It Takes More to Keep Yourself Warm (Jack/Liz, Jack/Other)
Title: It Takes More to Keep Yourself Warm
Prompt: un_love_you #11. Thought I needed this.
Fandom: 30 Rock
Pairings: Jack/Liz, Jack/Other
Word Count: 4,413
Rating: NC-17
Table: Over here.
Notes: This is a longer take on the scenario from this ficlet. If the idea of Jack cheating on Liz bothers you, skip this one.
Summary: "It was supposed to be different with him."
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. Title is inspired by, but not a direct quote from, the song 'Keep Yourself Warm' by Frightened Rabbit. Don't sue.
*
It was supposed to be different with him. Not only because Jack is better in bed -- he assumes -- than the other men Liz has dated, but because she loves him. He's known her for four years, and he's never heard her say, "I love him" or even "I think I might be falling in love with him." But, for the six months they've been together, he's heard, "I love you," fall from her lips countless times. She loves him, he loves her, but she's bored by having sex with him (though she claims otherwise). She's uncomfortable with all of his attempts to help her enjoy it. She's happiest when he goes to sleep without trying to slip his hand underneath her shirt.
"We should talk about this," he said.
"There's nothing to talk about," she replied. "I'm the normal one here." She paused. "For once."
"Liz--"
"You know I'm not super... sexual. You've always known that. You're acting like a sex addict or something. I'm the normal one," she insisted. "Just drop it."
She didn't want to deal with it. Doesn't want to deal with it. So, the first time he fucks another woman, he blames her.
*
It happens on the other side of the country. He's at a conference where he's a speaker -- "What is your speech on, synergy?" Liz asked; she thought he was joking when he said yes -- and, the night of his speech, he goes out with a few people he calls friends (none of whom he actually cares for). He stays at the bar after they leave. Strikes up a conversation with a woman. She doesn't look like Liz, exactly, but there are similarities. The color of her hair, the shape of her mouth, the size of her hands, and he finds himself imagining her fingers wrapping around his cock and stroking him until he's hard; digging into his arm as he brushes a finger over her clit.
He buys her a drink. Takes her back to his hotel. Forgets her name before she has her clothes off, before he no longer has to imagine her fingers sliding up and down his cock. It's been a long time since he's had sex that could actually be called anonymous -- he knows he never told her his last name, and maybe she doesn't remember his first, either -- and, for a while, he assumes exploring the body of a stranger is what's making each moment a little sharper, more satisfying. But, no, of course not. He's enjoying this for the same reason he picked her up in the first place: he's missed someone wanting him. No, Liz wants him. Wants his companionship, wants his time, wants his affection. But she doesn't desire him. He's missed lust. He's missed having a woman writhe underneath him, missed feeling, seeing, hearing a woman come because of him.
She doesn't stay the night. It's when he's alone that he feels guilty.
*
His driver picks him up at the airport. Liz is in the backseat, and even though he expected to see her, he feels taken aback. Feels terrible, and wonders if she can tell he's done something wrong. But she takes his reserved demeanor as proof California sucks.
"I missed you," she says. "You barely called me."
"I was very busy," he replies.
"I'm not trying to nag you. I'm realizing I sounded like a nag back there, and I don't want to be the sort of girlfriend that nags you about everything. But, I'm just saying, if you're going to leave for four days, it would be nice to be called more than once. Ugh, now I sound like a disappointed mom." She pauses. "Say something. Hopefully that I'm not being like your mom."
Something about her tensing up makes him relax. She doesn't know what happened; she'll never know what happened, so it doesn't mean anything. He smiles. "You aren't nearly at the level of vitriol one would need to achieve to be in any way reminiscent of my mother."
She smiles back. "I guess I meant my mom."
"You're not acting like your mother."
"Okay. Thanks."
He puts his hand over hers. "I missed you, too. I should have called. I wanted to call." He kisses her cheek. "I will call you more than once next time I'm out of the state."
"Thank you."
*
That night, while they're kissing (she at least enjoys kissing him), he slides his hand under her pants, hoping time apart has heightened her desire for him. Hoping she'll part her legs and let him touch her, let him spread her open and circle her clit with his thumb, let him fuck her with his fingers until he makes her climax.
But: "I'm not in the mood. Okay?"
"Of course it's okay."
*
He's not looking for another opportunity to have sex with someone else, but it presents itself in the call of a woman he used to fuck (calling her an ex-girlfriend would be stretching it). "I'm seeing someone," he says.
Cheryl's 'oh, I didn't know' and his 'is that a problem for you?' overlap.
She's silent for a moment. "It's none of my business."
"Then I'd love to spend some time with you."
It feels like the perfect solution, in a way. All Cheryl liked about being with him was the sex. Liz likes everything but. He's striking a balance.
