Ecstasy by Leyla Harrison Disclaimer: Kerry Weaver and John Carter are MINE. No, wait, that’s just my twisted delusion. Rating: NC-17, and I mean it! If you’re underage, I don’t want to know about it. Classification: Weaver/Carter Timeline: This story takes place after the events of May Day, and has general references to that episode and also to All in the Family. This is the fourth in a series of Weaver/Carter stories I’m writing. You should read the first three, Disclosure, Revelation and Confrontation, in order to understand this one, especially since this one picks up where Confrontation left off. Thanks to Shannon for helping me smooth out the wrinkles. Summary: Kerry and Carter face off, in the hopes of finding resolution about what happened between them the previous night. Ecstacy: The state of being beside oneself, thrown into a frenzy or a stupor, with astonishment, fear or passion. – from the Oxford English Dictionary. *** After Carter leaves and I’m safely upstairs, alone in my room, I shut my mind off completely to what has happened. I order room service for dinner, check my email through the hotel’s web TV services, watch the news. Then I go to sleep, numb. *** In the morning, I wake up with all of the feelings I’ve supressed coming to the surface in a surge, and I do what I am so good at – I shove them down where I think I can’t see them or feel them. I move about the room, showering, dressing, ordering breakfast, doing everything I can to not think too much. I decide to take in an art museum after lunch outside in a cafĂ© with a newspaper. I deliberately try to keep my mind off Carter. The full night’s sleep, without dreams, has made me feel slightly more like my normal self again. Strong, confident, secure. But as I walk through each gallery, gazing at oil and watercolor creations, the feelings I’ve tried to deny come bubbling up through the surface. The emotions I’ve pushed down come up one by one, one in each room of the museum I walk through. The shock comes first. What the hell am I doing? It’s obvious I’m not thinking clearly at all. If I were, I would check out of the hotel, get the first flight back to Chicago, and try to pretend these last few days never happened. And that of course, leads to guilt. Carter is supposed to be here getting help. I came down here and although unintentionally, I fear that I’ve veered him away from the path he needs to be on, a healing path. Anger comes next, and although I am used to that emotion, I’m not used to it this time, in this situation. I’m angry because I feel selfish suddenly, willing to accept, although momentarily, that there is a part of me that was broken too on Valentine’s night. There is a part of me that needs to heal too. I lean against a doorway for a moment, feeling the pain in my leg and the pain in my soul that comes with the realization. All of these emotions are mingled with fear. I’ve never opened myself up more to anyone than I have with Carter these last few days. He’s touched me, both emotionally and physically, and I’ve responded. My impulse normally would be to run, and I haven’t. I’ve pushed him away, but I’ve pulled, too. It’s unlike me, and it’s frightening. The one thing that should have dawned on me first, hits next: I’m Carter’s superior. There are so many reasons why this is inappropriate. I asked him to move out of my house when I became Chief and now I’m sitting in darkened hotel rooms letting him kiss the inside of my wrist. I’ve made a seriously grievous choice in judgement. I head back to the hotel. *** I am strangely exhausted by the time I get to my room. I sink onto the comfortable lounge chair and revel in the feel of the velvety cloth. Carter’s scent, a subtle mix of aftershave and sweat, combined with a essence that is purely him, rises from the cushions and fills my nose and floods my senses. I smelled it once before, when his lips were close to mine, but didn’t process it then. I can now, and the sweetness of it and the loss of his presence is so powerful that it makes me want to weep. Which brings me to the final realization, the one I was not able to reach while I was at the museum. All of my rationalizations don’t matter, because I want him. I want him desperately. I close my eyes and can feel his hand on mine, his breath so close, his lips against my wrist. The question remains – what next? *** I awaken with a start on the lounge chair. Nightmare – but I can’t remember it this time. I’m clammy, both from the fear in the dream and because the heat soared in Atlanta today. In the shower, I stand sideways for long minutes so that the hot water