Lost 1. Chapter 1

ATTENTION: For an extra delightful treat, go there: www. fanfiction .net/s/4826095/1/Uriel It's one of the hottest, most brilliant fics I've read.

**Standard **_**disclairmer applies**__: Lost characters don't belong to me (except for Jack :p), smutty scenario ahead._

_**A/N:**__ It's been a while… Apollogies wouldn't really make it any better. _

_Just because I can, here I bring you the first installment of a fic I've been writing for a while. Shamelessly plotless Jack-centric smut. Some of you know it already, some of you don't and might enjoy. Expect the following chapters very soon because uncharacteristically for me, I've written them all before posting in here._

_Many, many thanks to Claudia who's been my wonderful beta and source of inspiration. Bow to her for your entertainment._

_Who is the "her" in this fic? I leave it up to you... ;)_

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"You smell so good," she mumbles into the crisp cotton of his sliver blue shirt, pressing her nose to the space in between his shoulder blades. Her hands snake up his chest, skimming the buttons, relishing the feel of hard solid muscle flexing underneath. The sheer physical strength concealed by impeccable professional manner, it makes her wet just to look at his large frame dressed up for another day of being the best spinal surgeon in state.

The clinical smells of hospital linger on top of the washing liquid aroma and his breezy aftershave but the warm spicy scent of his skin comes through and clouds her mind.

"Uhm… I didn't have time to shower after the surgery –" he starts, going rigid and trying to move out of her embrace. But her arms tighten around him, her body pressed to him from behind.

"Very good," she murmurs her approval. "You smell like you," she rubs her cheek into his spine, exhales a hot puff into the fabric. God, she loves his back and there just aren't enough opportunities to savor it, a position like this requiring passive acceptance of her caresses from him and he doesn't do passive well. "Like safety and sex."

"I smell like safe sex?" He chuckles, succeeding in turning around, the weight of his hands on her hips pushing them forward into his. His eyes, those mesmerizing brown-green eyes, sparkle with joy and something like vague mischief, a quality she's only discovered in him recently. Her heart does a little funny flutter because it would appear she is the source of that.

She giggles and pushes herself up on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his.

"You smell like very very exciting sex," her palms brace themselves against the firmness of his pecs. "The raw kind," she whispers. "And I know it's safe to let go with you."

"You're making me want to lock that door and…" He groans before kissing her hard on the mouth, one of the wet, hungry kisses that make her dizzy with desire for him and he'd make her need to do him right there, in his office, if her mind hadn't been already made.

"I've already done it," she breathes into his collar and fumbles with his tie.

"Are you serious?" The thumbs drawing circles on her hips still. It's her turn to pin him to the counter with the weight of her body as the silk tie slides off into her hand.

"I'll tie you up if I have to," she smirks at bemusement and arousal mixing in his eyes.

"They'll hear us," he tries weakly and she knows it's not really a protest because he lets her undo all the buttons, lets her press her lips to his collar bone and down his sternum --

"Not if we're quiet. Can you keep quiet?" She teases, the hair on his chest tickling her lips and the warmth of his bared flesh encompassing her, her nostrils flaring to the addictive whiff of his fresh sweat as she slithers lower…

"Yeah," he huffs and she hopes it's all forgotten when she has him coming hard in her mouth like she craved it the moment she entered the room to find him lost in his doctor duties, an x-ray in hand and that gorgeous broad back to her.

"I've been thinking about doing this all day long…" she muses in delight. Her hands clasp on the cheeks of his ass, grabbing as much of the taut flesh as they can as her knees hit the floor. She looks up to him, her face level with his crotch, and he's watching her intently, his breath heaving, his knuckles whitening where he holds on to the edge of the counter. When she gently nuzzles the bulge in his pants, she knows she's got his focus right where she wants it and has him unable to resist the view and the promise of pleasure. The pleasure he never asks for when he's holding all control in their coupling, not to take from her but to give and she just wants to free him from that for once. And to savor him, every inch of the flesh that she can feel growing against her lips…

"Mmmm…." she purrs, nibbling at him through the fabric. "When you left for work this morning…." Her palms relish the firmness of his thighs, "…looking all business…" she fingers his belt buckle, "…all I could think about was this…," there's a click when it opens and another of the button, followed by her slowly pulling the zipper down. She feels like unwrapping a Christmas present only that her excitement grows with the knowledge of what's inside. "About sucking your cock."

A sharp intake of air makes her smile: oh, it turns him on when she talks dirty, he can't help it and she loves playing it up.

"You can't… you don't…" he tries, his hand lacing through her hair but his body not moving. "There can't be much for you in it," he finally lets out a chuckle that's part awkward and part hopeful and her heart warms again.

"You have no idea, baby," she flashes him a grin, "you have no idea."

Because it makes her burn hot for him, makes her so aroused she'd have troubles concentrating on him if he wasn't the very one fueling this raging lust.

His dress slacks slide down and she nearly moans at the heat radiating from his groin, the smell of him the strongest there, the smell of a man who's kind and good and caring but who has a fierce passion for everything he does and who can convey love through a fuck so intense she feels him all over her for the whole day.

She feels her panties getting soaked, the anticipation, the insatiable hunger for him taking over when memories mingle with the delicious reality before her and she nibs at his tummy, just below his navel, just above the waistband of his boxers, the skin so soft and tempting –

"You want to know what's in it for me? You want me to show you?" She grazes her teeth playfully down his stomach, pulls at top of his unfussy grey jersey choice of underwear, her patience faltering because there it is, inches away from her mouth, the cock she can't get enough of, the man she can't get enough of. She blows softly on the engorged head and hears him let out a hoarse _yeah_.

His eyes, the liquid black look turns to one of pure fire when her hand dives underneath her skirt and comes back glistening with her juices, soaking wet, and she wraps it around his length and strokes once, carefully.

"This is all your doing," she murmurs. "You make me _crave_ you. You drive me crazy," he grows and hardens under her touch, the skin hot and smooth, a clear droplet of his own lubrication starting to seep out. "And I _love_ it," she says before letting her tongue dart out and snatch that droplet away.

Both tangy and sweet, it's the taste of his want and the flavor, the idea of it, connects with her deepest, most primal instincts but also with all the love she has for him, how she yearns to make him feel good in all possible ways… Her eyes flutter shut in delight and she needs to refocus to do this right. Because she wants to do this right, make it good, leave him as spent and breathless as he routinely does with her.

He's a sight to behold, the sturdy naked body outshining the remaining clothes easily, the neat shirt that has been lending him the cool and proper and smart demeanor now hanging off his shoulders but she doesn't push it off, no. It turns her on to have him like this, the two sides of him at once, the dedicated doctor and her passionate lover. His hairy chest looks even wilder against the pastel shade and suddenly the features of his captivating manliness stand out even more against the serious surroundings, the shadow of his stubble and his hands so large and his straining cock… She can't decide if she adores him more with his clothes on or without them and wonders briefly if he's even aware of his own beauty. No, he's not. He responds to a woman, _to her, _on instinct and he's amazing at it and it feels like loving her is the easiest thing for him to do, but there's no vanity behind it. No huge ego issues. Just his heart.

