A/N-I hijacked and changed the ending of episode 2X12. I'm guessing a lot of other people have already done this, but this is my take on the events, had the evening gone in another direction. This is a one shot, with some Hurt/Comfort, fluff and friendship overtones, but pretty much it's just smut and romance. If you don't like mature stories or are underage, skip this one.

I'll admit, it's a leap for the characters…and pretty much wouldn't happen, but I was in the mood for something short and sweet. The Only will still update this week.

I don't own Blindspot or its characters

Jane had gone home after work, showered off her dark makeup and the heavy smell of smoke and booze that felt glued to her clothes. And then she wanted…no, she felt compelled…to take a walk. She hadn't planned on seeing Weller, but as she walked along the streets of New York, she found herself stopping for a six-pack of Kurt's favorite beer. For a moment, she told herself she just felt like having the drink, which would remind her of the days of going to his apartment for a game night or pizza with the team. As good as she was undercover, even those skills weren't enough for her to deceive herself.

Kurt had been there for her when she first popped out of the bag, cautiously at first, but later as a true friend. At one point, she really thought he could have been something more. But still, remembering the times between them that had been so good, she wanted to be there for him when he was experiencing loneliness.

She knew loneliness.

They seemed to recover from their rift on a professional level, but she needed to know if they'd ever recover on a personal level, and she suspected this was as good a time as any to find out.

He looked a little surprised when he saw her, but not nearly as surprised as she'd expected. She needed to tell him right away that his loneliness wasn't odd or unnecessary…she needed him to know that above all else. As soon as that detail was shared, they bantered over beer, and as they clinked their bottles together, she noticed that he was smiling at her like he once had. He was flirting, his skin a little flushed. She'd hoped for a friendly exchange, but nothing like this…he was the man she'd known long ago. At least it felt long ago.

They finished the six pack pretty quickly as she looked through the yearbooks he had, gently teasing and flirting through their drinks. When things still felt like they were going well, he said, "Popcorn?"

"Is that a pet name?"

He started to laugh, as close to a giggle as Kurt Weller could possibly get, and he said, "You want popcorn or pretzels? Something to go with your beer?"

"We're almost finished with the beer," she said, volleying the next necessary suggestion into his court.

"Oh," he said, his smile fading a bit. "Are you headed home?"

"Should I?"

"Not unless you want to. I have more beer…and bourbon, whiskey, tequila—"

"No tequila," she interrupted. "But I'll take another beer. And a snack if you have it."

"Yea, I have it."

He walked to the kitchen, nursing his injury as he pulled two more bottles of beer from the fridge. She joined him, taking her drink and sitting on the edge of the counter while he got out the popcorn and a pan.

"Have you ever heard of a microwave?" she asked.

"This popcorn is better. Trust me," he said, his eyes almost mischievous as he seemed relieved and happy that she was staying.

He started the popcorn, wincing when he shook the pan so the kernels on the bottom wouldn't burn.

"You're such a baby," she teased, jumping off the counter and pushing him to the side with her shoulder.

Ouch!" he said, a bit playfully. "Need I remind you that it was your brother who shot me…if you somehow managed to forget."

"You were wearing a vest."

"Which stopped the bullet from penetrating my skin but doesn't do anything to lessen the impact. Don't stop shaking that pan, just another minute or two."

She kept shaking the pan as he walked to the cabinet and grabbed a bowl and a shaker of seasoning. "That good?" she asked without a break in the flirtation that was humming between them.

"Perfect," he replied, quickly grabbing a sip of beer just when she thought she had caught him checking out her ass.

"Dump it in here," he said, watching while she poured the popcorn into the bowl and left the pan on the back burner.

As soon as she finished dumping the popcorn, he reached around her, standing so close she could feel the heat of his body, and shook seasoning all over the bowl and tossed the contents, wincing again.

"Is it that bad?" she asked turning to face him, "or are you proving the stereotype that men don't handle pain as well as women?"

"That's nice," he laughed, "questioning my toughness? Really?"

They were so close, as it seemed like they'd often been, but the sparks were back, and it felt more intoxicating than the alcohol. She wondered if she was imagining something, but every time she caught his eyes, he seemed to confirm that she wasn't.

Taking a big sip of her beer before reaching back to place it on the counter, she closed the space between them again. Before he could even react, she opened the top few buttons of his shirt and spread the fabric. All jovial playfulness gone from her voice, she practically gasped, "Oh my god, Weller!"

