Then You Touched Me, Casually at First (30 Rock, Jack/Liz)
Title: Then You Touched Me, Casually at First
Prompt: 100_situations #007. Relief
Fandom: 30 Rock
Pairing: Jack/Liz
Word Count: 5,863
Rating: NC-17
Table: Number Two.
Summary: Liz gets drunk with Jack. (A post-ep for 2x10.)
Disclaimer: Characters belong to NBC, Tina Fey, etc. Title is from 'As Beautiful as Ever' by Panic Attacks!.
*
Liz spends almost an hour walking around outside of 30 Rock and, for some reason, she's surprised every time she passes by the NBC Experience store and sees the "Me Want Food" shirt in the window -- among a display that's currently mostly for MILF Island -- still presumably selling for full price. People must have truly dug that stupid catchphrase.
Yeah. The shirt is not the important part of this aimless walking.
The important, more serious part is why she finds herself walking aimlessly: She can't seem to bring herself to go home or even somewhere besides the general vicinity of the building she works in. It's like it has a hold on her. Of course it does. That's the problem, isn't it? She's always going to choose it over someone who might be good for her. Just like Jack. So, yeah. She's roaming and thinking. About... everything. About Floyd and Jack and C.C. and how it's impossible to have it all and how she's never going to have it all.
Mostly, though, she's thinking about Jack. (The whole 'she's never going to have it all' thing is a close second.) Because... he's up there, getting drunk and depressed alone, while she's sober and alone and depressed and maybe she shouldn't have left him. He probably would've kept her from calling the co-op board, if she'd asked. He's her friend, and she screwed things up with those Germans and has now left him to wallow by himself. This guy she does care about, that she spent last summer missing and would've missed even more if he'd left to be with C.C.
Yeah. She really would've missed him. In a perfectly reasonable, perfectly friendly way.
She's pretty sure.
Yeah.
She sighs, frowning at... everything. All of it. Everything is just... yeah.
She's still surprised the "Me Want Food" t-shirt is in the window.
Maybe she'll go check on Jack. Because she should and because Jack melancholy, intoxicated, obsessed with someone he can't have, and looking for companionship is a combination that can get messy. He might call Liz at three in the morning and make her carry around a hooker. And hookers are hard to lug, especially if they're under the influence.
Yes. She's going back up.
Her last time passing by the NBC Experience store, a hand plucks the "Me Want Food" shirt from its place.
Finally.
*
When someone's listening to 'All By Myself,' you know things aren't good.
She knocks on Jack's door a couple of times. Then a couple more. He tells her to come in, but she peeks into the office tentatively. "Um. Are you okay?"
"Yes," Jack says. He stands up from the couch. He's no longer wearing his jacket or tie and his sleeves are rolled up. "I was just listening to Tracy's demo. He wants to put out another album and the Michael McDonald one fell through--"
"I thought it didn't sound like a version I knew." She enters, closes the door behind her. "Should you be listening to 'All By Myself,' Jack?"
"I don't see why not. Just because a song is about an emotion doesn't mean it has to cause similar emotions in the person listening to it." He pauses, looking off to the side. "Though I suppose it's a little too on point for my current situation."
"So. You want to shut it off?"
Jack nods. "Yes, I believe I do." He does so. "I didn't expect to see you again this evening."
"I didn't expect to come back." She pauses. "Still want me to get drunk with you?"
He nods. He's smiling. Sort of. "I could certainly use the company. I honestly had nothing planned after taking a listen to Tracy's demo. Outside of sitting around and drinking, of course."
"Yeah. Why were you listening to it now?"
"I thought it might seem better when I was intoxicated, melancholy and seeking a way to be cheered up; then I wouldn't have to work so hard at lying if it were subpar. That's also why I've been reading this manuscript." He gestures at the table.
She moves closer to Jack; he doesn't smell as much of booze as she would've thought. She glances down at the title and author. "So... Tom DeLay wrote a book called It's All Going to the Dogs!?"
"It's aimed at the youth market. Inspired by his legal troubles. I love Tom, of course--"
"Of course."
"But it doesn't quite translate." He takes a breath. "So. What would you like to drink?"
Hmm. She can't have wine. It's too soon to trust it not to completely warp her brain. Because, yeah. It was the wine's fault, right?
Anyway.
She shrugs. "Whatever you're having, I guess." As he goes to pour her a drink, she picks up the manuscript. "Do you mind if I read some of this?"
He hands her a glass of some amber liquid she assumes to be Scotch. "I suppose not."
"Awesome."
*
She's sitting next to Jack on the couch. "So..." She flips to the next page of DeLay's book. "...this noble dog is about to be crushed by Demmy the Elephant, who was sent by an evil pit bull named Ronnie Earle. Super subtle." She finishes off her drink. He pours her a second. "This... this isn't getting published, is it?"
"There are no offers as of yet."
"Thank God." She takes a too big sip. "This literary masterpiece is actually making me feel better."
"The fact that it's such a comfort to you is making me feel somewhat better as well."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
He shrugs. "I don't like to see my close friends despondent, Lemon."
"Neither do I." She throws DeLay's ramblings on the table. It doesn't hit quite right, half of it hanging off the edge. She kind of hopes it falls, but it doesn't. "I'm sorry about what I did before, by the way."
He waves his hand. "We can handle the Germans--"
"I mean about leaving you to drink alone."
"You came back. Many wouldn't." He grabs hold of her glass. Wait, it's empty again? "That's what counts."
She takes off her shoes and throws them next to his. She might as well settle in and get comfortable, if she's going to stay and get hammered. "Okay. Glad I came back, then."
He refills his own after he does hers. He clinks his glass against Liz's right as she's about to drink.
"What are we toasting to?" she says.
"Not drinking alone."
Liz nods. "To not drinking alone."
And she clinks her glass against his.
This time, his smile counts as an actual one.
*
Getting really drunk with Jack is actually kind of fun. Well, Liz supposes she has gotten drunk with him before. Well, she's been drunk around him. And he's been drunk in front of her. And they were both drinking at Kenneth's par--
No. She's not to think of that night anymore. Grizz and Dot Com are still nervous around her.
But, anyway. He's laughing at her jokes, which he kind of never does, and he's allowing her to insult Tom DeLay without scolding her too much. It's almost like he's the one trying to cheer her up, but maybe the deal is that they're trying to cheer each other up.
Because, you know. They're in the same boat.
She doesn't want to think about that.
What she wants to think about is how glad she is that he didn't leave. Because he's... him. He's this guy she thought she'd never be able to stand who has somehow managed to become her friend. Someone who's more consistently concerned with her than most of her longtime friends. And he's as naturally self-centered as Jenna is, way more self-centered than Pete. So. He's actually a pretty good friend. Sure, sometimes his concern is misplaced and on occasion he has the wrong advice, but a lot of the time he gets it right. Which is pissing her off less than it used to.
She would've missed him.
Yeah. He's a great friend. Who is really, really close to her right now.