Her thumb brushes the sensitive head of his cock as her hand glides up and down, concentrating on finding the rhythm she has learnt he likes best and she rains tiny wet kisses to the top of his hip bone, the top of his thigh, nuzzles his thick pubic hair, nearly drunk on his smell – Then she pushes his cock up and very gently, presses her lips to the gloriously delicate skin of his scrotum.

"Shh," she whispers when he lets out a groan, the sound rippling through her own body in a blissful wave. "Quiet, remember?" she smiles. "You don't want me to stop, huh?"

Softly, her lips nib at his balls, teasing them with tiny featherlike kisses, with flicks of tongue, her hand working his stiff shaft… She doesn't want to stop either, his huffs, his hoarse gasps as he's struggling to remain mute spurring her on, making her almost impatient as she gives a gentle but thorough lick to the vein bulging on the underside. She knows there's no such thing as a bad blow job but she hasn't yet done this to him enough to learn everything that would drive him wild, she's still exploring, her tongue carefully studying the fascinating appendage, searching for spots that make him choke on his breath. She doesn't want him simply to be grateful for her eagerness to suck him, she wants to blow his mind, not only his cock.

Her mouth closes over the flushed, hot head and she pulls him in as far as she can, gliding her tongue over the swollen flesh, hearing him raggedly breathe her name out. He's large and thick and she can't take all of it down, but she loves the feel of him in her hand. She looks up to find his pupils nearly fully dilated and drinking her up as if he's high on drugs and she moans softly around his cock, high right there with him.

Not breaking their gaze, she moves her head up and opens her mouth wide, letting him watch his length, the glans against her tongue and then wraps her lips back around it, sucks him in, hums lowly, again and again, her tongue swirling around him like he's a popsicle, licking her own moisture off until it's just his delicious self, until his eyes squeeze shut and his head tilts back in pleasure.

"Jack," she whispers against the throbbing penis. "Jack," she's got his attention when her hand stills at his base. "Look at me," she breathes. "Watch, for as long as you can."

It's the "_silence_" rule that she knows combined with the visuals will heighten every sensation, every touch and lick and she has every intention to make the rule unattainable and give the nurses something to talk about. And yes, she wants them to know exactly who he belongs to.

He obeys, watching as her mouth releases his cock and as she rubs her cheek against it, his heat melting her inside, his parted lips spurting torn syllables of her name and _Fucks_ and _Gods_ in quick shallow breaths.

She smiles, marveling at his arousal, his expression so far from the furrow lost in thought analyzing a medical case, all his attention on her now that he gives himself to her.

Her hand roams his belly and chest as far up as it would go and she wishes she could reach his nipples, graze them with her nails the way he likes it and the way she's able to when she feasts on him in their bed. So she moves to his firm ass, caressing the underside of each buttock, then his thighs, finally settling on his balls, fondling them gently and lovingly. Her mouth hovers just a fraction above his cock, seeping now, so engorged and swollen the head is almost purple.

A couple of purposeful warm blows and a careful tug at the scrotum and she hears it, a low _please_ and she doesn't tease anymore. That gorgeous excited cock is sucked back into her mouth immediately, greedily, hard. She sets up the rhythm, picks up the pace, working him with abandon, working herself up to the point where she thinks she might come just from letting him hit the back of her throat as his hips suddenly jerk forward.

He grabs her head and tries to still her, tries to cling to his control. "I'm... God," he struggles. "If you want to… You need to stop."

_Oh Jack. My beautiful, sweet, clueless Jack. _What will it take to teach him to receive pleasure without questioning it and how many times?

"What I need…" she swirls her tongue around the rim of his cock's head. "Is for you to come," she rubs his precum into her lips like lipgloss, slowly licks it off, amazed how alive and sexy the taste makes her feel. "And I want to…," she whispers lustily, "Drink every little last drop of it."

"You're…" he starts in amazement but never finishes when she sucks on him until she can hardly breathe. And she can't decide what is better, her own orgasm or his, because when he groans so loud she feels it in her chest, when he stills her head and when the thick, warm liquid fills her mouth, her insides contract deep within her body in very real bliss: this is his pleasure and his life. Two things she wants to take care of and shield and cherish and never let go of.

She licks his cock clean, soothing him, enjoying the soft sounds of satisfaction he's making, his fingers caressing the back of her head.

"…amazing," he chuckles softly and she finds herself beaming at him, in love with those watery eyes, hazy with sex and warm with emotion.

"That wasn't _quiet_," she teases, parting with his cock hesitantly, one last kiss pressed to its tip, letting Jack help her stand up.

"You did that on purpose, hm?" he smiles, his arms loosely around her. Relaxed but not spent and she makes a mental note to search and find what would render him delirious from thorough satisfaction. Or how many times.

His nipple tightens under the flat of her tongue, her mouth finally on the right level to do this.

"God, I wish I was sixteen again," she hears his husky tone, nearly flirtatious, his palms cupping her ass and pulling her into him.


	2. Chapter 2

ATTENTION: For an extra delightful treat, go there: www. fanfiction .net/s/4826095/1/Uriel It's one of the hottest, most brilliant fics I've read.

_**A/N:**__ I'm being punished for not commenting on people's fics, yes? That's okay, I can take that. What saddens me, is the slow traffic -- has the Jack love died out? Oh well, more of him for me. :p_

_This chapter is a short one but necessary to keep things realistic...  
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Faint bluish hue highlighting the contours of his broad shoulders. The high curve of his tight buttocks filling out the dress pants and making her mouth water. The back of his head… And the way his eyes glazed over when she licked the last of his semen with a purr. So sexy to her, sated and aroused both at once.

The drawing becomes a blur of intersecting lines before her eyes but the love, the joy, the gratitude in his must have etched into retinas when he kissed her a few hours ago with a wordless promise of bliss. It's details of him that her memory picks, vivid and intense. His eyelashes and the shadow they cast, his heartbeat against her cheek, his fingertips, gentle, exploratory, on the back of her thighs… She's helpless against the draw and the magic of Jack's hands.

There's no point pretending she's working anymore. The file idles open on her computer as she stares blankly at the screen, trying to concentrate on the deadline, trying to make her brain co-operate and come up with something productive rather than memories and images of him. In vain. He is all that she can see.

Those spotlessly beautiful manly hands that hold so many skills -- They play piano, they stitch up a broken spine… They are strong and capable and uncompromising when need be. They handle her body expertly, tenderly. With affection and purpose… There isn't a square inch of her skin that he hadn't touched. And she comes to live every time he does. Her heart pumps faster, the surge of heat and the recollection too seductive to give up for some dull work task. His precious, dear hands against the pallor of her body…

They found their way underneath her skirt as she leaned into him in his office, as he allowed his body to regain composure, caressing the underside of her buttocks. His lips, languid and thorough on her neck, his hot, wet tongue linking the dots of an invisible pattern. His warmth… All the crooks and nooks of his unique earlobes that she loves tracing with her tongue…

She told him that she was all for quality over quantity and giggled into his chest, picturing Jack at sixteen, all cute, puppy-eyed and blushing, as he'd learnt that lesson the hard way. She meant to ask him about it, tease him a bit but with his long fingers probing her core through the panties from behind, with his whole body pressed to hers, she let the wonderful sensations capture her instead and push all coherent thought away.