His chest was an angry mass of bruised flesh, purple and red and a dark color that almost looked grey. "I told you it hurt," he argued.

"Sit down," she said, leading him to the sofa. "I think you broke a rib."

"Nah. I'm alright…it's just bruised," he said, clearly pleased with her concern.

"Do you need ice?" she asked.

He yanked her down onto the sofa next to him and said, "I can't tell if you're just messing with me or actually concerned, so you better stop trying to take care of me."

"I'm concerned. I shouldn't have teased you." She looked apologetic, but a moment later goaded, "after all…babies have such sensitive skin."

"Oh, that's just wrong," he argued, still smiling.

This was fun, this playful banter they'd found. As he nursed his beer, he leaned his head back, certainly not drunk, but feeling kind of relaxed. "This is nice," he told the ceiling. Running the pad of his thumb over the opening of his beer, he added, more intentionally, "I missed this. I mean…I missed you. Like this."

"M-me too," she admitted, a bit taken by surprise with his serious admission.

Sitting up and changing the subject with a more confident tone, he continued, "You really pulled it off, ya know. You looked good like a biker."

"You think?"

"Definitely. I gotta admit, I liked the lips."

"Mine or Roman's?" she teased.

"Yours. And I meant the color," he defended. "But the lips are nice too."

She knew he was saying too much, more than he'd say if he was less tipsy and less lonely. "This popcorn is really good," she deflected. "What's this seasoning?"

"It's all very top secret."

"High level clearance?"

"The highest," he joked, "even I don't know what's in it." After she grabbed another beer and returned, she flopped so heavily on the sofa that he said, "You probably shouldn't walk home on your own. What if the CIA is following you?"

"You could come along and protect me… if only you could lift your arms," she said, returning to their earlier mock competition. "I'll be fine."

"I'm serious. You should be more careful. I'm all for necessary risks, but we should try to avoid the unnecessary ones. I have a spare room. You can use it. Have another beer and stay with me so I don't have to feel stupid for feeling lonely."

"Be back in a second," she said, standing and heading for the bathroom just to have a moment to think. She wondered why she didn't feel more intoxicated, and realized they hadn't been gulping down the beers, but enjoying them over several hours. When she walked back into the hall, she found herself staring into the nursery he'd set up for his child. He walked to the end of the hall and caught her, and she felt a strange sense of guilt for discovering the room. "Umm, sorry, I was just—I don't know what I was doing," she said awkwardly.

"Are you tired?" he asked, ignoring her apology.

"Not really."

"Think you could help me tear this down?"

"Why? I'm sure you'll get to see her."

"I will. But when I do, I'm sure Allie will fly out with the baby, stay in a hotel… or I'll fly out there. By the time I have the kid alone she won't need a crib anymore anyway."

"Maybe Allie will change her mind."

"She shouldn't. Conor is good guy, great father material. It's a good opportunity for all of them."

"So what you-you're…giving up your paternal rights?"

"No, god. Not at all. But day-to-day, Conor will be there. The baby's probably safer far away from me anyway. For now I just…," he leaned back against the wall, thinking, and finally admitted, "I don't want to have to look at this every day. Ya know?"

"Do you have storage space?"

"Yea…I rent a small space in the basement. Why?"

"Because I will agree to help you dismantle this and put it back in the boxes, but only if you agree to keep it. It's always possible Allie will change her mind, and I just—I don't want you to give up hope yet."

"Okay," he replied with very little thought.

Jane climbed under the crib, finding the bolts that held the whole thing together and said, "Go grab your toolbox?"

"Sure," he answered before he retreated down the hall.

She was surprisingly adept at taking the whole thing apart and soon had the crib in pieces. Together they slid the pieces back in the boxes, and the hardware into zip top bags. He sat on the floor, taking apart the mobile and fastidiously packing away the toys. Jane pushed the filled boxes into the hallway and returned with a few bottles of water.

The nursery had vanished more quickly than it had appeared.

She handed one water to him before she sat next to him, leaning their backs against the wall. Although he tried to look unaffected, she knew he was crushed as he stared at the empty room that now looked purposeless. "You okay?" she asked, resting her hand on his shoulder.

"Yea," he answered loudly and gruffly, "I don't need this crap. It's just taking up space."