Which she notices for no reason at all.
She's rather drunk.
But she's not drunk dialing.
So. Getting drunk with Jack is pretty great.
*
"You know, Jack, getting drunk with you is pretty great."
Liz says this almost a couple of hours after she thinks it. Because now she's at the stage of her drunkenness where she wants to be honest.
She shouldn't be getting this drunk with him.
But she's already there, so she's just going to have to deal with it.
"Because you're a good friend. Even when you're annoying."
"I appreciate that, Lemon. I feel the same way about you."
She scoffs. "I'm not annoying. At all. Well, maybe I'm kind of annoying. But I'm the least annoying friend you have."
"How would you know that?"
"I don't. I guess. So. How are you feeling, Jack?"
"Fairly well." He nods. "Yes. I feel fine."
She nods, too. "Good." She pauses. She's staring at him, just staring for some reason she can't quite comprehend, and she wants to tell him things. Well, one thing. But it seems important he know. "Jack. Can I tell you something?"
"Is it something I don't want to hear?"
"I don't think so. I mean, I don't think you wouldn't want to know it. I think you'd want to know." Coherent on the third try. Awesome. "I would've missed you," she says haltingly. "If you'd gone off to be with C.C. I mean, I would've been happy for you. But I would've missed you."
"I know."
She rolls her eyes. "Can't you accept me being nice with something other than your smug-type stuff?"
He shrugs. "I'm not being smug. I'm simply aware you would have missed me. Just as I would've missed you if you'd chosen Floyd and an idyllic life in the Cleve."
"So," Liz sighs. "I guess it's a good thing we spurned the loves of our lives. Because now we won't have to miss each other."
She isn't being sarcastic. Which is weird.
"Floyd wasn't the love of your life."
"Hey." She pokes him in the chest. "He could've been. He's the closest I've been. He got all my Star Wars references." She pokes him again as she stares into his eyes. When she's drunk, Jack's eyes look... pretty. If she can call her boss's eyes pretty. Which she probably can't. Because, you know, he's her boss. A grown man who most likely doesn't enjoy having any part of him described with the word 'pretty.' And she's not a twelve-year-old girl, which is really the only type of person who should be entertaining thoughts like oh my gosh, you guys, his eyes are so super pretty.
That's not exactly what she thought, sure. And maybe twelve-year-olds are more mature than that. Kids are growing up fast nowadays. She read an article--
Not the point.
But he does have nice eyes.
"Floyd was awesome," she says, trying to focus on his nose so her inner monologue doesn't go on another tangent. "He might have been the love of my life."
"There's no such thing as someone being the love of your life. There are simply people you fall in love with." He shakes his head. "Having one true love in a lifetime is a ridiculous notion."
The way he says it, the way he's looking at her with those not-unpretty eyes (focusing on his nose didn't work), it feels like...
She doesn't know. But her head is swimming.
"He could've been," Liz says again, though she's not exactly thinking of Floyd at the moment. Instead of poking Jack this time, she rubs her finger against the area she jabbed before leaving her hand there on his chest, palm resting near his heart.
"What are you doing, Lemon?"
"I... don't know."
She starts to ease her hand away, as if prolonging the contact will make this less odd. Jack puts his hand over hers, keeping it where it is.
Something is happening right now, isn't it? A something that could get way out of hand.
She should get out of here. Run. Go somewhere far, far away like Bolivia. Or she could go home. Yeah, that would make more sense. Because she's the one who started it, so she should be the one to stop it.
Instead, she moves her thumb back and forth against his shirt.
"May I run something by you, Lemon? Something I've been... wondering about us?"
She's shaking her head, but she says, "Yeah, go ahead."
"I will accept the words from your mouth instead of the motion of your head."
"Okay."
"Did it ever occur to you we've been looking in the wrong places for love? That the reasons our relationships failed weren't timing or work? Perhaps we need to..." He takes a breath. "Reevaluate."
She knows where this is going and she's... not horrified. But she needs him to say it outright. She can't let this be misunderstood, and she's certainly not going to finish the thought for him.
"Perhaps we should try to make things less complicated."
He exhales. Now his thumb is rubbing the back of her hand. She thinks, hey, their thumbs are moving in almost the same way, like they're thumb twins. For a second, that feels incredibly meaningful.
She's way too drunk. She likes him more than she should.
And he keeps looking at her, while she keeps staring back.
"Perhaps," he says, after a bit of a pause, "I have... feelings for you. Perhaps--"
"Stop saying perhaps."
"Fine. I've had feelings for you for a while. I thought they were a result of you being one of the few women who's constantly in my life, that they would go away in time. But they didn't, not even while I was falling in love with C.C. There's something between us, isn't there?"
She doesn't know quite what to say, but her silence doesn't seem to trouble him.
"I think we should explore the possibility of being more than colleagues. More than friends. What a person without your inexplicable objections to the word would call 'lovers.'"
"You think I should be your girlfriend?"
"Yes. That is what I'm saying."
She raises her eyebrows. "And that's less complicated?"
His fingers drift down her arm, then back up. "I think it's fairly simple, yes."
"Yeah. Maybe it is." She pauses, places her hand over his. "Are you saying this because you're drunk?"
"No," he says. "Are you staring at me in the way you are because you're drunk?"
"Maybe."
"But that doesn't mean it's not real."
"I know." She lowers her voice to almost a whisper. "I really would've missed you."
He moves her hand to his shoulder as he leans in. When there's barely any distance between their mouths, he stops. She's not sure if he's having second thoughts or if he wants her to make the first move, so she waits, her palm curving against his shoulder. When he finally does press his lips against hers, it's soft. He pulls her onto his lap and, you know, she is not a lap-sitter. She swore that off entirely after she... almost made out with her cousin. But Jack is not related to her -- she did an extensive investigation into her family tree, and she swears the reason she took note of Jack's lack of appearance in it wasn't because she ever truly wanted to kiss him -- and she's still looking to try new things, like sitting in the lap of a man who's not related to her.
Sitting in his lap and letting him kiss her. Letting him keep kissing her. Kissing him back. Touching his cheek.
His arm is around her, fingers moving over her side until they stop, pressing into her as he pulls her closer. His other hand moves to her thigh, and they just keep kissing until his hand reaches under her shirt, at which point she pulls away slightly. Gets off of him entirely. And takes her shirt off. He licks his lips and closes the distance between them, kissing her again. His hands feel good on her skin, but she hasn't been touched like this in a while.
Maybe she should've slept with Jamie. Then letting Jack touch her wouldn't seem like such a good idea.
Is this a good idea, seriously?
Because it actually feels like a good idea.
His mouth moves to her chin, then to her neck. He unhooks her bra, slides the straps down her shoulders. She takes it the rest of the way off, and then he's kissing her breasts. She feels his tongue against her nipple before his lips close over it. He spends a bit of time at her chest; he must be into boobs.
She's fine with this.
