Fic: Cheaper To Run Than Batteries, NC-17, Jess/Becker
Title: Cheaper To Run Than Batteries
Author: fringedweller
Pairing: Jess/Becker
Rating: NC-17
Length:8208
Disclaimer: Not mine, not making any money from it.
Warnings: None
Summary: Look, this is just porn, okay? But it has to have some plot, so Becker drives Jess home in the snow and tells her why he's so over-protective of her. But really, just porn.
Notes: This was my end of a deal with seren_ccd, who betaed this. Smut for smut. So, where's yours?
Snow. In January. Who would have expected that?
Not the local council, clearly, Jess thought huffily as she inched her way through snow-covered roads on her way to work. It’s winter time, in winter it is cold, and water, when it freezes, turns to ice and snow. It’s not exactly rocket science. But instead of the snowploughs and gritters and road salt that were needed to keep London’s roads open, they seemed to be employing one man with a shovel.
Jess moved forward a foot and a half, turned up the heating in her Mini and phoned in to let the duty officer know that she’d be late.
Instead of one of the admin assistants though, she got Becker on the line.
“What’s the head of security doing answering the phones?” Jess asked, amused.
“It’s either this or muck out the mammoth,” Becker replied. “And there are some things that I am just not prepared to do.”
She could hear the faint glimmer of humour in his deadpan tone, something that a lot of people missed.
“Seriously, Becker. Why aren’t you doing security stuff?” she teased. “Run out of things to shoot?”
She could hear him clear his throat, caught off-guard by the ‘security stuff’. Although she’d been out of it at the time, she’d run the tapes of the beetle incursion. She saw how he’d risked his life to bring her that epi-pen, and she also saw how quickly he’d become embarrassed and run away after she had started to recover. The flash drive hanging from her keys in the ignition wobbled as she turned a corner in the road, and she could feel a blush starting. Alright, she had burned the security footage to an .avi file, and had taken it home with her to watch again and again on her laptop.
She could at least watch herself be carried around in Becker’s arms, even if she couldn’t really remember it, and if you were even looking for a reason why she was a pathetic singleton, that was it, right there.
“I’ve sent as many people home as I could, given the weather,” Becker said. “And lots of the staff can’t make it in because of the roads. I presume that’s why you’re calling?”
“I’m about ten minutes away,” Jess replied. “But at the rate I’m going, it’ll take me an hour.”
“Jess, go home,” Becker said sternly. “We can cope without you.”
“Too late,” Jess said cheerfully. “I’m almost there now, and there’s no point turning around.”
Becker said nothing, but his silence sounded annoyed.
“I’ll see you when I get in,” Jess said firmly, and pressed the button on her dashboard to end the call.
It did take her about an hour, the roads were truly awful. She watched as pedestrians waded through the snowy streets, wrapped up in big coats and wearing wellington boots. She glanced down at her lime green wedged sandals and shuddered at anything as ugly as wellingtons. The long ramp down to the ARC was a little hairy to drive down; she skidded right at the end, but managed to turn the skid into a graceful turn as she rounded the corner. The soldier on guard at the security checkpoint looked a little worried, but Jess just waved as she glided by him.
Hah. Nobody wearing a pair of wellingtons could do that.
The ARC was empty; Jess didn’t pass a single person on her way up to the control room. Lester was in his office, on the telephone to somebody. Jess waved and he nodded, and that was all the contact that she really needed with her boss. She relieved the half-asleep tech at the ADD and sent him home, warning him about the roads, then set about changing the height of the seat, the angle of the monitors and the hundred and one other little changes that her night shift replacement routinely made that irritated her beyond belief.
“You made it in safely, then.”
His clipped tones startled her; usually her Beck-dar was strong, but today he had managed to sneak up on her.
“I did,” she replied, as calmly as she could. God, that man was gorgeous. It was truly unfair that someone as disgustingly handsome as that could walk around her workplace all day, just being tantalising and unavailable.
“I’m amazed,” he said, his face stuck on ‘stern security chief’. It was his default face. “Given your ridiculous car.”
Jess sighed. “Not this again. Just because it’s not some petrol-guzzling behemoth like some people prefer to drive...” she started, but he interrupted her.
“It’s a Mini, Jess,” he said, with the same inflection some people used for bin-juice or blocked toilet.
“Small, economical, better for the environment,” Jess began, ticking off her points on her fingers.
“No four wheel drive, no traction control, Jess, it’s a convertible! In winter! Which, in Britain, is pretty much eleven months of the year!”
“I’m not planning on off-roading in it!” Jess snapped. “I don’t need to carry more than two people, at most, and for that one month where we get more than six minutes of sunshine a day, I like to feel the wind in my hair!”
“If you’d had an accident this morning you’d have felt a damn sight more than that,” Becker snarled. “You should have stayed at home.”
“I have a job to do, Captain,” Jess said through gritted teeth. “It’s incredibly difficult to monitor anomalies when you’re tucked up in bed wearing nothing but Chanel No.5 and a smile!”
There, that shut him up. Apparently the thought of her naked in bed was enough for him to go a funny red colour and for his mouth to flap open and shut like a stunned halibut.
“You…” he managed. “You don’t…”
Not for one minute was Jess going to tell him that she cycled through Bert and Ernie pyjamas, a Marks and Spencer’s nightie with little purple flowers on and an old, oversized university sports t-shirt and knickers.
Years of special forces training kicked in, and he was able to pull himself together.
“You still shouldn’t have driven yourself,” he said tightly.
“You’re only annoyed because it’s light blue,” she returned, and she could tell she had scored a hit.
“It may as well be pink,” he sniffed. “Honestly Jess, who went with you when you bought it?”
“I went by myself,” Jess sighed. “Like a grown up, which is what I am. I also shop by myself, cook by myself and go to the cinema by myself too.”
“They must have seen you coming,” Becker said, shaking his head. “Next time, tell me, and I’ll come with you.”
“And you’re an expert on cars, are you?” Jess said, snorting. “You’d only be happy if I ended up buying a Chelsea tractor.”
“Good in the snow,” Becker said triumphantly, and Jess groaned and swivelled her seat around.
“Go and shoot something, would you?” she said, waving him away airily, as if the thought of him volunteering to go car shopping with her wasn’t making her want to do a little dance of joy in the control room. “Something that isn’t my car!” she added to his retreating back.
She hated to see him go, but loved to watch him leave.
The day dragged; with few staff on the ground, there weren’t many people to talk to in the control room. Everybody was doing somebody else’s job, which was why Jess ended up down in the empty canteen around lunchtime making as many sandwiches as she could from what she could scrounge from the cupboards. After reserving a few for herself, and the only two KitKats left in the vending machine, she loaded up a trolley with the plates of sandwiches and did a whistle-stop tour of the building.
When she got to the training rooms her trolley was half-empty. Becker was putting his squads through some pretty sadistic-looking physical training drills, and wherever she looked there were rippling abs, sturdy thighs and huge biceps.
It was brilliant.
She leaned against the wall and watched for a while, until Becker glanced over in her direction. A small smile played on his lips as he said, “Change in career, Miss Parker?”
“Just being a team player, Captain Becker,” she said, waving a hand towards the sandwiches. “There’s nobody from the canteen staff in, so I thought I’d lend a hand.”
Becker’s men were positively salivating when they saw the sandwiches, but none of them moved until Becker barked “Ten minutes, starting now!”
Jess was suddenly surrounded by very fit men in tight workout clothing, all very grateful for her generosity. A cool hand on her arm tugged her away from the melee.
“Thanks, Jess,” Becker said, somehow having appropriated a ham and cheese sandwich from the pile despite being nowhere near the trolley. “It was very kind of you to think about me. Us,” he said quickly. “Think about us.”
Jess checked to see if anyone was watching; behind her, all the men were stripping the trolley of anything edible. From the pocket of her skirt she produced one of the KitKats and handed it to Becker solemnly.
“Ssh,” she whispered. “Don’t tell anyone, or they’ll all want one.”
“I promise,” he said gravely, and slipped the bar into a pocket on his black trousers. He moved closer to her and whispered directly into her ear. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
It was with only the greatest of self-control that Jess stopped her knees from buckling. The heat of his breath on her neck, the rumble of his voice in his ear, all combined with the cool touch of his hand on her arm made her feel slightly dizzy.
By now the soldiers had demolished the piles of sandwiches, so Jess decided to leave the training room before something embarrassing happened, like her knickers spontaneously combusting.
There were no anomalies that day; they must have seen the state of the weather and decided not to bother forming. With nothing to monitor Jess kept one of her screens on the BBC News channel, and their weather warnings were getting worse and worse throughout the afternoon.
She hated to admit it, but Becker was right about her car. If the roads hadn’t got any better, she’d have real problems getting home. Footage from all around the country showed the same scenes of chaos on the roads, and the message was clear; go home and stay home.
From the way that Lester was pacing in his office, it was clear that Mrs Lester was demanding his presence. It was probably that which made him come down to her station and order her home.
“There’s no point you being here,” he said in the brisk tone of voice he always used when he was being kind and wanted to hide the fact. “One of Becker’s men can, er, man the ADD.”
“I’m not sure…” Jess began, but again, Becker appeared out of nowhere to interrupt her.
“I’ll send Simons up to cover her, Lester. He’s had his training. He and two squads are going to spend the night here, in case there’s an anomaly.”
“Good luck digging their way through M25,” Lester replied, pulling on his jacket. “It’s a nightmare out there. I trust you can see Miss Parker home safely, Captain?”
“I don’t need…” Jess began.
“Of course,” Becker replied. “Have a safe trip.”
Nodding to both of them, Lester went off to brave the wilds of Kensington, and Mrs Lester.
“I don’t need babysitting,” Jess said mutinously.
“Nobody said you did,” Becker said calmly.
“You did!” Jess said crossly, beginning her log-out procedure. “You and Lester! ‘I trust you can see Miss Parker safely home, Captain,’” she mimicked. “Like I’m some bloody child who’s not allowed to cross the street on her own!”