"I know what it's like to feel like you've lost everyone. Sarah and Sawyer moved, Allie, the baby, everything. I really do know how that feels."

"I know you do."

"And it's okay to be sad."

"I should have been there for you. I don't know why you're here after everything that happened."

"I'm here because I care, Kurt," she said. "And because I missed being with you."

He cleared his throat, "You planning on being on your own forever?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know… Go on any dates lately?"

Jane chuckled, "Are you serious?"

"Yea. Why not?"

"How am I supposed to explain my body?"

"Any man who needs an explanation about your body doesn't deserve to call himself a man."

"I meant the tattoos."

"I know what you meant. Why do you have to explain them?"

"You don't think that would come up on a date?"

"I'm sure…but you don't have to answer. You know…a little mystery."

"You don't get it," she said, a bit bitterly. "How am I supposed to meet a man and trust him when I always have to wonder if he's secretly with the CIA or Sandstorm? I could never fall asleep next to anyone in case I have night terrors because they're really hard to explain. How do I explain the scars from Keaton, or the way I can't put my face into a blasting shower anymore because it makes me panicky after being waterboarded so many times that I lost count."

"Jane, I am so sorry. If I could go back—"

"I know. And if I could go back, I would have told you the truth. But that's not how it happened."

He flipped her hand and checked her wrist, looking at the faded and whitened scars that weren't there before she went to the CIA. "I really hate Keaton. I'm pretty pissed at myself too."

His shoulders looked heavy with guilt, so she tried to move on, "Think it would bother Nas if she knew I was still here at 2am?"

Kurt tried to act confused but it was obvious that he was surprised at the question, "Why—why would Nas care ab—what are you talking about?"

Jane tilted her head and stared blankly at Kurt, waiting for the confession.

He finally said, "How'd you find out?"

"I know you," Jane replied. "And I saw how she looked at us when we were together."

"It wasn't really serious."

"It's none of my business…I just don't want to come between you."

"It's over. She ended it."

"God, Weller, I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

"Because it's something else you lost."

"It would have ended anyway. I care about her…she's a good woman…but it wasn't like you."

Jane turned her head quickly toward him, and began, "Kurt—"

He interrupted, "Seems like everyone thinks there's something between us."

"There almost was, if you remember," she said without thinking.

He swirled his water in the container, and she realized he probably felt like he'd lost her too. Maybe that was why he wanted her to stay for a while. She put her arm around his shoulders, half hugging him, and said, "You're not alone."

His head was down and she leaned closer just to give him a kiss on the cheek before helping him carry the boxes in the hall down to storage. At the last second he turned, pressing his lips to hers. Although she remained for a few seconds longer than she thought she should, she pulled back, "I think you misunderstood."

"Did I?" he asked.

"You know that you're…I care about you very much. I'm your friend and I will be there for you, but…I'm not your consolation prize."

"You…have never been a consolation prize. Do you ever wonder what would have happened last year if everything didn't go wrong between us?"

Although she hesitated, she finally answered, "Sure. Of course I have."

"I have. A lot. Keaton wouldn't have gotten his hands on you," he said, gently rubbing his thumb over the scars on her wrist. "I wouldn't have hurt you…at least not as bad as I did. We never would have mistrusted each other. You've been alone a lot too. So many nights alone when you first came to us. Alone with the CIA. Alone since you've been back, when you have those dreams."

"I can take care of myself."

"No one is saying you can't. There's no reason for us to be alone. Especially when you're the one I really wanted…the one I've been trying to forget. I've never been able to get you out of my mind…ever since you showed up. Nothing has changed that. If you tell me it's one-sided, I'll take you at your word, and I won't mention it again."

"It isn't…one-sided," she admitted, "but it's…"

"Complicated," he said, completing her thought. While his thumb still brushed the underside of her wrist, his fingers wrapped around her arm and cradled it. "I know I've hurt you, but I don't want to hurt you anymore. I won't hurt you anymore."

He leaned closer, his eyes boldly looking into hers as he gave her time to pull away. "Weller…" she started as if there was something else to say that never came.

"Yea?"

Her fingers followed his collar and traced the line down the opening of his shirt over one of the deep bruises on his chest until she reached the vee where the shirt was still buttoned. She bent her finger at the top knuckle, hooked his shirt, and gently tugged just enough to convey her intent.