God, with that man every day feels like it's the peak of her cycle.

With a sigh, she stands to open a bottle of iced water, amused by her own anguished horniness. No, no amount of iced water would quench the fire; he kindles it and he's the only deliverance.

She's alone in her office, staying late to try and have _some _of the day's work done, knowing he won't be home yet anyway. He'd still be at the surgery, the one he was called into just as she was about to give in and let him play her body until discretion became a foreign concept and until she screamed for the whole ward to hear.

Holding the cold glass to her throat, she chuckles, recalling the expression on Jack's assistant face as he stepped out, almost walking into the stunned girl. His pager had gone off in a reminder of the surgery scheduled for that afternoon and she had to let him go, part of her disappointed and the other one proud of him and his talent that saved so many lives. His cheeks were still slightly flushed and his shirt not tucked properly into his pants, the tie gone and she'd swear the other woman's observant gaze noticed it abandoned on the floor. It felt entirely too good to smile sweetly at her as she glared around in envy badly disguised as disapproval.

She takes out an ice cube and lets it melt a bit between her lips, a cold droplet trailing slowly down her chin and neck. It could be the tip of his wet tongue, or a drop of his come, hot, burning her like the chill is carving a sensitized path down between her breasts.

He'd be working now, putting together broken nerves, restoring the complex structure and restoring the hope for someone to walk again. He's so humble about it and she feels ridiculously thankful, like she wants to thank him along with his patients and whether it's appropriate or not, it turns her on to think about the precise, healing cuts of the scalpel in his hand. His bright eyes focused and the surgical mask damp from his breath. The first time she's seen him wearing the blue scrubs, she wanted… well, she wanted exactly what she yearns for non-stop with Jack. But yes, it is intensified by his profession, if she's honest with herself. He's the bearer of life in more sense than one.

She remembers the night when he woke her up, coming back home after a long and difficult procedure he'd performed. She remembers his tension, how wired up he was when his arms gathered her close, when his lips trailed her spine in featherlike kisses but she could sense the restrain. Until she turned to him and asked if the surgery was successful and he said yes and she smiled at him. And then he swallowed her mouth in a dizzying, aggressive kiss that told her she would remember that night. Oh, she does.

"Is Dr. Shephard available?" Of course Jane will recognize her voice, but she takes some sort of twisted pleasure from using his official title. She bites back a grin. Jane, the whipper-snapper St. Sebastian receptionist-turned-Dr. Jack Shephard assistant, smitten by him like another dozen of his dreamy-eyed co-workers has not exactly been her fan and this afternoon hasn't helped.

The voice on the other side of the phone is dry. "He's operating."

That's perfect.

"Any idea for how much longer?"

"No idea, but Dr. Shephard's consulting hours are up for tonight," Jane tells her meanly, succeeding to make that grin break out. "Would you like to leave a message?"

"No, thank you. I'll deliver it personally."


	3. Chapter 3

ATTENTION: For an extra delightful treat, go there: www. fanfiction .net/s/4826095/1/Uriel It's one of the hottest, most brilliant fics I've read.

_**A/N:**__ I'm glad to see there's still some demand for Jack smut and that you still think "I've got what it takes". I'm sorry I've been a lousy reader myself and haven't commented on YOUR fic when I read it since… forever. I have faith this will all be fixed one day._

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When she's not pursing her lips into a tight line in futile attempt to appear stern, Jane is a pretty girl, she thinks, amused, as Jack's assistant is trying hard to ignore her or pretend to in a convincing way. It's late and the outpatient clinic is closed, she shouldn't be here and Jane should have gone home. But she can't wait to see him and would bet Jane's reasoning is very similar. That's okay. She can't be truly jealous of the open adoration in the girl's gaze every time her boss walks through the door. It's quite beautiful -- and harmless. _She_ is the one who lights up his eyes, not a legion of pouty-mouthed Janes could ever change that. Not because he's a saint but because she truly believes no other woman could ever love him as wholly and unconditionally as she does. So let them dream.

"You can't go in there," the icy tone stops her hand on the doorknob. "Dr. Shephard is still busy with the surgery," Jane informs, standing up straight behind her counter.

"That's okay, I'll wait in his office."

"We don't practice that here."

She smirks at the girl's obvious agitation. "Don't practice what?"

Purposefully, Jane puts on her fashion glasses that do nothing to hide her age or add any vibe of authority, her plump youthful cheeks coloring from distress. The same height as her, Jack's assistant actually attempts to intimidate her, glaring stubbornly, if only to get some compensation for not being the one to go down on him during work hours.

"If I let just anybody into Dr. Shephard's office -"

"Jane," she smiles, stressing the name. "I'm not _just anybody_."

The quiet fuming is priceless as Jane keeps her eyes firmly on hers, not yielding. Fine. If she prefers to spend time with her…

"Fine. I'll wait here."

From the leather sofa, she watches Jane shuffling around files, busying herself with most probably useless tasks, searching for any excuse to stay, throwing furtive glances at her.

"You know, you're not the first woman to come here claiming she's not _just anybody_," Jane gives in to jealousy. And she wouldn't be surprised at all if that's true. Most of the times probably nothing behind the claims. Is there any other species in which females fight over the male rather than the other way around? But Jack is a rare and precious find, she can hardly blame other women for recognizing that.

"I have no doubt," she decides to torment the poor girl a little more. "And I bet you hated them all just the same."

"I don't -"

"How long have you been working here?" She interrupts.

Like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar, Jane's cheeky act cracks. "Eight months," she eyes her.

That's five moths longer than they've been living together.

"I tell you what," she pauses for effect. "You should be grateful for having a boss who never tried to hit on you," she smiles, enjoying the wrath widening Jane's eyes a little bit too much.

Just then, he walks in, surgical scrubs and tension still on him, breaking off their verbal wrestle and she watches, fascinated, as Jane's expression changes immediately, the girl's eyes turning mellow and inviting.

"Dr. Shephard, I've rearranged your schedule for tomorrow, to fit in the afternoon outgoing conference per your request - " the girl chatters away, trying to draw all of his attention to her, and succeeding for a while, as he nods and rubs his head.

Until he notices _her_.

She can tell he's tired, faint circles surfacing under his eyes, but still highly alert, the extreme concentration necessary for the procedure coming off of him in waves, making her want to take him in her arms and kiss it all away, to lull him to peaceful sleep with her caresses. But there's a vibe of vigilance to his stance, springiness that tells her it's mostly his mind that is weary, not his body. That he must have read her message.

"Hey," he says softly, taking her in.

"Dr. Shephard?" Jane interrupts, annoyed.

She's drowning in his eyes all over again, mirroring his radiant smile. He's happy to see her and that's all that matters.

"Yes, Jane, thank you," he takes a step up to her; his hand is sure and firm as it clasps around hers. "Thank you. You can…" he says, his tone somewhat distracted. "You needn't have waited up. I'll see you tomorrow." The apology in his voice about keeping his assistant up late is sincere. _If only he knew._

His office door shuts behind them just when she can't hold it in anymore and laughs.

"What's so funny?" he quirks an eyebrow as she leans back into the wooden plane.

"Did you see the way she looks at you?"