“There are dangerous driving conditions out there,” Becker said calmly, although Jess could see his lip begin to twitch. She knew that lip-twitch. That was the lip-twitch that meant that he was annoyed and trying to hide it.
Annoyed! Like he had any right to be annoyed! She’d brought him sandwiches, and a KitKat, and all he’d done all day was yell at her about her car, treat her like a helpless child and make her want to take all her clothes off in the middle of the training rooms.
She was, at best, slightly confused.
“I’ll be fine,” she snapped. “Good night, Becker.”
She stomped off towards the lift, passing Simons on the way. She reclaimed her bag from her locker, buttoned up her coat and took the lift down to the garage level. She stalked over to her car, looked properly at the ramp up to what passed for daylight and cursed.
It was covered in snow. Proper slip-slidey thick snow. She could see where other people had tried to get their cars up it; they were now parked haphazardly at the bottom of it. She looked down at her gorgeous lime wedges and groaned. If they had been ugly wellingtons, she may have made it up the ramp and to a tube station. She wasn’t far from a tube stop - who was, in central London? - and the news had said that her line was still running, albeit at a less than peak capacity.
“Need a hand?”
It was Becker, in his thick, practical boots, jangling the keys to his big, environmentally disastrous, four wheeled drive monster. That would make it up the ramp.
“Unless you’ve got a pair of those boots in a size five, then yes, I do,” Jess sighed.
Becker smiled. “Sorry,” he said. “Most of my men are clodhoppers, like me. Size twelve.”
Big hands, big feet, big….accessories bill, Jess told herself.
“I’m buying myself wellingtons,” Jess told him as they fell into step across the garage to his truck. “Ugly ones.”
“Don’t do that,” Becker told her, pressing his remote control, opening the doors. “Your feet should never be in anything ugly.”
She caught him glance down at her wedges and smile to himself.
The drive back to her flat took considerably longer than the drive to work. It was probably the longest that Jess had ever spent alone with Becker, the stake-out of Ethan’s bomb-laden flat notwithstanding. She had fallen asleep for most of that.
They started out by bickering about the radio station.
“Radio One? Turn it off, Jess, it’s full of nothing but boybands and that electric beep-beep squeak music.”
“What would you prefer then, Granddad? Radio Four?”
He looked away from her, ostensibly to check his wing mirror.
“Oh my God, you do listen to Radio Four!” Jess said, howling with laughter. “My Dad listens to Radio Four!”
“It has good news coverage,” Becker said tightly.
“Yeah, and Woman’s Hour,” snorted Jess. “Got any good jam recipes recently?”
They settled on Radio Two, and spent half an hour listening to Steve Wright’s factoids and arguing about whether they were right or not, heard an interview with Cameron Diaz promoting her next movie and hummed along to Aretha Franklin. But then the DJs switched, and Jess pronounced herself allergic to Simon Mayo.
“Don’t worry though,” she joked, patting her handbag. “I’ve got an epi-pen with me.”
“So do I,” Becker said absently. “Glove compartment.”
Not knowing whether he was kidding or not, Jess opened the lid of the compartment and found, amongst the incredibly neat and useful contents (map, mini first aid kit, spare mobile phone) two epi-pens and a large bar of Dairy Milk.
“You never know,” Becker said to fill the sudden silence in the car. “I didn’t want to feel that helpless again. Watching you…it was awful, Jess.”
“I’m sorry,” Jess said quietly.
“It’s not your fault,” Becker said quickly, whipping his head sideways.
“No, I mean, I’ve started to eat your chocolate,” Jess said, waving the opened bar at him.
Anything to make him smile again.
Becker did smile.
“That’s yours too,” he said mildly.
“Good,” Jess said firmly. “I’m starving.”
He clicked through the radio stations until they found one they could agree on, and they shared the chocolate as they inched through the falling snow.
“There we go,” Becker said eventually. “Home.”
“Thanks,” Jess said, unclicking her seatbelt. “Coming up?”
“I..er..” Becker began.
“It’s taken us two hours and twenty minutes to drive here from the ARC,” Jess pointed out. “It’s still snowing, and the forecast was for a whole lot more tonight. These roads aren’t safe, Becker. Up there,” she pointed somewhere near the top of the block of flats they were parked outside, “I have a nice warm flat, all the makings of chilli, and a spare room. You’re welcome to all of them.”
He looked at her for a long moment, then nodded his head. “It makes sense. Thanks, Jess.”
“Not a problem,” she said. “Come on, hurry up.”
“Wait,” he said, getting out of the car and coming around to her door to open it. “You’re not wearing wellingtons,” he said cryptically, before reaching into the car and plucking her from it. Jess threw her arms around his neck and held on tightly, stifling a yelp.
“Can’t have you ruining those hopelessly impractical shoes,” he chuckled, kicking the door of his truck shut.
He waded through the snow on the road, and that on the pavement until they got to the security door to Jess’ building. She inputted the correct code and the door unlocked, opening into a clean, well-lit space. He put her down then, and she blushed as she adjusted her skirt, which had been rucked-up as he carried her to the doorway.
“This is a nice building,” he said, taking in the well-scrubbed floor and high ceilings.
“Lester found me the flat when I started,” Jess said, checking her personal post box. “It was incredibly cheap; I think he was pulling a few strings somewhere.”
“You’re his favourite,” Becker said warmly. “You’re everybody’s favourite. After this lunchtime, I think my men will follow your orders rather than mine.”
“That sounds like fun,” Jess laughed. “Twenty highly trained men at my beck and call.”
“You only need one,” Becker said quietly, and Jess blushed a little and concerned herself with emptying her post box. She hadn’t checked it for a few days, and there was a parcel.
“Amazon?” he asked.
“Better,” she said mysteriously. “Early birthday present.”
Leaving it at that, she tucked the parcel into her bag and walked to the lift. It was already on the ground floor, and they climbed the ten stories to her flat in companionable silence.
“My God,” Becker said as he took in the sheer size of Jess’ flat. “You really must be Lester’s favourite.”
“Go and look around,” Jess said, tossing her bag down on the floor and carefully removing her shoes. “I don’t mind.”
He toed off his boots and wandered towards the living room to look out at her magnificent view of the surrounding city. She pulled a bottle of wine from her last Tesco run out of a cupboard.
“Wine alright?” she called. “I have beer, if you’d prefer.”
“Wine’s fine,” he said, peering at a framed print on the wall. “This is Starry Night, isn’t it?”
“It’s my favourite,” Jess said, pouring the wine carefully into two glasses. “I go to see Sunflowers at the National Gallery when I’m in town, but I do like Starry Night more. The next time Lester lets me have more than twelve hours off in a row, I think I’m going to go to New York. It’s in the Museum of Modern Art there.”
“I like the post-Impressionists,” Becker said, coming towards the kitchen and accepting his wine. “Proper pictures.”
“I know what you mean,” Jess replied, hunting in her fridge for onions and peppers. “I like having something beautiful to look at. I just don’t understand pictures of geometric shapes on white backgrounds.”
“People find beauty in the strangest of places,” Becker mused. “Look at Abby and her dinosaurs. I see something huge, with massive teeth and bigger claws, trying to eat me, and she sees a scared animal that needs help. And of course, she’s marrying Connor.”
“Don’t be mean,” Jess giggled, starting to slice the vegetables.
“Can I help?” Becker asked.
“No, you drove me home, this is my job,” Jess said decisively. “Go and put a film on or go through my bookshelves or something.”
“I don’t watch chick flicks,” Becker warned as he wandered away towards her tv and bookshelves.
“And there’s me having you down as a closet Thelma and Louise fan,” Jess teased, putting the sliced vegetables in a pan, dousing them with garlic oil and turning up the heat.
She watched from the corner of her eye as Becker found the drawer under the tv with her DVDs in. He sat on the carpeted floor to explore them, his long limbs easy and relaxed, and she could have sworn that her entire reproductive system throbbed slightly. He sipped at his wine as he flicked through the selection and looked thoroughly at home. Jess busied herself with preparing the rest of the chilli and putting the rice on to steam, marvelling at how blissfully domestic the whole scene was.
“What have you found?” she asked, topping up her glass as she started to clear the kitchen counters.
“Wondrous things,” he replied, winking at her and brandishing a DVD. “Who knew Jess Parker was a Monty Python fan?”
“Who knew you were?” she countered, coming over with the bottle to refill his glass. “You’re not exactly laugh a minute at work, you know.”
“It’s not exactly a laugh a minute job,” he said, shrugging. “Although there are times that I feel like shouting “run away!” when I see a T Rex lumbering towards me.”
“Ah, so you’re human after all,” she teased. “How wonderfully refreshing.”
“Oh, I’m a man, Jess,” he said, looking at her intently. “Never forget that.”
His gaze was direct, and almost predatory and for a brief moment Jess was concerned about the flammability of her underwear. Then he smiled, and gestured towards the large leather couch.
“Shall we?” he said, and Jess could only nod as he bent down by the tv to fiddle with the DVD player.
Not for the first time, Jess stared at his gorgeous backside and sighed. Shiny hair, long, lean body, nice bum - there had to be something wrong with him. He joined her as the movie started, putting the remote controls down casually on the armrest nearest him.
Ah, there you go, Jess thought to herself, trying not to giggle. A remote control hog. He would probably always demand to push the shopping trolley around the supermarket too.
A woman could live with that, a naughty little voice in the back of her brain said.
Thankfully, the noise from the steamer announcing that rice was finished shut the voice in her brain up.
“I take it you like the chilli then,” Jess said as he came back from the kitchen with his third helping.
“Are you kidding? Best I’ve ever tasted,” Becker said just before forking up the next mouthful.
“You must be hard done by if you think my chilli’s that good,” Jess laughed. She’d only managed one bowl, but was secretly delighted that he’d gobbled the rest.
“Not many home-cooked meals in my flat,” he said. “I tend to grab something from the canteen before I leave, or pick up a takeaway on the way home. Thank God I run after dinosaurs for a living or I’d be the size of a house.”
“Leave room for dessert,” Jess said, mentally cataloguing the contents of her kitchen. “I can make Eton mess, if you want it.”