pours down over my leg. It helps alleviate the aching from being on my feet all afternoon. Stepping out of the shower, I run a towel through my hair and pull on my fluffy white robe. The mirror is fogged up and I rub at it with one hand, revealing through the smeared glass my blurred image staring back at me. Somehow, seeing my own face makes me feel suddenly spooked by Carter’s impending arrival. I haven’t given myself enough time to think about what to do yet. Easy, I tell myself. There’s nothing that needs to be done. It’s just dinner. But it’s not, and I know it. A knock on the door surprises me. “Yes?” I call. “It’s me,” I hear Carter’s muffled voice on the other side of the door. Shit. I pull the robe tighter around my body and hurry to the door and open it, the safety chain still on. There’s a small gap of about three inches and I see a sliver of his face peering in at me. “Can I come in?” he asks, amused. “I just – I just got out of the shower, Carter,” I tell him, my palms warm on the cool metal of the door handle. “You’re early.” “Don’t think so,” he responds. “I think you’re running late.” I’m not wearing a watch and I glance over at the clock on the bedside table. 6:05. Damn. “Just hold on a second,” I say, closing the door. I stand there, my back up against the placard marking the emergency exit, slightly panicked. Get dressed, I tell myself foolishly. Without thinking, I instead turn around, unhook the chain, and open the door fully to let him in. *** Carter takes in my wet hair and my robe and looks slightly stunned. “Come inside,” I tell him, stepping back. “Carter?” “You’re in a robe,” he manages to get out. I’m wildly pleased with his apparent unease. It’s a complete reversal from the previous evening, when I hesitant and he was in charge. “Your powers of observation are incredible. Did you want me to come to the door without clothes on?” I retort casually, allowing myself a moment to imagine what the look on his face would have been if I had. “I told you, I just got out of the shower.” He comes in and the door swings shut behind him. “I’m sorry, I just – I don’t know. I didn’t expect you to look so – inviting.” Inviting. The word rolls around in my head and I feel my control slipping slightly. Carter sees the look on my face and smiles slightly. Apparently we both enjoy the power play. “What did you have in mind for dinner?” I ask, my voice wavering only slightly. I turn and head for the closet, when Carter’s hand on my arm surprises me. “Let’s just stop this,” he says, and I freeze, my back to him. “Why don’t we cut to the chase and talk.” “I – “ “Let me talk for a minute.” I feel his grip through the cloth of the robe, hot and undeniable. “I did a lot of thinking, Kerry. About what happened last night.” I turn to face him, my throat dry, my heart beating unevenly. I don’t want to say the words, but they come out anyhow. “Carter, what happened last night was a mistake.” His face falls, but he recovers quickly. “Kerry – “ “Neither one of us was thinking clearly. You’ve been through a lot, Carter. And I had a very bad day.” “Is that what you’ve done to rationalize it?” he asks. “A bad day?” I’m about to reply when he speaks again. “We almost kissed last night, Kerry.” There. He’s gone and done it – put it into words. I was convinced that as long as we didn’t say it out loud, it could be put away, hidden deep. But he’s opened the door, and I feel suddenly much like I did the previous evening – desperate to get away from his dark eyes, from his penetrating stare. “We didn’t, though,” I remind him weakly. “Only because I put a stop to it.” And why did you? I want to ask, but I bite my lip instead. “I didn’t want to force you into something you obviously don’t want,” he tells me, still holding onto my arm. I search his eyes. Is that really what he believes? He waits. And I know that what he is doing at that moment; he has put the ball in my court, waiting for me to either confirm or deny my feelings. My decision, I know, will affect the rest of the night. “It’s not that simple,” I say hesitantly. He releases my arm. “Isn’t it?” he asks. “Either you want this or you don’t, Kerry. There’s not much room for blending the two.” “But there is,” I protest. “You said it was a mistake,” he reminds me. I close my eyes and sigh. “Maybe that’s not entirely accurate,” I tell him, and open my eyes to see a look of triumph on his face. “This isn’t what I expected to happen when I came down here.” He actually chuckles at that. “Me neither,” he says. “What happened yesterday,” I start, choosing my words carefully, “just happened. I don’t know if