"Who? " He blinks fast, confused. "Jane?" There's disbelief and astonishment in his voice and just by reading his body language responding on instinct - his posture straightened, his hands on his hips - she knows that he really doesn't have a clue.

"She has such a massive crush on you, Jack!" she laughs. He's so cute when he's embarrassed and self-depreciating.

"Nah," he shakes his head with a shy smile, before his eyes change, warm and the colour of chocolate in the dim light. His thumbs find her hipbones, stroking them gently, melting her with a simple touch. She can smell mint candy on his breath, his voice barely above a whisper. "And this girl? Does she have a crush on me?"

He never asks for declarations, never really asks for anything for himself and she feels a rush of tenderness that he trusts her enough to allow the simple wish for happiness with a woman, the simple need to be loved, to break through. Of course, he has no idea he's doing it.

"Much more than a crush," she answers in a whisper, her fingers padding up his bare forearms, seeing the smile in his eyes before it reaches his lips.

His kiss is the one she remembers, sure and firm and more than a little possessive, the possessiveness he can't help feeling but would deny if confronted about it. Not that she would dream to confront him. It's so good, it induces dizziness, his tongue skimming her cupid's bow as he gently sucks on her upper lip. Her head is spinning simply from having him so close, and she'd be amazed how wobbly her knees get just from his kiss if she could think now but she arches into him instead, his strong arms all the support she needs. _Occiput_, she recalls the word from one of his x-rays, her fingers studying the perfect shape.

"I read your message," he mutters against her lips. "Thank god not until I was done there," his soft chuckle matches her giggle.

_I've always imagined we'd do it on your desk._

His breath and his day-old stubble tickle her ear. "So you've imagined it?"

Holding his head, she breaks the slow, methodical wander of his lips to chafe her jaw against his coarse cheek.

"Ever since I first came in here."

"No, you haven't yet," playfully, he rubs his nose against hers. "But we'll remedy that."

The flirty twinkle in his eyes, the low, sexy tone, his easy smile… It never takes much to get him like this; all it ever takes is to love him and let him feel it. She's the one to kiss him now, losing herself in the taste of his mouth, running her tongue along his teeth, sucking on his tongue as he catches up, returning the passion in hard, thorough licks and twirls and nibs. The small humming sound he makes flows into her like a wave of heat.

"I'm so lucky to have you here", he presses his body into hers and her hands can't resist the temptation to sneak past the waistband of the thin blue cotton and find his taut buttocks bare underneath it, as expected. She knows it's not only the spontaneous tryst he means. Her breath hitches in her throat at the words she hears next.

"I need you more than you'll ever know."

"You have me," she breathes, emotion bubbling inside her. _In your bed and in your life. For whatever may come._

There's no bigger turn-on for her than his desire and it's such a rare occurrence when he verbalizes it. He makes her feel wanted and loved and cherished in a way that no man before him ever did but he rarely allows a divulgence of his own want, like now, when he's pressing his hardening cock into her belly.

"I'm here," she'd do anything he asked, anything at all. "All yours." She has never wanted to _give_ more than she does with him.

But she knows it's her pleasure that he thrives on. For a moment, she switches to just feeling, experiencing him with every single one of her senses, the muscles on his back flexing under her fingers, his skin warm and salty where she tastes it behind his ear.

His hands roam her backside and his lips her collarbones, steadily, but with increasing insistence. When he's like this, lust slowly consuming him, his intense focus zeroed on her, she wants to scream already and she knows she will, to hell with what Jane may hear if she's masochist enough to have stayed.

One beautiful hand closes over her breast and her head falls back when she feels his lips on her nipple, nibbling through the layers of cloth, the sensation subdued and just not enough, on the verge of something really good and she just wants to push his head into her flesh –

It's like he knows. He knows it every time he touches her. He squeezes her breast lightly and _bites_. And she screams.

"Shh," he reminds her this time, but she's pretty sure he's not particularly bothered.

They're most probably alone on the whole floor and she's long discovered nothing eggs him on like the sounds he draws out of her. Or the words.

"I can feel you," she rubs herself against him, his penis stiff and standing to attention underneath its confines. Moisture floods her centre at the very notion.

In response, he inches up the hem of her skirt, his lips on hers again, brushing ever so gently.

"I can smell you."

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_Are you getting frustrated? ;)_

_Because I won't be able to update until Friday, email me if you want to receive a treat of a naughty!fox fic that I've got stashed and won't (probably) be posting here. You know who's a fan of skinny dipping, yes...? ;) _

_ETA: Please, write your email address in the following format: pixie7 AT o2 DOT pl (that's mine, you can reach me directly). Otherwise I don't get them (yes, that's to you, Nay! :))._


	4. Chapter 4

ATTENTION: For an extra delightful treat, go there: www. fanfiction .net/s/4826095/1/Uriel It's one of the hottest, most brilliant fics I've read.

_**A/N:** Thank you for your encouraging words. Hope you'll like this... development. ;) Those of you who received my other fic, I hope you enjoyed it. I never got any feedback... Don't worry if you didn't like it though, just tell me so I don't bother you with the next one._

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His name comes out as a plea when she tries to push herself up higher, her stiletto sandals not doing much to level their heights, the involuntary twinge of her inner muscles not doing much to relieve the tension. He's taking it so excruciatingly slow as he stills her hips in a decisive grip, letting her anticipation reach its pinnacle, as one long finger rims the edge of her silk underwear.

He knows all about build up and how it drives her crazy for him, even as his own want is evident in the strained hold he has on her, in his quick breathing. She loves him like that, aroused and ready but determined to savour each and every second of their union, to satisfy every single of her needs, not neglect any of her pleasure points, make sure she's squirming in ecstasy by the time he's done with her.

_"I'm just a guy, things are simple for us," he told her once, when she lay in his arms thoroughly loved and gasping. "It's different for you. You need more and you need it right. I'll do anything, you just name it."_

She's the lucky one here.

"What you did to me this afternoon," he strokes her ribcage, his hands gliding up her chest, stopping at the top button of her shirt. "That was like a fantasy come true," he stops her hand on the other button with a shake of his head.

"No, no. Let me," he kisses the corner of her mouth and she sighs, nearly trembling at this point, his sturdy body blocking her from the room. "Your turn now..."

He's completely in control even with passion driving his every move, whatever qualms he might have had before from having sex in his office non-existent now as he gives in to lust and to the need to please her in every possible way. "I couldn't stop thinking of you," he admits.

"Me neither," she sighs, letting him echo her actions and open her shirt without taking it off to just… look. Her breasts are swollen and heaving with every shallow breath. "I couldn't concentrate on work," her lips twitch in a lopsided smile. This is why she's here, trapped between the door to Saint Sebastian top surgeon's consulting room and his very own strong frame. "I had to touch myself."

The groan tells her she's just gained an upper hand as the gentle tantalizing fingers on the underside of her breast stop and then grab the flesh firmly.

"That's right," she moans, the pressure just right, sending a shiver down her spine. "I thought of you…" her hand feels for the hardness of his cock, a fresh flow of moisture seeping out of her, "and I could almost taste you…"

His dark eyes nearly pierce right through her, his erection growing further under her measured strokes, a damp spot on the fabric making her yearn for the liquid in her mouth all over again, or to feel him coming deep within her body, deep and hard. _Jack._

"Show me…" his hoarse voice reverberates against her lips where she presses it to the hollow of his throat, where his chest hair peeks out from underneath of the v-neck scrub top.