The look he gave her was priceless; it was as if she’d offered him the numbers for the Euromillions jackpot and the name of the Grand National winner all rolled into one.
“You finish up that, and I’ll get started,” she said, smiling as she saw him nestle back into the cushions of the sofa, feet up in the space she’d just vacated. He looked at home on her couch, and part of her was desperate to snap a picture of him to act as proof that this evening actually happened, that they had come home from work, eaten dinner and watched a movie together like billion other people did every day. Proof, so that when the snow stopped falling and the roads cleared and he left, she’d have something tangible to say that he was here at all. Other than the washing-up.
Sliding her phone carefully from her bag, she quickly did just that, catching him smiling at the antics of the knights of Camelot. She put her phone away, knowing that she’d probably end up using the picture as the background image on her smartphone because she was just that pathetic.
Sighing, she fished out the meringues and raspberries, and started to put together dessert.
“Is there more wine?” he called from the other room.
“We finished all the red,” she called back. “I think I’ve got a white somewhere.”
She came back with two bowls of dessert, and the wine, something that Abby had bought and then left behind when she and Connor had found their own place.
“I have no idea what this is going to taste like,” she warned him. “It’s got a screw-top, which doesn’t bode well.”
“Are you a wine snob, Jess?” he asked, amused.
“No,” she said, carefully sipping it. “I’ve just gone past the time in my life when I’ll drink £2.99 wine because it’s cheap and I want to get drunk.”
“Ah, university,” sighed Becker.
“I went when I was sixteen,” Jess said, finding the wine suitable, if a bit sweet. “Early admission, because I’d done my A-levels so early. I wasn’t allowed into a pub until my third year, so I had a bit of catching up to do.”
“I forget how young you are, sometimes,” he said thoughtfully, looking at her appraisingly.
“Keep forgetting it,” Jess said, a little too sharply if Becker’s quick eyebrow raise was any judge. “I’m old enough to do everything you can do, and I don’t appreciate being patronised by someone who’s only six years older than me.”
“I’m sorry!” Becker said quickly. “Seriously, Jess, I didn’t mean to offend you. You’re always so on the ball at work, that I forget how old you are.”
Slightly mollified, Jess sipped her glass of wine. Becker slid up the sofa, ending up so close to her that their thighs touched.
“Was that why you shouted at me earlier?” he asked, his voice softer than before. “About being babysat?”
“I hate being the odd one out,” Jess said, after a moment. “The special one, outside of the group? I’ve had that ever since I started school and I’m sick of it. Would you have been so worried about Abby driving home today, or Matt?”
She was looking down at the wine glass in her hands, twiddling the delicate stem between her fingers. This was not how tonight was supposed to go. Tonight was supposed to be wine and flirting and if the stars were aligned right, maybe some kissing and cuddling on the couch. Now she was having her deepest fears prodded by the one man she really did not wish to be prowling around her insecurities.
“I would definitely be worried about Abby and Matt driving home in this weather,” he said calmly. “Because Abby drives like a maniac at the best of times and Matt has never seen snow before. Emily phoned this morning to get me to convince him that it was safe to go outside in.”
Jess looked up, scrutinising him carefully.
“Really,” he said, showing his childhood roots by saluting like Scout. “Scout’s honour. It took her an hour and half to get him to make a snowman.”
Jess couldn’t help but laugh, and Becker immediately looked relieved.
“There,” he said, “that’s better. But I can’t help worrying about you a bit more than Abby or Matt, Jess, and it’s got nothing to do with how old you are.”
“Then why?” Jess asked, suddenly nervous. He was so much bigger than her, and the hand that reached out to take the glass of wine from hers was wider and stronger.
He placed a finger under her chin and tipped it up gently. He was smiling, and yet looked very earnest at the same time.
“Because I don’t want to kiss Abby,” he said quietly. “Or Matt,” he said with some feeling. “Just you, Jess.”
There were many things that an experienced seductress would do at this point, and stammering out “Oh God, really? Why?” probably wasn’t one of them.
Inwardly, Jess cringed.
Luckily, Becker seemed to find her verbal blunder amusing.
“Because you’re beautiful,” he told her, laying a gentle kiss below her right ear. “And you’re unbelievably intelligent,” he went on, repeating the action below her left ear, “And you’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met,” he said as his lips found her right temple.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Jess said hurriedly, grasping his black t-shirt in her hands. “Enough talk now.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, smiling as he reached around Jess to pull the hair slides out of her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders.
“I swear to God, if you don’t kiss me in the next five seconds…” she threatened uselessly, having nothing to back it up.
He laughed and kissed her properly, and it wasn’t anything like Jess had dreamed it would be like.
It was better. So much better.
There was no hesitation in his kiss, no gentle pressure to see if she’d change her mind. He kissed her with a certainty that made her moan and open her mouth to him, which he promptly invaded. One arm wrapped around her waist, bringing her closer to him, the hand of the other began to stroke through her loosened hair.
Jess surrendered absolutely to Captain Becker’s advancement; if she was a country, there’d be a change in government incredibly quickly.
She moved forward, pulling herself up and over him to sit straddled on his strong thighs without breaking the kiss. She could feel the hardness forming in his trousers and ground her hips lazily against it. Delighted with the stuttered moan she forced from him, she did it again.
He kept his hands in place, but she felt no such compunction. In fact, Jess felt almost frantic. What if this was only the wine? What if after tonight, he’d decide that he didn’t want to do this again? If this was going to be a one-night affair, then she was going to have to make the most of it.
She started with his chest, slipping her hands up inside his t-shirt, tugging it out of the way as she explored washboard abs and firm pectoral muscles. His flat little nipples puckered as she touched them, and he moaned again as she caught them between her fingers and squeezed gently.
The hair next, she thought, a little light-headedly. Clearly, as well as military history and advanced tactical manoeuvres, Sandhurst taught its men how to kiss. Unless that was part of the tactical manoeuvres, a little voice in Jess’ brain supplied helpfully, until she forced it into a box. He alternated between gentle, almost butterfly kisses across her face and neck and long, deep, hard kisses that sucked the breath and good sense from her.
She had been dying to get her hands on that hair for as long as she had known him, from when some little instinct deep inside her had popped up and said “Oh yes, that one, we’ll take him wrapped to go, please.” Now she let the short silky strands slip through her fingers as she raked her hands through it, determined that by the end of the evening he would look nothing like the contained, controlled individual he usually did. She carefully drew the edges of her fingernails along his scalp and the hardness between her thighs grew even firmer. She set up a rhythm - fingernails along scalp, grind of the hips, quick suck of his earlobe, back to the scalp again - that had him moaning and panting beneath her.
Jess felt like a sex goddess. If she had known how easy it was to get him moaning and panting, she would have run her hands through his hair ages ago, as her instincts had been urging her to.
His hands shifted to her skirt, one of her favourites - short, of course, because what was the point of having good legs if you didn’t show them - black and floaty and embroidered with hummingbirds and butterflies. His hands went straight up it, skating up her thighs until his fingers found the edge of her knickers.
He tugged until they had rounded the curve of her bottom, and pushed them down as far as they could go while she was still straddling him. Clearly unsatisfied with this arrangement, Jess felt his grip on her shifting until he lifted her up and laid her on her back on the couch. Her underwear quickly disappeared then, flung somewhere in the direction of the kitchen, as he put both his hands on her bottom and lifted it in the air.
Never in her wildest dreams had Jess expected this happening tonight, or at all, although she had fantasised about it enough times. She let her legs settle over his broad shoulders as his silky hair, now completely disordered, tickled her inner thighs.
Clearly at some point in his life, some woman had taken him aside and given him some very precise guidance on how to please a woman. Whoever it was, Jess thought as his tongue licked a broad stripe up the most intimate part of her body, she deserved a bloody medal. She didn’t know which she preferred most; when his tongue danced in and out of her, or when his lips formed over her clit and suckled there. She had gone beyond coherency; she was limited to gasps and sighs and wild clutching of his hair to emphasise that yes, that was a good spot and no, he shouldn’t even think about moving away from it.
When her climax hit, it was like a wave of pleasure breaking through her body, starting where his mouth was working and rolling out across every nerve as she twisted and writhed with the force of it.
When she slumped back against the sofa, panting heavily, he lifted his head to stare at her. And what a sight she must make, Jess knew; hair askew, cheeks flushed, legs wantonly astride his shoulders. His lips and chin gleamed with moisture and she burned even more with knowledge that she was responsible for doing that, that the slickness between her thighs was evident over his face.
What was also evident was the bulge in his trousers, straining the zip.
She scrambled to a sitting position and wiped his mouth with her hand. Giving into temptation she kissed him again, finding the strange tangy taste of herself in his mouth. She fumbled for the button of his trousers, unhooking it without looking at it as his large hands held her cheeks as he groaned into their kiss.
He grunted and shifted enough to allow her to unzip him and pull down his trousers and boxer shorts down over his thighs. His erection stood proudly to attention, long and deliciously thick. If Jess had the time she would have shuffled off his lap and down to her knees, taking in the sight of him up close. But he was looking strained and Jess was feeling empty and there was only one action she could take.
She rose, took him in her hand and guided the head towards her entrance, then with a long exhale slid smartly down over him until he was buried inside her. He made a noise she had never heard before - part moan, part guttural growl, all pleasure. She couldn’t help squealing; it had been a little while, and she was tighter than she had anticipated being, despite using her Rampant Rabbit with increasing frequency.
While she was adjusting herself to the feel of him inside her, his hands came to the front of her blouse and yanked, sending the buttons pinging across the room. His hot hands tugged the material off her shoulders and down her arms, leaving her in just her bra. The cups of that were tugged down, and he greedily took her breasts in his hands, squeezing with just the right amount of force.
The pleasure travelled down her body and kick-started her hips into moving. Another rhythm started, of slide up, squeeze, slide down, tug on nipple. On one slide up, he bent forward and brought her nipple into his mouth, causing her to scream, honest-to-God scream out something that was supposed to be his name. Then the rhythm became slide up, squeeze, slide down, tug, slide up, suckle, slide down, grope backside.
