thelongdormantcop | and after the bombs subside

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grace faraday

and after the bombs subside

For a long time, Jerry has considered himself lucky. It isn't like his life has been as easy as all that — if anything, it's the exact opposite — but that, he thinks, is all the more reason to. He's made it through shit a lot of people haven't, before and during and after the war, a childhood spent barely knowing if there'd even be enough to eat and time overseas marked by too many close calls to count, things he tries to bury as much as possible. Even then, he's a lot better off than others. He knows too many guys who got killed over there, even more still who came home and ate their guns, or who went looking for trouble just so somebody else would end it, or who spent even more time looking for answers at the bottom of bottles than he did, drinking to try to forget it all instead of just to cope. Besides, it isn't just the war that set him off; it was what he came back to. Too many others never came back at all, either physically or mentally.

Showing up here has given him a good deal of distance from all of that, anyway. At least, that's what he thought, that he'd never be rid of it but that it was farther away, not just the past but history. Besides, he's learned to deal with it. Maybe his way of doing so involves a hell of a lot of not dealing, but it beats most of the other alternatives. The same goes for the other war, the one he'd walked away from fighting the night he showed up here. Though aspects of it are always present, it's easier to keep all of that pushed aside, to focus on the fact that, from here, he won. He's safe and so is Grace, and there's no one here who would do him any harm. If that means not letting himself think about Keeler or Jack or Connie O'Mara or all the innocent lives lost when they got something wrong, everything that went to hell that last night, then he's alright with that. There's enough else here that needs his attention anyway. Dwelling on the past would accomplish nothing.

That is, maybe, all the more reason why, when he walks right into it, it catches him by surprise. Heading through the park on his way back to his apartment, wrapped in a heavy coat to combat the snow, he hears it first, the faint sound of explosions making him more uneasy than he cares to admit to. There could be any number of reasons for it, but it could be trouble, too, which is, maybe, why he heads in that direction, aware of his gun in his holster, though he doesn't reach for it. He isn't on duty, but shit like this is why he stays armed anyway, so he'll be ready if he needs to be.

It isn't any sort of trouble he finds, though, but a festival of some sort, booths crowded with people who look plenty happy to be there. He doesn't really see them, though. His gaze fixes instead on the red paper lanterns strung overhead, a too-familiar sight even with the snow coating the ground, and with the sound of firecrackers ringing in his ears, he finds that it makes his head spin, his chest tighten. It's all he can do not to pull his gun out after all, though he knows there's nothing happening here. He can still see it, the bodies littering the ground because they walked into a setup, because he wasn't there in time to stop it, because they failed.

He doesn't know how long it takes to get back to his apartment; he doesn't really remember walking there at all until he's by his door, fumbling for a key so he can get the door unlocked, letting it slam shut again behind him. There's nothing happening and none of that's followed him here, but he feels like he's still back in Chinatown anyway, hands shaking as he lights himself a cigarette. It doesn't calm his nerves like he wishes it would, making him no less unsteady when he goes to the kitchen to pour himself a much-needed drink. They're the only ways he's got to battle this, an old habit founded mostly in the days when he first got back from the Pacific, more fucked in the head than he wanted to tell anyone, something that's just as true now. He just needs to remember how to breathe again and he'll be just fine, even if just a couple sips of scotch leave him doubled over his kitchen sink, thinking he's about to be sick. At least he isn't, though, the one thing this has over the last war he was left with memories of being in. It isn't much of a reassurance.

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As long as she can feel his hands on her, as long as he keeps kissing her, Grace doesn't care what else happens. To feel him hold her, the extent to which he loves her, it's all she really asks at the end of the day. In any case, it's the only demand that counts for anything. At moments like this, fleeting though her certainty is, she knows the rest of it doesn't matter at all, that she could be happy simply staying this way. With his shirt undone, she runs her hands back up his chest to his shoulder, letting him hold her that much closer. She may not always be the easiest person to deal with or the most compliant of girlfriends, but at a time like this, she'd happily do anything he asked, if she thought it would make him feel just a little better.