He lifts his head up, brings his mouth back to hers. His fingers are on the waist of her jeans as she's unbuttoning his shirt, and he's kissing her well enough to make her half-moan. Or fully moan.
Yeah, she's moaning.
After she's done with unbuttoning, his hands stay stationary at her hips. He pulls back, expression inscrutable. Her pants aren't any closer to coming off.
"Do you want to do this?"
He leans in. He kisses the corner of her mouth. "Of course."
"Because we don't need to do this."
"Everyone needs sex. Except for asexuals."
"Not what I meant. And not true."
"It is." He kisses her cheek. "You shouldn't disparage a sexual orientation just because you don't understand it."
"I mean we don't need sex. We don't need to have sex. Together."
"We do." Finally, he does unbutton her jeans. Starts to slide the zipper down. "If we stop now, we'll think this was a mistake, which it most certainly is not." He pauses as his eyes move over her. "This is not a mistake."
She gets his shirt all the way off before she helps him strip her of her jeans. She gasps when he slides his hand under her panties; she wasn't expecting it. His fingers are on the outer lips of her sex, stroking her, slowly spreading her open.
"I want to take my underwear off," she says, because they're cotton and a little too tight and his hand is probably going to get uncomfortable in there.
"I'm perfectly fine with that."
So he stops touching her... there long enough to make her totally naked. In next to no time his hand's back between her legs. One of his fingers dips inside her.
"If I asked you what you'd like me to do, you wouldn't tell me, would you?"
Liz hesitates. "Not because I want to be a jerk."
"I'm not saying that would be the reason for your silence."
"Okay."
"Just tell me when I do something wrong."
"Okay."
For a while, he doesn't do anything wrong. His fingers are perfectly there, touching her, making her more turned-on than she generally gets. Then his fingertip brushes over her clit and it's... too much, or something, which she tells him. He starts moving his finger back and forth right next to her clit and her head starts swimming again. She hopes she's not going to get sick, because one should not have to take time out to vomit when things are going this... pleasantly.
Okay. It's better than pleasant. 'Pleasant' is how she usually describes sex that's not too boring or borderline yucky, but this is... good. He kisses his way back to her chest as he continues with the movement of his hand. When she comes, his mouth is on the valley between her breasts. As she's coming down, he's kissing her neck.
Yeah, okay. She'd enjoy this even if she had had sex recently.
If she likes the rest of this, she's not going to pretend it has anything to do with her months of celibacy. She hasn't even been without sex for that long. She has gone years without sex and ended up not feeling particularly enthused about the encounter that broke her dry spell. Which is sad.
Okay. The point is she's enjoying this for no reason other than its enjoyableness.
Yeah.
Jack licks his fingers, and she's not sure if that's sexy or kind of gross. Then he's kissing her, and she assumes the new taste in his mouth is her, and she's not sure how to feel about that, either.
"I need to leave the couch to get a condom," he says.
"Yeah?"
"I didn't want my departure to seem too sudden."
Even with the warning, it still seems a little sudden. But his return is just as swift. He kisses her, pulls her with him as he leans back on the couch. She finds herself straddling him, but:
"I don't want to be on top. You'll look at my boobs."
"I've been doing so already. Quite a bit, in fact. I'd assumed you'd taken note."
"I did notice, yeah. I don't want you to look at them when they're moving around too much."
"That's nothing to feel uncomfortable about."
"But I do."
"I'm simply saying you'll have to move past that at some point." He lowers his voice. "I'll help you." He strokes the outside of her thighs. "What position would you prefer?"
She kind of doesn't get it at first -- wouldn't it be obvious that if she doesn't want to be on top, he has to be? -- until she thinks, oh. Right. There are more than two sexual positions. And he surely knows them all. He's probably got a list of every single one, checking them off as he goes along, like some sort of sexy bucket list.
"You be on top," she says.
She moves, the couch making odd noises as she does so. She tries to position herself comfortably, but she can't quite lie down and the leather feels weird on her back.
This is not a good couch for sex. She would've thought he'd pick a couch that's comfortable to have sex on.
She shifts, one leg hanging off the couch and her body oddly scrunched. She can't imagine this pose is particularly attractive, but he isn't looking at her like he's appalled.
Liz moves again, slightly, as she watches him undo his belt. He stands up to get his pants off, and then he's standing there totally naked. From her angle, he looks huge. All of him, not only his penis. Which isn't to say his penis looks huge. Which isn't to say it looks small. It looks fine. She has no problems with his penis. At all.
Even though she's only thinking this, she feels pretty embarrassed.
What she's trying to say is she hates the way she's positioned at the moment because he looks ten feet tall and it's kind of creeping her out. When he's back on the couch, on his knees in front of her, he seems decidedly less intimidating. She shifts again as he unrolls the condom onto himself. She feels no more comfortable.
She pulls herself up, her back on the side of the couch. It occurs to her to suggest they move to the floor or something, but she doesn't feel like admitting she's not clued in to the secret trick to doing it on his couch.
But he probably knows.
He moves closer to her. The couch makes weird noises again. His mouth is on hers as he puts his hands under her ass and lifts her up a bit. She tilts her hips as he starts to ease himself inside her. Wrapping one of her legs around him, she holds onto his back. He grips the armrest she's leaning against and, as he starts to move, she kind of worries she's going to fall off.
If she does, she's explicitly telling him to get rid of the couch.
She presses her fingers into his flesh, though she supposes holding tighter onto him won't stop her from tumbling over the side of the couch. She'd probably end up scratching him.
For all she knows, he might be okay with that.
Outside of the fear of falling and the squeaking, stupid couch, Liz is... enjoying it.
She's not blaming her recent lack of sex, like she promised herself. She's not even blaming Jack. She's just... enjoying it, the feel of him inside her, the nearness of his body, the periodic kisses he places on her lips. And when she comes, she stops worrying about getting dropped on the floor.
For about a minute. But for that minute, she doesn't think about it at all. That's impressive.
She says his name once, twice. He says hers -- her first name -- in a way that's almost impossibly sexy, his voice raspier and, somehow, more affectionate. She kind of gets why some women think he's hot.
Well, she supposes she understood why before now. Or else she wouldn't be doing it with him. It's a reminder, or a confirmation, or something.
She's attracted to him. Probably against her better judgment.
But he's okay. He's good. He's great.
Not just as a friend. Because, yeah. That boat's already sailed off, too.
She pulls him in for a quick kiss which he prolongs. His hand on the back of her thigh, he says her name again. Her first one, still, and she misses hearing him say, "Lemon." Then he does say, "Lemon," while he's deep inside her and holding firm onto her leg. It's kind of nice, kind of hot, but somewhat weird.
She likes it.
She's very drunk, isn't she?
Getting drunk with Jack is pretty great.
She moves her hands over his back aimlessly; she's not so scared of falling anymore and she wants to touch him. She wants to touch him and she does, continuing the touching after he comes. His breath is heavy and he's so close and she wants him to stay this close. For a while. Not for the rest of her life.