Jess couldn’t let him win; with each downward slide she gripped firmly with her internal muscles, making him splutter out her name in bursts of breath, red-faced and with eyes closed against the sight of her wantonly riding him.
It was a close run thing, in the end; his thumb found her clit just before she bounced quickly on him, breaking their rhythm in order to force him over the edge. She came, and the frenzied rippling of the muscles clutching him so tightly must have forced him over the edge as well.
She collapsed, sated, on his chest. He clutched her tight, breathing heavily into the juncture of her neck and shoulder. It was some time before Jess could make herself speak; by the time she had returned to herself and caught her breath she was enjoying the lazy massage of her back and bottom too much to want to make it stop.
“You are incredible,” he said softly, kissing her neck and shoulder firmly. “I have no idea how you became so incredible, and I don’t want to know, because I’d have to track him down and kill him. You’re wonderful. But you’re also leaking.”
“Damn,” Jess sighed, feeling the tell-tale trail escaping her body. “I’ll go and…”
Then, in a complicated movement, she was placed on her back on the sofa and he had withdrawn.
“I’ll go,” he said firmly, kicking off the hobble of his trousers and underwear to wander in the direction of the bathroom.
She watched him go, trying not to laugh at the fact that he still had his socks on, as well as his t-shirt. She was unsuccessful, and when he returned with towels and a warm flannel she was still giggling.
“And just what’s so funny?” he asked, deftly placing a towel beneath her and cleaning her with the flannel.
“It’s your socks and t-shirt combination,” Jess said honestly. “Not even you can make that sexy.”
He laughed and pulled off the shirt.
“Now you really have to lose the socks,” Jess said earnestly. “Seriously, it’s worse than with the t-shirt.”
A quick piece of contortion had him wriggling out of his socks, then brisk, efficient fingers stripped her of the remainder of her clothes too. Before she could do more than draw breath, she was picked up, turned around and half-draped over his body, and they were happily ensconced in the post-coital cuddling that Jess always adored.
“Mmm,” she said happily, snuggling in close to him. “I didn’t expect this to happen when I woke up this morning.”
“I’ve dreamed about it a few times, but I never thought I’d get the chance,” Becker replied, going back to the slow, steady massage of her back that he had started earlier.
“Oh come on,” Jess said drowsily. “I’ve been so obvious. I may as well have been walking around the ARC with a sign saying ‘Take me, I’m yours’.”
“I thought you were being…friendly,” Becker said lamely. “I’m not very good at reading signs from women.”
“At last, something you’re not good at,” Jess said, snorting a little, then yelping as he tickled her in a very vulnerable spot. “Hey! Stop it! Stop it!”
“You’re one to talk, Little Miss “I can run the ARC single handed,” Becker grumbled.
They fell into a companionable silence for a while until Becker suddenly sat up, dislodging Jess.
“Oh my God,” he said, horrified. “We didn’t…”
“Sssh, relax,” Jess said, tempting him back down to lay with her. “I’m fine. I’m on the pill, and I’m clean.”
“Me too,” Becker said, looking relieved. “I mean, I’m clean, not that I’m on the pill.”
“I’d be worried if you were,” Jess said dryly, snaking a free hand down to stroke him. “You seem all man to me.”
The stroking had the desired effect; Becker went on to prove how manly he was once more on the couch and again, hours later, in the shower. They collapsed into bed late, and fell asleep immediately.
Jess woke to the insistent buzzing of her mobile phone. It wasn’t in the charging dock next to her bed, but instead was vibrating against the granite surface of her kitchen island, where she’d left it the night before. Becker’s phone started up as soon as hers had finished, and she groaned. It must be work.
He muttered something unintelligible in his sleep and turned over, and she resisted the urge to pat down the spikes of hair that were standing straight out from his head. Maybe if she was quiet she could get a snap on her phone to add to her collection of illicit Becker images.
Feeling like a stalker, she shook her head, climbed carefully out of bed and pulled on her decidedly unsexy towelling dressing gown. Out in the main living area she could see that London was still blanketed in a thick fall of white snow, and that large, heavy flakes were even now drifting lazily down from the sky.
She picked up her phone and opened the text message sent by the ARC duty officer - no member of staff currently not in the ARC should try to come in to work. Apparently death by dinosaur was an acceptable risk, but traffic accidents were not. She did a little dance of joy right there in the kitchen, before she realised she was being watched.
“Good news?” Becker asked, strolling unabashedly naked into the kitchen. He was still dishevelled and was sporting a five o’clock shadow, but somehow he looked even more gorgeous than when he was clean-shaven and neatly combed.
“Ah, yes, um, it’s work. We don’t have to go in,” Jess said, brandishing her phone. “It’s a snow day!”
Becker’s eyes lit up. “Seriously? We get those?”
He retrieved his own phone, and called into the ARC to speak to his deputy. Jess turned her back and delved into the fridge to get breakfast. Even if he was going to leave and try and make it back to his place, maybe she could make the most wonderful night of her life last until after breakfast.
“Anderson has it all under control,” he said, suddenly behind her. Jess jumped with surprise and dropped the package of bacon, which he neatly caught.
He’d pulled his underwear on, which helped her look him in the eye now. For a start, it covered up the area her eyes had been drawn to.
“Will…will you stay for breakfast?” Jess asked carefully.
“I was hoping you’d ask me to stay for longer than that,” he said, smiling.
“Stay as long as you like,” Jess said truthfully. “I don’t want you to go.”
“Oh thank God,” he said, now sounding considerably less confident. “I was scared that you had decided you were bored with me.”
Jess couldn’t help it; she howled with laughter. In fact, she was laughing so much that Becker had to rescue the carton of eggs and the packet of sausages as well, before they went the way of the bacon.
“If you knew,” she said, wiping tears of mirth away from her eyes, “just how long I’ve wanted to get you here, you’d realise just how ridiculous that statement was.”
He kissed her then, a long, languorous kiss that promised many things, including a reasonably comfortable flat surface in the near future, but it was ruined by both their stomachs rumbling loudly.
“Breakfast first?” Jess said, laying a hand over her stomach as if that would stop it.
“I’ll make it,” he said, walking her backwards out of the kitchen. “You cooked last night.”
“You said you didn’t cook,” Jess said, perching on a stool at the side of the island.
“I can manage a fry-up,” he said, heading back into the kitchen.
“Wear an apron!” Jess pleaded. “Hot fat and naked skin do not mix well together.”
The sight of Becker in her pink cutesy cup-cake apron was too much; she had to get a picture of that too. He was right, he could indeed manage a fry up, including some of the best fried bread Jess had eaten in years. They decided that a shower was in order then, and that lead inevitably back to the bed, and another shower.
By mid-morning they were lying stretched out on the sofa, watching awful morning television and loving every minute of it. The chat show was running a piece about how the Royal Mail was coping with the snow, which seemed to prompt Becker into remembering something.
“What was in that parcel?” he asked, playing with a strand of Jess’ hair that had come loose from her ponytail. “The one you got yesterday?”
Jess blushed slightly.
“Nothing,” she lied.
His agile fingers found her ticklish spots and took advantage of them.
“Stop!” she shrieked. “Stop it, you bastard! Oh, alright, I’ll tell you, just stop!”
He stopped, and looked at her expectantly.
“Did they teach that to you at Sandhurst?” she asked, not nearly as annoyed as she pretended to be. Seeing him do something as light-hearted as engage in a tickle fight was so wholly unlike the Becker she knew that she was determined not to stop it from happening again. She liked this fun, playful side of him.
“Oh yes,” he said, climbing on top of her and pinning her to the couch. “It’s right up there with close-quarter unarmed combat, tickling. Come on Jess, what’s in the parcel?”
“I noticed that…something I use a lot was running down recently,” she hedged. “So I ordered a replacement.”
He studied her carefully for a moment. “You’re not lying,” he said decisively. “But that’s not the whole truth. Come on, Jessica. Own up, and I may just stop myself from tickling you again.”
One of his large hands inched up her ribs and stroked gently.
“It’s a new vibrator!” she gasped. “The motor on my old one is going.”
He stared down at her, slightly open mouthed, before scrambling off her quickly.
“No!” she said scrambling after him. “Don’t open it!”
They raced across the room, but he got there first and held the package high above his head, well out of her reach.
“Please,” he begged, “Please let me open it.”
After a few abortive attempts to retrieve the parcel, Jess sighed and agreed. She watched him rip the plain brown packaging off the parcel eagerly, and pull out the replacement Rabbit. He looked at the sealed plastic packaging carefully for a few minutes, raised a sardonic eyebrow at her and then threw the whole thing into the recycling bin Jess used for plastic.
“Becker!” she said indignantly, darting forward to retrieve it. “That’s mine!”
“You don’t need it,” he said authoritatively, stepping into her path and sweeping her off her feet.
“I bloody do!” she said leaning towards the recycle bin. “That’s why I bought it!”
“No, you don’t,” he said, moving towards the bedroom. “That’s what I’m for.”
“You’re comparing yourself to a human vibrator?” Jess asked, giggling at the thought.
“I can also change flat tyres, take out the rubbish and replace broken lightbulbs,” he said solemnly, tossing her onto the bed, stripping off his underwear and joining her.
“I can do all those things,” Jess pointed out as he wrestled her out of her dressing gown. “Alright, maybe not change a tyre, but that’s why I joined the RAC.”
“Okay then,” he said in exasperation. “I can go on midnight chocolate runs, I can buy you ridiculous shoes and I can be taken home to meet your parents.”
“Well,” Jess allowed as he started to suck determinedly at one nipple. “I suppose…oh God, yes, harder…I suppose I couldn’t do that with a vibrator.”
“So, you’ll keep me then?” he asked, sounding ridiculously wary for a man who had two of his fingers roughly in the area where her G-spot was supposed to be.
“I suppose you’ll do,” she gasped. “You’ll be cheaper to run than batteries, anyway.”