*
They decide to meet in a hotel. He arrives before she does, and he gets comfortable, taking off his jacket and shoes, loosening his tie. The longer he sits on the bed, the less sure he is that he's going to go through with it. This isn't going to be like California, when he didn't have to look at Liz's face for days after he cheated on her. After he leaves this hotel, he'll go back to work and an hour or two later, Liz will be in his office. She won't ask any questions about his business lunch because him talking about marketing over drinks isn't something she hungers for details on, and she won't have reason to think anything but that happened during his time away from his office. She has no reason to mistrust him. Her faith in him will make it worse.
He doesn't know what he's going to do even when Cheryl enters the room. "You know, I've never been a mistress before," she says, tone light as she leans against the wall.
He watches her kick off her shoes. "I'm not married."
"Okay, I've never been whatever you'd call a woman who sleeps with a guy who has a girlfriend." She doesn't step closer to him, unusually hesitant for her. "But I guess I don't know if every guy I've screwed was single."
He gets up and crosses to her. Decides to kiss her to figure out if this is going to be more than a notion. Her lips part against his, and he finds himself guiding her to the bed between kisses.
He's made up his mind, and he hates himself.
*
She comes twice as he fucks her from behind, once while his fingers are between her legs. She rests her arms and head against the wall as she pushes her hips back against his, taking his cock a little deeper inside her as he draws out her orgasm with the continued movement of his hand. He stays motionless, buried inside her, while she comes down from her climax. When he pulls out, she groans. Rubs her back against his front as he caresses her breast with slick fingers.
He sucks sweat off her neck and tells her to turn around before he moves back to give her room to do so. He kisses her, wraps his arms around her and leans forward. She lies back while he stays on his knees. She wraps her legs around his waist as he easily sinks back into her extremely wet center. His hands firmly hold her hips while he fucks her with hard, deep thrusts that make her gasp. It's she who slips a hand between her legs this time, and the sight of her touching herself while he's moving back and forth inside her makes him groan as roughly as the feel of her coming around him. He knows he won't be able to last much longer, so he pulls out again. Leaning over her, he lets Cheryl guide his cock to her entrance. He lowers his mouth to her breasts, licking her flushed skin and closing his lips around her nipples, while he starts to thrust again. Her hands travel over him, mostly stroking up and down his arms until he buries his face in her neck. One of her hands rubs his back while the other slides through his hair, and then he comes with a loud groan that's muffled by her flesh.
He rolls onto his back, stays there for a few moments while he tries to slow his breathing, before he momentarily leaves the bed to dispose of the condom.
She gets on her side, holding her head up with her hand. "You know, I can't remember why I stopped having sex with you."
"You fell in love," he says. "You wanted to have an actual relationship."
His tone is less mocking than it would have been a few years ago. But even at the time, when she called him to say, 'I can't see you anymore,' he didn't think it so ridiculous. He started sleeping with her in the months after he and C.C. split up, and even though their love affair had ended, he saw the appeal of having something meaningful with another person. Of sharing his life with someone else.
He thinks of Liz. He thinks about lying like this, naked and sated, with the woman he's in love with, and how that would mean so much more.
"Well," Cheryl says, "that didn't go as planned." Her smile is strained. She pats his chest. "You should shower first. I take forever."
*
He sees Liz a couple of hours after he gets back. She complains about Jenna, he tells her that one of their sponsors doesn't like a line in a sketch, so perhaps she could rewrite it?
"Fine," she says. "But I'm not doing it for them; I'm doing it for you."
"I'd hope so."
She smiles. She grabs his tie as she stands on her tiptoes and kisses him goodbye.
*
That night, he makes no attempt to seduce her. He thinks this is why she moves closer to him on the bed. She curls up next to him, resting her head on his chest.
"I love you," she says.
He kisses the top of her head. "I love you, too."
*
He sees Cheryl again; the concept of her as a way to save his relationship seems more and more reasonable. Tonight -- it's evening this time because Liz is having a 'dinner-and-movie night' with Jenna (and she's hoping for some club-hopping, too, but I am pretty sure that is not happening), and because it means they won't have to rush -- he begins slowly, exploring her body with his mouth and hands. He saves the insides of her thighs for last, finds them slick with arousal when he finally makes it there. His cock throbs in response to the sight of her swollen outer lips; to the further wetness he discovers when he fully spreads her open.
(When he tried to do this to Liz, she was so wet for him, but he barely got to taste her before she stopped him.
"I can't do this," she said. "It feels weird."
"There's no woman who wouldn't love to be pleasured this way."
She sat up suddenly and hugged her knees to her chest. "Please stop making me feel like a freak because I don't feel comfortable with this."
He started to move his hand up her leg. "You just have to relax."
She pushed him away. "Stop telling me what I have to do. I don't like this. I don't want to do this."
"I'm not trying to force you to do anything."
"Then stop talking about this, Jack."
"Fine. Consider the topic closed.")
He licks her lightly, teasingly, then drags his tongue from her entrance to her clit. He slides his hands under her ass as she arches toward him, caresses the soft flesh as she squirms against the attentions of his mouth. After he makes her come for the first time, she asks him to use his fingers, too. He rests a hand on her hip as he gives in to her request, slipping two fingers inside her as he keeps licking her. He closes his lips around her clit as he curves his fingers, bringing her to a second climax.