Her eyes met his, affectionate and welcoming, and she watched him offer a soft smile before he allowed their lips to touch. His one hand remained on her arm, the other went to her face. He was brusque by nature, which made the tenderness of that kiss all the more startling. It told her, beyond doubt, that he wasn't looking for a warm body on a lonely night; he truly felt something for her.

She wasn't entirely sure if that made the prospect of the lines they may cross simpler or harder to breech. As unlikely as it had seemed only hours earlier, she knew he had feelings for her.

She parted her lips only slightly, and he accepted the invitation, sliding his tongue into her mouth, caressing her lips as he moved. She heard a noise, not realizing initially that the soft moan that filled air came from her until it prompted him to deepen the kiss. Seemingly emboldened by her reaction, he let go of her wrist and grabbed her waist and pulled her closer. Her head swam as their bodies moved closer, and she knew she couldn't blame the beer for the fuzzy rush she was feeling. At some point she'd turned, her back no longer against the wall, and she was facing him.

Jane had no idea how she'd ended up sitting on his lap, but she was there, her legs draped over his rather than straddling him, but on his lap nonetheless.

When his fingers ventured up the back of her shirt, his hands covering the skin on her lower back, it felt like they belonged there. This was the closest she'd been to anyone since Oscar, part of her fearing that she would be unable to bear close personal contact, but instead all she wanted was more contact, closer contact, hours of contact.

Her hands found their way under his shirt, she'd unbuttoned it without even thinking. She covered the skin along his waist and around to his back, pressing her fingers into his lats as her hands ascended. She moved away from the kiss for a moment, although both of their hands refused to surrender contact with the bare skin beneath. They panted against each other, breathless and blushing, pupils dilated and pulses throbbing, as they tried to fill their lungs with oxygen.

After a moment, he closed the gap again, kissing her chin and dotting kisses along her jaw until he reached her neck. He didn't tug at her clothes, seemingly content with what he was receiving, or at least not willing to risk going too far and causing her retreat.

She pushed his shirt down from his shoulders, cognizant of the fact that she was the one to initiate such a leap forward, but enjoying the feeling of him too much to care. She trusted this man, trusted his hands and his mouth and his heart. It was a foreign sensation, unique and beautiful, and undeniably seductive. Her hands crossed her own body, grabbing the hem of her shirt and pulling it quickly up over her head. He paused, taking a moment to look at her as his hands skated over her painted flesh. With each pass, he'd drag his palms up her stomach, stopping just short of her breasts, still covered by her bra.

She both enjoyed this show of restraint and was equally frustrated by it. If he wanted to yank her bra off, as his eyes clearly suggested, he didn't do so, instead indulging in the moment. She turned farther, allowing her legs to straddle him, sitting on his mid-thigh. She embraced him, fully pressing her taut stomach to his, feeling their skin meet, hot and inviting.

She kissed him, this time only for a moment, immediately moving her tongue into his mouth to slide along his before she nipped his lip and felt him tense beneath her. Then she pulled back, hearing him groan involuntarily at her retreat. But she stared into his eyes, assessing, thinking, weighing the consequences of her next move. She wondered if this was a mistake, wondered if she'd feel the desperate need to run if she would allow herself to be so vulnerable. Would he coldly brush her off afterwards? Would their relationship somehow move forward? No one outcome seemed certain.

That was the last clear thought she remembered thinking that night.

She decided to pull her bra over her head, and he stared admiringly without inhibition as her breasts bobbed in front of his face. He blew out a long, slow breath of appreciation, the warm breath fluttering over her skin, his hands resting on her hips, obviously resisting the urge to pull her forward and grind their bodies together. His hands moved up the flat and impossibly soft skin of her abdomen, this time allowing his palms to cup the underside of her breast while his thumbs brushed her nipples. They were already stiff, but with each touch of the calloused pad of his thumb, they pulled to a tighter peak.

He started to sit up, hiding a flinch from the pain that he was ignoring, but was still there, and elected to press his hands against her back below her shoulder blades and push her chest toward him. The moment his mouth captured a nipple, her breath quickened, her chest expanding more fully and emptying more deeply as the arousal kicked in. She'd forgotten how good abandon could feel. After a moment, she was rocking forward in his lap, completely without thought, moving as he expertly coaxed and teased and drove her wild. He didn't seem at all interested in hurrying things along, instead lavishing attention to each breast as if he thought this might be his only taste of her flesh.