Not for the last time, they had to stop having sex to laugh. But not for the last time, they started right back up again.
Acclimate City
Author: fringedweller
Pairing: Jess/Becker
Rating: NC-17
Length:8208
Disclaimer: Not mine, not making any money from it.
Warnings: None
Summary: Look, this is just porn, okay? But it has to have some plot, so Becker drives Jess home in the snow and tells her why he's so over-protective of her. But really, just porn.
Notes: This was my end of a deal with seren_ccd, who betaed this. Smut for smut. So, where's yours?
Snow. In January. Who would have expected that?
Not the local council, clearly, Jess thought huffily as she inched her way through snow-covered roads on her way to work. It’s winter time, in winter it is cold, and water, when it freezes, turns to ice and snow. It’s not exactly rocket science. But instead of the snowploughs and gritters and road salt that were needed to keep London’s roads open, they seemed to be employing one man with a shovel.
Jess moved forward a foot and a half, turned up the heating in her Mini and phoned in to let the duty officer know that she’d be late.
Instead of one of the admin assistants though, she got Becker on the line.
“What’s the head of security doing answering the phones?” Jess asked, amused.
“It’s either this or muck out the mammoth,” Becker replied. “And there are some things that I am just not prepared to do.”
She could hear the faint glimmer of humour in his deadpan tone, something that a lot of people missed.
“Seriously, Becker. Why aren’t you doing security stuff?” she teased. “Run out of things to shoot?”
She could hear him clear his throat, caught off-guard by the ‘security stuff’. Although she’d been out of it at the time, she’d run the tapes of the beetle incursion. She saw how he’d risked his life to bring her that epi-pen, and she also saw how quickly he’d become embarrassed and run away after she had started to recover. The flash drive hanging from her keys in the ignition wobbled as she turned a corner in the road, and she could feel a blush starting. Alright, she had burned the security footage to an .avi file, and had taken it home with her to watch again and again on her laptop.
She could at least watch herself be carried around in Becker’s arms, even if she couldn’t really remember it, and if you were even looking for a reason why she was a pathetic singleton, that was it, right there.
“I’ve sent as many people home as I could, given the weather,” Becker said. “And lots of the staff can’t make it in because of the roads. I presume that’s why you’re calling?”
“I’m about ten minutes away,” Jess replied. “But at the rate I’m going, it’ll take me an hour.”
“Jess, go home,” Becker said sternly. “We can cope without you.”
“Too late,” Jess said cheerfully. “I’m almost there now, and there’s no point turning around.”
Becker said nothing, but his silence sounded annoyed.
“I’ll see you when I get in,” Jess said firmly, and pressed the button on her dashboard to end the call.
It did take her about an hour, the roads were truly awful. She watched as pedestrians waded through the snowy streets, wrapped up in big coats and wearing wellington boots. She glanced down at her lime green wedged sandals and shuddered at anything as ugly as wellingtons. The long ramp down to the ARC was a little hairy to drive down; she skidded right at the end, but managed to turn the skid into a graceful turn as she rounded the corner. The soldier on guard at the security checkpoint looked a little worried, but Jess just waved as she glided by him.
Hah. Nobody wearing a pair of wellingtons could do that.
The ARC was empty; Jess didn’t pass a single person on her way up to the control room. Lester was in his office, on the telephone to somebody. Jess waved and he nodded, and that was all the contact that she really needed with her boss. She relieved the half-asleep tech at the ADD and sent him home, warning him about the roads, then set about changing the height of the seat, the angle of the monitors and the hundred and one other little changes that her night shift replacement routinely made that irritated her beyond belief.
“You made it in safely, then.”
His clipped tones startled her; usually her Beck-dar was strong, but today he had managed to sneak up on her.
“I did,” she replied, as calmly as she could. God, that man was gorgeous. It was truly unfair that someone as disgustingly handsome as that could walk around her workplace all day, just being tantalising and unavailable.
“I’m amazed,” he said, his face stuck on ‘stern security chief’. It was his default face. “Given your ridiculous car.”
Jess sighed. “Not this again. Just because it’s not some petrol-guzzling behemoth like some people prefer to drive...” she started, but he interrupted her.
“It’s a Mini, Jess,” he said, with the same inflection some people used for bin-juice or blocked toilet.
“Small, economical, better for the environment,” Jess began, ticking off her points on her fingers.
“No four wheel drive, no traction control, Jess, it’s a convertible! In winter! Which, in Britain, is pretty much eleven months of the year!”
“I’m not planning on off-roading in it!” Jess snapped. “I don’t need to carry more than two people, at most, and for that one month where we get more than six minutes of sunshine a day, I like to feel the wind in my hair!”
“If you’d had an accident this morning you’d have felt a damn sight more than that,” Becker snarled. “You should have stayed at home.”
“I have a job to do, Captain,” Jess said through gritted teeth. “It’s incredibly difficult to monitor anomalies when you’re tucked up in bed wearing nothing but Chanel No.5 and a smile!”
There, that shut him up. Apparently the thought of her naked in bed was enough for him to go a funny red colour and for his mouth to flap open and shut like a stunned halibut.
“You…” he managed. “You don’t…”
Not for one minute was Jess going to tell him that she cycled through Bert and Ernie pyjamas, a Marks and Spencer’s nightie with little purple flowers on and an old, oversized university sports t-shirt and knickers.
Years of special forces training kicked in, and he was able to pull himself together.
“You still shouldn’t have driven yourself,” he said tightly.
“You’re only annoyed because it’s light blue,” she returned, and she could tell she had scored a hit.
“It may as well be pink,” he sniffed. “Honestly Jess, who went with you when you bought it?”
“I went by myself,” Jess sighed. “Like a grown up, which is what I am. I also shop by myself, cook by myself and go to the cinema by myself too.”
“They must have seen you coming,” Becker said, shaking his head. “Next time, tell me, and I’ll come with you.”
“And you’re an expert on cars, are you?” Jess said, snorting. “You’d only be happy if I ended up buying a Chelsea tractor.”
“Good in the snow,” Becker said triumphantly, and Jess groaned and swivelled her seat around.
“Go and shoot something, would you?” she said, waving him away airily, as if the thought of him volunteering to go car shopping with her wasn’t making her want to do a little dance of joy in the control room. “Something that isn’t my car!” she added to his retreating back.
She hated to see him go, but loved to watch him leave.
The day dragged; with few staff on the ground, there weren’t many people to talk to in the control room. Everybody was doing somebody else’s job, which was why Jess ended up down in the empty canteen around lunchtime making as many sandwiches as she could from what she could scrounge from the cupboards. After reserving a few for herself, and the only two KitKats left in the vending machine, she loaded up a trolley with the plates of sandwiches and did a whistle-stop tour of the building.
When she got to the training rooms her trolley was half-empty. Becker was putting his squads through some pretty sadistic-looking physical training drills, and wherever she looked there were rippling abs, sturdy thighs and huge biceps.
It was brilliant.
She leaned against the wall and watched for a while, until Becker glanced over in her direction. A small smile played on his lips as he said, “Change in career, Miss Parker?”
“Just being a team player, Captain Becker,” she said, waving a hand towards the sandwiches. “There’s nobody from the canteen staff in, so I thought I’d lend a hand.”
Becker’s men were positively salivating when they saw the sandwiches, but none of them moved until Becker barked “Ten minutes, starting now!”
Jess was suddenly surrounded by very fit men in tight workout clothing, all very grateful for her generosity. A cool hand on her arm tugged her away from the melee.
“Thanks, Jess,” Becker said, somehow having appropriated a ham and cheese sandwich from the pile despite being nowhere near the trolley. “It was very kind of you to think about me. Us,” he said quickly. “Think about us.”
Jess checked to see if anyone was watching; behind her, all the men were stripping the trolley of anything edible. From the pocket of her skirt she produced one of the KitKats and handed it to Becker solemnly.
“Ssh,” she whispered. “Don’t tell anyone, or they’ll all want one.”
“I promise,” he said gravely, and slipped the bar into a pocket on his black trousers. He moved closer to her and whispered directly into her ear. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
It was with only the greatest of self-control that Jess stopped her knees from buckling. The heat of his breath on her neck, the rumble of his voice in his ear, all combined with the cool touch of his hand on her arm made her feel slightly dizzy.
By now the soldiers had demolished the piles of sandwiches, so Jess decided to leave the training room before something embarrassing happened, like her knickers spontaneously combusting.
There were no anomalies that day; they must have seen the state of the weather and decided not to bother forming. With nothing to monitor Jess kept one of her screens on the BBC News channel, and their weather warnings were getting worse and worse throughout the afternoon.
She hated to admit it, but Becker was right about her car. If the roads hadn’t got any better, she’d have real problems getting home. Footage from all around the country showed the same scenes of chaos on the roads, and the message was clear; go home and stay home.
From the way that Lester was pacing in his office, it was clear that Mrs Lester was demanding his presence. It was probably that which made him come down to her station and order her home.
“There’s no point you being here,” he said in the brisk tone of voice he always used when he was being kind and wanted to hide the fact. “One of Becker’s men can, er, man the ADD.”
“I’m not sure…” Jess began, but again, Becker appeared out of nowhere to interrupt her.
“I’ll send Simons up to cover her, Lester. He’s had his training. He and two squads are going to spend the night here, in case there’s an anomaly.”
“Good luck digging their way through M25,” Lester replied, pulling on his jacket. “It’s a nightmare out there. I trust you can see Miss Parker home safely, Captain?”
“I don’t need…” Jess began.
“Of course,” Becker replied. “Have a safe trip.”
Nodding to both of them, Lester went off to brave the wilds of Kensington, and Mrs Lester.
“I don’t need babysitting,” Jess said mutinously.
“Nobody said you did,” Becker said calmly.
“You did!” Jess said crossly, beginning her log-out procedure. “You and Lester! ‘I trust you can see Miss Parker safely home, Captain,’” she mimicked. “Like I’m some bloody child who’s not allowed to cross the street on her own!”
“There are dangerous driving conditions out there,” Becker said calmly, although Jess could see his lip begin to twitch. She knew that lip-twitch. That was the lip-twitch that meant that he was annoyed and trying to hide it.
