Used To Be

Chapter 2: Mutually Exclusive

Author: Knowhere

Rating: R

Disclaimer: The idea, concept, and other miscellaneous belong to me.

AN: I've gotten a kick out of how many people have left reviews (tentatively) pointing out that it was sad or depressing. I like to write sad and depressing sometimes, you know. I like realism and sometimes it's not always filled with laughter wrapped up in shiny paper.

But, as I've said, remember that this was written years ago and therefore won't 'sound' the same as my recent stuff.

Good news though: I have the latest chapter of Gradual almost ready. Needs cleaning up but should be ready in a handful of days!

Summary: Literati. They're on a plateau, no ups or downs, no excitement or joy. They learn that complacency is not the best position to be in. AU.

He kisses the side of my neck once, and continues his downward path. My hands are resting by my side and I just turn my head to the side, looking at him as he runs warm palm against the tops of my thighs. I sigh and just wait for what's to come. His eyes flick up and catch my expression and for a second, I think that he looks disappointed.

I lay still and think of the time when we made love during a rainstorm. We were visiting Mom and Luke and stayed in the newly empty apartment above the diner. Luke had just moved in with Mom and we used the diner apartment as our own personal hotel room whenever we visited. Jess was helping out in the diner that day when it had started to rain. I had just come back from shopping with Mom when the storm started to pick up speed. Heavy with shopping bags, I headed up the stairs to change and when I was doing so, I heard someone step into the small apartment. Jess stood there in the doorway, with an unreadable expression on his face, and his stare was so intense that I gaped at him. He smirked lightly and dropped his look, but crossed the length of the room in several large strides. Catching me by the couch, we tumbled down together, landing all crooked and tangled. I had laughed and he grunted as my hand deliberately passed by the erection that was appearing in his jeans. I kissed the side of his neck and asked him what was going on. He had just shrugged, and replied, "I just missed you." I had only been gone for five hours.

He kissed me thoroughly on the couch, alternating between hot, wet kisses, to gentle, sweet ones that made me sigh in anticipation. We stayed like that for a half an hour on the couch just kissing. Neither of us lost any clothing in those thirty minutes and we just enjoyed each other with hurrying into sex. Later on, as the rain beat down on the windows, thunder rolled into the mix and I buried my face into the soft fabric of his shirt. He cradled my head gently between his hands and whispered that it was going to be all right. That day, he didn't make fun of me for being afraid of a storm. He just held me on the couch and eventually, his soothing caresses turned into something more. Another half hour passed and we were lying comfortably with each other, naked and satisfied in his old bed. I snuggled into his arms, and he placed my head on his chest. He played with my fingers, lacing them with his, and kissed each one. Hair was matted to my back and he tried to comb through the tangles with his bare fingers. He turned to look at me and just smiled. I ran my free hand down the length of him and made his gasp again as I reached the sensitive part of his hip.

Right now he's holding my waist, readying us for the final act. I don't smile and I don't help him because I'm still trapped in my memories. Memories of what we used to have, what we used to do, and what we used to be. I spread my legs for him, but it's all done as routine. I know he'll enter me slowly at first and then still himself as I adjust. I know he'll give me about three seconds and then pull back. I know all of this. I close my eyes tightly and clench, feeling that I need more than this. I need what we used to have. I need something else. And suddenly, I don't feel him enter me. He's just stopped. He's staring at me.

"What is it?" His gruff voice breaks my thoughts.

"What?" I ask softly.

Dropping his hold on my hips, and my lower body falls down. "You. You're just…" He gestures with his hands.

"I'm what?"

He's abandoned his place by the foot of the bed and crawls back under the covers on his side. He turns to me as he sits halfway up, leaning on the headboard. "You're not here."

"What are you talking about? Of course I'm here."

He shakes his head sadly. "No, you're not. What's with you lately?"

"With me? What do you mean?"

"I mean you always zone out whenever we're in bed. Your eyes always glaze over as if you're thinking about something else."

You're right. I am thinking about something else. Someone else. Someone that you used to be. "I'm not thinking about anything else."

He scoffs, but still keeps his voice at a low volume. "Someone else then?"