Doing his best to shrug his shirt farther off without putting any distance between them, Jerry makes a soft sound against her mouth, far past the point of being able to hide it. He wouldn't bother even if he could. Right now, there's no need, when the way he kisses her speaks pretty well for itself, and when she's the one who started undressing him in the first place, not the other way around. Sure as hell not about to complain about that, he gives in, a hand sliding along her back in search of the zipper he's sure has got to be on her dress somewhere. Even if he doesn't intend to hurry through this, concerned more with just keeping her close than anything they do, there's certainly no reason he can think of why she should have to stay fully dressed when he'd much rather have his hands on her skin.

Her hands leave his skin only so she can draw her hair over her shoulder, out of his way, a quick, quiet encouragement as she continues to kiss him. These are things Grace is good at, and they've become accustomed to each other, enough that she doesn't have to think to work in rhythm with him. She's thankful for that. Time and practice make it so much simpler to enjoy herself, to not have to worry about potential awkwardness or misunderstandings, poor timing, thoughts of what he will or won't like, what he will or won't do for her. All of that is past, and she can focus on him instead, sighing at the brush of his fingers against her back.

With her hair out of the way, his fingers find purchase on the zipper, and Jerry doesn't hesitate to start tugging it down, past trying to pretend that he isn't eager to have her out of this dress. There's too much else he's keeping pushed back for that, things it's far more important to try to disregard, and when having her close is the best way of battling that, when she seems to want to keep going just as much as he does, he can't think of a single good reason why he should hold back now. "Gracie," he murmurs, drawing back for a breath and kissing along the line of her jaw after. She'll probably have to move, he thinks, to get this dress off, but as long as he can put that off, he means to, not ready to let go of her yet.

Grace sighs, eyes fluttering shut as she tips her head up, anything to give him room, to keep the feel of his lips on her skin. There's nothing quite so exhilarating as the way he sounds saying her name at times like this, when it comes so readily to his lips that she doubts he's entirely aware he's said it. That need, deep-seated and true, warms her through and through.

She lets go of him long enough to shrug out of the sleeves of her dress, letting it slip down, though she's too content where she is just now to try and remove it entirely.

Though Jerry can't bring himself to pull away and let her get properly undressed yet, and still tells himself that there's no reason to hurry to do so, that doesn't keep him from running his hands over what exposed skin he can, pausing to undo the clasp of her bra when they're halfway up her back. Without a reason to stop touching her, he doesn't mean to, and not just because this, having her here, makes him feel better than any other possible solution. She's as intoxicating as ever, easy to get lost in. He wouldn't have it any other way. Mouth making its way down to her neck, he sucks at the spot just over her pulse, eyes falling shut as he does.

Grace gasps, head tipping back, her head light with the feel of his lips on her skin. The jolt of pleasure ricochets through her, her hands pressing against his back. Concerned though she still is about him, it's increasingly difficult to think only of what she can do for him, rather than what she wants. It feels so good to have his mouth on her, anywhere he likes to put it. She's still getting used to this sort of thing, to how utterly intoxicating he is and how nice it is that he can do these things now without her worrying he'll leave a mark. She practically wants him to. "Jerry..."

Jerry hums in a sort of acknowledgment of her speaking, though he can't bring himself to pull away to say anything in return. There's not too much longer, he thinks, that he'll be able to hold out while doing so little, wanting to get her in bed or at least fully undressed, but for the time being, he can stay where he is, hands roaming uninterrupted over her back now, pushing the straps of her bra aside when he's reached her shoulder blades. This is — she is — about the only thing keeping him grounded, and right now, with her neck under his mouth, her skin warm there and where his hands slide over it, he wouldn't have it any other way.

Jerry's hardly the first man Grace has ever been with, but he's the one she's most enthusiastic about, the most genuinely responsive towards. That's not to say she hasn't enjoyed herself in the past, but some element of it has always been for show, out of some sense of reciprocity; most of them could do something for her outside of the bedroom (and, often, with greater competency). All she gets from Jerry is the sheer pleasure of it, if anything made more intense for being more genuine. Shrugging her arms free of the straps, she winds her arms around his neck, fingers curling in his hair. She's quieter here, letting out another soft gasp, back arching under his touch, but that's the case because she's hardly conscious of making a sound at all.

