T:SSC Fic: A Moment's Respite
Title: A Moment's Respite
Author: Lizardbeth
Rating: ADULT
Pairing: Sarah and Derek
Summary: The ghost of Kyle hung between them but it wasn't what she wanted. Not right now.
Note: Happy Birthday, sabaceanbabe!! A bit late but better than never, eh? And thank you for your mad beta skillz. (which she didn't employ for this ficlet, so it's all on me, I'm afraid)
This is for you, hon!
Sarah frowned when she went in the house. Usually, Derek was at the door to greet her, but the house was silent. The kids were still at school -- one real kid, and one pretend kid, she reminded herself -- but maybe Derek had gone out. He did that occasionally, taking off without explanation. Each time, she planned to make him tell her what he was doing, but when he came back, there was always something in his face which made her hesitate and she let it go.
She set her pocketbook and keys on the kitchen counter and decided to change to shorts, since the morning clouds had burned away and the heat was building up, especially inside the house.
Her footsteps paused at the living room. Derek was home after all - he was slumped in the arm chair, sound asleep. There was a bottle of cheap whiskey on the table next to him, but it didn't look like he'd taken more than a shot or two, since the bottle still looked full.
She moved within a few feet and he didn't stir, which was so unusual she had to look him over carefully to make sure he wasn't hurt. But there was no blood anywhere or injury she could see. He was barefoot and had taken off his jacket in concession to the heat, and her eyes traced the tattoo on his left arm up to where it disappeared beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt, across the shoulder, and up to his face.
Some people - like John - looked younger asleep, but Derek looked older - his frown lines seemed deeper and the permanent stubble looked grizzled in the orange light coming through the drawn curtains. There were dark smudges under his eyes she hadn't noticed before, like he hadn't been sleeping much, and she remembered with a guilty twinge that it hadn't been that long ago that he'd been bleeding out in the other room.
Standing there in the quiet, watching him breathe, she let herself be glad he'd lived. It was so strange to think that he was Kyle's brother - she wasn't sure whether to thank her son-of-the-future for the gift or damn him for doing this to her.
Because she was thinking about Derek Reese a whole lot more often than she was thinking of Kyle these days.
He muttered, making her start and her heart fluttered once, as though he'd just caught her at something. But he was dreaming, she realized, when his head rubbed against the back of the chair and he mumbled incoherently, sounding distressed. It wasn't a good dream. She decided to wake him, but knew better than to touch him.
"Derek," she called and repeated more loudly, "Derek! Wake up, you're dreaming."
His eyes shot open, strangely colorless in the muted light. He looked confused and frightened, still trapped in whatever nightmare he had been reliving. Drawn nearer by the unfamiliar, fragile expression, she knelt on the floor, making sure she wasn't in a threatening position, and put her hands on his knees. "It's okay," she murmured, "it was a dream. Derek, it was just a dream."
"Sarah?" he murmured and reached out to touch her face as if to reassure himself she was real.
His fingers stroked her cheek lightly, more delicately than she could ever have imagined a man as hard as Derek Reese touching anything. It made her shiver, and she leaned into his legs, closer. "It's okay," she whispered. "It was a dream."
He shook his head once, and his face crumpled. She realized with a shock that his eyes were wet. Her lips parted to say something, anything, to help ease the pain there.
"I saw my mother," he said in an anguished whisper. "I saw her… I passed her on the street, and I didn't tell her. I didn't warn her…"
She wasn't sure if he meant in the dream, or he'd seen her earlier, but that didn't matter when she felt Derek was two seconds away from cracking right down the middle. She pushed closer, between his knees, to frame his face in both hands. "Listen to me: you won't have to warn her. We're going to change it. It's not going to happen. We won't let it. We will stop Judgment Day."
His eyes stared into hers, and she tried to share her determination with him, realizing how much she'd come to depend on his strength in the short time he'd been with them.
"We will. We have to," he agreed and blinked away the threatening tears, inhaling a deep breath and squaring his shoulders. "No matter what." For an instant the memory of Andy flashed before her eyes, and she wanted to argue that not all means were acceptable. But then his right hand pushed into her hair, thumb caressing her cheek and the curve of her ear, and she forgot about everything else but the feeling of fingers exploring the side of her neck.