Nudging him, she takes an only-half stable step up and then another and another, backing him up into the side of that large desk she's pictured their bodies in a ferocious clench. He seems passive for a moment, her pelvis pushing into him, as he lets her settle between his legs and shrug the shirt off her shoulders.

"This is what I want," she places his hand on the zipper of her skirt and he complies, pulling it down. "You, here."

And then she's the one pressed into the hard surface, she's the one lifted effortlessly and sat up on it, as he spreads her thighs and inhales, the smell of her desire strong and unmistakable.

The look he gives her, so hungry and adoring both at once, like she's a _dream_ come true, washes all over her like an ultimate caress, his longing for her the sweetest thing she's ever felt.

"This fantasy…" he traces the outline of her body with the softest of touches, "I never knew I had it..."

It never ceases to amaze her how he can be a detached professional one minute, a considerate, kind soul another and an avid lover yet another, all of these complimentary rather than exclusive in that beautiful jigsaw that he is. The warm smile he gives her not a contradiction to the heat in his eyes but emphasis. He makes her feel like she's the sexiest woman on earth when he's standing there, apparently captivated by the view, and she is too, her heart racing in excitement for this tall gorgeous man who's all for her.

Emboldened, she moves her foot to his crotch, rubbing lightly.

"You never thought about it, Jack?" Teasingly, her toes hitch up his shirt, the sprinkle of hair on his abdomen tickling her sole. "Never did it here?"

He captures her leg and brings it to his mouth, his wet tongue dancing over her ankle. God, she never knew there were so many erogenous zones on her body.

"No," she feels him smile, "I didn't." The kisses he's raining up her calf sensual and unhurried. "And yeah, you're very inspiring… What did you imagine, baby," his breath is so hot and his whiskers brushing the delicate skin shoot electrical jolts through her, the aching to be one with him almost unbearable and yet so sweet. "Tell me how you want this."

How she wants him? Any way she can have him. She wants it all with him, wants to experience everything there is to experience.

She's imagined this so many times, there's dozens of scenarios, her fantasies crafted to the tiniest details and abandoned to the wonderful reality when he takes away her ability to form coherent thoughts. She's not sure, but it seems like she's pictured this very moment, with him hovering over her nearly nude body, having her at his mercy. Or pushing him back onto the tabletop, riding him hard, fucking his brains out until he is the one gasping for air and yelling profanities. Or have him bend her over and take her from behind with the animalistic ferocity she knows and loves. Yes, that's the one she might tell him but this is good too, this is perfect, his teeth grazing the inside of her thigh –

"Yes…" is the only word she's capable of when he rubs his nose against her clit through the silk. He breaths her in and groans, the contact too brief but she's long discovered he knows what he's doing and that he's going to work her up to the point of begging.

"You really did it?" his mouth trail up her stomach, up the valley between her breasts.

He's so sexy right this moment, his pupils dilated by sheer sexual hunger but his surgical clothes intact, the "Dr. Jack Shephard" plate catching a flicker of light. How twisted is her mind for wishing he was _her_ doctor while being grateful he isn't at the same time?

She nods, inching her fingers up his short sleeve, delighting in the feel of the muscular bicep there. His voice changed, low and deep, would be enough to steer all her thought to erotic.

"Did you come?"

"I've waited for you," she smiles.

Who is this seductress with no shame and what is that magic in his touch? Or is it in his musky scent?

"Show me," he places her hand between her legs, the pleasure from the touch nothing compared to the thrill of seeing him watch, his lips parted, the grip he has on her thighs tightening.

"I thought of you..." she reminds; needs to make sure he knows her want is all for him and him only. "Like this."

"Oh God - "

With no warning, she's pulled against him, strong arms unyielding, his hard cock thrusting against her pussy. He rubs himself into her, his fingers lacing through her hair almost forcefully and his lips on hers just as dizzyingly fierce, the kiss greedy and impatient, rough. She limps against him, moans before he breaks it, resting his forehead against hers with one deep calming breath.

"I think for once I'm actually glad that I'm not sixteen anymore."

_Jack._ She lets out a laugh. She'll never figure out the mystery of how he can be so cute and hot at the same time. Wrapping her limbs tight around him, she kisses the tip of his nose.

"Come here," she whispers and tugs at his shirt until he takes the cue and strips it off. The sight of his torso, all brawny and manly, distracts her for a second, her body arching into him anxious for the textures of his body and for the urgency of his strength. His earlobe is soft between her teeth and his pulse point beneath it throbbing with the rush of his blood.

"Take me."

Her name has never sounded more like worship.

She considers herself a strong, independent woman and with any other man she might be apprehensive to give all control up but with him… How ironic that it takes complete and utter trust she has in him to let herself enjoy it. She's long past wondering what it says about her that she craves to feel _taken_ by him, succumbing to his will. Devoured, like a prey would be by its predator. There's a flipside to his protective nature, rapacity, and she loves coaxing it out until it becomes impossible to tell one from the other in the way he fucks her.

He doesn't disappoint.

When his mouth latch onto her breast, wet and hot through the lace of her bra, she can't recognize the sound that comes out of her throat as her own voice. Clearly, he paid attention because his teeth clamp on her erect nipple with just enough force to bring out the tiniest stab of pain which is really all pleasure, her excited body in need of a rougher touch. Her insistent palms press into the nape of his neck not letting go, wishing he'd just rid her of the garment already, maybe even rip it off.

But he doesn't, switching to the other breast, his fingers pinching where his mouth just left, her hips bucking into him, before he pulls the bra cups down with his teeth, the flat of his tongue soothing the sensitive flesh.

She's a heap of gasps and sighs, needing to tell him how good it feels but words don't come, only his name, chanted over and over when his fingers slide to the her center and just press there, rubbing in steady circles and she has no idea how he does it, if it his knowledge of a body or understanding of her needs and reactions, or neither. Because there's no precision of her own fingers but somehow it's never quite as good when she touches herself as when it's him. Because the most delicate silk never feels as luxurious as his coarse stubble against her nipples --

"Now."

There's something wonderfully wicked in pulling his beautiful cock out of the scrub pants, her fantasies don't even compare. The head engorged and seeping, the stiff shaft standing proudly to attention. He's hot and throbbing against her palm, making her mouth water.

"You're so hard," she marvels.

"You would do that to a guy," he breathes, watching her hand slide up and down the length.

Excited, ready to fill her up. Her memory flashes to the first time she saw him like this, how she was aching to have him inside her, and before, how she dreamt of seeing him in a moment of blind passion, learn what kind of lover he was… He exceeded all expectations. Because he's the most attentive and giving man she has ever been with. The way he makes her feel, how she comes apart in his arms already hungry for more, how he dominates all her thoughts, it's not in the technique.

"It's you, Jack," she traps his cock against her lower belly and pulls his head down for a wet kiss. He is the attraction. He is the one who liberates her, it's his manliness that plays up her femininity, his kind heart that allows her to give in the way she's always wanted to. "You make me this way."

"I want you so much," he lets out, his hands suddenly everywhere, trying to touch her everywhere at once.

