A/N: Holy moly it's been a long time since I worked on this fic. I just dug this out of the depth of my jump drive and decided to wrap it up since I really liked the way it flowed. It just felt like such a nice little cherry on top! Lemon ahead!

Owen turned up his collar against the rain and hailed a cab back to his apartment. The thunderstorm had followed him home; fat raindrops pelted down relentlessly as he dashed from the cab to his apartment door, fumbling for his keys in his back pocket.

Claire was already inside. Her suit jacket was crumpled in a chair; it looked almost as if she had thrown it there. Her expensive designer heels had been haphazardly kicked off and sat on their sides under his coffee table. Claire herself was tucked into a ball on the sofa, her feet tucked up under her body. Her hair was mussed, and her face looked forlorn and tired. Owen shrugged out of his jacket and inelegantly dropped it in the chair on top of hers. He crossed the room in three long strides and scooped his redhead in to his arms as he dropped to the sofa. He pressed his face against the top of her head with a gentle kiss. She turned her own face in to his neck, the stubble he'd forgotten to shave that morning scratched against her forehead. He held her close as the rain pelted the windows and thunder rumbled directly overhead.

"Bad day?" He asked simply, already knowing the answer.

"Mmmhmm," came her response from under his chin. "Getting better though." He felt one arm come up, her fingers digging in to his t-shirt sleeve. "You're wet." Owen let out a soft, half-hearted guffaw.

"Yeah, I got rained on coming home." Claire let out a little huff that Owen couldn't interpret.

"'S raining?" She slurred sleepily.

"Yeah. You don't hear that?" Owen's question was punctuated by a loud, low rumble of thunder. Claire didn't answer him. "Claire?" She exhaled deeply and snuggled closer to him. Poor thing was falling asleep. Owen gathered her up in his arms gingerly and carried her back to his bedroom, gently nestling her in the center of his bed and arranging the covers around her. He shed his damp shirt and dropped it in the hamper. His boots and socks came next, followed in short order by his jeans, significantly dampened at the leg from standing in a puddle to hail the cab. He traded the jeans for a pair of loose sweatpants and snagged a towel off the bathroom counter to dry his towel was still draped around his neck as he paused to close the door to his bedroom on the way back in to the living room. Owen dropped to the couch and turned on the TV, hoping the noise and the rain would create a chaotic soundtrack to drown out his thoughts.

She said she loves me. Had she meant it? He'd wanted to ask her, but instead she had fallen asleep in his lap. He felt a small surge of something deep within, something protective and primal and proud that she felt that comfortable around him. He pictured her, small and light and delicate, his own little porcelain doll, sleeping a mere few steps away. Becoming restless, Owen rose from the couch and began mindlessly cleaning and organizing. He hung his wet jacket on the coat hook on the back of the door and carefully draped Claire's blazer over the back of a kitchen chair with practiced gentleness. Miss Starched Suit, he mused. That was one tiger that would never change her stripes. But damn if he didn't appreciate the way her tailored skirts and slacks hugged her ass, and there was the added bonus of her walking around for a little while after work in the silk camisoles she wore under her blouses, much like the one he found crumpled under the kitchen table. Owen draped the blouse on the back of another chair and went to tackle a large stack of dirty dishes he hoped Claire hadn't noticed when she came in.

Claire awoke to the familiar discomfort of having fallen asleep in a bra; her underwire poked her uncomfortably in the ribcage, and her knee-length skirt was bunched up around her hips. Rain pelted the window of Owen's bedroom as Claire groggily sat up and wrestled out of her bra and silk camisole. Her skirt and stockings came next; she dropped them unceremoniously to the floor beside the bed and rubbed her eyes. The flashing green numbers on Owen's alarm clock told her it was just past ten at night, and her stomach was happy to remind her that she hadn't eaten in quite some time. She rose and stretched and let out an ungraceful yawn before rummaging through Owen's dresser for one of his t-shirts. The shirt was a great deal too large for her and almost fit her like a short dress, but it was a great deal more comfortable than what she had been wearing.

Owen heard rustling in his bedroom that signaled Claire had roused. He was sprawled across the sofa, game controller in hand, when his bedroom opened and Claire appeared in the little hallway, looking half-awake and absolutely wonderful. Owen had lost almost everything he owned when they had to abandon Isla Nublar; everything except a few things left over from his college days that he'd almost forgotten he'd left with a Navy buddy. Claire had found one of his old band t-shirts from his partying days. The shirt was way too large for her and hung off her slender figure, her pale skin practically glowing against the black cotton, her long legs bare. Her hair was rumpled from sleep and frizzed out about her face, and her eyes looked dark from a blend of fitful sleep and smudged mascara. His barely-conscious girlfriend looked just like young Owen's version of a hard rock manic pixie dream girl. Owen stumbled around a thick head and equally thick tongue before finding his voice, hoping she had been too tired to notice he'd been eyeing her like a particularly tasty snack.