Her own hands fell to his chest, and she watched his face as his eyes followed his fingers, tracing the top edge of her tank top, across the top of her breasts. She felt captured by the strange slow gentleness of his hands, not at all what she would have expected from him. For just a moment, it seemed as if it was the ghost of Kyle from all those years ago touching her, but the body against hers was solid and real. Her fingers opened and spread apart, and the feel of the muscles under her touch made warmth slide down deep inside on a shudder.
Then he froze as if realizing what he was doing, and his gaze flicked up to hers, questioning. "Sarah?"
She answered the only way she wanted to, by leaning down and putting her lips on his. He met her, kissing back eagerly, as they tasted each other. His hand slid around to the back of her neck, tangling in her hair, and this was what she had expected - hot, demanding - his mouth opening to hers until neither of them could breathe.
Then he was kissing her face and under her ear to make her shiver despite the warmth coming off him. She pulled up her knees to either side of his body, bracing herself against the arms of the chair and freeing her hands to roam all over his chest and down his sides, to tug at the hem of his shirt.
He sat up to help her, and stripped off his shirt over his head. The motion pushed her back a little and down across his lap. She caught her breath, and heard him do the same. It was as if their pants weren't even there, and she could feel everything.
Then, wicked smile on her lips, she rocked her hips, just to see what he'd do.
His eyes flared and his lips twitched in a faint smile, before he captured her mouth with his again, and all she could feel was the heat of his body against hers, his mouth, and the hands at her waist, sliding under her tank top, up her ribs, and over her breasts.
She arched her back and reached one-handed to undo the hooks on her bra, so he could get his hands underneath, and … God. His fingers slid on the soft undersides, slipping up over to cup her, and his thumbs rubbed her nipples hard and aching.
She bit her lower lip and still a little moaning breath slipped out. She stripped off her top and bra in one motion, feeling impatient with their being in the way, but it didn't help her feel cooler. He looked, and looked, and she raised her eyebrows, when he didn't put his hands back on her or move at all. "Well?"
He licked his lips and his gaze slowly rose upward. "I think I understand now…." he murmured. But he didn't move, and his brow furrowed in doubt. She saw the ghost of Kyle in his eyes, and she knew he was about to stop, out of respect for a brother he'd lost only recently, but had been gone for almost half her life.
But she knew what she wanted and that wasn't Kyle hanging between them, not right now. She leaned forward, pushing him back against the chair. His startled twitch made her grin in delight. Nice to surprise him about something. "What, Derek?" she asked, teasing, "You need an engraved invitation?"
"No, of course --" he started, but she slipped a hand between them and down the front of his pants and his words got strangled in his throat as her hand curled around him. "Sarah."
She smirked. "Apparently you do."
"This isn't --" But again he couldn't finish, a hiss pulled from him as she massaged him through his pants. His hand came around the back of her neck to pull her down on his mouth and kiss her some more, but she refused to stop, even if he was making it difficult to work him.
And eventually, as she knew he would, he gave up on kissing her, pulling his lips to the side so he could pant. "God, Sarah, what are you doing?"
She took her hand away and smiled down at him wryly. "Most men wouldn't complain about having a half-naked woman on top of them looking for sex."
"Jesus, I'm not complaining," he muttered, "I just want to make sure you're sure. We both have to live in this house."
Which was a good point, but she bent very close, so her breath brushed his cheek, and whispered in his ear. "I'm sure." It was very satisfying to feel him shudder beneath her. She straightened and opened his pants, pulling down the zipper. "Now, unless you have some more objections …"
When he said nothing, she stopped and gave him a look. Hurriedly, he added, "No, no objections." He helped her take off his pants and then moved to push off hers as well. It was one of the few times she'd ever wished she were wearing a skirt, but it was all worth it when she pushed him back into the chair and returned to kneeling across his thighs.
There wasn't anything she hadn't seen before but seeing him laid out there in the golden light made her clench with need. He was already coming erect for her, and she wanted to touch him there.
