The blood pounds in his chest, in his abdomen, in his throat and in his head; it comes in heavy thumps that make him feel as though he's just run the ING New York City Marathon [he's training for it, yeah, but not actually running it yet]. Rachel turns into his body, her arms and legs wrapped around him and her face burrowed against the hollow of his neck, his arms surrounding her as her breath warms his throat. "Mmmmmm," he manages, twitching weakly, half-inside her, half-against her inner thigh. They've got the rest of tonight to relax together before she has to leave for Coco's, and then - then, the next time they have this, they'll be husband and wife, legally, even though this is technically supposed to be a marriage just for convenience and safety [they both know that it's a real marriage, for themselves, even if they'll have the show marriage and everything that comes with it in a few years; he feels more right about this than he has about anything else, including New York and the NYPD]. He has to keep breathing, soft pants coming despite the ache in his chest stemming from the earlier exertion [fuck, and he thought he was in amazing shape].
Rachel's lips ghost over his collarbone, and his find her forehead, skimming over strands of hair stuck sweaty to her temple. "So fucking beautiful," he barely whispers, his eyes half-lidded with lust and pleasure and love [and exhaustion, 'cause he'd be fucking lying if he didn't add that last one in there; he'd finally met someone who was his match in every way, except for the ways in which she complemented him, balancing him out in the ways he needed balancing. "S'dumb," to say now, when we're lying here like this, "but you're a good mom to Beth," and I know you're gonna be a great mom when we finally make it happen. "M'lucky I got you'n'we're here in New York. Making our shit real." The place of lights and dreams, where he gets to be a father and a husband and a real man, saving the world and packing heat, and she gets to have her name in lights, performing onstage the way she'd always known she would, even in the face of adversity and people telling her that it wouldn't happen. A smile quirks lightly over his lips, his eyes still half-closed. "I just fucked a Broadway star and I got the movie to prove it. The guys are never gonna believe this shit."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2012-04-07 03:58 pm (UTC)Rachel's lips ghost over his collarbone, and his find her forehead, skimming over strands of hair stuck sweaty to her temple. "So fucking beautiful," he barely whispers, his eyes half-lidded with lust and pleasure and love [and exhaustion, 'cause he'd be fucking lying if he didn't add that last one in there; he'd finally met someone who was his match in every way, except for the ways in which she complemented him, balancing him out in the ways he needed balancing. "S'dumb," to say now, when we're lying here like this, "but you're a good mom to Beth," and I know you're gonna be a great mom when we finally make it happen. "M'lucky I got you'n'we're here in New York. Making our shit real." The place of lights and dreams, where he gets to be a father and a husband and a real man, saving the world and packing heat, and she gets to have her name in lights, performing onstage the way she'd always known she would, even in the face of adversity and people telling her that it wouldn't happen. A smile quirks lightly over his lips, his eyes still half-closed. "I just fucked a Broadway star and I got the movie to prove it. The guys are never gonna believe this shit."