She gasps, and Jerry swallows a moan, the sound that does leave him muffled against her mouth. At the best of times, she makes him crazy; she has the entire time he's known her, longer, even, when he had to be out of his mind to walk over to her in the first place. Now, though, it's out of necessity as much as anything else, all his focus on her and what she does to him because he can't afford to let it be anywhere else. He's spent more than enough time on all of that, and kept her waiting besides. He'd much rather spend his time fully in the present, wrapped up in Grace. Tugging her bra out from between them and letting it fall to the floor, he lifts a hand to cup her breast, the other working at the buckle of his belt. Even without her dress fully off yet, he can't see any reason to stay in the rest of his clothes, either.

Grace tips her head further back, reaching blindly between them to try and help him get his pants undone. At least men's fashion hasn't changed too much in the intervening decades — not, at least, when it comes to things Jerry wears. She's appreciative of that on every level, not simply because it makes it easier for her to get him out of his clothes or because it's familiar to her, but because he looks good. It suits him, and she thinks everyone else could stand to learn a couple things from the pair of them when it comes to clothing. Fashion's gone straight downhill over the years. Her disdain is fleeting, though. It's impossible to focus on anything outside of this room and she doesn't care enough to try. "Should we go to your room now?"

For a moment, Jerry wants to stay no. It's not like they couldn't do anything just as easily from the couch, and especially when they're both half-undressed, he doesn't want to have to pull away from her, to do anything that would require not being this close to her. He nods even so, breathless as he leans in for another quick kiss, his hand still at her breast, thumb brushing her nipple. None of this gets them close to his bedroom, or even to beginning to move in the first place, but just agreeing is a big enough step in the right direction for the moment. "Yeah," he says, swallowing hard. "Probably a good idea." They'll have more room, if nothing else, which has got to be a good thing.

Breath catching in her throat, Grace nods, wishing for a moment she hadn't interrupted them. It doesn't last long, though. She's hardly opposed to staying on the couch, but when she wants to make this last (or at least to keep coming back for more) as long as she can, the better to distract him, she prefers the bed. The general environs of the bedroom, at least. Leaning in to kiss him again, she eases back, tugging him along with her as she gets to her feet. She's careful not to trip over her dress as she lets it sag around her hips and then, with a little push, slide down to the floor. Sliding her hand inside his pants, she smiles appreciatively against his mouth.

"Fuck, Grace," Jerry gasps, instinctively rocking against her hand. How they're ever going to make it to the bedroom like this, he hasn't got a clue, but he can't exactly complain about that with her hand against his dick and her dress on the floor. Tugging her closer still, he keeps one of his own hands against her waist, the other sliding up into her hair. Soon, he thinks, soon, he'll start moving again, but time and repetition haven't made her any less irresistible. That's even truer at a time like this, when he needs her as much as wants her, desperate to stay this lost in her even more than he is desperate for something more. Leaning in close, he kisses her hard, fingers curling in her hair, doing all he can just to keep her near him.

Grace hardly needs urging, not when he's kissing her the way he is, strong and sure, her voice a muffled moan against his lips. She rubs her hand deliberately against him, taking an insistent step back, heartbeat ringing in her ears. Time has made them better at this, led them to learn each other, and she loves that, loves how intimately he knows her and how it feels to think someone has her memorized. At other times, though, he has her as clumsy and off-balance as a teenager, inexperienced and fumbling, too drunk on him to pay any attention to which way she's going or to care. "That's the idea, handsome," she breathes out, fingers wrapping around him, though she manages attention enough at least to keep her grip light.

Hissing against her mouth, Jerry presses forward into her hand without having to think about it, already too eager for more. Her fingers wrapped around him are just about maddening with as badly as he wants her, if only because they're standing out here, where there isn't anything he can do about it. Even so, he kisses her again, keeping her close instead of trying to move. Regardless of the circumstances, he'd be fucking crazy to pull away from her at all, and he knows it. "And here you were the one saying we should go to the bedroom," he says, voice low and rough with need, his teeth catching on her lip. "Keep that up, and we'll never get there."