Annoyed! Like he had any right to be annoyed! She’d brought him sandwiches, and a KitKat, and all he’d done all day was yell at her about her car, treat her like a helpless child and make her want to take all her clothes off in the middle of the training rooms.
She was, at best, slightly confused.
“I’ll be fine,” she snapped. “Good night, Becker.”
She stomped off towards the lift, passing Simons on the way. She reclaimed her bag from her locker, buttoned up her coat and took the lift down to the garage level. She stalked over to her car, looked properly at the ramp up to what passed for daylight and cursed.
It was covered in snow. Proper slip-slidey thick snow. She could see where other people had tried to get their cars up it; they were now parked haphazardly at the bottom of it. She looked down at her gorgeous lime wedges and groaned. If they had been ugly wellingtons, she may have made it up the ramp and to a tube station. She wasn’t far from a tube stop - who was, in central London? - and the news had said that her line was still running, albeit at a less than peak capacity.
“Need a hand?”
It was Becker, in his thick, practical boots, jangling the keys to his big, environmentally disastrous, four wheeled drive monster. That would make it up the ramp.
“Unless you’ve got a pair of those boots in a size five, then yes, I do,” Jess sighed.
Becker smiled. “Sorry,” he said. “Most of my men are clodhoppers, like me. Size twelve.”
Big hands, big feet, big….accessories bill, Jess told herself.
“I’m buying myself wellingtons,” Jess told him as they fell into step across the garage to his truck. “Ugly ones.”
“Don’t do that,” Becker told her, pressing his remote control, opening the doors. “Your feet should never be in anything ugly.”
She caught him glance down at her wedges and smile to himself.
The drive back to her flat took considerably longer than the drive to work. It was probably the longest that Jess had ever spent alone with Becker, the stake-out of Ethan’s bomb-laden flat notwithstanding. She had fallen asleep for most of that.
They started out by bickering about the radio station.
“Radio One? Turn it off, Jess, it’s full of nothing but boybands and that electric beep-beep squeak music.”
“What would you prefer then, Granddad? Radio Four?”
He looked away from her, ostensibly to check his wing mirror.
“Oh my God, you do listen to Radio Four!” Jess said, howling with laughter. “My Dad listens to Radio Four!”
“It has good news coverage,” Becker said tightly.
“Yeah, and Woman’s Hour,” snorted Jess. “Got any good jam recipes recently?”
They settled on Radio Two, and spent half an hour listening to Steve Wright’s factoids and arguing about whether they were right or not, heard an interview with Cameron Diaz promoting her next movie and hummed along to Aretha Franklin. But then the DJs switched, and Jess pronounced herself allergic to Simon Mayo.
“Don’t worry though,” she joked, patting her handbag. “I’ve got an epi-pen with me.”
“So do I,” Becker said absently. “Glove compartment.”
Not knowing whether he was kidding or not, Jess opened the lid of the compartment and found, amongst the incredibly neat and useful contents (map, mini first aid kit, spare mobile phone) two epi-pens and a large bar of Dairy Milk.
“You never know,” Becker said to fill the sudden silence in the car. “I didn’t want to feel that helpless again. Watching you…it was awful, Jess.”
“I’m sorry,” Jess said quietly.
“It’s not your fault,” Becker said quickly, whipping his head sideways.
“No, I mean, I’ve started to eat your chocolate,” Jess said, waving the opened bar at him.
Anything to make him smile again.
Becker did smile.
“That’s yours too,” he said mildly.
“Good,” Jess said firmly. “I’m starving.”
He clicked through the radio stations until they found one they could agree on, and they shared the chocolate as they inched through the falling snow.
“There we go,” Becker said eventually. “Home.”
“Thanks,” Jess said, unclicking her seatbelt. “Coming up?”
“I..er..” Becker began.
“It’s taken us two hours and twenty minutes to drive here from the ARC,” Jess pointed out. “It’s still snowing, and the forecast was for a whole lot more tonight. These roads aren’t safe, Becker. Up there,” she pointed somewhere near the top of the block of flats they were parked outside, “I have a nice warm flat, all the makings of chilli, and a spare room. You’re welcome to all of them.”
He looked at her for a long moment, then nodded his head. “It makes sense. Thanks, Jess.”
“Not a problem,” she said. “Come on, hurry up.”
“Wait,” he said, getting out of the car and coming around to her door to open it. “You’re not wearing wellingtons,” he said cryptically, before reaching into the car and plucking her from it. Jess threw her arms around his neck and held on tightly, stifling a yelp.
“Can’t have you ruining those hopelessly impractical shoes,” he chuckled, kicking the door of his truck shut.
He waded through the snow on the road, and that on the pavement until they got to the security door to Jess’ building. She inputted the correct code and the door unlocked, opening into a clean, well-lit space. He put her down then, and she blushed as she adjusted her skirt, which had been rucked-up as he carried her to the doorway.
“This is a nice building,” he said, taking in the well-scrubbed floor and high ceilings.
“Lester found me the flat when I started,” Jess said, checking her personal post box. “It was incredibly cheap; I think he was pulling a few strings somewhere.”
“You’re his favourite,” Becker said warmly. “You’re everybody’s favourite. After this lunchtime, I think my men will follow your orders rather than mine.”
“That sounds like fun,” Jess laughed. “Twenty highly trained men at my beck and call.”
“You only need one,” Becker said quietly, and Jess blushed a little and concerned herself with emptying her post box. She hadn’t checked it for a few days, and there was a parcel.
“Amazon?” he asked.
“Better,” she said mysteriously. “Early birthday present.”
Leaving it at that, she tucked the parcel into her bag and walked to the lift. It was already on the ground floor, and they climbed the ten stories to her flat in companionable silence.
“My God,” Becker said as he took in the sheer size of Jess’ flat. “You really must be Lester’s favourite.”
“Go and look around,” Jess said, tossing her bag down on the floor and carefully removing her shoes. “I don’t mind.”
He toed off his boots and wandered towards the living room to look out at her magnificent view of the surrounding city. She pulled a bottle of wine from her last Tesco run out of a cupboard.
“Wine alright?” she called. “I have beer, if you’d prefer.”
“Wine’s fine,” he said, peering at a framed print on the wall. “This is Starry Night, isn’t it?”
“It’s my favourite,” Jess said, pouring the wine carefully into two glasses. “I go to see Sunflowers at the National Gallery when I’m in town, but I do like Starry Night more. The next time Lester lets me have more than twelve hours off in a row, I think I’m going to go to New York. It’s in the Museum of Modern Art there.”
“I like the post-Impressionists,” Becker said, coming towards the kitchen and accepting his wine. “Proper pictures.”
“I know what you mean,” Jess replied, hunting in her fridge for onions and peppers. “I like having something beautiful to look at. I just don’t understand pictures of geometric shapes on white backgrounds.”
“People find beauty in the strangest of places,” Becker mused. “Look at Abby and her dinosaurs. I see something huge, with massive teeth and bigger claws, trying to eat me, and she sees a scared animal that needs help. And of course, she’s marrying Connor.”
“Don’t be mean,” Jess giggled, starting to slice the vegetables.
“Can I help?” Becker asked.
“No, you drove me home, this is my job,” Jess said decisively. “Go and put a film on or go through my bookshelves or something.”
“I don’t watch chick flicks,” Becker warned as he wandered away towards her tv and bookshelves.
“And there’s me having you down as a closet Thelma and Louise fan,” Jess teased, putting the sliced vegetables in a pan, dousing them with garlic oil and turning up the heat.
She watched from the corner of her eye as Becker found the drawer under the tv with her DVDs in. He sat on the carpeted floor to explore them, his long limbs easy and relaxed, and she could have sworn that her entire reproductive system throbbed slightly. He sipped at his wine as he flicked through the selection and looked thoroughly at home. Jess busied herself with preparing the rest of the chilli and putting the rice on to steam, marvelling at how blissfully domestic the whole scene was.
“What have you found?” she asked, topping up her glass as she started to clear the kitchen counters.
“Wondrous things,” he replied, winking at her and brandishing a DVD. “Who knew Jess Parker was a Monty Python fan?”
“Who knew you were?” she countered, coming over with the bottle to refill his glass. “You’re not exactly laugh a minute at work, you know.”
“It’s not exactly a laugh a minute job,” he said, shrugging. “Although there are times that I feel like shouting “run away!” when I see a T Rex lumbering towards me.”
“Ah, so you’re human after all,” she teased. “How wonderfully refreshing.”
“Oh, I’m a man, Jess,” he said, looking at her intently. “Never forget that.”
His gaze was direct, and almost predatory and for a brief moment Jess was concerned about the flammability of her underwear. Then he smiled, and gestured towards the large leather couch.
“Shall we?” he said, and Jess could only nod as he bent down by the tv to fiddle with the DVD player.
Not for the first time, Jess stared at his gorgeous backside and sighed. Shiny hair, long, lean body, nice bum - there had to be something wrong with him. He joined her as the movie started, putting the remote controls down casually on the armrest nearest him.
Ah, there you go, Jess thought to herself, trying not to giggle. A remote control hog. He would probably always demand to push the shopping trolley around the supermarket too.
A woman could live with that, a naughty little voice in the back of her brain said.
Thankfully, the noise from the steamer announcing that rice was finished shut the voice in her brain up.
“I take it you like the chilli then,” Jess said as he came back from the kitchen with his third helping.
“Are you kidding? Best I’ve ever tasted,” Becker said just before forking up the next mouthful.
“You must be hard done by if you think my chilli’s that good,” Jess laughed. She’d only managed one bowl, but was secretly delighted that he’d gobbled the rest.
“Not many home-cooked meals in my flat,” he said. “I tend to grab something from the canteen before I leave, or pick up a takeaway on the way home. Thank God I run after dinosaurs for a living or I’d be the size of a house.”
“Leave room for dessert,” Jess said, mentally cataloguing the contents of her kitchen. “I can make Eton mess, if you want it.”