But soon he's whispering in her ear that he has to go dispose of the condom.
"Yeah?"
"I didn't want my departure to seem too sudden."
"Yeah."
When he's back on the couch, she doesn't move closer to him right away. Jack looks over at her, extends a hand. She takes it, and he pulls her to him. He hesitates as his gaze shifts from her eyes to a place slightly downward, as if he's seriously considering her mouth. Then he's kissing her, and her skin is so warm, and.
Yeah.
"So," she breathes, while her head is resting on Jack's shoulder. "I think... I think I'm glad we did that."
"I know I am."
"Okay. I know I am, too."
When she glances at his face, he's smiling just enough for her to notice.
"Would you like another drink?" he asks.
"Yes," she says. "Yes, I would."
*
When she wakes up, she's on the couch with her pants off. She -- unsurprisingly -- has a headache. Wow. Hung-over two days in a row. That's a record for her.
She's not impressed with herself.
She exhales drowsily, blinking her eyes at the light coming in through the windows. She doesn't feel like moving but, just like it's not a great place for sex, the couch is also not a very comfortable place to sleep. It's hard and too small, and her legs are hanging off of it.
Jack definitely needs to get a better couch. Or she could swear to herself that she'll never again let him do her on it.
He needs to get a better couch.
After sitting up, Liz rubs her sore neck and wonders where Jack is. A few seconds after thinking this, she turns her head and sees him sleeping on the floor. He's on his back. He has his shirt off.
He looks... peaceful. She finds it... cute.
Yeah. Another word she shouldn't use to describe him, or any man who has enough chest hair to cover four or five average dudes. And he's not... cute, exactly, most of the time. But sometimes he is. Liz smiles in spite of herself, even as she starts to ponder what they did last night. About whether or not he was serious about wanting to start something with her. And even if he was, who's to say getting involved with someone so soon after breaking up with C.C. will seem like a great idea the morning after. Maybe he merely wants to believe getting involved with her will be a simple solution to his love problems, precisely as she might have convinced herself it would be easier if...
Wait, there's no reason for any part of her to think being in love with Jack is the easiest way to go.
Oh, crap. She thought the words "in love" right before "with Jack."
Her smile disappears.
She can't be in love with him, can she? She's in like, if anything. Deep like. With her boss. Who broke up with his girlfriend yesterday. And whom she recently got drunk with and had sex with. On a crappy, tiny couch. And whom she does want to date. And who might not want to date her.
Yeah. This is alarming enough without love.
She takes a deep breath. She's not in love with him. Not in love. Taking another breath, she leans forward and picks his watch up off the table; it's almost seven. She should probably wake him up. Another cleansing breath and she walks over to him. She considers rousing Jack with her foot -- purposely poking someone with your toes does not indicate love -- but instead ends up kneeling next to him.
"Jack." He doesn't respond. Louder: "Jack." She puts her hands on him. Shakes him a little. A bit louder: "Jack."
He wakes up. He blinks at her, and his hand for some reason goes to rest on the outside of her thigh. "What time is it, Lemon?"
Okay. He knows who she is and that she is without pants, so he has to remember what they did last night. And he doesn't sound horrified. Of course, that doesn't mean he won't think it was a mistake when he fully wakes up. "6:57."
His fingers curve against her as he strokes her skin with his knuckles. "I should call Jonathan. Give him some errands."
"Why don't you just tell him to come in a little late?"
"He'll find that suspicious." He sits up. "I'd prefer him not to think there's a reason to worry about me. He is one known to hover."
He pats her leg before he gets up. He goes straight to the phone and, while he's giving Jonathan a list of last-minute things he has to do, Liz puts her jeans on. She's standing there, somewhat awkwardly, not sure if she should get her shoes and leave or wait to talk. Should people talk when they're hung-over? Maybe this is the sort of conversation that's meant to wait until they're headache free and fully awake.
But she doesn't want to leave. Leaving while he's distracted with something else might make it seem like she's slinking away, and she's not ashamed enough to slink. She's not ashamed at all. She's... uneasy. And not in love.
He turns around after he hangs up the phone. "Would you like to use my bathroom?"
"Hmm?"
"You should--" He gestures vaguely. "--clean up."
"I'm gonna go home and change. These clothes aren't awesome enough to wear two days in a row."
"Do you own many clothes that are?"
Yeah. She can't love this guy. "Not really, I guess."
"You still should splash some water on your face. Brush your teeth so we can kiss each other goodbye."
She relaxes a bit. "Yeah. Okay."
*
He's with her when she's in the bathroom. She washes her face as he combs his hair. They brush their teeth at the same time, and she's not sure which of them is supposed to spit first. She doesn't want some awkwardness that ends in her spitting on him or them smacking into each other. She finds herself brushing her teeth for much longer than usual to avoid this until he finally mumbles, "Shall I go first?"
"Go ahead."
"What?"
Liz nods.
He spits and rinses and spits, then she does. He wipes his mouth with a hand towel, then she does the same. Not too long after, he's kissing her. His hands are on her sides, under her shirt, fingertips moving over her skin. Her head is swimming a little, but she's not drunk anymore.
She just likes him. In a way that's not love-like.
Her palms are against Jack's cheeks and she's halfway between being worried they're going to end up having sex on his stupid couch and concerned they might not.
She pulls away. They should talk. They're both cognizant enough for it.
"So."
"Yes?" Jack says.
"We should talk. About last night."
"You don't like the couch, do you?"
"I don't, no. But that's not where I was going." She tilts her head. "Are you... okay?"
"Yes. I feel very well."
"With last night, I mean."
"I very recently kissed you. That implies a comfort with what we did. Are you okay with what we did last night?"
"I kissed you back. So. Draw your own conclusions."
He smiles at her, and she smiles back. You know, his smile is--
Not cute. Just not unattractive.
She isn't in love with him. Honestly.
"So..." she continues, "are we going to do this? Us, I mean. Are we going to try there being an us?"
"I thought there already was an us," he says.
"Is there?"
"That's what I thought we agreed to last night."
"We were drunk, though."
"I was aware of what I was doing."
"So was I."
"So there's already an us."
"Is there?"
"Okay, Lemon. I would like for us to start seeing each other romantically." He pauses. "Is that what you want?"
"Yeah," she replies. "It is."
"Then there's already an us."
His next kiss is over too quickly, so she pulls him back.
They're going to do this.
Date each other, that is. Not kiss each other. Though they're doing that, too.
"Do you think we can make this work?" she asks after she pulls away. "That we can do the whole 'balancing work and love' thing together? Um, and, when I say love, I don't mean that, you know, it's love or anything super-serious yet. I just mean we're in a relationship. Starting a relationship. A romantic relationship."
"I understand what you mean."
"Okay, good. You think we can do it?"
He takes her hand in his own. "If any two people in this world can do it, it is most certainly the two of us."
"Well." She nods. "I appreciate your faith in the two of us." And she thinks she shares it.