"I want you more," she challenges, high on her own desire, the most powerful pull she has ever felt to another human being. Like she literally wants to fuse into one with him.

Her panties nearly get torn where her fingernail catches on the lace as their both hands push them down her legs. His desk phone hits the floor with a clunk, some files spill out on the carpet like a fan. The shadows dancing on his face tell her the lamp is reeling before it finally tumbles down too. But all those noises are muted on her mind, irrelevant. All she can hear with crystal clarity is her name on his lips, the harsh sound of his breathing and her own cry out when he enters her in one easy shove.

That first push, the initial joining always turns the blaze within her into a steady burn, both soothing and revving her up. Her eyes flutter shut and she fights the instinct, the thirst raising and being quenched in his eyes too exquisite, too addictive. She lets his fire swallow her up when he withdraws to drive into her harder, several slow but irregular thrusts meant just to savor their connection and she does, mouth open in a silent scream, her mind enthralled by the spectacle – _It's Jack and it's his hard cock glistening with her moisture and it's his glowing black eyes… _His buttocks tense and flex beneath her hands. She wishes she could see those hips moving in and out of her, see all of him, both of them entwined together now.

The desk is hardly comfortable and her thighs wrapped tightly around him quiver from the effort. His arms are shaking too, keeping her hips in place or maybe it's the struggle to stay in control, go for as long as she needs or wants him to. He's so focused, light sheen of sweat breaking out on his brow, his movements falling into the rhythm now and she can't do much besides absorbing it, subduing to him readily, just like she yearned to.

Is it so good because it's him or is it him who knows exactly how to make it good?

Her words are tattered when she tells him exactly how good it is, how good _he_ is, how much she wants this.

"Never better… No one like you…" the admission she might suppress otherwise comes out unwittingly, but she knows, if there's a man who needs to hear it, it's Jack and that he'll reward her wonderfully, his thrusts intensifying, his hand replacing hers on her breast where she didn't realize she cupped it.

There's love in his beautiful fucking, his body declaring love to her the best way it can.

"God, so fucking hot inside you…" He groans, leaning forward for a wet, sloppy kiss, clearly past any concern about whatever it was on his desk that just tumbled down with a loud thud. "So wet… -"

"For you," she captures his lower lip between her teeth, nibbles lightly… But the muscle of his shoulder doesn't yield so easily where she takes a harder bite, sucking, marking him as her man.

It's "my" or "mine" he murmurs into her hair and she licks his sweat off where it trickles down his temple, her heart warmed all over.

"Yes," she can't get close enough to him, urge him deep enough. Her body arches into his and she grinds against him, rubbing his sweat off onto her skin. "Yes, yours, baby." She wants his smell all over her, she wants everyone to notice. "And you're mine."

Her arms stretch above her head in some kind of instinctive surrender, her hand grasping at a book or a magazine that soon slips out of her reach. He shoves it off to the floor with one decisive shift along with the rest of the pile. Like she always imagined he would.

"I'm yours," he states lustily, the fever in his eyes almost contradicting his actions as he slows down. But it's only to capture her wrists in one of his hands, the hold loose enough to be gentle and firm enough to make her feel helpless. He knows it would make her wetter yet, hornier, that her vagina would clench around him in a single involuntary spasm. And he hisses and jerks against her. He knows that tilting her pelvis up would make every single push feel like a sweet, deep climax. The inevitable explosion creeping up on her in tingling ripples.

"Tell me how it feels, Jack, tell me if it's good."

She's panting by now, desperate to give him as much pleasure as his hard steady rhythm generates. "Jack, " she pleads, impatient, intentionally clamping her muscles around his thick cock. Of course it's good. It turns her on to hear it.

"God, baby…-" he struggles for words, his hazy dark gaze regaining focus. For her. "You're so beautiful… You're perfect. You're heaven," he huffs into the crook of her neck. The tide is soaring within her body. "This --"

The angle of his penetration means he hits all the right spots with every powerful, precise thrusts, but it's the simple words, the notion of his delight found in her that overflows the tension and it bursts, snaps like a rubber band as she crashes against him in _ohs_ and _ahs_, in whimpers and groans, dissolving beneath his secure hold into pure blissful heat. The room suddenly gone, everything beside the infinity in his eyes irrelevant. The love and life shining in them.

"This is what feels best," he whispers, kissing the corner of her gasping mouth.

She understands. It's the same for her. The only thing she desires more than him is to make him lose himself in his own high. To see him through his own peak and bask in his trust and his ecstasy.

He's still holding back, letting her ride it out but she never really comes down, not with him. _Incredible._ She purrs her satisfaction into his mouth, her thighs already gripping him harder, her fingers digging into his strained back. There really is no point in questioning how merely seconds after coming undone in his arms she only wants him more. And harder.

"Fuck the control, Jack, drop it," she entices. His sweat tastes tangy and salty and like pure sex. "Fuck me like you mean it, like you need it."

Because it _is_ safe to want this with him.

"Like you need it," he half growls, the shadow of an easy, sexy smile revving her up all the more, telling her he's comfortable enough with her to take what is given and enjoy it.

_Oh yes._

He's long known the answer by now but she finds it touching how he always makes sure the wild coupling is what they both want before he lets himself go and fuck her with the abandon that his intense nature desires.

"Yes."

Complying, he gives her one hard push that makes the desk squeak and her eyes roll back in her head.

"Will you come for me again?"

Can she? It doesn't matter much to her, it's his climax that she's hungry for now. But he made her body do things she had never known it could.

"Yeah, you can," he says, as if sensing her thoughts.

It doesn't take much. It actually takes much less and much shorter than she'd have expected before Jack. His frenzied pace that pushes her further up the hard desktop. His excited cock driving up to its hilt into her. The grip his talented hands have on her ass, forceful enough to leave marks. His handsome face, scrunched up in concentration as he watches their connection. The notion of her surroundings, his medical diplomas and professional achievement tokens as still witnesses of his primal energy. Their energy. His grunts and her moans and their names alternated with profanities… It's such a wonderful, happy sound.

_Yes, yes, Jack. _She wants him to, so much. And _please, please, baby_. He needs her to.

The rapture comes and carries her away just when his instinct catches up on him to quicken his pace, just when his mouth falls open and a guttural rumble tears out of his throat, just when he jerks against her. She knows no other thing as erotic and as arousing as his orgasm, her body responding on its own, mesmerized by the sensory overload. She doesn't even realize that she's screaming until his body slacks and collapses over hers, her teeth sinking into his bicep, until she comes to her senses in what feels like forever. His breath evening out and the sweet heavy weight of his body easing off of her a little.

"Sorry," she whispers, lapping at the angry mark soothingly. "I didn't mean to -- "

"Trust me," he chuckles, brushing a damp strand of her hair from her face with a warm, content smile. "It's on the right side of pain when you bite me as you come."

A foolish grin breaking out on her face, she turns to mouth a silent love confession into the crook of his neck. But he understands, just like he always does, attentive and tuned into her, responding with his own, breathed against her lips.

He reaches for his scrub shirt to wipe the warm liquid dribbling down her thighs but she's quicker. Smearing it all into her groins, into her lower belly, up into her chest, up where she licks the remnants of it off. His eyes widen and she darts her tongue out for him to see his come on it.