My eyes widen at the accusation and I know he's not entirely in the wrong. "No, no one else."

"Then you have to help me out here, Rory. What's going on with you? Every time I kiss you lately, you pull back or you just accept the kiss as if you were accepting an assignment. You just stay there and lie still until it's finished."

I chuckle dryly. "And when have you bothered to kiss me?"

"What?" He's hurt. "I always kiss you."

"Yeah, when you want sex. You give me a quick peck on the lips and then move down."

He's squinting as he processes what I just said. "When I do kiss you other then when we have sex, you're always the one pulling away. Yesterday, I tried to kiss you when we were eating dinner and you made some excuse to wash the dishes."

"That doesn't count. I was trying to eat dinner."

He rolls his eyes. "Oh, sorry. So tell me, what does count as me kissing you?"

"You just don't get it! I'm not keeping count, Jess. But nothing's the same anymore."

"Yeah, I know. I've known for months. I know every time I have to initiate sex, or every time you walk away when I try to hug you. Yeah, I know."

"Don't pin this all on me. I'm not the only one who pulls away. You never want to talk anymore. Never. You don't feel like talking after work, and you don't feel like talking over dinner, and you certainly don't feel like talking when we're sitting in bed. You're never here in this relationship anymore!"

"I'm not in this relationship? Excuse me for having a rough time at work. But do you see me coming home and dumping all my problems on you, do you?"

"Are you saying that I dump my problems on you?"

He shakes his head. "No, I'm not saying that."

"I don't even know what's going on with you anymore, Jess. I have no freaking idea. You never open up. Never."

"It's a bit hard to open to my girlfriend who doesn't even want to sleep with me."

"When have I ever refused to sleep with you?"

"You don't have to refuse for me to catch on that you're not into it. You lay there still as a statue whenever I try to start things up. You just sit back and make me do all the work."

"How can I be in the mood when I can't even connect with you? How do you expect me to want to have sex with you?"

He leans forwards. "And how can you expect me to want to connect if you don't want to sleep with me?"

I fling my hands up in the air. "I can't be turned on when I don't even know what's happening with you. Why can't you just be like you used to be?"

"And what would that be?" He spits out that sentence in disgust.

"Loving. You used to want me for the smallest reasons."

"And you used to jump on me when I walked through the door after work because you couldn't wait to see me."

I roll my eyes. "Just because I don't maul you these days, doesn't mean that I don't come to you."

"Oh really?" He raises an eyebrow. "When in the last couple months have you ever, ever come to me for sex? No, it's always a fight because I forgot to go grocery shopping, or I drank the last of the coffee, or you need me to kill a spider."

"Grow up Jess." I huff. "You're the one who's concentrating on sex. And that's not the problem here."

He scoffs. "I think it's a big problem when you don't want to have sex with me. Listen to yourself, Rory. Sex. That's what it's come down to. Sex. Remember when you used to call it making love? You used to hate it when I said we had sex. You said it belittled it. Said that it didn't do it justice because the word sex sounded too casual."

I raise my voice. "You want to talk about making love?" I mock his words. "How about foreplay then, Jess? Remember what that is? You used to just kiss me for twenty minutes without even trying to take off my shirt. Now, you kiss and move down to my breasts. All done in less than ten minutes."

He tilts his head. "Are you saying it's my fault?"

"Well, I'm not the one who has reduced sex into a routine. I'm not the one who's emotionally cut off from everything."

"You're not the one who's emotionally cut off?" It's his turn to mock me. "I think that's exactly what you are. I don't even know what the hell is going through your mind anymore. I sit here in the apartment after I come home, eating dinner by myself, while you're off bar hopping with people from work."

"Bar hopping?" I yell. "It's just been a couple of times."

"A couple of times that don't end until late at night." He turns his head to the side.

"What about all those times I put up with when we were younger? All those times you went out with your people from work? With those girls who fawned over you?"

He makes a face and looks down at his lap. "I stopped going out with them as soon as I realized how much it was bothering you. And it was just the first month or so when I got my job. You know that I needed to work my way up the company. And I manage new authors for the publishing house. I need to get out there. You know damn sure that I was working, and not flirting with some girl."