there’s a reason for it and I don’t think I can explain it.” “There doesn’t have to be an explanation for everything, Kerry. I think that it’s clear there’s an attraction between us,” he tells me. “Last night proves that.” “I agree,” I murmur, surprising myself with my candor. “But I don’t know if it’s the right thing to pursue right now, Carter. You have a lot on your plate, with rehab. You don’t deserve an additional stress right now.” “I don’t know if I would classify attraction as a stress,” he replies. “Unless it’s unfulfilled.” I look pointedly at him. “What are you saying? That if we keep this up, and don’t pursue it any further, that you’ll be under more stress? Don’t try to lay that kind of guilt trip on me, Carter,” I warn him. “I have enough to deal with as it is.” “That’s not what I’m saying.” “It sounds like it.” Silence falls between us. “I just don’t know if this is wise,” I tell him. “I’m your superior. It’s inappropriate for me to – “ “You really do know how to twist things, don’t you, Kerry?” he asks, and I look up at him, startled. “It was inappropriate for me to live in your house once you became Chief. It was appropriate for you to participate last night, but it’s not now?” Anger flares up in me. “I wasn’t a participant last night. What happened was initiated by you.” “You didn’t stop me,” he argues. “I tried to,” I remind him, turning away. Yes, I tried to stop him, I tell myself. But if I had really tried, I could have pulled my hands free. I could have turned the light on. And I didn’t. I walk back and forth between the bed and the desk a few times before stopping to face him on the carpet. “I – I don’t know what to tell you, Carter,” I finally say, my voice sounding more emotional than I intended it to. “I just need to know, Kerry. I need to know if you feel this attraction the way I do. And if you want to pursue it. Otherwise I’m wasting time batting this around in my head.” “Batting what around?” I ask. “The idea of making love to you.” My knees weaken and I lean heavily on my crutch to support me as my cheeks flush with heat. “Carter – “ “You wanted me last night. I felt it. Has that changed?” I would have been fine if he had just stopped a few moments ago, not said anything more. But now I’m finding my firm resolve weakening and giving way. I could try to deny what he’s saying but I know he won’t believe it. I lower my eyes. My words will change everything. “No,” I finally tell him quietly. “It hasn’t changed. I still want you.” He closes the space between us in a few short steps and puts a finger under my chin, tipping my face up, forcing me to look into his eyes. He drops his hand down lower to the open v of the robe I’m wearing, touching my neck, trailing his fingers over the edges of the fabric, pushing it apart an inch or so. I know what he’s seeing; the beginnings of the scars I carry, and I’m instantly ashamed. I’m not sure I’m ready for him to see my wounds. “Please don’t,” I murmur. “Why not?” he asks quietly. “I don’t want to you see that part of me.” “I want to see every part of you.” His words again cause my muscles to go slack and I’m embarrassed to feel my slight swoon. He wraps an arm around my waist to support me. “I can stand up by myself, you know,” I tell him, slightly irritated by my reaction. “Believe me, I know that,” he answers, and then lowers his head to mine. The touch of his lips is gentle. He brushes featherlight kisses across my forehead, then my cheeks. I close my eyes and he kisses me there as well. When he finally brings his mouth to my lips, the touch is light and teasing, just little brushes, not full contact. I stand perfectly still, perfectly terrified and unbearably excited. His mouth lands on mine firmly then, and my body reacts. My lips part in a sigh. He takes it as an invitation and gently presses his tongue forward. One of my own hands snakes around his back and clings to him, pressing him closer. My protests and self-denial have slipped away. Our kisses are fueled by more passion now; his tongue sweeps the inside of my mouth and I am startled to realize that I am kissing him back, with electric force. His hands move around my waist and slide along my sides, grazing the sides of my breasts; I moan into his mouth and he shifts his body slightly, closer to mine. He breaks the kiss and lowers his mouth to my neck, bringing his hands up and pulling the collar of my robe down slightly. He rains light kisses along the side of my neck and then around to my throat, dropping his head slightly and kissing the tip of the scar that starts there. At the same time he moves against me, and I feel