trigger_man | OOM: Night Before the Allpocalypse

"Good," he says softly, kneading the back of her neck. "I'd always do anything I can to help, Beckett."

She looks up at him then, willing her eyes to open despite the sensation of the massage already coaxing them into closing.

"You really would, wouldn't you?" she murmurs, propping herself on her elbow to look down at him.

His answer is simple; no caveats or deliberation needed.

"Yeah, I would."

She's his friend, and he would die to save her, if necessary.

She doesn't really know what compels her to do it, in the end. It might be everything they've gone through, or what they're about to face, or even the fact that she knows he'll have her back, no matter what.

He answers her without flinching, and she kisses him the same way, leaning down to gently brush her mouth over his, a few strands of hair slipping forward over her ear to grace his cheek.

It's not what he was expecting, but neither is it unwelcome, and it's not long before Jack lifts his chin and kisses her back.

He has a feeling he's heading somewhere dangerous, but for the moment, he doesn't care. He tried not to get close to other people and failed, and it looks like he won't have to worry about the consequences for much longer.

He's lived with pain for a long, long time; tonight of all nights, he should be able to let someone in and have a little kindness, to not be afraid of whether a ghost from the past is going to break in and spoil the moment. To think about right now, about the touch of her lips on his, the whisper of her hair against his cheek, and not about where it might go.

And probably the only person he could possibly let in like this is Beckett.

She breaks away slowly, albeit reluctantly, turning her head to avert her gaze as she clears her throat.

"I - I'm sorry, that wasn't - I probably shouldn't have done that, you don't need - I mean, we were just supposed to be sleeping, and - did I mention I was sorry? I think I did," she finishes, with a nervous chuckle.

"Hey," he says, lifting one hand to cup her cheek, "there's no ned to apologize. I wasn't exactly pulling away."

"That's true," she adds, grinning crookedly as she tilts her head into his touch, nuzzling against his calloused palm.

"So it wasn't too forward of me?"

"It was...surprising, but I wouldn't say 'forward'," he says with a slight smile.

"No?"

Her own grin is more challenging. Daring.

"Why not?"

"Because that makes it sound like a bad thing."

"So it's not a bad thing," she murmurs, leaning close to hover.

"So it might not be bad if I wanted to do it again?"

"No, I don't think it would be."

And to prove his point, he lifts his head toward hers.

This time, it's more deliberate when her mouth closes over his, her hand sliding up to cup the side of his face as she deepens the kiss slowly, not rushing into things.

Then again, it's not like she has all the time in the world, either.

Neither of them do. And so Jack leans into the kiss with a little urgency, threading his fingers in her hair so he can pull her closer.

She breathes a sigh against his mouth, her head easing into the direction of his fingers as he uses his hold to pull her in, her upper half resting gently across his.

It's been a long time, even for her, but there's definitely the stirring of something deep down as she eases back from the kiss a little to remember how to catch her breath.

Jack needs a moment to catch his breath too; this is a little overwhelming after so long hardly even being touched by other people.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," she promises, nodding quickly.

"Are you?"

"Yeah," he says, his hand on her back moving back down to her waist as he drops a small kiss on her jawline. "Better than fine."

Her body betrays her before she can get the words out, a shudder rippling through her as her lips peel back into a small smile.

"That sounds pretty good to me."

"Good," he says softly, kissing her a little closer to her ear.

He can feel her shudder and takes it as a good sign; at the moment he's going with instinct, because otherwise he doesn't really know what to do. Where to put his hands, how much might be going too far too soon.

He's starting to feel a bit like an awkward teenager again.

It's almost ridiculous, how much that one little kiss manages to get to her. She gets the impression she'd be fairly weak-kneed if they weren't already lying down.

She can't figure out what she wants to say next, so she settles for kissing him again - even if it really isn't settling, not the way she does it, parting her lips slowly for a deeper kiss to taste the whiskey on his mouth.

He opens his mouth to her, tasting her, feeling a thrill of excitement rush through him at the intimate contact.

Slowly, he rolls them onto their side so she isn`t looming over him, always mindful of the anxiety that might rear its ugly head and ruin things. He has to try and remember to breathe, that this is Beckett and he`s safe.

Not that that`s easy when she`s being so distracting.

It's easier this way, as he rolls them. It means when she bends her knee slightly, notching her thigh against his hip, she's pressing against him directly, his face cupped in her hand.

And yet she's still taking things slowly, letting him set the pace. She doesn't want to overwhelm him too suddenly.

For a couple minutes, this is okay, this is enough. Kissing her, feeling the soft brush of her lips on his, tasting her mouth. Slowly, he's remembering how to do this and getting used to having another warm body pressed against his. He rests his hand on her hip, drawing small arcs with her thumb.

No rush, no worries besides that tiny little voice in the back of his mind reminding him that this might be the last night of their lives. He can do this, at least so far.

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