"Oh, really? I'm sure?"

He yells. "Yes Rory. You're sure. I've never been unfaithful in all these years we've been together. Never. I've never even once caused you to question me. Never."

Guilt shuts my mouth. I can't push this subject because I know I shouldn't have accepted that guy's looks and drinks last weekend at that bar with Jenny. It didn't happen often, but when it did, I never refused the drinks from a stranger. Never.

He shakes his head. "I need more, Rory." His voice has strangely returned to its normal volume.

My head whips around. "I need more, Jess."

"How can I give more when you don't seem to want it?" He turns and throws his legs over the edge of the bed. Searching around, he slips on his boxers and rummages through the hamper for a rumpled pair of jeans. Grabbing the nearest sweatshirt, he foregoes the t-shirt and pulls the garment over his bare chest. Checking to see that his wallet is in the back pocket, I hear him walk out of the apartment and close the door with a bang.

It's midnight. He had left this morning at nine o'clock. It has been almost fifteen hours since our fight and his exit out of the apartment. I haven't done a single thing the entire day. This Saturday was full of plans. I had a list. I needed to do our laundry. I barely had anything to wear to work yesterday. I needed to go grocery shopping, and to look for a new cell phone plan. My contract is about to expire next week. Instead of checking off each item off my post-it note, I've done nothing but pad around the apartment all day. It's a gloomy day outside. I can see through the window that people are walking around with heavy coats, scarves wrapped tightly around to keep from the winter chill.

I've done nothing but sit on the couch. Instead of eating, I went through my box in the back of the closet. I keep things from Jess in there. A dried rose that he had given me on one of our dates. It's practically falling apart now. There are some notes that he left in my books, and I read every single one. I thought about the memories, about what we had shared, what he had expressed to me. I sifted through his little gifts, movie stubs, and other keepsakes that are valuable to me but worthless to anyone else. The box was dusty as I opened it this afternoon, and I can't remember the last time I added anything into it.

Now I'm sitting on the floor of our bedroom. Slumped to the side, leaning against the wall, I've been sitting here for the last hour. I'm torn with anger and frustration. How could he accuse me of being emotionally unavailable to him? He's the one who's been checked out of our relationship for the last couple of months. How dare he say that I've refused to sleep with him? How dare him say it when he's the one who's been absent?

I make a face. He is the one at fault, right? Isn't he?

Can it be…? Could it be my fault?

Here in the darkness of my room, I can't lie to myself. I know for a fact that I have been ignoring him. I haven't been exactly fair to him, but how could he not understand me? How could he not? I can't give sex or even love without feeling loved first. I can't have sex without love. I just can't.

I pick up my head off the arm of the couch as I hear the door open quietly. I don't sit up but I can hear him dropping his keys on the kitchen counter. He's sighing and I hear him opening the door of the fridge as the distinctive clink of the bottle of beer is opened. I inch up on my elbows and glance up over the edge of the sofa. I've caught his attention.

He stops the bottle an inch from his lips and sets it down on the counter.

Shyly and hesitantly, "Hi."

"Hey."

"Where have you been?"

Shrugging, "Just walking around the city." He's approaching the couch and I make room for him. He plops down with an audible grunt. "What did you do all day?"

Our conversation is…odd. It's like nothing happened this morning. And yet, we're talking about it. We're both eerily calm about all of this. "Nothing. I didn't do anything today."

He looks over at me. Dark eyes very sad. "Nothing?"

"No." I shift my weight and bring up my legs to cross them. "I went through my box." There's no need to elaborate what I mean. He knows what box. He used to tease me about hiding it in the back of the closet. He used to ask if I was ashamed of him. Laughing, I would tell him no and playfully slap him on the shoulder. "I haven't seen it in awhile."

Shaking his head, "Me neither."

"So you walked around the city?"

"Yeah. I stopped by Washington Square Park, sat there and just stared at people. Didn't even realize it was late until it was dark. Then I just got up and walked."

I didn't even hear him. "Jess…is it, I mean…is it me?"

He's looking away. "Yes."