She undulated in the voluntary prison of his arms, a place where she found safety instead of imprisonment. Rocking forward even farther, her hands grabbing the back of his head to keep him close, he hissed when her still covered mound pressed against his erection. She felt his reaction, the strength of it, and slowed her hips, instead pressing against him in slow, firm, steady motions that offered enough of a suggestion to effectively make him stupid with desire. She gasped, his hardness pressing against her in a way that seemed almost too pleasurable for being fully clothed.

He guided her off his lap, unable to just flip her over like he wished he could, and sat her on the floor. He sat on his knees in front of her, tugging and twisting her boots until they were off her feet as she leaned back, bracing on her elbows. She stared as his hands moved over her calves and knees, and beyond her thighs, watching as he looked up at her before he unbuttoned her jeans and dragged the zipper down.

She could have left. The door to the hall was open and her shirt still near at hand, there was nothing forcing her to stay there except the demands of her body and heart. Instead of retreating, she actually helped him remove her jeans, caught in this wave of passion that had robbed her of thought.

He left her panties on, caressing her thighs before he pressed the back of a finger against her slit. Her feedback was immediate and clear as she gasped and lifted her hips. She could feel her own dampness, the cloth sliding easily against her since it was soaked and slippery. All of the pleasure of that sensation didn't even compare to the way he felt when he pulled her panties to the side and moved a single finger against her warm, bare slit, finding her clit and swirling it beneath a fingertip.

She loudly sighed, "Fuck that feels incredible," as she tilted her head back.

"I haven't even started yet," he lustily countered as a shiver shot along her spine.

Jane lifted up, allowing him to remove the last bit of clothing, and reveled under his touch. She'd stopped watching. A sharp breath pierced the air as her mouth opened from a new sensation. Her eyes opened only seconds after her mouth, and she saw his face nestled between her thighs and watched him drag his tongue along her crevice, masterfully exploring her body.

Her eyes were transfixed on him, watching the way he lavished affection on her and occasionally looked up to gauge her reactions.

When he pushed two fingers inside her, her head flew back again and she chanted, "Oh god, god, god," before she added, "Weller," stretching out his name into a gasping moan as she writhed below him.

Usually she felt an orgasm ascend in steady increments, but not that night. Her orgasm hit like an unexpected burst of lightning that made her whole body tense while she squeezed his fingers and sung his name. Her hands reached behind his head, holding him tight against her. Unable to really take a full breath, she gasped for a small eternity before she dropped against the floor, her hand holding his hand still, his fingers still inside her as her tensions ebbed.

"What was that?" she chuckled, sprawled out on the floor.

"That was me not hurting you," he smirked back.

"I just meant…woah," she sighed.

"So 'woah'…that's good thing?"

"What do you think?" she smirked, sitting up and pulling his mouth to hers and offering an appreciative kiss.

While she kissed him, she rubbed her palms carefully down his chest, her nails tracing the top edge of his jeans against his skin. Her palm wandered lower, cupping the bulge that had quite obviously grown. As the heel of her hand hit the smooth, slippery tip of his cock, he groaned, no longer simply wanting but needing some relief. She pushed him back until he was sitting back, leaning against the wall. Watching him grimace slightly although he had no intention of putting an end to this tryst, she wondered how she could return the pleasure he'd given while causing the least pain to his body.

He placed his hands patiently on the floor next to his legs, allowing her to take the lead. Jane felt a surge of power and excitement at his willingness to turn himself over to her. She knelt on either side of his thighs without putting any weight on him. His eyes explored her still naked body, obviously enthralled by the voyeuristic opportunity. She could see the desire by just looking at his face, but his entire body reacted to her. When she plucked open the button at the top of his pants, his chest moved with deeper breaths of excitement. She lowered his zipper, carefully moving over his erection. Without moving his boxers away, she stroked him a few times, watching as his head lulled against the wall.

His pants still on, she pulled his cock from his boxers, stroking lightly, just enough to entice. His eyes closed, trying to appreciate the pleasure of a slow torment while stifling the urge to hurry things along. At the end of each breath out, his chest emitted a subtle groan, but when she wrapped her lips around the leaking tip, swirling her tongue around him before letting go with an alluring pop, his eyes quickly opened and the subtle groans became something more primal and unmistakably masculine.

He stood, his pants still hanging low on his hips, and tried to lift her with him. Although he picked her up, she could see that it hurt him, so she wriggled down until her feet touched the ground and playfully asked, "Where ya going?"