Her hands traced down his chest, damp with sweat already, to his stomach, touching the new scars gently, and she had a moment's doubt. "Is this --?" she asked. "I don't want to hurt--"
"It's fine," he muttered, "I'm gonna hurt a lot more if you stop."
"I don't want to stop," she assured him and wrapped her hand around him. Almost instantly he hardened under her grip, and the touch was making her clit throb eagerly.
"God, Sarah," he groaned, and his hands slid up her waist to cup her breasts again.
She shifted upward to position herself and then pushed downward. She was wet enough she slid over him easily enough, but she went slowly, closing her eyes to concentrate on the feeling as he filled her. Her hands clenched on his chest as she settled, while his fingers slipped down her belly and between them to touch her clit.
She jerked and her mouth opened, "Derek."
He smirked a little, under heavy-lidded eyes, and his fingers moved again, teasing. Finding her answering smirk, she slid on him, working her hips to find that place inside. And every time she came down, his hand was there.
Until it all grew so tight and hot that she nearly froze in place, unable to bear it, but his fingers were still there and she could feel him in her, sending little shocks through her whole body.
It all built and then abruptly came apart and she gasped out his name, shuddering with climax. She lost her rhythm on him, but it didn't matter as he gripped her hips to keep her tight and low on him. "Sarah, oh, Sarah," he murmured his head thrown back, then fell silent as his whole body grew rigid and he tried to thrust inside her.
She watched the emotions pass through his face - naked and vulnerable in that moment - and then he gave a big shudder and relaxed. He opened his eyes and grinned up at her. "You good?" he asked, catching his breath. "Or you want…?" He held up a hand suggestively.
She chuckled and stretched across his chest, lazily content in the heat and sweat of their skin together. "I'm good, for now."
His hands came around her, and caressed her back. "Okay."
She listened to his heart racing under her ear, the rate slowing as was hers.
"No regrets?" he asked after a moment, not stopping the soft movement of his hand.
She had plenty, but not this. "No," she answered.
"Me neither. But I think my back has a few."
She snickered, but when she tried to move off him, his hands kept her close. So she stayed where she was and closed her eyes.
Just for a little while.
Author: Lizardbeth
Rating: ADULT
Pairing: Sarah and Derek
Summary: The ghost of Kyle hung between them but it wasn't what she wanted. Not right now.
Note: Happy Birthday, sabaceanbabe!! A bit late but better than never, eh? And thank you for your mad beta skillz. (which she didn't employ for this ficlet, so it's all on me, I'm afraid)
This is for you, hon!
Sarah frowned when she went in the house. Usually, Derek was at the door to greet her, but the house was silent. The kids were still at school -- one real kid, and one pretend kid, she reminded herself -- but maybe Derek had gone out. He did that occasionally, taking off without explanation. Each time, she planned to make him tell her what he was doing, but when he came back, there was always something in his face which made her hesitate and she let it go.
She set her pocketbook and keys on the kitchen counter and decided to change to shorts, since the morning clouds had burned away and the heat was building up, especially inside the house.
Her footsteps paused at the living room. Derek was home after all - he was slumped in the arm chair, sound asleep. There was a bottle of cheap whiskey on the table next to him, but it didn't look like he'd taken more than a shot or two, since the bottle still looked full.
She moved within a few feet and he didn't stir, which was so unusual she had to look him over carefully to make sure he wasn't hurt. But there was no blood anywhere or injury she could see. He was barefoot and had taken off his jacket in concession to the heat, and her eyes traced the tattoo on his left arm up to where it disappeared beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt, across the shoulder, and up to his face.
Some people - like John - looked younger asleep, but Derek looked older - his frown lines seemed deeper and the permanent stubble looked grizzled in the orange light coming through the drawn curtains. There were dark smudges under his eyes she hadn't noticed before, like he hadn't been sleeping much, and she remembered with a guilty twinge that it hadn't been that long ago that he'd been bleeding out in the other room.
Standing there in the quiet, watching him breathe, she let herself be glad he'd lived. It was so strange to think that he was Kyle's brother - she wasn't sure whether to thank her son-of-the-future for the gift or damn him for doing this to her.