"Oh." My heart sinks.

"And no." Running a weary hand through his already messy hair, he turns to glance at me. "It's not just you. And not just me. Rory, you have to realize that this isn't one person's fault. Even though you were pinning it on me earlier, people like us couldn't have gotten into this situation if both of us weren't actively participating in the problem."

My anger flares up. "Just how do you think I've participated in this problem?" I don't care that a minute ago I was ready to hear that it was my fault. It's one thing to say myself that I was at fault; it's another to be told that.

"You're selfish."

"I'm what?" I raise my voice.

"Selfish." He doesn't match my volume. "How can you expect things from me when you don't give me what I need in return?"

I snap. "And what is it that you need in return? More sex?" I bite that last question. It's a low blow, but I can't help it.

"That's unfair. And you know it's not true."

"How can I know that's not true? You keep bringing it up!"

And suddenly, he explodes. "So what if it's true then! So what? Just what the hell do you want from me, huh?"

"I need to feel loved!" I shout. "I need more than what we have now! I need what we had before. Love, Jess, love!"

"And how the hell can I love you if you keep shrinking away from me?"

"How can I stop shrinking away from you if you don't love me?"

I've hit a nerve. "I love you, damn it! I fucking love you! I never said I didn't love you. Never did those words come out of my mouth."

"How can I know that when you don't show it?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Ditto, Rory. How can I know that you still love me when you don't show it?" He pauses. "Do you still love me?"

I sigh explosively.

"Do you? It's not a hard question, Rory? Do you love me or not?"

"I…" I do love you Jess. So much it hurts. I love you so much that I let this situation eat me up. If I didn't, I wouldn't get so worked up about all of this. If I didn't love you then I would be fine with the way things are. I do love you. I love you so much. "I…"

I've never seen him so pained. He pulls back and prepares to stand. He turns to look down at me, and I'm horrified to see tears glistening in the dim lighting of our living room. I've never seen him cry. Not even close to it. I've seen him choke up at a funeral for a childhood friend, I've seen him almost loose it when he saw his mother in the hospital after a car accident, I've seen him emotional, but never seen him with tears. They're gathering up at the corner of his eyes, but they don't fall. He won't let them. Slowly, he stands. Softly, he speaks. So softly, "I can't believe you just said that."

Stuttering, "I…I…didn't say anything."

"Exactly."

The clock on the stereo tells me it's 3:36 A.M. There is just a single light on in the living room. The one by the arm of the couch. I haven't bothered to close the window yet and I just shiver, feeling the cold air brush across my skin. The faint sounds of the city waft through. I hear the wail of a siren heading downtown, I hear the call of a neighbor to a stray dog to stop barking, I hear a car alarm go off in the distant, but I hear the thumping of my heart the most.

It beats. Pulses. Hard. Thumps against my ribcage so much that I think it might burst. It hurts. So much. I curl forward on the couch and I realize that I'm not having a heart attack at the age of twenty-seven. No, I'm experiencing heartbreak. My heart is literally breaking. I can't believe that I couldn't screw up the courage just to tell him that I do still love him. How hard can that be? I was the one who always pushed for him to say it. Back then I had pushed but ended up waiting until he just blurted I out unexpectedly one day over an ice cream cone. We were eating ice cream on a hot, muggy, New York summer day, and while I licked the dribble on my cone, he just blurted out 'I love you.' With my shocked face, he just looked down at his shoes and pretended that he hadn't said it. We pretended for the rest of that day. Until we got back to his apartment and loafed around on his couch. The television had been muted and he just turned to me and said, "I meant it you know? I love you." I had smiled and kissed him in gratitude.

He doesn't say it much. In all these years, he might have said it less than a handful of times. But I've never doubted whether he did or not. That is, never doubted him until lately. But he had no problem saying it just now. The words just slipped out of his mouth, honestly, truthfully. Unlike me. I couldn't even say it back to him. Even when he asked pointblank whether or not I loved him.

