way he nuzzles her cheek, tenderness also in his next kiss.
She's missed this, missed believing he still loves her.
Jack lifts her up and she wraps her legs around his waist. She's pressed against the wall for a while, squirming against him in an attempt to ask him to fuck her without having to say the words.
But he doesn't unzip his pants. He says, "Hold on to me," which she does.
He carries her to the couch, then turns around and sits down. She's straddling his legs and just looking at him, this man who's been a million things to her over the course of six years. Wants to cry, to walk out, to ask him to take her back, but she swallows hard and kisses him. She unzips his pants. He leans back and she wraps her fingers around his erection, stroking him as she rubs his chest.
After he pulls her into a kiss, she starts to lower herself onto his cock. He groans against her lips, says her name, softly kisses her chin. She rocks her hips, moaning as the sensation of her clit rubbing against him couples with the feel of him inside her. He moves with her, starts to thrust up into her. His fingers are pressing into her hips, holding her steady as he goes faster. She pushes his hands away. Pushes them away again when he goes to touch her back. Yet again when he tries to cup her face.
"Don't," she says. "Don't touch me."
He stops suddenly, his face blank, and then he's flipping her onto her back and kneeling between her legs. She gasps, but he doesn't ask her if she's okay. There are also no queries when him pushing back inside her causes her to whimper instead of moan. She wraps her legs around him and says his name, but he doesn't reply. Doesn't even look at her, head turned to the side and eyes focused on the floor as he starts to move. His thrusts are hard and fast, become more so when he grabs onto the armrest. It's a pale, mean imitation of what they were, but she still finds herself crying out in pleasure instead of pain. Even his attempt to punish her can make her come, and as she clenches around him, she wonders if that's what he wants. She wonders what he's thinking, but she has no idea.
She probably never knew. He probably only let her think she understood him.
He mutters fuck twice before he quickly thrusts a few more times, then he's groaning as he comes inside her.
Jack's still not quite looking at Liz when his gaze returns to her face, half-closed eyes roaming over her as if there's no one thing he can bear to focus on. He pulls away from her and zips up his pants, and she wordlessly watches him. Watches as he inches farther away from her, watches as he sits at the edge of the couch and rubs his face as if he's recently woken up.
Liz slowly sits up and puts her head in her hands. She starts to cry without really knowing it, suddenly feeling tears against her skin and hearing the sounds of her weeping. She wants to know if he's looking at her now, but she can't bring herself to glance over at him.
"I think we should do this through our lawyers from now on," she says after she calms down enough to be able to speak coherently. "I think we shouldn't see each other anymore."
"You're right," he says. "We shouldn't."
She wipes her eyes and turns her head. Their eyes meet and she stares at him, at his sad, dazed expression, and tries to think of something else to say. She's said too much already, but she can't walk out like this.
Finally: "I don't hate you."
"Yes, you do," he replies evenly, as if he's been resigned to this fact for a while. "Perhaps it's for the best; it'll make it easier for you to move on."
He's simultaneously somewhat detached, melancholy, and affectionate, like he's giving well wishes to a friend he hasn't seen for years.
"Yeah," she mumbles, standing up. "Sure." She's silent as she retrieves her underwear and puts them back on. Then her shoes. She rests her forehead against the wall for a moment before she turns to him. Asks, "Do you hate me?"
He pauses for a moment, like he's pondering whether or not he should be honest. "No."
She wonders later, when she's alone in her new apartment, if he decided to tell the truth. She supposes it doesn't really matter.
END