Because she was thinking about Derek Reese a whole lot more often than she was thinking of Kyle these days.
He muttered, making her start and her heart fluttered once, as though he'd just caught her at something. But he was dreaming, she realized, when his head rubbed against the back of the chair and he mumbled incoherently, sounding distressed. It wasn't a good dream. She decided to wake him, but knew better than to touch him.
"Derek," she called and repeated more loudly, "Derek! Wake up, you're dreaming."
His eyes shot open, strangely colorless in the muted light. He looked confused and frightened, still trapped in whatever nightmare he had been reliving. Drawn nearer by the unfamiliar, fragile expression, she knelt on the floor, making sure she wasn't in a threatening position, and put her hands on his knees. "It's okay," she murmured, "it was a dream. Derek, it was just a dream."
"Sarah?" he murmured and reached out to touch her face as if to reassure himself she was real.
His fingers stroked her cheek lightly, more delicately than she could ever have imagined a man as hard as Derek Reese touching anything. It made her shiver, and she leaned into his legs, closer. "It's okay," she whispered. "It was a dream."
He shook his head once, and his face crumpled. She realized with a shock that his eyes were wet. Her lips parted to say something, anything, to help ease the pain there.
"I saw my mother," he said in an anguished whisper. "I saw her… I passed her on the street, and I didn't tell her. I didn't warn her…"
She wasn't sure if he meant in the dream, or he'd seen her earlier, but that didn't matter when she felt Derek was two seconds away from cracking right down the middle. She pushed closer, between his knees, to frame his face in both hands. "Listen to me: you won't have to warn her. We're going to change it. It's not going to happen. We won't let it. We will stop Judgment Day."
His eyes stared into hers, and she tried to share her determination with him, realizing how much she'd come to depend on his strength in the short time he'd been with them.
"We will. We have to," he agreed and blinked away the threatening tears, inhaling a deep breath and squaring his shoulders. "No matter what." For an instant the memory of Andy flashed before her eyes, and she wanted to argue that not all means were acceptable. But then his right hand pushed into her hair, thumb caressing her cheek and the curve of her ear, and she forgot about everything else but the feeling of fingers exploring the side of her neck.
Her own hands fell to his chest, and she watched his face as his eyes followed his fingers, tracing the top edge of her tank top, across the top of her breasts. She felt captured by the strange slow gentleness of his hands, not at all what she would have expected from him. For just a moment, it seemed as if it was the ghost of Kyle from all those years ago touching her, but the body against hers was solid and real. Her fingers opened and spread apart, and the feel of the muscles under her touch made warmth slide down deep inside on a shudder.
Then he froze as if realizing what he was doing, and his gaze flicked up to hers, questioning. "Sarah?"
She answered the only way she wanted to, by leaning down and putting her lips on his. He met her, kissing back eagerly, as they tasted each other. His hand slid around to the back of her neck, tangling in her hair, and this was what she had expected - hot, demanding - his mouth opening to hers until neither of them could breathe.
Then he was kissing her face and under her ear to make her shiver despite the warmth coming off him. She pulled up her knees to either side of his body, bracing herself against the arms of the chair and freeing her hands to roam all over his chest and down his sides, to tug at the hem of his shirt.
He sat up to help her, and stripped off his shirt over his head. The motion pushed her back a little and down across his lap. She caught her breath, and heard him do the same. It was as if their pants weren't even there, and she could feel everything.
Then, wicked smile on her lips, she rocked her hips, just to see what he'd do.
His eyes flared and his lips twitched in a faint smile, before he captured her mouth with his again, and all she could feel was the heat of his body against hers, his mouth, and the hands at her waist, sliding under her tank top, up her ribs, and over her breasts.
She arched her back and reached one-handed to undo the hooks on her bra, so he could get his hands underneath, and … God. His fingers slid on the soft undersides, slipping up over to cup her, and his thumbs rubbed her nipples hard and aching.
She bit her lower lip and still a little moaning breath slipped out. She stripped off her top and bra in one motion, feeling impatient with their being in the way, but it didn't help her feel cooler. He looked, and looked, and she raised her eyebrows, when he didn't put his hands back on her or move at all. "Well?"