"Hey there, sleepyhead." Owen paused his game as Claire approached the sofa. He made space for her to plop down and lean against him with a sigh and a small yawn. "Get any rest?" He already knew the answer.

"Not really," Claire sighed. "Hungry though." Owen's stomach rumbled at the mention of food. It had been a decent amount of time since he'd eaten anything himself.

"Well…there's that late night Chinese place," he said as he pondered what would still be open at this hour and delivering. Neither of them felt like leaving the apartment, and the thunderstorm rumbled on outside.

"Mmm. Sounds good. I want lo mein." Claire snuggled closer to his bare, strong chest, enjoying the feeling of his warm skin against her cheek and the thrum of his heartbeat. It did not escape her notice that his heart skipped a beat as her fingertips casually brushed his thigh as she stretched a bit. She sighed against the comforting thrum and it skipped a beat again.

"You wanna call it in or should I?" Owen managed to gulp out, digging his cell phone out of where it had hidden itself between the couch cushions. The question itself was rhetorical, he'd already begun to dial the number when she decided it should be him.

After the takeout boxes had been cleared away and the leftovers (what little there were) were tucked safely in the fridge, an odd, almost uncomfortable silence hung over Owen and Claire. The rain pelted the windows yet again, adding a dysphoric percussion to the pace of Owen's rapidly splintering mind. He wanted so badly to ask her about that afternoon and the words that had passed between them, but he found his normally abundant courage and resolve more than lacking in that regard. Claire had reclaimed her position nestled up against him on the sofa, his arm draped protectively around her slim shoulders. Her head rested against his chest, one hand splayed on his abdomen. He could almost feel her thinking as hard as he was. Neither of them was at all focused on the cartoons Owen had put on. Quite some time passed in silence before Claire spoke.

"So…" She intoned, so softly that it almost startled him. She paused.

"So," he replied, running a hand though his short sandy hair. Claire shifted against his side and turned herself to look at him. His slate blue eyes were serious and intently focused on her, and the tightening and flexing of his jaw gave her the subtle clue that he was weighing his next words very carefully. They both were wondering the same thing, and both were afraid of the answer. "Claire?" Owen placed a gentle hand on her knee. Claire blinked as if startled by his touch. "Did you…?"

The question hung between them, unspoken, for several long, almost painful minutes. Claire lowered her gaze, intently focusing on her pale pink fingernail polish, picking at where it had begun to chip on her index finger. Each moment passed between them in an electrified silence as she carefully considered her words and thoughts. She knew she was going to have to answer for what she had said earlier, she just hadn't expected it to be so soon. But he was just as uncertain of their position as she was, she realized.

Couples bound by shared tragedies had lasted before. They had found a shared bond elsewhere, something else in common, that brought them together not as victims, but as individuals. They weren't as disparate as Han Solo and Leia. When all of this was said and done, when the witch hunt for those responsible for the tragedy at Isla Nublar was finally over, he would still be there. Claire was certain of that. She had never been more certain of anything in her entire life.

"Yes," she finally said. She took a deep breath. "Yes, Owen, I meant it. I…I love you."

Owen's heart hammered in his chest. "I love you too," he replied without hesitation. He really was in love, then. Claire Dearing had done what no other woman could do; she had made Owen Grady fall in love with her. The very idea would have chafed at the old Owen's pride. But Claire took everything she touched and turned it on its head, including him. His manic pixie dream girl wore starched suits and made itineraries for dates. She wore designer clothes and heels and didn't go to concerts. She was a high-powered corporate type; a strong, domineering, shrewd, intelligent woman. She was leagues and leagues away from anyone Owen ever thought he'd fall for. Manic pixie dream girl indeed. Owen almost didn't notice Claire stretching up to kiss him, her lips delightfully soft and warm against his. He pulled her in to his lap, his arms tightening around her waist, cartoons utterly forgotten. He kissed her with the same fervor he had when she'd saved his life on Isla Nublar; with three little words she'd gone and saved him all over again. She straddled him, his conqueror, his queen, and her knees pressed against his hips on either side. Her tapering ivory fingers held his face, and he pulled her flush to him. She broke the kiss with a gasp as the motion ground her hips against him and he buried a groan in her shoulder, nipping the flesh hidden by black cotton. The shirt smelled of a mixture of them; his detergent and her perfume, her skin. Owen inhaled deeply and pressed a kiss to her elegant throat. "God, Claire, I love you." He repeated himself over and over again, kissing every part of her he could reach; her long neck, her small, delicate shoulders, her collarbone. He whispered it as he nipped the shell of her ear and kissed her cheek. His hands ran from her finely formed hips up the curve of her waist and further up until they came to tangle in her fiery red hair. She looked rumpled and breathless and beautiful. Wonderful, exquisite. Her skin was mottled pink with her arousal and she resembled a debauched Roman statue, lips parted and blue eyes so dark he thought he might drown in them.