Yeah. Maybe she and Jack can have it all.
At the very least, they have each other.
END
Prompt: 100_situations #007. Relief
Fandom: 30 Rock
Pairing: Jack/Liz
Word Count: 5,863
Rating: NC-17
Table: Number Two.
Summary: Liz gets drunk with Jack. (A post-ep for 2x10.)
Disclaimer: Characters belong to NBC, Tina Fey, etc. Title is from 'As Beautiful as Ever' by Panic Attacks!.
*
Liz spends almost an hour walking around outside of 30 Rock and, for some reason, she's surprised every time she passes by the NBC Experience store and sees the "Me Want Food" shirt in the window -- among a display that's currently mostly for MILF Island -- still presumably selling for full price. People must have truly dug that stupid catchphrase.
Yeah. The shirt is not the important part of this aimless walking.
The important, more serious part is why she finds herself walking aimlessly: She can't seem to bring herself to go home or even somewhere besides the general vicinity of the building she works in. It's like it has a hold on her. Of course it does. That's the problem, isn't it? She's always going to choose it over someone who might be good for her. Just like Jack. So, yeah. She's roaming and thinking. About... everything. About Floyd and Jack and C.C. and how it's impossible to have it all and how she's never going to have it all.
Mostly, though, she's thinking about Jack. (The whole 'she's never going to have it all' thing is a close second.) Because... he's up there, getting drunk and depressed alone, while she's sober and alone and depressed and maybe she shouldn't have left him. He probably would've kept her from calling the co-op board, if she'd asked. He's her friend, and she screwed things up with those Germans and has now left him to wallow by himself. This guy she does care about, that she spent last summer missing and would've missed even more if he'd left to be with C.C.
Yeah. She really would've missed him. In a perfectly reasonable, perfectly friendly way.
She's pretty sure.
Yeah.
She sighs, frowning at... everything. All of it. Everything is just... yeah.
She's still surprised the "Me Want Food" t-shirt is in the window.
Maybe she'll go check on Jack. Because she should and because Jack melancholy, intoxicated, obsessed with someone he can't have, and looking for companionship is a combination that can get messy. He might call Liz at three in the morning and make her carry around a hooker. And hookers are hard to lug, especially if they're under the influence.
Yes. She's going back up.
Her last time passing by the NBC Experience store, a hand plucks the "Me Want Food" shirt from its place.
Finally.
*
When someone's listening to 'All By Myself,' you know things aren't good.
She knocks on Jack's door a couple of times. Then a couple more. He tells her to come in, but she peeks into the office tentatively. "Um. Are you okay?"
"Yes," Jack says. He stands up from the couch. He's no longer wearing his jacket or tie and his sleeves are rolled up. "I was just listening to Tracy's demo. He wants to put out another album and the Michael McDonald one fell through--"
"I thought it didn't sound like a version I knew." She enters, closes the door behind her. "Should you be listening to 'All By Myself,' Jack?"
"I don't see why not. Just because a song is about an emotion doesn't mean it has to cause similar emotions in the person listening to it." He pauses, looking off to the side. "Though I suppose it's a little too on point for my current situation."
"So. You want to shut it off?"
Jack nods. "Yes, I believe I do." He does so. "I didn't expect to see you again this evening."
"I didn't expect to come back." She pauses. "Still want me to get drunk with you?"
He nods. He's smiling. Sort of. "I could certainly use the company. I honestly had nothing planned after taking a listen to Tracy's demo. Outside of sitting around and drinking, of course."
"Yeah. Why were you listening to it now?"
"I thought it might seem better when I was intoxicated, melancholy and seeking a way to be cheered up; then I wouldn't have to work so hard at lying if it were subpar. That's also why I've been reading this manuscript." He gestures at the table.
She moves closer to Jack; he doesn't smell as much of booze as she would've thought. She glances down at the title and author. "So... Tom DeLay wrote a book called It's All Going to the Dogs!?"
"It's aimed at the youth market. Inspired by his legal troubles. I love Tom, of course--"
"Of course."
"But it doesn't quite translate." He takes a breath. "So. What would you like to drink?"
Hmm. She can't have wine. It's too soon to trust it not to completely warp her brain. Because, yeah. It was the wine's fault, right?
Anyway.
She shrugs. "Whatever you're having, I guess." As he goes to pour her a drink, she picks up the manuscript. "Do you mind if I read some of this?"
He hands her a glass of some amber liquid she assumes to be Scotch. "I suppose not."
"Awesome."
*
She's sitting next to Jack on the couch. "So..." She flips to the next page of DeLay's book. "...this noble dog is about to be crushed by Demmy the Elephant, who was sent by an evil pit bull named Ronnie Earle. Super subtle." She finishes off her drink. He pours her a second. "This... this isn't getting published, is it?"
"There are no offers as of yet."
"Thank God." She takes a too big sip. "This literary masterpiece is actually making me feel better."
"The fact that it's such a comfort to you is making me feel somewhat better as well."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
He shrugs. "I don't like to see my close friends despondent, Lemon."
"Neither do I." She throws DeLay's ramblings on the table. It doesn't hit quite right, half of it hanging off the edge. She kind of hopes it falls, but it doesn't. "I'm sorry about what I did before, by the way."
He waves his hand. "We can handle the Germans--"
"I mean about leaving you to drink alone."
"You came back. Many wouldn't." He grabs hold of her glass. Wait, it's empty again? "That's what counts."
She takes off her shoes and throws them next to his. She might as well settle in and get comfortable, if she's going to stay and get hammered. "Okay. Glad I came back, then."
He refills his own after he does hers. He clinks his glass against Liz's right as she's about to drink.
"What are we toasting to?" she says.
"Not drinking alone."
Liz nods. "To not drinking alone."
And she clinks her glass against his.
This time, his smile counts as an actual one.
*
Getting really drunk with Jack is actually kind of fun. Well, Liz supposes she has gotten drunk with him before. Well, she's been drunk around him. And he's been drunk in front of her. And they were both drinking at Kenneth's par--
No. She's not to think of that night anymore. Grizz and Dot Com are still nervous around her.
But, anyway. He's laughing at her jokes, which he kind of never does, and he's allowing her to insult Tom DeLay without scolding her too much. It's almost like he's the one trying to cheer her up, but maybe the deal is that they're trying to cheer each other up.
Because, you know. They're in the same boat.
She doesn't want to think about that.
What she wants to think about is how glad she is that he didn't leave. Because he's... him. He's this guy she thought she'd never be able to stand who has somehow managed to become her friend. Someone who's more consistently concerned with her than most of her longtime friends. And he's as naturally self-centered as Jenna is, way more self-centered than Pete. So. He's actually a pretty good friend. Sure, sometimes his concern is misplaced and on occasion he has the wrong advice, but a lot of the time he gets it right. Which is pissing her off less than it used to.
She would've missed him.
Yeah. He's a great friend. Who is really, really close to her right now.
Which she notices for no reason at all.
She's rather drunk.