"Oh." Grace gasps, swallowing hard to try and even out her voice, cracking at the way he sounds and the sharp tug of his teeth. It sends a current of need through her, and she leans into him, kissing him again before she can answer. "Well, we'll get there eventually," she says, trying to keep moving even as she strokes him, slow and as careful as it's possible to be when her heart is hammering like this. She doesn't care where they wind up right now, as long as she's got him like this, undeniably hers.

Groaning against her mouth, Jerry presses into her hand, lacking the presence of mind to do otherwise or to care enough to try. She clearly doesn't mind, after all, when she seems to be enjoying far too much the effect she's having on him, and besides, it's effort better saved for other things. Just continuing in the direction of the bedroom takes about all the focus he's got. Even then, he gives up before too long, angling them towards a wall instead, a hand at her waist as he presses her back against it and leans in to kiss her again. "Eventually," he echoes, nodding slightly. "Let it wait."

Kissing him hard, Grace makes a soft sound she means as agreement, hand stilling and straying to his hip for the moment so she can steady herself. In a moment or two, she tells herself, she can continue, but right now, she needs just to kiss him, nails digging into his skin, a whimper catching in her throat. She's not entirely sure she'd like being cornered like this by anyone else — past experience tells her as much anyhow — but when it's him, she loves it, how good he feels against her, how her body still strains toward him, always seeking more.

Far past pretending he doesn't want her so badly — even if he'd wanted to try, there would be no point now — Jerry presses his hips against hers, free hand lifting to her jaw as he kisses her. There are still clothes to get rid of, but eager as he is, for this one moment, he isn't too worried about that, intent just on being close to her, keeping her hands on him. There's no way better than this to forget about the events of earlier, nothing better to keep him grounded in the present. As it is, everything but Grace feels distant now, not worth worrying about at all, and he means to make sure that remains the case.

Maybe the bedroom can wait, but Grace isn't sure she wants to, no matter how she intended to drag this out. There's always time to go again after this, she thinks, and she can stay with him all night now, nowhere else to run off to. If that's what she needs to do to make him feel better, she can do that. Whatever it takes, she'll do, and if she benefits from it as well, that's just a nice perk. In the meanwhile, she reaches down again, this time focusing on pressing his pants down around his hips, trying to undress him further.

If Jerry had any thoughts left of trying to get to the bedroom after all, they're gone as quickly as that. It's not as if he could really need any more encouragement, and besides, they can still make it to the bedroom after. Kissing her hard, he shifts where he stands, then lets go with one hand to help her tug his pants down, kicking them aside as soon as he's able. He can worry about where they've wound up later. "Fuck," he says, gasping against her mouth, "oh, fuck, Grace." There's not much more coherency he can manage than that, feverish and hazy with desire, wanting her desperately.

Grace moans, hips pressing forward against his. Nothing ever sounds so sweet or so dirty as the way he says her name. Her motivations may have had a lot to do with distracting him, making him feel better, but they're fast being forgotten in favor of her own desperate need. Ducking her head, she kisses his neck, sucking at his skin, fumbling with her underwear, hardly conscious of the latter. She's more aware of his pulse under her tongue, the wall against her back, heart thundering in her chest. "Jerry," she says, a plea muffled against his shoulder, "I want you so."

All Jerry can do is groan in response, though it's an obvious agreement, his mouth meeting hers once more as he tugs at his boxers, trying to cast them aside with his pants. Saying that he wants her too would be pointless with as clear as it is, and that's all the more reason to keep it to himself, to act on it instead. Making sure she's gotten rid of the last of her clothing, he curls a hand against her hip, the other sliding around to her ass. He'll need a free hand in a moment, but he can't do anything about it just yet, needing to hoist her up first. "I know," he says finally. "I know, me, too."

Grace stifles a laugh as she kisses him, hands sliding over his chest to drape over his shoulders. "I know," she says. That much is plainly evident. Leaning back, hips pressing against his, she ducks her head, kissing his shoulder. If she wanted, she could suggest they continue on their way now after all, but she has no intention of doing so, and she doubts he plans to go anywhere either. The hallway's as good as anywhere else when she wants him bad enough she feels like she's shaking. "I can tell."

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