The look he gave her was priceless; it was as if she’d offered him the numbers for the Euromillions jackpot and the name of the Grand National winner all rolled into one.
“You finish up that, and I’ll get started,” she said, smiling as she saw him nestle back into the cushions of the sofa, feet up in the space she’d just vacated. He looked at home on her couch, and part of her was desperate to snap a picture of him to act as proof that this evening actually happened, that they had come home from work, eaten dinner and watched a movie together like billion other people did every day. Proof, so that when the snow stopped falling and the roads cleared and he left, she’d have something tangible to say that he was here at all. Other than the washing-up.
Sliding her phone carefully from her bag, she quickly did just that, catching him smiling at the antics of the knights of Camelot. She put her phone away, knowing that she’d probably end up using the picture as the background image on her smartphone because she was just that pathetic.
Sighing, she fished out the meringues and raspberries, and started to put together dessert.
“Is there more wine?” he called from the other room.
“We finished all the red,” she called back. “I think I’ve got a white somewhere.”
She came back with two bowls of dessert, and the wine, something that Abby had bought and then left behind when she and Connor had found their own place.
“I have no idea what this is going to taste like,” she warned him. “It’s got a screw-top, which doesn’t bode well.”
“Are you a wine snob, Jess?” he asked, amused.
“No,” she said, carefully sipping it. “I’ve just gone past the time in my life when I’ll drink £2.99 wine because it’s cheap and I want to get drunk.”
“Ah, university,” sighed Becker.
“I went when I was sixteen,” Jess said, finding the wine suitable, if a bit sweet. “Early admission, because I’d done my A-levels so early. I wasn’t allowed into a pub until my third year, so I had a bit of catching up to do.”
“I forget how young you are, sometimes,” he said thoughtfully, looking at her appraisingly.
“Keep forgetting it,” Jess said, a little too sharply if Becker’s quick eyebrow raise was any judge. “I’m old enough to do everything you can do, and I don’t appreciate being patronised by someone who’s only six years older than me.”
“I’m sorry!” Becker said quickly. “Seriously, Jess, I didn’t mean to offend you. You’re always so on the ball at work, that I forget how old you are.”
Slightly mollified, Jess sipped her glass of wine. Becker slid up the sofa, ending up so close to her that their thighs touched.
“Was that why you shouted at me earlier?” he asked, his voice softer than before. “About being babysat?”
“I hate being the odd one out,” Jess said, after a moment. “The special one, outside of the group? I’ve had that ever since I started school and I’m sick of it. Would you have been so worried about Abby driving home today, or Matt?”
She was looking down at the wine glass in her hands, twiddling the delicate stem between her fingers. This was not how tonight was supposed to go. Tonight was supposed to be wine and flirting and if the stars were aligned right, maybe some kissing and cuddling on the couch. Now she was having her deepest fears prodded by the one man she really did not wish to be prowling around her insecurities.
“I would definitely be worried about Abby and Matt driving home in this weather,” he said calmly. “Because Abby drives like a maniac at the best of times and Matt has never seen snow before. Emily phoned this morning to get me to convince him that it was safe to go outside in.”
Jess looked up, scrutinising him carefully.
“Really,” he said, showing his childhood roots by saluting like Scout. “Scout’s honour. It took her an hour and half to get him to make a snowman.”
Jess couldn’t help but laugh, and Becker immediately looked relieved.
“There,” he said, “that’s better. But I can’t help worrying about you a bit more than Abby or Matt, Jess, and it’s got nothing to do with how old you are.”
“Then why?” Jess asked, suddenly nervous. He was so much bigger than her, and the hand that reached out to take the glass of wine from hers was wider and stronger.
He placed a finger under her chin and tipped it up gently. He was smiling, and yet looked very earnest at the same time.
“Because I don’t want to kiss Abby,” he said quietly. “Or Matt,” he said with some feeling. “Just you, Jess.”
There were many things that an experienced seductress would do at this point, and stammering out “Oh God, really? Why?” probably wasn’t one of them.
Inwardly, Jess cringed.
Luckily, Becker seemed to find her verbal blunder amusing.
“Because you’re beautiful,” he told her, laying a gentle kiss below her right ear. “And you’re unbelievably intelligent,” he went on, repeating the action below her left ear, “And you’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met,” he said as his lips found her right temple.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Jess said hurriedly, grasping his black t-shirt in her hands. “Enough talk now.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, smiling as he reached around Jess to pull the hair slides out of her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders.
“I swear to God, if you don’t kiss me in the next five seconds…” she threatened uselessly, having nothing to back it up.
He laughed and kissed her properly, and it wasn’t anything like Jess had dreamed it would be like.
It was better. So much better.
There was no hesitation in his kiss, no gentle pressure to see if she’d change her mind. He kissed her with a certainty that made her moan and open her mouth to him, which he promptly invaded. One arm wrapped around her waist, bringing her closer to him, the hand of the other began to stroke through her loosened hair.
Jess surrendered absolutely to Captain Becker’s advancement; if she was a country, there’d be a change in government incredibly quickly.
She moved forward, pulling herself up and over him to sit straddled on his strong thighs without breaking the kiss. She could feel the hardness forming in his trousers and ground her hips lazily against it. Delighted with the stuttered moan she forced from him, she did it again.
He kept his hands in place, but she felt no such compunction. In fact, Jess felt almost frantic. What if this was only the wine? What if after tonight, he’d decide that he didn’t want to do this again? If this was going to be a one-night affair, then she was going to have to make the most of it.
She started with his chest, slipping her hands up inside his t-shirt, tugging it out of the way as she explored washboard abs and firm pectoral muscles. His flat little nipples puckered as she touched them, and he moaned again as she caught them between her fingers and squeezed gently.
The hair next, she thought, a little light-headedly. Clearly, as well as military history and advanced tactical manoeuvres, Sandhurst taught its men how to kiss. Unless that was part of the tactical manoeuvres, a little voice in Jess’ brain supplied helpfully, until she forced it into a box. He alternated between gentle, almost butterfly kisses across her face and neck and long, deep, hard kisses that sucked the breath and good sense from her.
She had been dying to get her hands on that hair for as long as she had known him, from when some little instinct deep inside her had popped up and said “Oh yes, that one, we’ll take him wrapped to go, please.” Now she let the short silky strands slip through her fingers as she raked her hands through it, determined that by the end of the evening he would look nothing like the contained, controlled individual he usually did. She carefully drew the edges of her fingernails along his scalp and the hardness between her thighs grew even firmer. She set up a rhythm - fingernails along scalp, grind of the hips, quick suck of his earlobe, back to the scalp again - that had him moaning and panting beneath her.
Jess felt like a sex goddess. If she had known how easy it was to get him moaning and panting, she would have run her hands through his hair ages ago, as her instincts had been urging her to.
His hands shifted to her skirt, one of her favourites - short, of course, because what was the point of having good legs if you didn’t show them - black and floaty and embroidered with hummingbirds and butterflies. His hands went straight up it, skating up her thighs until his fingers found the edge of her knickers.
He tugged until they had rounded the curve of her bottom, and pushed them down as far as they could go while she was still straddling him. Clearly unsatisfied with this arrangement, Jess felt his grip on her shifting until he lifted her up and laid her on her back on the couch. Her underwear quickly disappeared then, flung somewhere in the direction of the kitchen, as he put both his hands on her bottom and lifted it in the air.
Never in her wildest dreams had Jess expected this happening tonight, or at all, although she had fantasised about it enough times. She let her legs settle over his broad shoulders as his silky hair, now completely disordered, tickled her inner thighs.
Clearly at some point in his life, some woman had taken him aside and given him some very precise guidance on how to please a woman. Whoever it was, Jess thought as his tongue licked a broad stripe up the most intimate part of her body, she deserved a bloody medal. She didn’t know which she preferred most; when his tongue danced in and out of her, or when his lips formed over her clit and suckled there. She had gone beyond coherency; she was limited to gasps and sighs and wild clutching of his hair to emphasise that yes, that was a good spot and no, he shouldn’t even think about moving away from it.
When her climax hit, it was like a wave of pleasure breaking through her body, starting where his mouth was working and rolling out across every nerve as she twisted and writhed with the force of it.
When she slumped back against the sofa, panting heavily, he lifted his head to stare at her. And what a sight she must make, Jess knew; hair askew, cheeks flushed, legs wantonly astride his shoulders. His lips and chin gleamed with moisture and she burned even more with knowledge that she was responsible for doing that, that the slickness between her thighs was evident over his face.
What was also evident was the bulge in his trousers, straining the zip.
She scrambled to a sitting position and wiped his mouth with her hand. Giving into temptation she kissed him again, finding the strange tangy taste of herself in his mouth. She fumbled for the button of his trousers, unhooking it without looking at it as his large hands held her cheeks as he groaned into their kiss.
He grunted and shifted enough to allow her to unzip him and pull down his trousers and boxer shorts down over his thighs. His erection stood proudly to attention, long and deliciously thick. If Jess had the time she would have shuffled off his lap and down to her knees, taking in the sight of him up close. But he was looking strained and Jess was feeling empty and there was only one action she could take.
She rose, took him in her hand and guided the head towards her entrance, then with a long exhale slid smartly down over him until he was buried inside her. He made a noise she had never heard before - part moan, part guttural growl, all pleasure. She couldn’t help squealing; it had been a little while, and she was tighter than she had anticipated being, despite using her Rampant Rabbit with increasing frequency.
While she was adjusting herself to the feel of him inside her, his hands came to the front of her blouse and yanked, sending the buttons pinging across the room. His hot hands tugged the material off her shoulders and down her arms, leaving her in just her bra. The cups of that were tugged down, and he greedily took her breasts in his hands, squeezing with just the right amount of force.
The pleasure travelled down her body and kick-started her hips into moving. Another rhythm started, of slide up, squeeze, slide down, tug on nipple. On one slide up, he bent forward and brought her nipple into his mouth, causing her to scream, honest-to-God scream out something that was supposed to be his name. Then the rhythm became slide up, squeeze, slide down, tug, slide up, suckle, slide down, grope backside.