"I 'd bathe in you if I could, Jack."

--------

_A/N: The end? Hardly. I'm not done with him. ;) Also, do you think Jane heard…? ;)_


	5. Chapter 5

ATTENTION: For an extra delightful treat, go there: www. fanfiction .net/s/4826095/1/Uriel It's one of the hottest, most brilliant fics I've read.

---

_Arthroscopic & Endoscopic Spinal Surgery Text and Atlas. Instrumented Spinal Surgery. Spinal Cord and Spinal Column Tumors. _She fingers the backs of the thick volumes on the shelf. Some shiny and some worn out. All arranged neatly in a perfectly even line. He's such a tidiness freak, she chuckles to herself, it would annoy her if she didn't find the little quirk cute. When she was lazily buttoning up her shirt, he fixed the mess they made around his desk, replacing the lamp, the phones, the files on top of it in the exact order they had been before. His polished name plate like the proverbial cherry on the cake.

Nothing could be done about the thick smell of sex though and she joked how lucky he was there were no consultations scheduled until the following morning. He left the door ajar when heading to the lockers for his day clothes, not before giving her one more passionate kiss and a look of pure adoration and if his face was any indicator – flushed, his eyes sparkling, his lips swollen and red – she knew hers must have been practically glowing from the sex and the joy of being with him, her hair tousled and wild. Not that it would bother her if the whole Saint Sebastian staff saw her right that moment, but at least his reputation was saved, she teased, pecking him on the nose.

_You can come see me __during work hours as much as you want_, he grinned back, lightheartedly and she vowed mentally to seduce him into acting out as many naughty fantasies as her mind comes up with if that meant seeing him in such good spirits.

She traces a miniature figure of human anatomy on one of the covers and thinks of what she said, that she would bathe in his come if that was a real possibility. Because it's true. Literally and metaphorically. How many orgasms it would take? How many days, months, years of his pleasure? She smiles, imagining him arrested by rapture. No, she wouldn't want him rendered useless for the rest of his life. But the desire to soak him up through every pore in her skin, drink him up, _consume_ him is real and she questions if it's even normal. Probably. Yeah, this is what it's all about. Genes are clever little bastards.

Several MRI scans, a diagram printout, a form with strange Latin words in the header: a diagnosis. So that's what she grabbed in the heat of the moment. A pang of guilty shame mixes with excitement. She makes a silent wish to whatever higher force might listen that Jack is able to help the patient, but at the same time wonders how he'll ever be able to work here without flashing to what just happened. Yeah, he'll be fine. He's a man, they are supposed to compartmentalize memories and ideas in their heads. Or maybe…? On a juvenile impulse, she slips her panties off and into one of the drawers, hyper like a schoolgirl, meaning to leave him a sultry voicemail message later.

A stifled shuffle in the lobby makes her jump; she doesn't want Jack to ruin his surprise. With what she hopes is a sexy smile, she steps out to meet him halfway –

"Jane?"

The girl freezes, clutching her purse tightly to her chest. She can see panic flicker in her eyes quickly before it's reigned in, the trademark overdone sternness back before she has time to ponder why is Jack's assistant here and if she's been here all this time –

"I forgot something," Jane supplies, not asked.

She can't decide if she's more amused or mad, more shocked or more embarrassed. Of course, Jane could be telling the truth… But her brightly pink cheeks and short breath say something else. That she stayed to eavesdrop on her boss's sex life. And do what, report him? Gossip around? Get off, wishing it was her? The last possibility is somewhat creepy but in a mesmerizing way.

She lets out a snort, making the girl's posture go rigid and her head turn up higher. Like she's making a resolution not to let herself be cornered. That's more like it, the cocky attitude back.

"You know, actually..." Jane moves towards and past her, into Jack's office. "It's in Dr. Shephard's desk."

Before she can stop her, the pretty blonde is at the drawer, opening it, freezing all over again. _Damnit!_ Looks like she's got what she asked for; they both have.

But if Jane saw the skimpy piece of cloth, she appears indifferent, retrieving a folder without wavering. Until she looks up to her, jealousy barely even hidden beneath disgust. The girl takes in her disheveled look, her scrutinizing eyes inspect the room for a long while, searching for anything out of place before she aimlessly adjusts the desk lamp that really is perfectly in place.

"Miss." Jane drawls, scrupulous about avoiding her first name. "This is a hospital facility. I'd appreciate if you respected that."

So even if Jane wasn't snooping around, it's obviously clear to her what just took place. _How about respect for privacy, miss nosy vixen-wannabe? _She wants to shoot back. But doesn't. If she's honest, the whole spying thing is targeting another aspect of her secret fantasy. And she can't help the surge of silly pride for being the one to have the man other women yearn for.

"I didn't know sterility was required here," she shrugs instead with a smirk.

Jane blinks at her, stemming what she imagines will be a pretty violent outburst once she gets to her nurse girlfriends, or maybe not, maybe she'd rather keep her defeat to herself. Especially if she _did_ hear every single part of the show.

"Maybe not. But dignity is very much eligible," she return the bluntness with a studied squint of her eyes behind the glasses. "Dr. Shephard has been… is a very sensible, respectable person," Jane all but scolds her.

Is she trying to say that if it wasn't for her _Dr. Shephard_ would never dare to tarnish his image by having loud sex in a non-standard location? She feels like giggling, a part of her amused, the other one pitying Jane. _Too bad, girl, he really is everything you secretly imagine. _

"He approaches his work with dedication and takes it very seriously," Jane continues lecturing, the admiration that tints her tone starting to make it sound like a pean.

"That's one of the qualities I love about him," she smiles. _No, Jane, you are not his work. _"I wouldn't dream of competing with medicine."

"It's not what I'm talking about," Jane huffs. Of course, the panties left where they shouldn't be give her an excuse to attempt reprimanding even if it's only based on the inane – she has to admit that – frivolous trick and the rest is an assumption. Clearly, she's not one to let the opportunity pass.

"No? And what _are_ you talking about?" The girl's pointless jealousy is comical, her manner completely unprofessional and out of place, something she seems to overlook as she's trying to call her on violating the clinic non-existent rules.

"Before you…" Jane trails off. What? He was a decent, honest man? And she led him astray? He was all work and no play? That's what the other comment about women having stormed his office was about?

"I've known Dr. Shephard longer than you," Jane shoots; she has got herself too far to back off gracefully now.

"This doesn't mean you know him better than me."

"He would never –"

Slowly, she crosses the room, stopping across from Jane, the large desk between them like a front line. Leaning in, she lowers her voice to mock confidential mutter.

"Oh, yes, he would," she smirks.

For once, Jane is speechless and it's hard to tell what causes it, helplessness or fascination because she would swear for the split second her eyes glaze over like she's picturing or recalling something… Well, she knows, _she_ would struggle to keep the images from racing in her head if she were in her place.

"You better go before _Dr. Shephard _sees you here, Jane."

There is no need for sham attentions but she's really not the least miffed so she throws a good-natured _see you _after the feisty blonde, delighting in the notion that yes, unless she quits the job, Jane will be seeing her a lot.