After he cleans himself up with the bed sheet and lies down next to her, she slips her hand between her legs, coating her fingers with her arousal before she starts to stroke his erection.
"Sit at the edge of the bed," she says, and after he does so, she kneels in front of him. Her hand grips the base of his cock while she drags her tongue up the underside of it. The first time her lips are around him, she barely takes any of him in. He watches her, watches her mouth descend farther onto his cock with each movement of her head. Seeing is almost as good as feeling; it's been so long since he's had this.
(He'd never ask Liz to consider doing this for him. He knows the suggestion would only repulse her.)
*
He doesn't put his phone back on until after he's in the backseat of his car, being driven home. There are missed calls, but none from Liz. He doesn't hear from her until around eleven-thirty, after the movie gets out.
"It was terrible," she says.
"I suppose not everything can be Mamma Mia!"
"Are you mocking my taste? Because I could throw that right back at you, buddy."
"Perhaps I've come to see the merits of the film."
"Really?"
"No."
He makes her laugh. He smiles to himself.
*
After the fifth time he fucks Cheryl, he lets himself admit he's having an affair instead of a series of sexual encounters. It doesn't make him feel any worse, but it starts to seem -- even more -- like something he should put an end to.
He doesn't.
*
Saturday is the one night Liz always acquiesces to his sexual advances, and it's become the only night he tries. He considers not making an attempt this evening, but he worries not taking what she allows him would seem suspicious. They speed through foreplay at her request; he gets on top of her because it's the only thing she's comfortable with. He holds himself up with his hands and starts to thrust, lifting up his hips a little so he can rub against her clit. She closes her eyes after a couple of minutes, and he wants to beg her to look at him. Wants to beg her to touch him instead of keeping her hands at her sides. But he doesn't. Just continues moving inside her, hoping this will be the time he elicits from her more than tiny moans.
It isn't.
She pretends to come -- the signal that she wants him to finish soon -- and the performance is so unconvincing, he wants to tell her to stop it. But, again, honesty is something he eschews. He starts thrusting faster so he can come, and she can stop behaving as if she's anything but bored. He goes into the bathroom to dispose of the condom, and when he returns, she's already covered herself up.
She quickly averts her eyes from his naked body. "Throw me my pajamas, okay?"
"Okay."
*
He and Liz go out to dinner every week. Tonight she's dressed up, wearing a black, low-cut dress, and he finds himself staring at her breasts. On some level, he wishes her low desire for him had lessened his desire for her; there's something pathetic about watching her with lust while her gaze never meets his level, especially when he's doing so in public. He feels so transparent, even though he doubts anyone notices the dynamic they're sharing. He doubts even she comprehends it.
They go back to his place. Watch a movie. She starts to kiss him as the credits begin, and he almost wants to pull away from her. He feels this way from time to time, ponders rejecting her when she's seeking affection so she can have an idea what it feels like for him when she treats him like he's untouchable. But he never does. Never can because he doesn't want to be openly cruel to her when she's not attempting to be cruel to him. Because he needs to have evidence she has some desire for him, wants his mouth on hers and his hands on her body. Needs to feel her body move against his, feel her hands on his neck and back.
It goes no further than that before they go to bed. She changes into a pair of sweatpants and one of his t-shirts, which is too big for her. He smiles at the sight of her.
"I love you," he says, and she smiles back as he echoes his words.
*
The next morning, there's a message from Cheryl on his voicemail. He calls her back.
They meet that afternoon in her office. She suggests the couch, but he insists on the wall. He fucks her the way he fantasized about fucking Liz -- the way he thought he eventually would after they started seeing each other -- entering her in one quick thrust after his pants are around his ankles and her skirt is bunched up around her waist. And Cheryl is as wet as he imagined Liz would be, holds on to him as tightly as Liz was supposed to, gasps his name with the same fervor Liz was going to. But she's not Liz, which is the same problem he had with the women he had affairs with during the time his fantasies of Liz began. She's not Liz, but she wants him. She's not Liz, but not even Liz is who he wanted her to be. She's not Liz, but he stops thinking about that as he keeps fucking her. Keeps moving his hips hard and fast until she's pressing her mouth against his flesh to keep from screaming.
Afterwards, he checks his phone. This time, there is a missed call from Liz. He doesn't call her back.
*
Sometimes, he catches Liz looking at him with such affection in her eyes that he feels like everything will be okay. She looks at him this way more and more, but he even remembers seeing that look, the I really like you smile, when they were only friends. It's not too surprising; he knows he gave Liz clues to his feelings for her more than a couple of times before he actually said them aloud. But now he wonders if this look is all about friendship. If part of the reason why she can't allow him to make love to her is because she has no passion for him. He's wanted to believe it merely lies dormant, unreachable because she won't let him scratch the surface, but maybe she's behaving practically by being with him; thinks it a good idea to spend her life with someone she loves, if not wants.
