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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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."

"Yeah, well," Jerry says, a huff of a laugh, the look he shoots her not half as unamused as he's aiming for. It's difficult to care enough to put more effort into that than he needs to, when it really does speak for itself, something that's entirely inevitable. Besides, the way she laughs is charming, the way her hips press against his serving only to make him want her all the more. Keeping his hands steady, he lifts her up, pausing once he has to make sure his hold on her is secure, her back against the wall. She weighs next to nothing, but that's no reason not to be careful.

Grace laughs, wrapping her legs around his waist, leaning in to kiss him again. She has to steady herself, one hand heavy against the wall, using the leverage to let herself press into him, unable to stifle a moan at how he feels against her, how badly she wants him. The worries of a half an hour ago have been forgotten altogether, her reasons for distracting him lost in a haze of need. Biting lightly at his lip, she sucks it between hers, hand sliding into his hair, trying to remember to breathe. "Well..."

"Hold on," Jerry says, stifling a laugh against her mouth, the sound threatening to turn quickly into a groan. It's not exactly the easiest position to maneuver without something to set her down on, at least for the moment, but that's all the more reason not to draw this out any longer. He's not sure he could, anyway, badly as he wants her. Shifting so he can take himself in hand while making sure he doesn't lose his grip onto her, he holds his breath as he slides into her, pressing her back against the wall.

As much as Grace expects it, it still comes as something of a relief, her legs wrapping around his waist to keep him close. She bites her lip, but it does nothing to keep her from moaning, fingers in his hair as she kisses him again. Distantly, she remembers why she initially sought to distract him. It's working on her, anyway; she hopes it's enough for him. "Jerry," she breathes out, voice catching. Sometimes it feels like his name is easier to remember than her own at times like this. "Oh, God."

The way she feels around him almost overwhelming, it's a moment before Jerry can speak, or even move, for that matter. Once he does, though, he doesn't have it in him to hold back, both hands gripping her ass as he rocks hard into her, over and over. This doesn't change what happened earlier, he's not deluded enough to think so, and it doesn't make up for his leaving her waiting, and it sure as hell isn't just to keep it all at bay for a while, but God knows it helps. In a way, he thinks, he's needed this, needed her. He just wouldn't know how to say so without it sounding wrong. Instead, he just kisses her hard, gasping when he draws back. "Fuck, Grace."

In this position, kissing him isn't as simple as it usually is, a lot messier, a little more teeth involved, clashing together. Grace couldn't care less, pulling him back for another kiss once she's got a good breath, though she can't keep it up for long, forehead against his, gasping and moaning open-mouthed, eyes closed tight, fingers digging into his shoulders. She doesn't notice she's doing so, though, too wrapped up in him for that, her body tense with need. There's nothing like this, never has been, never anyone who said her name like that, made her feel like the sparks shaking through her came as much from the sound of his voice as the way he moves inside her.

Jerry, at least, isn't concerned at all about the lack of precision inherent in this. If it's a little off-center when he kisses her, if he has to press her back against the wall a little harder to readjust his hold on her and make sure he doesn't drop her, it matters a hell of a lot less than how good she feels, everything brought down to just simple desire, raw and unrefined. Since he met her, he's always exercised some measure of caution with her, but that doesn't mean he's just going to go slow and take his time, either, not least when she's so responsive. He doesn't stop, not for a second, ducking his head to press a kiss to her jaw.

"Jerry," Grace says, encouragement and endearment all in one breath, her head tipped back against the wall to give him a better angle to work with, to let her feel his mouth on her skin, one more point of connection in a puzzle she's lost track of. It isn't an easy position to maintain, least of all when she has so little control over it, but she doesn't care. She likes being entirely in his hands, like the angle and how deep he gets and the way he wants her too much to wait for it. She's always wanted something like this, she thinks, since before she was old enough to want it in this way, longed to be the center of someone's world, to know that she's the only thing that matters. He's all there is for her, anyway, and she doesn't consider he might not feel the same way; it's too evident to her that he does. "Oh, God, yes, yes."

Reduced to a lack of coherency himself, Jerry can't do anything but groan in response, the sound muffled against her skin where he sucks at it. As with every position, there are, of course, downsides to this — he can't do much in the way of touching her, can't draw this out, can't savor it — but none of those matter much to him right now. Besides, this is as close as he lets himself get to reckless abandon with her, and knowing that it doesn't make a difference if he leaves any sign of this behind, marks from his fingers on the backs of her thighs or from his mouth on her throat, is a turn-on in its own right. "Grace," he gasps, lifting his head again, kissing her hard. "Fuck."

With her eyes shut tight, Grace sees only lights, color, a visual echo of the electricity jolting through her body with every roll of his hips, enough to feel like she could drown in it, already gasping for air. Later, there will be time later for soft, gentle, for dragging everything out. For now, she finds herself chasing the end, rocking desperately with him. Even when he's fucking her hard, he's sweeter by a mile than any other lover she's had. It makes a real difference, knowing how much he cares, that she's not some means to an end, that he's never left her anything less than blissfully satisfied. If anything, that makes her like this that much more, a hand sliding up into his hair, holding him close.

There's no way in hell this is going to last long. Jerry's known that from the start, though, and he thinks she must have, too, if only because it's been pretty fucking apparent. Later, he can make it up to her, having kept her waiting the way he did. For now, he's nothing but lost in her, too desperate to stop and think about taking his time, even if he'd never be anything but careful with her. This takes more energy than drawing it out would require, anyway. Still holding onto her firmly, not wanting even to come close to dropping her, he stifles a strangled sound against her mouth, not stopping for a second.

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