I'm upset. Angry with myself for not seeing how our relationship was spiraling downwards, out of my control. Angry that I can't seem to do anything right these days. Angry that I even let it get this far. Why didn't I say anything about it earlier? Did I subconsciously want to let the problem fester? Had I even seen that there was a problem? Was it the ostrich syndrome where I thought that if I hid my face, emotions, and fears that the problem would magically disappear? I'm angry that I couldn't just say that I loved him. Why couldn't I just say what I had felt? Why was it so hard? Why is it still so hard? I'm angry with myself for even being angry.

I'm upset with him for not understanding that I need love for sex. I can't have one without the other. Love must stand in front of sex, not the other way around. They are not mutually exclusive. I'm angry with him for letting this problem fester. I'm angry with him just as much as I'm angry with myself. If he had felt that it was a mutual problem, why did he let it get so carried away? He hadn't blamed me, something I didn't do for him. I blamed him all this time for our problem. But he had made it clear that it was our problem. Ours. Not mine, and not his. Ours. If he had felt like that, why would he wait so long?

My brain is buzzing with activity. It's buzzing with anger. With guilt. I just can't pinpoint where everything went wrong.

He's sitting near the same spot where I spent most of today. Tucked away next to the corner of the wall, hidden by the dresser. I can only see him legs poking through. The dresser covers the rest of him. His legs are bent, bare feet flat on the carpet. He hides from his problems. Literally. He used to hide in closets as a child, when fights with him mom got to be too much. He used to hide in his tiny bedroom closet, spending most of his day in there, reading and sleeping. He's older now. But he can't run from old habits. He hides on the floor of our room. I wondered initially why he didn't choose to back the dresser up, fully against the corner of the room. But he had left a space between the wall and the dresser on purpose. It's large enough to hide him. Partially hide him from the world. But it's enough. Enough room for him to run away and tuck himself into his own world where problems don't exist. He doesn't sulk when he's sitting there. He doesn't fester the problem until it grows so large that he can't contain it. He sits there to escape. I have no idea what runs through his brain when he's there, but more than once he's come out of that space, not realizing that we were in a fight at all. Sometimes, thirty minutes spent there in his tucked away space is all he needs to calm down. It's not healthy, and I know it. He pretends that problems don't exist. But I leave him to it. He might pretend that he's not going through something when he's hiding, but he faces them head on once he stands up. Once he leaves that space, he's ready once again to deal with the problem. He temporarily hides from the world to get a grip, but he handles his stress when he returns back to reality.

I had tried it today while I waited for him to come back. I tried it myself. But I just concentrated on the problem and didn't feel anything but the tears that fell from my eyes and gathered on my lap. It had been an unsuccessful attempt to forget about everything. I couldn't do it. Not even for a moment. I moved from his spot and sat on the couch.

I've never disturbed him in his space. Never. I've wanted to in the past; I've wanted him to come out earlier so that we could talk, but never had the courage to do so. Partly because I respected him enough to understand his need to be alone, but also because I needed that time to myself as well.

But now, I wonder just exactly how long he's been sitting there. I approach him cautiously. I walk along the edge of the bed, staying about three feet away from him. His head is bowed, shoulders drooping and I want to cry for him. He hears my movement and picks up his head slowly to look at me. His eyes are dry but red. He clenches his jaw, and I see the muscles tense. They don't relax. I sit down on the carpet, Indian style, as if I were in kindergarten with my back against the nightstand. I face him across the room. He's staring at me. Hard. My eyes dart around the room trying to avoid the weight of his gaze. He's unnerving when he stares like that. Dark eyelashes close over even darker eyes, and he props up his head using a fist. His bent elbow rests on a denim-covered knee. Head is pushed against the wall, and for a moment he raises his chin but drops it back down.

Softly, oh-so softly, I speak. "I love you."

"Do you?" His question has no heat. No passion. It's just a question.

"Yes."

He picks at the carpet by his foot and nods.

"I…" I grip the carpet at my sides. "I need more Jess."

He bows his head. "I know." Looking up, "I need more too."

Nodding, I accept his answer. "I just feel like we've lost touch. I feel like we're together but apart at the same time. And I'm not blaming you for it. I know I'm responsible too."

"And what is it you need?"