He's often hit by a need to ask what she sees when she looks at him. If she thinks about someone else when they kiss, if she imagines another man thrusting into her when they're having sex.
He doesn't, of course. He doesn't even try to discuss things that should be easy to talk about.
*
Sometimes, the lack of talking after he and Cheryl have sex bothers him. "How has your day been so far?" is all he can come up with.
She laughs. "I guess you mean the part of it I didn't spend here? It was fine." Her hand disappears under the blanket. "But I don't feel like going back to work right away, if you have the extra time."
He answers her by covering her mouth with his own.
*
He's on his back, with her straddling him. She's turned away from him, so he can stare at her ass while she moves up and down on his cock. "Fuck," he mutters.
"I remember you liked this," she says, voice shaky. "And this," she adds, moving a hand between his legs.
She elicits another fuck from him as she plays with his balls while she begins to go faster. She's looking to make him come hard, and he knows she'll succeed. She knows she'll succeed, and he finds himself wondering if she remembers much about him that isn't related to sex. He starts to thrust up against her, inelegantly meeting each of her movements until his fingers press down hard against her hips. She pushes all the way down, taking every inch of him in and clenching her muscles around his cock as he starts to come.
He looks at her through hooded eyes, watching as she slowly lifts her hips while he holds the base of his softening cock to keep the condom from slipping off. It occurs to him that he can't quite picture her face at this moment, seconds after he's been inside her. That he can't remember much about her except how she likes to be fucked. That he can always picture Liz's face. That he knows her so completely and loves her more than he really understands. That he can't live a segmented life forever.
She collapses next to him, covered in sweat.
I can't do this anymore, he wants to say. He wants intimacy, which he doesn't have with her. Or with Liz, who merely spreads her legs and waits for him to finish, treating sex as an obligation she suffers through. He needs someone who loves him and wants him.
But he wants Liz. He wants Liz, and he wants to be back in the time when that impulse didn't seem like an obstacle.
*
The next day, over the phone, he tells Cheryl they shouldn't continue to see each other. "I want to make it work with my girlfriend," he says, though he doesn't think he can. He wishes he knew Cheryl better so he could give her an actual explanation. He wishes there were someone he could discuss everything with, or he wishes he were still young enough to be okay with having no one to turn to.
"I hope you can," she says. She sounds sincere.
*
"We have to talk," Jack says.
Liz turns off the TV. Says, "Okay, what is it?" casually, and he realizes she has no idea he's going to tell her something serious.
Truth is, he has no idea what he's going to tell her.
He could simply say, "This isn't working." Because it isn't. They have things she won't let them talk about, subjects he won't push, and they sleep most nights in the same bed, but their relationship still feels like one of two good friends.
"What is it?" she repeats, sitting up straighter as he remains silent.
"I love you," he says. "You need to know that I love you."
"I know that, Jack. I didn't need to turn off the TV for that."
"That's not..." He exhales. "I've been having an affair. I had an affair."
Her laugh, awkward and short, surprises him. "You wouldn't do that," she says. Her mildly amused incredulity quickly melts into alarm. "You wouldn't do that." She doesn't say anything for a bit, and he's not sure what to do. What to say. Eventually, she opens her mouth again. "With who?"
"You don't know her. Does it even matter?"
She shakes her head slowly, seeming dazed. "No, I guess not." Before she looks away from him, he notices the tears in her eyes.
"It's over," he offers. "I stopped seeing her."
"Well, that definitely doesn't matter." She exhales roughly. "What, is this because you don't think you're getting enough sex?"
He doesn't dare try to touch her. "It's not your fault."
"I didn't say it was my fault. I asked why you did it."
He doubts she wants to know, but he tells her. "Because she wanted me."
"Well, of course. If some woman wants you, then you can't disappoint her--"
"Because whenever we have sex, you don't want to look at me, you don't want to touch me. It's as if you're disgusted by me."
She lets out another breath. "You are disgusting."
The words momentarily throw him for a loop, though they don't exactly shock him. He wonders if it's an explanation or a newfound judgment.
"You're disgusting," she mutters. "This is over."
Her eyes don't meet his before she leaves.
*
It was supposed to be different with her. Liz was supposed to be the one who stayed. The one he'd marry, have children with. Because she was his best friend; the person who knew him as completely as he could ever let anyone know him and she still loved him. No, she loved him because of who he is. There was nothing he could do that would drive her away, and this still could be true if he'd ended their romance months ago, when it was clear there was always going to be something missing. They could have parted as friends, but he let himself take things too far. Let himself think he could solve their problems through betrayal. Let himself make them impossible to repair.
"We should talk about this," he says.
"There's nothing to talk about," she replies. "You're my boss and that's it, and I wish you didn't even have to be that, actually." Her voice is shaky. "I wish I didn't have to see you--"
"Liz--"
"Leave me alone, Jack. Just leave me alone."
She doesn't want to deal with him. So, when he's lost the woman he thought he'd spend the rest of his life with and has no one he can talk to, no one who cares, Jack blames himself.