But she's not drunk dialing.
So. Getting drunk with Jack is pretty great.
*
"You know, Jack, getting drunk with you is pretty great."
Liz says this almost a couple of hours after she thinks it. Because now she's at the stage of her drunkenness where she wants to be honest.
She shouldn't be getting this drunk with him.
But she's already there, so she's just going to have to deal with it.
"Because you're a good friend. Even when you're annoying."
"I appreciate that, Lemon. I feel the same way about you."
She scoffs. "I'm not annoying. At all. Well, maybe I'm kind of annoying. But I'm the least annoying friend you have."
"How would you know that?"
"I don't. I guess. So. How are you feeling, Jack?"
"Fairly well." He nods. "Yes. I feel fine."
She nods, too. "Good." She pauses. She's staring at him, just staring for some reason she can't quite comprehend, and she wants to tell him things. Well, one thing. But it seems important he know. "Jack. Can I tell you something?"
"Is it something I don't want to hear?"
"I don't think so. I mean, I don't think you wouldn't want to know it. I think you'd want to know." Coherent on the third try. Awesome. "I would've missed you," she says haltingly. "If you'd gone off to be with C.C. I mean, I would've been happy for you. But I would've missed you."
"I know."
She rolls her eyes. "Can't you accept me being nice with something other than your smug-type stuff?"
He shrugs. "I'm not being smug. I'm simply aware you would have missed me. Just as I would've missed you if you'd chosen Floyd and an idyllic life in the Cleve."
"So," Liz sighs. "I guess it's a good thing we spurned the loves of our lives. Because now we won't have to miss each other."
She isn't being sarcastic. Which is weird.
"Floyd wasn't the love of your life."
"Hey." She pokes him in the chest. "He could've been. He's the closest I've been. He got all my Star Wars references." She pokes him again as she stares into his eyes. When she's drunk, Jack's eyes look... pretty. If she can call her boss's eyes pretty. Which she probably can't. Because, you know, he's her boss. A grown man who most likely doesn't enjoy having any part of him described with the word 'pretty.' And she's not a twelve-year-old girl, which is really the only type of person who should be entertaining thoughts like oh my gosh, you guys, his eyes are so super pretty.
That's not exactly what she thought, sure. And maybe twelve-year-olds are more mature than that. Kids are growing up fast nowadays. She read an article--
Not the point.
But he does have nice eyes.
"Floyd was awesome," she says, trying to focus on his nose so her inner monologue doesn't go on another tangent. "He might have been the love of my life."
"There's no such thing as someone being the love of your life. There are simply people you fall in love with." He shakes his head. "Having one true love in a lifetime is a ridiculous notion."
The way he says it, the way he's looking at her with those not-unpretty eyes (focusing on his nose didn't work), it feels like...
She doesn't know. But her head is swimming.
"He could've been," Liz says again, though she's not exactly thinking of Floyd at the moment. Instead of poking Jack this time, she rubs her finger against the area she jabbed before leaving her hand there on his chest, palm resting near his heart.
"What are you doing, Lemon?"
"I... don't know."
She starts to ease her hand away, as if prolonging the contact will make this less odd. Jack puts his hand over hers, keeping it where it is.
Something is happening right now, isn't it? A something that could get way out of hand.
She should get out of here. Run. Go somewhere far, far away like Bolivia. Or she could go home. Yeah, that would make more sense. Because she's the one who started it, so she should be the one to stop it.
Instead, she moves her thumb back and forth against his shirt.
"May I run something by you, Lemon? Something I've been... wondering about us?"
She's shaking her head, but she says, "Yeah, go ahead."
"I will accept the words from your mouth instead of the motion of your head."
"Okay."
"Did it ever occur to you we've been looking in the wrong places for love? That the reasons our relationships failed weren't timing or work? Perhaps we need to..." He takes a breath. "Reevaluate."
She knows where this is going and she's... not horrified. But she needs him to say it outright. She can't let this be misunderstood, and she's certainly not going to finish the thought for him.
"Perhaps we should try to make things less complicated."
He exhales. Now his thumb is rubbing the back of her hand. She thinks, hey, their thumbs are moving in almost the same way, like they're thumb twins. For a second, that feels incredibly meaningful.
She's way too drunk. She likes him more than she should.
And he keeps looking at her, while she keeps staring back.
"Perhaps," he says, after a bit of a pause, "I have... feelings for you. Perhaps--"
"Stop saying perhaps."
"Fine. I've had feelings for you for a while. I thought they were a result of you being one of the few women who's constantly in my life, that they would go away in time. But they didn't, not even while I was falling in love with C.C. There's something between us, isn't there?"
She doesn't know quite what to say, but her silence doesn't seem to trouble him.
"I think we should explore the possibility of being more than colleagues. More than friends. What a person without your inexplicable objections to the word would call 'lovers.'"
"You think I should be your girlfriend?"
"Yes. That is what I'm saying."
She raises her eyebrows. "And that's less complicated?"
His fingers drift down her arm, then back up. "I think it's fairly simple, yes."
"Yeah. Maybe it is." She pauses, places her hand over his. "Are you saying this because you're drunk?"
"No," he says. "Are you staring at me in the way you are because you're drunk?"
"Maybe."
"But that doesn't mean it's not real."
"I know." She lowers her voice to almost a whisper. "I really would've missed you."
He moves her hand to his shoulder as he leans in. When there's barely any distance between their mouths, he stops. She's not sure if he's having second thoughts or if he wants her to make the first move, so she waits, her palm curving against his shoulder. When he finally does press his lips against hers, it's soft. He pulls her onto his lap and, you know, she is not a lap-sitter. She swore that off entirely after she... almost made out with her cousin. But Jack is not related to her -- she did an extensive investigation into her family tree, and she swears the reason she took note of Jack's lack of appearance in it wasn't because she ever truly wanted to kiss him -- and she's still looking to try new things, like sitting in the lap of a man who's not related to her.
Sitting in his lap and letting him kiss her. Letting him keep kissing her. Kissing him back. Touching his cheek.
His arm is around her, fingers moving over her side until they stop, pressing into her as he pulls her closer. His other hand moves to her thigh, and they just keep kissing until his hand reaches under her shirt, at which point she pulls away slightly. Gets off of him entirely. And takes her shirt off. He licks his lips and closes the distance between them, kissing her again. His hands feel good on her skin, but she hasn't been touched like this in a while.
Maybe she should've slept with Jamie. Then letting Jack touch her wouldn't seem like such a good idea.
Is this a good idea, seriously?
Because it actually feels like a good idea.
His mouth moves to her chin, then to her neck. He unhooks her bra, slides the straps down her shoulders. She takes it the rest of the way off, and then he's kissing her breasts. She feels his tongue against her nipple before his lips close over it. He spends a bit of time at her chest; he must be into boobs.
She's fine with this.
He lifts his head up, brings his mouth back to hers. His fingers are on the waist of her jeans as she's unbuttoning his shirt, and he's kissing her well enough to make her half-moan. Or fully moan.