"I need to feel like I'm wanted. I need love before I can give sex. I don't even feel like I'm sexy to you anymore. It's like I'm an old habit."

"You're not an old habit." He swallows, "I just don't know how to connect with you lately. You're off somewhere else."

I bite my nails. "Yes, I know. I haven't really been here. That'll change; I promise, Jess."

"Okay." There's a faint curling of the corner of his lips.

"What about you?"

He's closing his eyes as he speaks. "I need you, Rory. I need you. If you feel like an old habit, I feel like I'm a duty that you expect to perform. I need to you to want me as well. Being with me isn't supposed to be work. Yes, we work at making our relationship function, but simply being with me should be just that. Simple. A choice that you don't need to think about. I need your love physically just to feel it emotionally. When you check out of your body, you're checking me out of my emotional."

I've never heard him speak like this before. "I…didn't know that."

He smiles sadly. "No." He drops his crossed arms to his side. "I didn't know about you either. I just thought that if I was here, then it would be enough."

"It's a start. I know it's hard for you, Jess. But sometimes, it's not enough."

"Okay."

The conversation pauses around us and we just stop to listen to our own individual heartbeats. Well, at least that's what I'm doing. He just looks like he's doing the same thing. Slowly, he turns to look at me. Not moving anything but his arm, he stretches out to me. Inviting me into his space.

I smile. Getting up, my knees crack from sitting, and I cross the length of the room in several short steps. Taking his hand in mine, I tangle our fingers together. It's been a while since we've held hands like this. Tugging my hand with considerable force, I land in his lap. It's not where I expected to be. Startled, just a little, I fall into his embrace and wrap my arms around his chest tightly. He buries his face into the side of my neck and I tremble as I feel him lay a soft kiss there. It's so gentle, I feel like I dreamt it. But I know it is real.

He circles my body with strong arms, and holds me close to his own. It's awkward sitting here in his hidden space, but I don't complain. This is becoming more intimate than all the times we've had sex in the last several months put together. I snuggle into his chest even further, and his left arm comes to hold my knees. He's resting his palm on my right knee, across my body, and cups the joint gently in his hand. Tilting my head up, I catch him looking down at me and I smile once again. Using his free hand, his forefinger lifts my head even further. He takes his time; slowly, tantalizingly, he descends on my mouth. The kiss is feather light and I sigh into his closed mouth. I let him kiss me like this for several long minutes. We're getting reacquainted with each other, with each other's bodies, and the kiss drags out. The kiss is closed mouthed, but he speaks with his lips. Shy lips are massaging mine, telling me just what he feels. But he's taking his time. One of my hands drifts up from his thigh to his chest, and I stroke the muscles there, through the fabric of his shirt. He's sighing into my lips and I feel the air pass between us. But he still doesn't open the kiss. The hand that was supporting my back now comes to rest on my neck, fingers brushing the apple of my cheek.

Impatient, I use my other hand to touch his face. I feel the hard angles, feeling the line of his jaw. I cup my hand there and tug. Feeling him smile against me, I realize in the back of my mind that it's the first time he's smiled. He's finally opening his mouth and I shift my hips on his to thank him. His tongue comes out for a quick taste and it disappears once again. But his mouth is open on mine. Hot and demanding. The kiss started out as a sign of comfort, but it's seeking for something new. I respond. I push harder into his chest and lick his upper lip. He groans next to me and grips my arms tighter. I smile into him as I realize that his upper lip is still just as sensitive. The first touch of our tongues is electric; he tries to pull back but I refuse. I chase his lips and he's unable to move because his head bumps the wall. Trapped between my body and the corner of the room, I turn my body so that I'm no longer sitting across his lap. I straddle him instead. Surprised, I catch him off guard and I lean in for the continuation of the kiss. My hands frame his face, feeling the stubble there, and I grip his jaw to open his mouth once more.