END
Prompt: un_love_you #11. Thought I needed this.
Fandom: 30 Rock
Pairings: Jack/Liz, Jack/Other
Word Count: 4,413
Rating: NC-17
Table: Over here.
Notes: This is a longer take on the scenario from this ficlet. If the idea of Jack cheating on Liz bothers you, skip this one.
Summary: "It was supposed to be different with him."
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. Title is inspired by, but not a direct quote from, the song 'Keep Yourself Warm' by Frightened Rabbit. Don't sue.
*
It was supposed to be different with him. Not only because Jack is better in bed -- he assumes -- than the other men Liz has dated, but because she loves him. He's known her for four years, and he's never heard her say, "I love him" or even "I think I might be falling in love with him." But, for the six months they've been together, he's heard, "I love you," fall from her lips countless times. She loves him, he loves her, but she's bored by having sex with him (though she claims otherwise). She's uncomfortable with all of his attempts to help her enjoy it. She's happiest when he goes to sleep without trying to slip his hand underneath her shirt.
"We should talk about this," he said.
"There's nothing to talk about," she replied. "I'm the normal one here." She paused. "For once."
"Liz--"
"You know I'm not super... sexual. You've always known that. You're acting like a sex addict or something. I'm the normal one," she insisted. "Just drop it."
She didn't want to deal with it. Doesn't want to deal with it. So, the first time he fucks another woman, he blames her.
*
It happens on the other side of the country. He's at a conference where he's a speaker -- "What is your speech on, synergy?" Liz asked; she thought he was joking when he said yes -- and, the night of his speech, he goes out with a few people he calls friends (none of whom he actually cares for). He stays at the bar after they leave. Strikes up a conversation with a woman. She doesn't look like Liz, exactly, but there are similarities. The color of her hair, the shape of her mouth, the size of her hands, and he finds himself imagining her fingers wrapping around his cock and stroking him until he's hard; digging into his arm as he brushes a finger over her clit.
He buys her a drink. Takes her back to his hotel. Forgets her name before she has her clothes off, before he no longer has to imagine her fingers sliding up and down his cock. It's been a long time since he's had sex that could actually be called anonymous -- he knows he never told her his last name, and maybe she doesn't remember his first, either -- and, for a while, he assumes exploring the body of a stranger is what's making each moment a little sharper, more satisfying. But, no, of course not. He's enjoying this for the same reason he picked her up in the first place: he's missed someone wanting him. No, Liz wants him. Wants his companionship, wants his time, wants his affection. But she doesn't desire him. He's missed lust. He's missed having a woman writhe underneath him, missed feeling, seeing, hearing a woman come because of him.
She doesn't stay the night. It's when he's alone that he feels guilty.
*
His driver picks him up at the airport. Liz is in the backseat, and even though he expected to see her, he feels taken aback. Feels terrible, and wonders if she can tell he's done something wrong. But she takes his reserved demeanor as proof California sucks.
"I missed you," she says. "You barely called me."
"I was very busy," he replies.
"I'm not trying to nag you. I'm realizing I sounded like a nag back there, and I don't want to be the sort of girlfriend that nags you about everything. But, I'm just saying, if you're going to leave for four days, it would be nice to be called more than once. Ugh, now I sound like a disappointed mom." She pauses. "Say something. Hopefully that I'm not being like your mom."
Something about her tensing up makes him relax. She doesn't know what happened; she'll never know what happened, so it doesn't mean anything. He smiles. "You aren't nearly at the level of vitriol one would need to achieve to be in any way reminiscent of my mother."
She smiles back. "I guess I meant my mom."
"You're not acting like your mother."
"Okay. Thanks."
He puts his hand over hers. "I missed you, too. I should have called. I wanted to call." He kisses her cheek. "I will call you more than once next time I'm out of the state."
"Thank you."
*
That night, while they're kissing (she at least enjoys kissing him), he slides his hand under her pants, hoping time apart has heightened her desire for him. Hoping she'll part her legs and let him touch her, let him spread her open and circle her clit with his thumb, let him fuck her with his fingers until he makes her climax.
But: "I'm not in the mood. Okay?"
"Of course it's okay."
*
He's not looking for another opportunity to have sex with someone else, but it presents itself in the call of a woman he used to fuck (calling her an ex-girlfriend would be stretching it). "I'm seeing someone," he says.
Cheryl's 'oh, I didn't know' and his 'is that a problem for you?' overlap.
She's silent for a moment. "It's none of my business."
"Then I'd love to spend some time with you."
It feels like the perfect solution, in a way. All Cheryl liked about being with him was the sex. Liz likes everything but. He's striking a balance.
*
They decide to meet in a hotel. He arrives before she does, and he gets comfortable, taking off his jacket and shoes, loosening his tie. The longer he sits on the bed, the less sure he is that he's going to go through with it. This isn't going to be like California, when he didn't have to look at Liz's face for days after he cheated on her. After he leaves this hotel, he'll go back to work and an hour or two later, Liz will be in his office. She won't ask any questions about his business lunch because him talking about marketing over drinks isn't something she hungers for details on, and she won't have reason to think anything but that happened during his time away from his office. She has no reason to mistrust him. Her faith in him will make it worse.