"Uh… bedroom?" he offered.

She started backing away, hips swaying as he told her which door was his. He stared at her the entire time, and she knew he was enjoying the sight of her roaming naked through his apartment. Once he closed the door to his bedroom and she stood only inches away, he took the remaining step forward so they were no longer separated. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her tight against him as his hardness pressed into her abdomen. They were both panting again, the sated feeling from moments earlier washed away by the new wave of desire.

She pushed her hands into the back of his pants, shoving his jeans down as far as she could before she pulled away, stooping in front of him to pull off the last of his clothes. As she stood again, she took one long lick of the underside of his sex, watching his hand form a tight fist. He stepped her back to the bed, lying her down as he climbed over her. While his hips settled between her parted thighs, their sexes touched, just sliding momentarily, sharing warmth against each other before he held still. "Protection?" she asked, more of a demand than a request, but she hoped to hell he had some, because she was already fantasizing about him pumping inside her.

He nodded his head, regretfully pulling away from her warm body, and rolled to the side of the bed, grabbing a pack of condoms from inside the nightstand. While he was on his back, she slung her leg over his thighs, swooped the condoms from his hand and then pressed her hands to his shoulders to still him.

"You better take it easy," she said, her fingers very scantly roaming over his bruised chest.

"Trust me, for you…I'm willing to accept a little pain. Nothing I can't handle," he confidently replied.

"Fair is fair. It's my turn…to not hurt you," she answered mischievously, using his words from earlier in a way that obviously gave him a slight shudder of desire.

She stroked his length, feeling him grow firmer and longer beneath her fingers before she rolled the condom on and crawled up his body. She snaked upward, her breasts grazing his stomach and chest while her knees planted by his hips. Pausing for one more kiss, Jane guided his body into hers. The kiss broke abruptly as she sat up, bracing her hands low on his stomach.

Her body screamed with both need and the pleasured pain of being filled again after so long. It had been long, far too long, since she'd done this. He was only an inch or two inside her before she paused, and when she gasped a bit too sharply as she took him further inside, he sat up, bracing his weight on one arm as he wrapped the other around her. He softly kissed her lips, her neck, gently and patiently caressing her back. As his lips found her ear, he whispered, "You're so damn beautiful."

As she relaxed, she lowered down onto him, feeling his body penetrate and stretch her with insistent pressure. That fullness was a feeling far more exquisite than she remembered. Although she was gradually welcoming him in her body, he seemed to have infinite patience in spite of his need. "I haven't done this for a while," she murmured.

She took him entirely in her body, her walls quivering at the invasion, and as the stinging sensation eased, she lifted away, allowing him to slide out of her body before welcoming him back once again, still moving a bit gingerly. "You feel so fucking incredible," he growled as she started to move just a little faster and deeper.

As her body relaxed, her ample moisture allowing him to slide in spite of his girth, she seemed to return to her former confidence. "Does this hurt?" she asked, circling her hips as she impaled herself on him.

"Hell no," he sighed, his hands finding her hips just to feel more of her body.

"How about this?" she teased, rocking her hips roughly downward and watching the tension building in his neck and abs.

"Not a bit," he replied as he clenched his jaw.

"This?" she asked, abruptly lifting away, completely removing him from the comfort of her body.

"Yea, that hurts a little," he admitted.

She sat up on her knees, kissing his collarbone, neck and lips before she said in the most alluring voice he'd ever heard, "I can make it feel better."

At that, she guided him back inside her, leisurely riding him as their mutual pleasure built. He was thrusting from below her, the thick tip of his cock rubbing her walls and massaging her depths. This felt almost too good.

He managed to flip her over so he was on top, listening to her gasp and softly giggle at the suddenness of the change, and she said, "Be careful."

With one long, smooth thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, pressing against her clit with his body as she seductively cried out her gratification, so he repeated his actions just to hear the sound of her again and again. Whether his pain was subdued because of hormones or he was simply too distracted by pleasure to feel pain, it certainly didn't seem to bother him for the moment.