Jess couldn’t let him win; with each downward slide she gripped firmly with her internal muscles, making him splutter out her name in bursts of breath, red-faced and with eyes closed against the sight of her wantonly riding him.
It was a close run thing, in the end; his thumb found her clit just before she bounced quickly on him, breaking their rhythm in order to force him over the edge. She came, and the frenzied rippling of the muscles clutching him so tightly must have forced him over the edge as well.
She collapsed, sated, on his chest. He clutched her tight, breathing heavily into the juncture of her neck and shoulder. It was some time before Jess could make herself speak; by the time she had returned to herself and caught her breath she was enjoying the lazy massage of her back and bottom too much to want to make it stop.
“You are incredible,” he said softly, kissing her neck and shoulder firmly. “I have no idea how you became so incredible, and I don’t want to know, because I’d have to track him down and kill him. You’re wonderful. But you’re also leaking.”
“Damn,” Jess sighed, feeling the tell-tale trail escaping her body. “I’ll go and…”
Then, in a complicated movement, she was placed on her back on the sofa and he had withdrawn.
“I’ll go,” he said firmly, kicking off the hobble of his trousers and underwear to wander in the direction of the bathroom.
She watched him go, trying not to laugh at the fact that he still had his socks on, as well as his t-shirt. She was unsuccessful, and when he returned with towels and a warm flannel she was still giggling.
“And just what’s so funny?” he asked, deftly placing a towel beneath her and cleaning her with the flannel.
“It’s your socks and t-shirt combination,” Jess said honestly. “Not even you can make that sexy.”
He laughed and pulled off the shirt.
“Now you really have to lose the socks,” Jess said earnestly. “Seriously, it’s worse than with the t-shirt.”
A quick piece of contortion had him wriggling out of his socks, then brisk, efficient fingers stripped her of the remainder of her clothes too. Before she could do more than draw breath, she was picked up, turned around and half-draped over his body, and they were happily ensconced in the post-coital cuddling that Jess always adored.
“Mmm,” she said happily, snuggling in close to him. “I didn’t expect this to happen when I woke up this morning.”
“I’ve dreamed about it a few times, but I never thought I’d get the chance,” Becker replied, going back to the slow, steady massage of her back that he had started earlier.
“Oh come on,” Jess said drowsily. “I’ve been so obvious. I may as well have been walking around the ARC with a sign saying ‘Take me, I’m yours’.”
“I thought you were being…friendly,” Becker said lamely. “I’m not very good at reading signs from women.”
“At last, something you’re not good at,” Jess said, snorting a little, then yelping as he tickled her in a very vulnerable spot. “Hey! Stop it! Stop it!”
“You’re one to talk, Little Miss “I can run the ARC single handed,” Becker grumbled.
They fell into a companionable silence for a while until Becker suddenly sat up, dislodging Jess.
“Oh my God,” he said, horrified. “We didn’t…”
“Sssh, relax,” Jess said, tempting him back down to lay with her. “I’m fine. I’m on the pill, and I’m clean.”
“Me too,” Becker said, looking relieved. “I mean, I’m clean, not that I’m on the pill.”
“I’d be worried if you were,” Jess said dryly, snaking a free hand down to stroke him. “You seem all man to me.”
The stroking had the desired effect; Becker went on to prove how manly he was once more on the couch and again, hours later, in the shower. They collapsed into bed late, and fell asleep immediately.
Jess woke to the insistent buzzing of her mobile phone. It wasn’t in the charging dock next to her bed, but instead was vibrating against the granite surface of her kitchen island, where she’d left it the night before. Becker’s phone started up as soon as hers had finished, and she groaned. It must be work.
He muttered something unintelligible in his sleep and turned over, and she resisted the urge to pat down the spikes of hair that were standing straight out from his head. Maybe if she was quiet she could get a snap on her phone to add to her collection of illicit Becker images.
Feeling like a stalker, she shook her head, climbed carefully out of bed and pulled on her decidedly unsexy towelling dressing gown. Out in the main living area she could see that London was still blanketed in a thick fall of white snow, and that large, heavy flakes were even now drifting lazily down from the sky.
She picked up her phone and opened the text message sent by the ARC duty officer - no member of staff currently not in the ARC should try to come in to work. Apparently death by dinosaur was an acceptable risk, but traffic accidents were not. She did a little dance of joy right there in the kitchen, before she realised she was being watched.
“Good news?” Becker asked, strolling unabashedly naked into the kitchen. He was still dishevelled and was sporting a five o’clock shadow, but somehow he looked even more gorgeous than when he was clean-shaven and neatly combed.
“Ah, yes, um, it’s work. We don’t have to go in,” Jess said, brandishing her phone. “It’s a snow day!”
Becker’s eyes lit up. “Seriously? We get those?”
He retrieved his own phone, and called into the ARC to speak to his deputy. Jess turned her back and delved into the fridge to get breakfast. Even if he was going to leave and try and make it back to his place, maybe she could make the most wonderful night of her life last until after breakfast.
“Anderson has it all under control,” he said, suddenly behind her. Jess jumped with surprise and dropped the package of bacon, which he neatly caught.
He’d pulled his underwear on, which helped her look him in the eye now. For a start, it covered up the area her eyes had been drawn to.
“Will…will you stay for breakfast?” Jess asked carefully.
“I was hoping you’d ask me to stay for longer than that,” he said, smiling.
“Stay as long as you like,” Jess said truthfully. “I don’t want you to go.”
“Oh thank God,” he said, now sounding considerably less confident. “I was scared that you had decided you were bored with me.”
Jess couldn’t help it; she howled with laughter. In fact, she was laughing so much that Becker had to rescue the carton of eggs and the packet of sausages as well, before they went the way of the bacon.
“If you knew,” she said, wiping tears of mirth away from her eyes, “just how long I’ve wanted to get you here, you’d realise just how ridiculous that statement was.”
He kissed her then, a long, languorous kiss that promised many things, including a reasonably comfortable flat surface in the near future, but it was ruined by both their stomachs rumbling loudly.
“Breakfast first?” Jess said, laying a hand over her stomach as if that would stop it.
“I’ll make it,” he said, walking her backwards out of the kitchen. “You cooked last night.”
“You said you didn’t cook,” Jess said, perching on a stool at the side of the island.
“I can manage a fry-up,” he said, heading back into the kitchen.
“Wear an apron!” Jess pleaded. “Hot fat and naked skin do not mix well together.”
The sight of Becker in her pink cutesy cup-cake apron was too much; she had to get a picture of that too. He was right, he could indeed manage a fry up, including some of the best fried bread Jess had eaten in years. They decided that a shower was in order then, and that lead inevitably back to the bed, and another shower.
By mid-morning they were lying stretched out on the sofa, watching awful morning television and loving every minute of it. The chat show was running a piece about how the Royal Mail was coping with the snow, which seemed to prompt Becker into remembering something.
“What was in that parcel?” he asked, playing with a strand of Jess’ hair that had come loose from her ponytail. “The one you got yesterday?”
Jess blushed slightly.
“Nothing,” she lied.
His agile fingers found her ticklish spots and took advantage of them.
“Stop!” she shrieked. “Stop it, you bastard! Oh, alright, I’ll tell you, just stop!”
He stopped, and looked at her expectantly.
“Did they teach that to you at Sandhurst?” she asked, not nearly as annoyed as she pretended to be. Seeing him do something as light-hearted as engage in a tickle fight was so wholly unlike the Becker she knew that she was determined not to stop it from happening again. She liked this fun, playful side of him.
“Oh yes,” he said, climbing on top of her and pinning her to the couch. “It’s right up there with close-quarter unarmed combat, tickling. Come on Jess, what’s in the parcel?”
“I noticed that…something I use a lot was running down recently,” she hedged. “So I ordered a replacement.”
He studied her carefully for a moment. “You’re not lying,” he said decisively. “But that’s not the whole truth. Come on, Jessica. Own up, and I may just stop myself from tickling you again.”
One of his large hands inched up her ribs and stroked gently.
“It’s a new vibrator!” she gasped. “The motor on my old one is going.”
He stared down at her, slightly open mouthed, before scrambling off her quickly.
“No!” she said scrambling after him. “Don’t open it!”
They raced across the room, but he got there first and held the package high above his head, well out of her reach.
“Please,” he begged, “Please let me open it.”
After a few abortive attempts to retrieve the parcel, Jess sighed and agreed. She watched him rip the plain brown packaging off the parcel eagerly, and pull out the replacement Rabbit. He looked at the sealed plastic packaging carefully for a few minutes, raised a sardonic eyebrow at her and then threw the whole thing into the recycling bin Jess used for plastic.
“Becker!” she said indignantly, darting forward to retrieve it. “That’s mine!”
“You don’t need it,” he said authoritatively, stepping into her path and sweeping her off her feet.
“I bloody do!” she said leaning towards the recycle bin. “That’s why I bought it!”
“No, you don’t,” he said, moving towards the bedroom. “That’s what I’m for.”
“You’re comparing yourself to a human vibrator?” Jess asked, giggling at the thought.
“I can also change flat tyres, take out the rubbish and replace broken lightbulbs,” he said solemnly, tossing her onto the bed, stripping off his underwear and joining her.
“I can do all those things,” Jess pointed out as he wrestled her out of her dressing gown. “Alright, maybe not change a tyre, but that’s why I joined the RAC.”
“Okay then,” he said in exasperation. “I can go on midnight chocolate runs, I can buy you ridiculous shoes and I can be taken home to meet your parents.”
“Well,” Jess allowed as he started to suck determinedly at one nipple. “I suppose…oh God, yes, harder…I suppose I couldn’t do that with a vibrator.”
“So, you’ll keep me then?” he asked, sounding ridiculously wary for a man who had two of his fingers roughly in the area where her G-spot was supposed to be.
“I suppose you’ll do,” she gasped. “You’ll be cheaper to run than batteries, anyway.”
Not for the last time, they had to stop having sex to laugh. But not for the last time, they started right back up again.
Acclimate City