He doesn't know what he's going to do even when Cheryl enters the room. "You know, I've never been a mistress before," she says, tone light as she leans against the wall.
He watches her kick off her shoes. "I'm not married."
"Okay, I've never been whatever you'd call a woman who sleeps with a guy who has a girlfriend." She doesn't step closer to him, unusually hesitant for her. "But I guess I don't know if every guy I've screwed was single."
He gets up and crosses to her. Decides to kiss her to figure out if this is going to be more than a notion. Her lips part against his, and he finds himself guiding her to the bed between kisses.
He's made up his mind, and he hates himself.
*
She comes twice as he fucks her from behind, once while his fingers are between her legs. She rests her arms and head against the wall as she pushes her hips back against his, taking his cock a little deeper inside her as he draws out her orgasm with the continued movement of his hand. He stays motionless, buried inside her, while she comes down from her climax. When he pulls out, she groans. Rubs her back against his front as he caresses her breast with slick fingers.
He sucks sweat off her neck and tells her to turn around before he moves back to give her room to do so. He kisses her, wraps his arms around her and leans forward. She lies back while he stays on his knees. She wraps her legs around his waist as he easily sinks back into her extremely wet center. His hands firmly hold her hips while he fucks her with hard, deep thrusts that make her gasp. It's she who slips a hand between her legs this time, and the sight of her touching herself while he's moving back and forth inside her makes him groan as roughly as the feel of her coming around him. He knows he won't be able to last much longer, so he pulls out again. Leaning over her, he lets Cheryl guide his cock to her entrance. He lowers his mouth to her breasts, licking her flushed skin and closing his lips around her nipples, while he starts to thrust again. Her hands travel over him, mostly stroking up and down his arms until he buries his face in her neck. One of her hands rubs his back while the other slides through his hair, and then he comes with a loud groan that's muffled by her flesh.
He rolls onto his back, stays there for a few moments while he tries to slow his breathing, before he momentarily leaves the bed to dispose of the condom.
She gets on her side, holding her head up with her hand. "You know, I can't remember why I stopped having sex with you."
"You fell in love," he says. "You wanted to have an actual relationship."
His tone is less mocking than it would have been a few years ago. But even at the time, when she called him to say, 'I can't see you anymore,' he didn't think it so ridiculous. He started sleeping with her in the months after he and C.C. split up, and even though their love affair had ended, he saw the appeal of having something meaningful with another person. Of sharing his life with someone else.
He thinks of Liz. He thinks about lying like this, naked and sated, with the woman he's in love with, and how that would mean so much more.
"Well," Cheryl says, "that didn't go as planned." Her smile is strained. She pats his chest. "You should shower first. I take forever."
*
He sees Liz a couple of hours after he gets back. She complains about Jenna, he tells her that one of their sponsors doesn't like a line in a sketch, so perhaps she could rewrite it?
"Fine," she says. "But I'm not doing it for them; I'm doing it for you."
"I'd hope so."
She smiles. She grabs his tie as she stands on her tiptoes and kisses him goodbye.
*
That night, he makes no attempt to seduce her. He thinks this is why she moves closer to him on the bed. She curls up next to him, resting her head on his chest.
"I love you," she says.
He kisses the top of her head. "I love you, too."
*
He sees Cheryl again; the concept of her as a way to save his relationship seems more and more reasonable. Tonight -- it's evening this time because Liz is having a 'dinner-and-movie night' with Jenna (and she's hoping for some club-hopping, too, but I am pretty sure that is not happening), and because it means they won't have to rush -- he begins slowly, exploring her body with his mouth and hands. He saves the insides of her thighs for last, finds them slick with arousal when he finally makes it there. His cock throbs in response to the sight of her swollen outer lips; to the further wetness he discovers when he fully spreads her open.
(When he tried to do this to Liz, she was so wet for him, but he barely got to taste her before she stopped him.
"I can't do this," she said. "It feels weird."
"There's no woman who wouldn't love to be pleasured this way."
She sat up suddenly and hugged her knees to her chest. "Please stop making me feel like a freak because I don't feel comfortable with this."
He started to move his hand up her leg. "You just have to relax."
She pushed him away. "Stop telling me what I have to do. I don't like this. I don't want to do this."
"I'm not trying to force you to do anything."
"Then stop talking about this, Jack."
"Fine. Consider the topic closed.")
He licks her lightly, teasingly, then drags his tongue from her entrance to her clit. He slides his hands under her ass as she arches toward him, caresses the soft flesh as she squirms against the attentions of his mouth. After he makes her come for the first time, she asks him to use his fingers, too. He rests a hand on her hip as he gives in to her request, slipping two fingers inside her as he keeps licking her. He closes his lips around her clit as he curves his fingers, bringing her to a second climax.