Her arms and legs wrapped around his body, pulling him as close as she could, practically hanging off his body as they rocked each other's worlds. She heard those deep grunts that emitted from his chest become louder and deeper, his control withering as he just started fucking his way to bliss. He jerked inside her and her tightly coiled body snapped and sprung against him as she squealed her pleasure. She didn't remember a more intense feeling, good or bad, ever in her life. It was an all-encompassing indulgence that made her toes curl and back arch and fingers dig into his back as every muscle in her body tightened. His rigidity and passion heightened until his body could no longer be wound any tighter, and his orgasm sprung from his very center as his body tried to completely merge with hers to make them inseparable.

He collapsed on top of her, moving just slightly to one side, his limbs robbed of strength and his brain unable to compose any deep thoughts. His lips, as numb as the rest of him, mumbled, "Fuck, Jane, that was so incredible."

When Jane woke hours later, greeted by a clock that told her she'd soon be wishing him 'good afternoon', she felt a bit out of sorts. Kurt's arm was still reaching over toward where she had been lying, since he'd held her most of the night. The discarded foil wrappers from condoms reminded her that what had happened wasn't a one-time mistake…or a two-time mistake…

They'd slept after the first time, falling into a deep near-coma, and when she'd woken, he was spooning her from behind. As she'd moved in his arms, she could feel his body responding to the friction she was creating, and before she knew it, they were screwing again. A few hours later, barely awake, she'd felt his hands roaming her body and it wasn't long before he was inside her again as they'd sleepily shared a passionate embrace.

It was difficult to plead insanity after she'd made the same decision again and again. She maneuvered down the hallway, stepping around the boxes they'd packed to get into the room that was so empty her footfalls seemed to echo. Her clothes lay on the floor all around the spot where she'd been the night before, and in spite of enjoying an immensely gratifying night, she felt a twinge of arousal as she thought of it all again.

There was a definite temptation for her to leave his apartment quietly until she could figure out what was going on, but at the same time, leaving him alone again without warning seemed mean and unnecessarily dramatic. She certainly wasn't angry at him, she just had no idea what in the hell to say. It wasn't like they had taken the time to discuss what it all meant or she could read his mind to know what he was thinking.

As she bent to retrieve her shirt, she heard a whistle from behind her as Kurt said, "Now there's a view I could get used to."

He was standing in the doorway, wearing only his jeans and a puckish grin. Chuckling nervously, she replied, "You startled me."

He looked around the room and said, walking slowly closer, "Sneaking out?"

"No, of course not," she answered, still anxious. "I—I—I'm not sure what I'm doing. I wanted to find my clothes and—I th-think…"

He came close, directly in her personal space and asked, "Do I make you nervous?"

"No," she half-laughed, "I just…look, this is weird."

"Here," he said, handing her a clean button down shirt to wear. "You want coffee?"

His thoughtfulness touched her as she took the shirt and put it on. "Coffee would be great," she smiled, a bit more at ease.

"Come on."

As he made coffee he asked, "You alright?"

"Of course."

"Then why don't you tell me what's going on. You look like a deer in headlights."

"Weller, I…I like you. There's always been a spark between us. I think we both know that."

"I agree. So what's the problem? It wasn't as good as you imagined?"

"Oh, no," she smiled, "you were really fantastic. Last night was…whew."

"So were you," he answered. "Better than fantasy, which is pretty hard to do. So why did I find you creeping around looking for your clothes instead of in my bed this morning?"

"One woman is currently carrying your child and another just ended a relationship with you. I don't really think you need any more complications in your life. I don't want to be your rebound, Kurt."

His face suddenly seemed frustrated and confused, and then determined. He shook his head and said, "You…could never be a rebound. I can't believe you don't know that by now. You're the one I've wanted all along, ever since you showed up outside my apartment and kissed me…maybe even before that, I'm not even sure anymore. When I thought you and me wouldn't happen, I made some poor decisions. But you, Jane…you are the one I want."

"So what do we do?"

He casually wound an arm around her and said, "That's up to you. Walking toward you…well that's always felt right. Walking away from you never does. I'd like to see where this goes. Maybe try we could try moving toward each other for a while."

"Okay," she smiled more openly. "We can do that."

"If you feel uncomfortable because of my other…circumstances…we could keep it quiet for a while until we figure it all out…keep it between us."

"I think that would be good."

"I know it's Saturday but I need to head in to work for an hour or two, but…would you like to come over tonight? Hang out?"

"Hang out?" she smirked.

He tilted his head as he thought and finally admitted, "More like a…date, Jane." He leaned down, kissing her sweetly as he pulled her body against him.

"Yea," she answered. "I'd like that."