Yeah, she's moaning.
After she's done with unbuttoning, his hands stay stationary at her hips. He pulls back, expression inscrutable. Her pants aren't any closer to coming off.
"Do you want to do this?"
He leans in. He kisses the corner of her mouth. "Of course."
"Because we don't need to do this."
"Everyone needs sex. Except for asexuals."
"Not what I meant. And not true."
"It is." He kisses her cheek. "You shouldn't disparage a sexual orientation just because you don't understand it."
"I mean we don't need sex. We don't need to have sex. Together."
"We do." Finally, he does unbutton her jeans. Starts to slide the zipper down. "If we stop now, we'll think this was a mistake, which it most certainly is not." He pauses as his eyes move over her. "This is not a mistake."
She gets his shirt all the way off before she helps him strip her of her jeans. She gasps when he slides his hand under her panties; she wasn't expecting it. His fingers are on the outer lips of her sex, stroking her, slowly spreading her open.
"I want to take my underwear off," she says, because they're cotton and a little too tight and his hand is probably going to get uncomfortable in there.
"I'm perfectly fine with that."
So he stops touching her... there long enough to make her totally naked. In next to no time his hand's back between her legs. One of his fingers dips inside her.
"If I asked you what you'd like me to do, you wouldn't tell me, would you?"
Liz hesitates. "Not because I want to be a jerk."
"I'm not saying that would be the reason for your silence."
"Okay."
"Just tell me when I do something wrong."
"Okay."
For a while, he doesn't do anything wrong. His fingers are perfectly there, touching her, making her more turned-on than she generally gets. Then his fingertip brushes over her clit and it's... too much, or something, which she tells him. He starts moving his finger back and forth right next to her clit and her head starts swimming again. She hopes she's not going to get sick, because one should not have to take time out to vomit when things are going this... pleasantly.
Okay. It's better than pleasant. 'Pleasant' is how she usually describes sex that's not too boring or borderline yucky, but this is... good. He kisses his way back to her chest as he continues with the movement of his hand. When she comes, his mouth is on the valley between her breasts. As she's coming down, he's kissing her neck.
Yeah, okay. She'd enjoy this even if she had had sex recently.
If she likes the rest of this, she's not going to pretend it has anything to do with her months of celibacy. She hasn't even been without sex for that long. She has gone years without sex and ended up not feeling particularly enthused about the encounter that broke her dry spell. Which is sad.
Okay. The point is she's enjoying this for no reason other than its enjoyableness.
Yeah.
Jack licks his fingers, and she's not sure if that's sexy or kind of gross. Then he's kissing her, and she assumes the new taste in his mouth is her, and she's not sure how to feel about that, either.
"I need to leave the couch to get a condom," he says.
"Yeah?"
"I didn't want my departure to seem too sudden."
Even with the warning, it still seems a little sudden. But his return is just as swift. He kisses her, pulls her with him as he leans back on the couch. She finds herself straddling him, but:
"I don't want to be on top. You'll look at my boobs."
"I've been doing so already. Quite a bit, in fact. I'd assumed you'd taken note."
"I did notice, yeah. I don't want you to look at them when they're moving around too much."
"That's nothing to feel uncomfortable about."
"But I do."
"I'm simply saying you'll have to move past that at some point." He lowers his voice. "I'll help you." He strokes the outside of her thighs. "What position would you prefer?"
She kind of doesn't get it at first -- wouldn't it be obvious that if she doesn't want to be on top, he has to be? -- until she thinks, oh. Right. There are more than two sexual positions. And he surely knows them all. He's probably got a list of every single one, checking them off as he goes along, like some sort of sexy bucket list.
"You be on top," she says.
She moves, the couch making odd noises as she does so. She tries to position herself comfortably, but she can't quite lie down and the leather feels weird on her back.
This is not a good couch for sex. She would've thought he'd pick a couch that's comfortable to have sex on.
She shifts, one leg hanging off the couch and her body oddly scrunched. She can't imagine this pose is particularly attractive, but he isn't looking at her like he's appalled.
Liz moves again, slightly, as she watches him undo his belt. He stands up to get his pants off, and then he's standing there totally naked. From her angle, he looks huge. All of him, not only his penis. Which isn't to say his penis looks huge. Which isn't to say it looks small. It looks fine. She has no problems with his penis. At all.
Even though she's only thinking this, she feels pretty embarrassed.
What she's trying to say is she hates the way she's positioned at the moment because he looks ten feet tall and it's kind of creeping her out. When he's back on the couch, on his knees in front of her, he seems decidedly less intimidating. She shifts again as he unrolls the condom onto himself. She feels no more comfortable.
She pulls herself up, her back on the side of the couch. It occurs to her to suggest they move to the floor or something, but she doesn't feel like admitting she's not clued in to the secret trick to doing it on his couch.
But he probably knows.
He moves closer to her. The couch makes weird noises again. His mouth is on hers as he puts his hands under her ass and lifts her up a bit. She tilts her hips as he starts to ease himself inside her. Wrapping one of her legs around him, she holds onto his back. He grips the armrest she's leaning against and, as he starts to move, she kind of worries she's going to fall off.
If she does, she's explicitly telling him to get rid of the couch.
She presses her fingers into his flesh, though she supposes holding tighter onto him won't stop her from tumbling over the side of the couch. She'd probably end up scratching him.
For all she knows, he might be okay with that.
Outside of the fear of falling and the squeaking, stupid couch, Liz is... enjoying it.
She's not blaming her recent lack of sex, like she promised herself. She's not even blaming Jack. She's just... enjoying it, the feel of him inside her, the nearness of his body, the periodic kisses he places on her lips. And when she comes, she stops worrying about getting dropped on the floor.
For about a minute. But for that minute, she doesn't think about it at all. That's impressive.
She says his name once, twice. He says hers -- her first name -- in a way that's almost impossibly sexy, his voice raspier and, somehow, more affectionate. She kind of gets why some women think he's hot.
Well, she supposes she understood why before now. Or else she wouldn't be doing it with him. It's a reminder, or a confirmation, or something.
She's attracted to him. Probably against her better judgment.
But he's okay. He's good. He's great.
Not just as a friend. Because, yeah. That boat's already sailed off, too.
She pulls him in for a quick kiss which he prolongs. His hand on the back of her thigh, he says her name again. Her first one, still, and she misses hearing him say, "Lemon." Then he does say, "Lemon," while he's deep inside her and holding firm onto her leg. It's kind of nice, kind of hot, but somewhat weird.
She likes it.
She's very drunk, isn't she?
Getting drunk with Jack is pretty great.
She moves her hands over his back aimlessly; she's not so scared of falling anymore and she wants to touch him. She wants to touch him and she does, continuing the touching after he comes. His breath is heavy and he's so close and she wants him to stay this close. For a while. Not for the rest of her life.
But soon he's whispering in her ear that he has to go dispose of the condom.