After he cleans himself up with the bed sheet and lies down next to her, she slips her hand between her legs, coating her fingers with her arousal before she starts to stroke his erection.
"Sit at the edge of the bed," she says, and after he does so, she kneels in front of him. Her hand grips the base of his cock while she drags her tongue up the underside of it. The first time her lips are around him, she barely takes any of him in. He watches her, watches her mouth descend farther onto his cock with each movement of her head. Seeing is almost as good as feeling; it's been so long since he's had this.
(He'd never ask Liz to consider doing this for him. He knows the suggestion would only repulse her.)
*
He doesn't put his phone back on until after he's in the backseat of his car, being driven home. There are missed calls, but none from Liz. He doesn't hear from her until around eleven-thirty, after the movie gets out.
"It was terrible," she says.
"I suppose not everything can be Mamma Mia!"
"Are you mocking my taste? Because I could throw that right back at you, buddy."
"Perhaps I've come to see the merits of the film."
"Really?"
"No."
He makes her laugh. He smiles to himself.
*
After the fifth time he fucks Cheryl, he lets himself admit he's having an affair instead of a series of sexual encounters. It doesn't make him feel any worse, but it starts to seem -- even more -- like something he should put an end to.
He doesn't.
*
Saturday is the one night Liz always acquiesces to his sexual advances, and it's become the only night he tries. He considers not making an attempt this evening, but he worries not taking what she allows him would seem suspicious. They speed through foreplay at her request; he gets on top of her because it's the only thing she's comfortable with. He holds himself up with his hands and starts to thrust, lifting up his hips a little so he can rub against her clit. She closes her eyes after a couple of minutes, and he wants to beg her to look at him. Wants to beg her to touch him instead of keeping her hands at her sides. But he doesn't. Just continues moving inside her, hoping this will be the time he elicits from her more than tiny moans.
It isn't.
She pretends to come -- the signal that she wants him to finish soon -- and the performance is so unconvincing, he wants to tell her to stop it. But, again, honesty is something he eschews. He starts thrusting faster so he can come, and she can stop behaving as if she's anything but bored. He goes into the bathroom to dispose of the condom, and when he returns, she's already covered herself up.
She quickly averts her eyes from his naked body. "Throw me my pajamas, okay?"
"Okay."
*
He and Liz go out to dinner every week. Tonight she's dressed up, wearing a black, low-cut dress, and he finds himself staring at her breasts. On some level, he wishes her low desire for him had lessened his desire for her; there's something pathetic about watching her with lust while her gaze never meets his level, especially when he's doing so in public. He feels so transparent, even though he doubts anyone notices the dynamic they're sharing. He doubts even she comprehends it.
They go back to his place. Watch a movie. She starts to kiss him as the credits begin, and he almost wants to pull away from her. He feels this way from time to time, ponders rejecting her when she's seeking affection so she can have an idea what it feels like for him when she treats him like he's untouchable. But he never does. Never can because he doesn't want to be openly cruel to her when she's not attempting to be cruel to him. Because he needs to have evidence she has some desire for him, wants his mouth on hers and his hands on her body. Needs to feel her body move against his, feel her hands on his neck and back.
It goes no further than that before they go to bed. She changes into a pair of sweatpants and one of his t-shirts, which is too big for her. He smiles at the sight of her.
"I love you," he says, and she smiles back as he echoes his words.
*
The next morning, there's a message from Cheryl on his voicemail. He calls her back.
They meet that afternoon in her office. She suggests the couch, but he insists on the wall. He fucks her the way he fantasized about fucking Liz -- the way he thought he eventually would after they started seeing each other -- entering her in one quick thrust after his pants are around his ankles and her skirt is bunched up around her waist. And Cheryl is as wet as he imagined Liz would be, holds on to him as tightly as Liz was supposed to, gasps his name with the same fervor Liz was going to. But she's not Liz, which is the same problem he had with the women he had affairs with during the time his fantasies of Liz began. She's not Liz, but she wants him. She's not Liz, but not even Liz is who he wanted her to be. She's not Liz, but he stops thinking about that as he keeps fucking her. Keeps moving his hips hard and fast until she's pressing her mouth against his flesh to keep from screaming.
Afterwards, he checks his phone. This time, there is a missed call from Liz. He doesn't call her back.
*
Sometimes, he catches Liz looking at him with such affection in her eyes that he feels like everything will be okay. She looks at him this way more and more, but he even remembers seeing that look, the I really like you smile, when they were only friends. It's not too surprising; he knows he gave Liz clues to his feelings for her more than a couple of times before he actually said them aloud. But now he wonders if this look is all about friendship. If part of the reason why she can't allow him to make love to her is because she has no passion for him. He's wanted to believe it merely lies dormant, unreachable because she won't let him scratch the surface, but maybe she's behaving practically by being with him; thinks it a good idea to spend her life with someone she loves, if not wants.