He's feeling his way through the kiss. Lips, tongue, and just a hint of teeth. He's showing me just how frustrated he's been through all of this and he nips my bottom lip. Upon feeling his teeth, I jerk, and he soothes the pain with his tongue. His arms are no longer circling my back; they're gripped hard on my backside instead. I rock into his hips as I feel his hands and the kiss reflects his feelings. He's kissing me harder now, and I kiss back with a matched ferocity. My hands are lost in his hair, and I feel his curls in between my fingers. Leaning down, I feel him tilting his head back as far as possible, offering everything he has to me. My hands are leaving his face, trailing their way down his neck and I slip a finger beneath the collar of his shirt. He grunts and pushes me back. Stripping out of the shirt himself, he throws it over my shoulders but doesn't move from his sitting position. And I don't move from my perch on top of him. I watch the play of hard muscles as they twitch when I touch them, and it delights me to find that I can still affect him like this.

He's pulling me into our kiss again, but I'm desperate to feel my bare skin on his. Before he can pull me entirely back into his embrace, I grab the bottom of my shirt and draw it off myself. His eyes darken at the sight and I unhook my bra. Slipping it down my shoulders, I see him lick his lips. Damn, that's sexy. He looks up and as his eyes connect with mine, I'm surprised to find that he's shy. A hand reaches towards my bare chest, but stops before fingers can come into contact. I lean forward and nod, feeling him finally cup each hand on my breasts. My head lolls back and I hiss. My own hands come up to stroke his chest and I rub against his hips even more. Fabric still separates us on the bottom, but neither one of us seems extremely eager to break our current position. Long fingers are tugging at my hardened nipples and I rock harder into him. We continue like this for several long moments. He tugs and I retaliate by rocking into his hips, feeling his arousal pulsing against his pants.

Warm hands reach around and rest flat against my shoulder blades and to bring me closer in contact with him. I brace my hands against the wall behind him and I feel useless, not finding find anything to grip. He's taking my right breast into his mouth, no longer a lazy job like before. He's working my breast gently, alternating sucking and licking the underside of my nipple. He knows just what that does to me and I moan loudly. I drop my hands from the wall to the back of his head, and I urge him closer. His mouth increase in friction and I practically squeal, feeling him suckle. I feel his other hand come up to play with the left breast but he doesn't abandon the one in his mouth. Hand and mouth are working my chest and I pull on his hair to try to relieve some of the tension. It's building. My climax. Deliciously hard and sharp, I can see the end spiraling towards me, but it's still elusive. "Jess…"

Noting my need, he hums against my skin and it sets me off. I scream into the stillness of the room but he doesn't pull away from me. My end is explosive and as I come off the edge, I feel him slowly ease out of his touch. He isn't actively working my breast anymore; instead he's gently mouthing my skin as a sign of comfort. Pulling away, he looks up at my face but not before kissing my skin one last time. I smile and bend down to hug him. Brushing hair off my face, he smiles up into me and leans forward once again to kiss my bare shoulder. He doesn't pull away this time; instead he uses his nose to trace a path from one freckle to another. I giggle.

He smirks. I reach between our bodies to seek for him, but find that he's come as well. He leans back against the wall, and runs his hands along my back as he speaks, "All I had to do was watch you."

I blush. "Do you want me to…?" And this time, when that question is asked, it sounds so different. It was shy.

He shakes his head. "No." He's very sleepy all of a sudden. "It was more than I could ask for. It was great."

I cuddle into his bare chest. "Yeah, great."

"It was the scream that did it for me." He cradles my neck in his hands.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

I suddenly realize what we've been through today. It all comes crashing back into me. "Jess, are we…I mean, are we okay?"

He doesn't answer me. Silence invades our space. Quietly, "I think…we will be."

"It'll take time."

He nods against my skin. "We'll work at it."

I feel him gently stroking my side as I snuggle into his familiar scent and wonder just how much this will actually impact us in the long run. Will we remember this fight a week from now? A year? Six years? How much time did we just buy with this conversation? Or maybe we didn't buy any time. We just stole some. And I can't help but wonder if down the road when we fight again and forget about this conversation…will we be so lucky and end up in each other's arms again?

Or will it be the end?

AN: I originally toyed with the idea that they couldn't work things out in the end, culminating in divorce. I've never written story quite like that before. That's why this story was left alone for a few years. I never got the feeling quite right. However, as you can read, I decided to leave things more open.