"Yeah?"
"I didn't want my departure to seem too sudden."
"Yeah."
When he's back on the couch, she doesn't move closer to him right away. Jack looks over at her, extends a hand. She takes it, and he pulls her to him. He hesitates as his gaze shifts from her eyes to a place slightly downward, as if he's seriously considering her mouth. Then he's kissing her, and her skin is so warm, and.
Yeah.
"So," she breathes, while her head is resting on Jack's shoulder. "I think... I think I'm glad we did that."
"I know I am."
"Okay. I know I am, too."
When she glances at his face, he's smiling just enough for her to notice.
"Would you like another drink?" he asks.
"Yes," she says. "Yes, I would."
*
When she wakes up, she's on the couch with her pants off. She -- unsurprisingly -- has a headache. Wow. Hung-over two days in a row. That's a record for her.
She's not impressed with herself.
She exhales drowsily, blinking her eyes at the light coming in through the windows. She doesn't feel like moving but, just like it's not a great place for sex, the couch is also not a very comfortable place to sleep. It's hard and too small, and her legs are hanging off of it.
Jack definitely needs to get a better couch. Or she could swear to herself that she'll never again let him do her on it.
He needs to get a better couch.
After sitting up, Liz rubs her sore neck and wonders where Jack is. A few seconds after thinking this, she turns her head and sees him sleeping on the floor. He's on his back. He has his shirt off.
He looks... peaceful. She finds it... cute.
Yeah. Another word she shouldn't use to describe him, or any man who has enough chest hair to cover four or five average dudes. And he's not... cute, exactly, most of the time. But sometimes he is. Liz smiles in spite of herself, even as she starts to ponder what they did last night. About whether or not he was serious about wanting to start something with her. And even if he was, who's to say getting involved with someone so soon after breaking up with C.C. will seem like a great idea the morning after. Maybe he merely wants to believe getting involved with her will be a simple solution to his love problems, precisely as she might have convinced herself it would be easier if...
Wait, there's no reason for any part of her to think being in love with Jack is the easiest way to go.
Oh, crap. She thought the words "in love" right before "with Jack."
Her smile disappears.
She can't be in love with him, can she? She's in like, if anything. Deep like. With her boss. Who broke up with his girlfriend yesterday. And whom she recently got drunk with and had sex with. On a crappy, tiny couch. And whom she does want to date. And who might not want to date her.
Yeah. This is alarming enough without love.
She takes a deep breath. She's not in love with him. Not in love. Taking another breath, she leans forward and picks his watch up off the table; it's almost seven. She should probably wake him up. Another cleansing breath and she walks over to him. She considers rousing Jack with her foot -- purposely poking someone with your toes does not indicate love -- but instead ends up kneeling next to him.
"Jack." He doesn't respond. Louder: "Jack." She puts her hands on him. Shakes him a little. A bit louder: "Jack."
He wakes up. He blinks at her, and his hand for some reason goes to rest on the outside of her thigh. "What time is it, Lemon?"
Okay. He knows who she is and that she is without pants, so he has to remember what they did last night. And he doesn't sound horrified. Of course, that doesn't mean he won't think it was a mistake when he fully wakes up. "6:57."
His fingers curve against her as he strokes her skin with his knuckles. "I should call Jonathan. Give him some errands."
"Why don't you just tell him to come in a little late?"
"He'll find that suspicious." He sits up. "I'd prefer him not to think there's a reason to worry about me. He is one known to hover."
He pats her leg before he gets up. He goes straight to the phone and, while he's giving Jonathan a list of last-minute things he has to do, Liz puts her jeans on. She's standing there, somewhat awkwardly, not sure if she should get her shoes and leave or wait to talk. Should people talk when they're hung-over? Maybe this is the sort of conversation that's meant to wait until they're headache free and fully awake.
But she doesn't want to leave. Leaving while he's distracted with something else might make it seem like she's slinking away, and she's not ashamed enough to slink. She's not ashamed at all. She's... uneasy. And not in love.
He turns around after he hangs up the phone. "Would you like to use my bathroom?"
"Hmm?"
"You should--" He gestures vaguely. "--clean up."
"I'm gonna go home and change. These clothes aren't awesome enough to wear two days in a row."
"Do you own many clothes that are?"
Yeah. She can't love this guy. "Not really, I guess."
"You still should splash some water on your face. Brush your teeth so we can kiss each other goodbye."
She relaxes a bit. "Yeah. Okay."
*
He's with her when she's in the bathroom. She washes her face as he combs his hair. They brush their teeth at the same time, and she's not sure which of them is supposed to spit first. She doesn't want some awkwardness that ends in her spitting on him or them smacking into each other. She finds herself brushing her teeth for much longer than usual to avoid this until he finally mumbles, "Shall I go first?"
"Go ahead."
"What?"
Liz nods.
He spits and rinses and spits, then she does. He wipes his mouth with a hand towel, then she does the same. Not too long after, he's kissing her. His hands are on her sides, under her shirt, fingertips moving over her skin. Her head is swimming a little, but she's not drunk anymore.
She just likes him. In a way that's not love-like.
Her palms are against Jack's cheeks and she's halfway between being worried they're going to end up having sex on his stupid couch and concerned they might not.
She pulls away. They should talk. They're both cognizant enough for it.
"So."
"Yes?" Jack says.
"We should talk. About last night."
"You don't like the couch, do you?"
"I don't, no. But that's not where I was going." She tilts her head. "Are you... okay?"
"Yes. I feel very well."
"With last night, I mean."
"I very recently kissed you. That implies a comfort with what we did. Are you okay with what we did last night?"
"I kissed you back. So. Draw your own conclusions."
He smiles at her, and she smiles back. You know, his smile is--
Not cute. Just not unattractive.
She isn't in love with him. Honestly.
"So..." she continues, "are we going to do this? Us, I mean. Are we going to try there being an us?"
"I thought there already was an us," he says.
"Is there?"
"That's what I thought we agreed to last night."
"We were drunk, though."
"I was aware of what I was doing."
"So was I."
"So there's already an us."
"Is there?"
"Okay, Lemon. I would like for us to start seeing each other romantically." He pauses. "Is that what you want?"
"Yeah," she replies. "It is."
"Then there's already an us."
His next kiss is over too quickly, so she pulls him back.
They're going to do this.
Date each other, that is. Not kiss each other. Though they're doing that, too.
"Do you think we can make this work?" she asks after she pulls away. "That we can do the whole 'balancing work and love' thing together? Um, and, when I say love, I don't mean that, you know, it's love or anything super-serious yet. I just mean we're in a relationship. Starting a relationship. A romantic relationship."
"I understand what you mean."
"Okay, good. You think we can do it?"
He takes her hand in his own. "If any two people in this world can do it, it is most certainly the two of us."
"Well." She nods. "I appreciate your faith in the two of us." And she thinks she shares it.
Yeah. Maybe she and Jack can have it all.
At the very least, they have each other.
END