He's often hit by a need to ask what she sees when she looks at him. If she thinks about someone else when they kiss, if she imagines another man thrusting into her when they're having sex.
He doesn't, of course. He doesn't even try to discuss things that should be easy to talk about.
*
Sometimes, the lack of talking after he and Cheryl have sex bothers him. "How has your day been so far?" is all he can come up with.
She laughs. "I guess you mean the part of it I didn't spend here? It was fine." Her hand disappears under the blanket. "But I don't feel like going back to work right away, if you have the extra time."
He answers her by covering her mouth with his own.
*
He's on his back, with her straddling him. She's turned away from him, so he can stare at her ass while she moves up and down on his cock. "Fuck," he mutters.
"I remember you liked this," she says, voice shaky. "And this," she adds, moving a hand between his legs.
She elicits another fuck from him as she plays with his balls while she begins to go faster. She's looking to make him come hard, and he knows she'll succeed. She knows she'll succeed, and he finds himself wondering if she remembers much about him that isn't related to sex. He starts to thrust up against her, inelegantly meeting each of her movements until his fingers press down hard against her hips. She pushes all the way down, taking every inch of him in and clenching her muscles around his cock as he starts to come.
He looks at her through hooded eyes, watching as she slowly lifts her hips while he holds the base of his softening cock to keep the condom from slipping off. It occurs to him that he can't quite picture her face at this moment, seconds after he's been inside her. That he can't remember much about her except how she likes to be fucked. That he can always picture Liz's face. That he knows her so completely and loves her more than he really understands. That he can't live a segmented life forever.
She collapses next to him, covered in sweat.
I can't do this anymore, he wants to say. He wants intimacy, which he doesn't have with her. Or with Liz, who merely spreads her legs and waits for him to finish, treating sex as an obligation she suffers through. He needs someone who loves him and wants him.
But he wants Liz. He wants Liz, and he wants to be back in the time when that impulse didn't seem like an obstacle.
*
The next day, over the phone, he tells Cheryl they shouldn't continue to see each other. "I want to make it work with my girlfriend," he says, though he doesn't think he can. He wishes he knew Cheryl better so he could give her an actual explanation. He wishes there were someone he could discuss everything with, or he wishes he were still young enough to be okay with having no one to turn to.
"I hope you can," she says. She sounds sincere.
*
"We have to talk," Jack says.
Liz turns off the TV. Says, "Okay, what is it?" casually, and he realizes she has no idea he's going to tell her something serious.
Truth is, he has no idea what he's going to tell her.
He could simply say, "This isn't working." Because it isn't. They have things she won't let them talk about, subjects he won't push, and they sleep most nights in the same bed, but their relationship still feels like one of two good friends.
"What is it?" she repeats, sitting up straighter as he remains silent.
"I love you," he says. "You need to know that I love you."
"I know that, Jack. I didn't need to turn off the TV for that."
"That's not..." He exhales. "I've been having an affair. I had an affair."
Her laugh, awkward and short, surprises him. "You wouldn't do that," she says. Her mildly amused incredulity quickly melts into alarm. "You wouldn't do that." She doesn't say anything for a bit, and he's not sure what to do. What to say. Eventually, she opens her mouth again. "With who?"
"You don't know her. Does it even matter?"
She shakes her head slowly, seeming dazed. "No, I guess not." Before she looks away from him, he notices the tears in her eyes.
"It's over," he offers. "I stopped seeing her."
"Well, that definitely doesn't matter." She exhales roughly. "What, is this because you don't think you're getting enough sex?"
He doesn't dare try to touch her. "It's not your fault."
"I didn't say it was my fault. I asked why you did it."
He doubts she wants to know, but he tells her. "Because she wanted me."
"Well, of course. If some woman wants you, then you can't disappoint her--"
"Because whenever we have sex, you don't want to look at me, you don't want to touch me. It's as if you're disgusted by me."
She lets out another breath. "You are disgusting."
The words momentarily throw him for a loop, though they don't exactly shock him. He wonders if it's an explanation or a newfound judgment.
"You're disgusting," she mutters. "This is over."
Her eyes don't meet his before she leaves.
*
It was supposed to be different with her. Liz was supposed to be the one who stayed. The one he'd marry, have children with. Because she was his best friend; the person who knew him as completely as he could ever let anyone know him and she still loved him. No, she loved him because of who he is. There was nothing he could do that would drive her away, and this still could be true if he'd ended their romance months ago, when it was clear there was always going to be something missing. They could have parted as friends, but he let himself take things too far. Let himself think he could solve their problems through betrayal. Let himself make them impossible to repair.
"We should talk about this," he says.
"There's nothing to talk about," she replies. "You're my boss and that's it, and I wish you didn't even have to be that, actually." Her voice is shaky. "I wish I didn't have to see you--"
"Liz--"
"Leave me alone, Jack. Just leave me alone."
She doesn't want to deal with him. So, when he's lost the woman he thought he'd spend the rest of his life with and has no one he can talk to, no one who cares, Jack blames himself.
END