---

Later that night, when they lay together in the bathtub that's uncharacteristically lavish for him, her body draped over his loosely, she stretches her limbs, saying a silent thank you to whoever designed the large, spacious appliance that is really like a home spa. It came with the apartment, it wasn't his idea, Jack told her when she complimented his choice the first time she soaked with him in lavender-scented bubbles. But he sure knew to appreciate it.

Naturally, her hand starts to wander, following a droplet that rolls down his throat to navigate its way through the ample dusting of hair, tracing the sculpted muscles. Over his heart, she stops, pressing her palm to the warm firmness of his chest, feeling for the steady thumps below. It's such a corny gesture but she finds that with him they all make sense. With him, they're not just empty shells. It's been so long since she was in love, or maybe she's never really been in love before him.

His hand goes willingly into hers, a smile twinkling in his eyes as her fingerpads study the contour of his knuckles. The strong bone structure, the veins showing through the skin, several dark hairs sprinkling the back of it. She brings it to her lips, kissing the tip of each digit with sudden tenderness, like he's made of glass and too precious to be touched.

"How did the surgery go?"

His chest raises and falls rapidly, telling her he breaks into a smile, his fingers weaving through hers. "Good," he gives her hand a squeeze before lifting it to press a kiss into her own palm. "Fairly good. Total en bloc spondylectomy for solitary metastatis. Resection of single metastatic sites of spinal cord compression is supposed to have the lowest local reccurence rate compared to saggital resection or -- "

"And in English?"

He lets out a self-effacing laugh. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm just…"

"Tired?"

"I'm fine," the response slips out automatically, but he gives in to her knowing stare. "Yeah," he sighs, seemingly unable and unwilling to hide behind the façade of a man not used to being taken care of. It's not calculated and it's moments like this one, when he's letting her in without even questioning it that she stores away safely in her memory to treasure.

"It means I was able to cut the vertebrae tumor out and the patient should be fine."

Of course he'd be tired, two procedures on a day, some serious dosage of intense sex, no lunch and insisting that he wasn't hungry at dinner time. Hell, she'd be _drained_, body and mind.

"Come on, honey," she nudges at him, encouraging him to switch their positions. "I'll help you relax."

"You already have," he chuckles softly, making her giggle.

"That's not what I have in mind, naughty boy," she plants a kiss to his stubbly jaw. "I can give a pretty good massage."

"I bet you can," he murmurs waggishly, but humors her, settling between her legs, his back to her chest, her thighs pressed into his sides.

She starts with his scalp, pushing her fingers into the damp bristly hair, rubbing slow circles down to the nape of his neck, increasing the pressure on the tight flesh there, hearing him exhale soundly as she works his tension away. His shoulders, strong and strained, give in to her firm strokes, slackening gradually as his breath slows and evens out.

"How did this happen?" she kneads around the dent beside his right clavicle where the muscle should be attached but instead the contour of once misplaced juncture protrudes.

"Motorbike."

"You ride motorbikes?" her fingers glide down, forcing the knots around his shoulder blades to loosen.

"I used to."

"You're a man of many mysteries," she marvels with a smile. How many things she doesn't yet know about him? He doesn't really talk much about himself, his past not something he shares without a bit of prodding but doesn't seem to avoid questions when asked either. It's like he's surprised someone would actually find him an interesting conversation subject, the notion breaking a piece of her heart.

"At least I'm not boring to you," he smiles, as her fingers trace the copperplate-like letters inked into his back. What are they? She wouldn't take Jack for a guy who'd tatoo himself in initals of school sweethearts.

"You're anything but boring, Jack," kisses the place where his dark hair is becoming salt and pepper on his temple. "How old were you?"

"Eighteen, maybe nineteen. I just started college. Moved away from home for the first time… You know how it is."

"No I don't," she laughs softly. The hickey she gave him has turned into a deep shade of purple and she presses her lips to the bruised skin lovingly. It's too low to show from underneath his dress shirt collars but if he wears a t-shit... She smiles at her own primal posessiveness. "Tell me about it."

"Not much to tell," his eyes closed, he lets his body slump comfortably into hers, the methodical massage relaxing him into a peacuful, unguarded ease. "I was such a lame rebel," he chuckles. "Marc always took the piss."

"Marc?" Gradually, her hands lose their focus and the purposeful strokes turn to a softer touch. Around his collarbones, down his sternum...

"A childhood friend. We grew up together."

Seemingly of its own volition, her hand snakes underneath his arm and around his ribcage, grazing his now soft penis under the water.

Tensing up, he covers her fingers with his. "Baby, I can't... I'm an old guy," he lets out a self-depreciating sigh like he's apologizing for letting her down. _Oh, no_.

"Don't be ridiculous, lover boy," she didn't mean to make him nervous. "You're not old. And you don't have to. I just like touching you -- " Gently, she curls her palm around him, the fragile flesh that reminds her of a newborn puppy. Delicate and sweet and powerless, so different from the pulsing hardness of sexual might. Just as dear to her, when she's able to fit all of him in her mouth and feel him grow... "Is that okay?"

Briefly, his head turns like he wants to look up at her but doesn't, letting go of her hand.

"I don't think any woman has ever... wanted me so much," he says and she's overwhelmed by emotion that she can make him feel this good. Accepted. Appreciated. "I don't think I've known that."

"So smart and so silly," she flicks her tongue to the lobe of his ear. "They all want you. But I'm not giving you up," her voice lowers to a whisper, breathed against the damp skin. "Never."

"But I still wish I knew you when you were sixteen," she teases, lightening the mood, still fondling him gently in the warm water.

"No, you don't," he joins her laughter.

"I bet you were the cutest pimpled teenager ever."

"I didn't have pimples!" He exclaims, feigning offence.

"Oh, so you were the cutest boy virgin ever."

"I'm not sure you'd be very impressed if a guy came in his pants when you as much as looked at him." He _is_ the cutest ever.

"Jack, with you I think I could actually buy the bullshit about premature ejaculation being a compliment."

"God, don't even remind me," he groans and she laughs.

"Really? The trademark self-control is not innate? But Jack, you're shoking me."

"Yeah? Well, take a nerdy sixteen-year-old dude who's been having wet dreams about the beach babes bee queen all summer and have her pick him to play with."

"Is that how it happened?"

"I can't believe I'm telling you this."

"Come on, Jack. Not the time to feign prudery. Tell me yours and I'll tell you mine," she coaxes, her mind already made that no details of "hers" will ever be disclosed. As far as she's concerned, the men she knew before him are long forgotten and irrelevant. He's the one and he's the best, that's all he needs to know.

"I haven't even told Marc," he muses with a grin, shaking his head. Of course, always the gentleman.

"So who was the lucky girl?"

"Not a girl...," an easy smile relaxes his features as he delves into the memory. "She was a woman. Or that's what my perception of the ripe age of eighteen had been."

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_A/N: Come on, admit it. You've always wanted to know details about Jack's first time. ;) That'd be next chapter..._


	6. Author's Note

_**A/N**: I decided to post the story of Jack's first time as a standalone fic because it turned out to be quite a long one. You will find it on the site (or through my profile) under the title of **Light Years**. There is epilogue there that ties in with this story.  
_

_I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! :)_

_Many thanks to everyone who commented on this story! I'm glad that you like! It is now a complete work, although I might revisit it in the future if I feel inspired._


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