He licked his lips and his gaze slowly rose upward. "I think I understand now…." he murmured. But he didn't move, and his brow furrowed in doubt. She saw the ghost of Kyle in his eyes, and she knew he was about to stop, out of respect for a brother he'd lost only recently, but had been gone for almost half her life.
But she knew what she wanted and that wasn't Kyle hanging between them, not right now. She leaned forward, pushing him back against the chair. His startled twitch made her grin in delight. Nice to surprise him about something. "What, Derek?" she asked, teasing, "You need an engraved invitation?"
"No, of course --" he started, but she slipped a hand between them and down the front of his pants and his words got strangled in his throat as her hand curled around him. "Sarah."
She smirked. "Apparently you do."
"This isn't --" But again he couldn't finish, a hiss pulled from him as she massaged him through his pants. His hand came around the back of her neck to pull her down on his mouth and kiss her some more, but she refused to stop, even if he was making it difficult to work him.
And eventually, as she knew he would, he gave up on kissing her, pulling his lips to the side so he could pant. "God, Sarah, what are you doing?"
She took her hand away and smiled down at him wryly. "Most men wouldn't complain about having a half-naked woman on top of them looking for sex."
"Jesus, I'm not complaining," he muttered, "I just want to make sure you're sure. We both have to live in this house."
Which was a good point, but she bent very close, so her breath brushed his cheek, and whispered in his ear. "I'm sure." It was very satisfying to feel him shudder beneath her. She straightened and opened his pants, pulling down the zipper. "Now, unless you have some more objections …"
When he said nothing, she stopped and gave him a look. Hurriedly, he added, "No, no objections." He helped her take off his pants and then moved to push off hers as well. It was one of the few times she'd ever wished she were wearing a skirt, but it was all worth it when she pushed him back into the chair and returned to kneeling across his thighs.
There wasn't anything she hadn't seen before but seeing him laid out there in the golden light made her clench with need. He was already coming erect for her, and she wanted to touch him there.
Her hands traced down his chest, damp with sweat already, to his stomach, touching the new scars gently, and she had a moment's doubt. "Is this --?" she asked. "I don't want to hurt--"
"It's fine," he muttered, "I'm gonna hurt a lot more if you stop."
"I don't want to stop," she assured him and wrapped her hand around him. Almost instantly he hardened under her grip, and the touch was making her clit throb eagerly.
"God, Sarah," he groaned, and his hands slid up her waist to cup her breasts again.
She shifted upward to position herself and then pushed downward. She was wet enough she slid over him easily enough, but she went slowly, closing her eyes to concentrate on the feeling as he filled her. Her hands clenched on his chest as she settled, while his fingers slipped down her belly and between them to touch her clit.
She jerked and her mouth opened, "Derek."
He smirked a little, under heavy-lidded eyes, and his fingers moved again, teasing. Finding her answering smirk, she slid on him, working her hips to find that place inside. And every time she came down, his hand was there.
Until it all grew so tight and hot that she nearly froze in place, unable to bear it, but his fingers were still there and she could feel him in her, sending little shocks through her whole body.
It all built and then abruptly came apart and she gasped out his name, shuddering with climax. She lost her rhythm on him, but it didn't matter as he gripped her hips to keep her tight and low on him. "Sarah, oh, Sarah," he murmured his head thrown back, then fell silent as his whole body grew rigid and he tried to thrust inside her.
She watched the emotions pass through his face - naked and vulnerable in that moment - and then he gave a big shudder and relaxed. He opened his eyes and grinned up at her. "You good?" he asked, catching his breath. "Or you want…?" He held up a hand suggestively.
She chuckled and stretched across his chest, lazily content in the heat and sweat of their skin together. "I'm good, for now."
His hands came around her, and caressed her back. "Okay."
She listened to his heart racing under her ear, the rate slowing as was hers.
"No regrets?" he asked after a moment, not stopping the soft movement of his hand.
She had plenty, but not this. "No," she answered.
"Me neither. But I think my back has a few."
She snickered, but when she tried to move off him, his hands kept her close. So she stayed where she was and closed her eyes.
Just for a little while.