And at the moment, Owen could think of nothing better than dying in the worship of the goddess in his lap. Her hands had come to rest on his shoulders during his onslaught and she gripped his muscular shoulders tightly for balance. His own arousal surged as her fingers flexed and tightened, nails digging in to his skin. He kissed her almost painfully hard and she responded in kind, grinding her hips against his once again. Owen broke their kiss with a low groan. He untangled his fingers from her soft hair to grip her hips once more, dragging her forcefully against him and showing her just what an effect she was having on him. Claire flushed and moaned.

"Want you," she managed, kissing him. "Need you."

"Love you," he replied, sliding his hands under her shirt. His fingers traced up her ribcage and she shuddered.

"Love you too." He kissed her, hard, ending all conversation, fingers practically digging in to her desperately wanted to taste her, to feel her skin against his. He cursed her borrowed band shirt in his head. He cursed the cotton supplier, the manufacturer, the band, the tee shirt printer, the merch booth worker who had sold it to him, on and on and on, as he seized the hem and pulled the shirt up and over her head, baring her upper body to his hungry gaze and roving hands. Claire gasped when he seized a nipple in his mouth and rolled his tongue around it. Her hands gripped his shoulders to steady herself on his lap. Owen held her firmly by the hips as he turned his attention to the underside of her breast, biting and laving at the soft tissue with his tongue until he was certain he'd left a significant bruise. His mind warred between worship and conquest, desperately wanting to both serve the goddess he held captive and to ravage her. Claire squirmed and gyrated in his lap, the heat of her very core just out of reach and yet painfully close. She arched her back and threw her head back in a moan as he turned his attention to her other breast, and his surge of male appreciation and arousal was pretty damn close to painful. He planted a kiss on her sternum before tightly wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting them both up off the couch. Claire squeaked in momentary indignation, tightly wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. Owen groaned but pressed on, carrying her once again into his bedroom and dropping her not at all gently on the bed. He shed his sweatpants and joined her in the bed, pulling her up against him as he kissed her, his hands stroking everything within reach. She returned his kiss with a fierceness that was all want, all need. Owen grinned against her lips and rolled her beneath him. His hands delved lower and he cupped her sex gently, tracing the petals with his middle finger through the rapidly dampening cotton of her panties. Claire let out a moan of sheer heat.

"Good God Owen, just take them off." Owen chuckled darkly as he rose to do her bidding, placing a kiss to her raised knee as his fingers hooked in the waist of the panties and pulled them off her. He tossed them to the floor to join her other clothing previously shed and returned his attention to where she wanted it the most. He kissed the flat plane of her stomach and moved his way lower almost torturously slowly, parting his thighs with his large, strong hands. He kissed along the inside of each one, down lower and lower until he could resist the allure no longer and buried his face in her heat without warning. His tongue laved at her folds and she let out a scream of sheer ecstasy when he gently pressed two fingers in to her and crooked them to reach that special place he knew would send her over the edge. Owen continued his torment until she cried out and crested, her hands fisting in the sheets and her thighs pressed against his ears. He grinned against Claire's skin and continued his onslaught, sending her soaring over the edge again. Claire's hands clasped his face and she forcefully pulled him up away from her. Owen dragged himself up along the length of her body and gave her another forceful kiss.

"Ready for me?" He managed to get out.

"God, yes," Claire purred. "Take me." Owen let out a low, dangerous growl.

"With pleasure." In one swift movement, Owen rid himself of his boxers, the last little scrap of fabric separating him from her. His member sprang free and Claire hardly had time to reach for it before he batted her hand away. "No time, darling." Owen did take a moment to snag a condom from his bedside table and roll it on before grabbing Claire and rolling himself under her. He steadied her on top of him, holding her hips as he drove himself into her all the way to the hilt. Claire cried out and steadied herself with a hand on his chest. Owen rolled his hips, burying himself deeper within her, and Claire bucked and rolled her hips down to meet him. Owen groaned and gritted his teeth. From their position, Claire controlled the pace, she realized slowly as she experimented with different gyrations until she found a movement that made them both moan. The look of intent focus mixed with intense pleasure on her face was intoxicating, and Owen couldn't take his eyes off her. She had found her balance and found the movement she wanted, the pace quickening. Owen released one of her hips and reached between them, brushing a knuckle against her sweet spot as she moved on him. Claire cried out in a manner that distinctly resembled a fierce yowl.

"God, Owen!" It took only a moment for release to seize her then, her inner walls clamping down tightly and fluttering around his member as she rode him through her release. He managed only another stroke or two before he joined her. Claire fell on top of him, limp and boneless, snuggling herself into his chest. From beneath his petite redhead Owen gently disengaged them, drawing a small huff from her. He reached for the blankets and haphazardly covered them, the heat of their bodies slowly dissipating. He kissed the top of her head.

"I love you, Claire," he whispered.

"I love you too," she replied sleepily.

Outside, the storm had ceased, and inside, the storm in Owen's mind had finally calmed. He loved her. And more importantly, she loved him.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed reading that as much as I enjoyed writing it! Reviews are like cookies, I love them 3