him, hard already, against my belly. “Carter,” I whisper. “God, please.” “Please…” he repeats in between kisses. “Please what, Kerry?” I don’t know how to answer him; my mind is swirling with heat and flame, and I imagine myself as one of the candles I saw in the lobby the previous night, flickering wildly. He lifts his head and takes my hand, leading me to the bed. *** I sit down on the edge of the bed, setting my crutch against the bedside table. Carter stands before me and I watch him carefully. I know this is the deciding moment. I can stop him now if I want to and he knows it. All I would have to do is say the word. Silently, he toes off his shoes and begins to unbutton his shirt. The thought of what is to come hits me full force, and I reach for him, pulling him close, kissing him again, hotly. He crouches down before me, and I hesitate. “Your back,” I tell him, pulling back for a moment. “That can’t be comfortable.” “I’m fine,” he says, and reaches for the edges of the robe that is keeping my body hidden from view. He pulls the lapels apart, agonizingly slowly. “The light,” I plead, aware of his gaze on my skin. “Turn off the light.” “I want to see you,” he counters. “Let me look at you, Kerry.” The first scar is on my chest, between my breasts, and I hear his sharp intake of breath as both are revealed to him. I avert my eyes. “Don’t,” he tells me, low. “There’s nothing to hide.” He traces a finger along the pink scar, following the jagged line. “These scars are a part of who you are, a part of what makes you beautiful.” Sudden tears spring to my eyes and I fight them back. He reaches for the sash of the robe at my waist and unties it, letting the material fall around my hips. He leans back on his haunches and looks at me, his eyes like fire, burning everything in their line of sight. My skin is aching for him, for his touch, and I reach out for him blindly, pulling him closer. “Come to bed,” I whisper, and he does. *** Carter’s body presses against me, our skins melting together. I run my hands over his back, careful in the area of his own scar, tracing it lightly with my fingertips, brushing over it. We are both wounded, Carter and I. He presses closer to me, his body bearing down. “There’s no turning back,” he says to me, and I nod, imperceptibly. His hand goes down between my legs and touches me; I jump and he has to anchor my body with his other hand. “Oh God,” I gasp, as his fingers explore me, testing me. He sighs, feeling the wetness, and places a kiss on my jaw. And then it’s happening; he’s pressing into me, one agonizing millimeter at a time, and I close my eyes and let the delicious sensation flow through my body. “Look at me,” he manages to say. “Watch us, Kerry. Look at what you’re doing to me.” I do, for a moment unashamed, and I’m amazed at what I see. His face over mine, his body so close. Something in my gaze affects him. For all his intentions of taking his time, his body jerks and he thrusts into me completely in one smooth movement. I cry out and his face fills with alarm. “Did I hurt you?” I shake my head. “Just the opposite. Just don’t move yet,” I beg. “I want to feel this. You.” He nods, both of us just breathing in the moment. He fits inside me perfectly, snug and secure, as if I were built for his body. I tighten deliberately around him and he lets out a rumble, low in his throat. “If you do that again, this will all be over much too quickly,” he warns me. I smile, feeling all at once gleefully evil, and of course, I do it again. His fingers dig into the skin of my arms and he makes a few short, hard thrusts into me, and I arch up off the mattress. “I warned you,” he whispers directly in my ear, sending shivers down my spine and raising gooseflesh on my arms. He moving inside me now, stroking in, stroking out, and my body is rising to meet him thrust for thrust. His hands find my breasts and he makes fists and slides the knuckles over my already sensitive nipples, and I react – urging him faster, and it all is spiraling higher, faster, so quickly. I feel a rush of intensity building; not just because the sex will lead to orgasm, although that is part of it. The bigger part is that this isn’t just sex, and I catch Carter’s eye and I can see that he feels it too. Something different, something important is happening here. I suddenly feel my heart start to spin out of control, more than my body, and a spark of panic flickers through me. I learned long ago that two people can have sex without emotion getting in the way, but one look at Carter’s face and the surge of feeling rushing through me tells me that this isn’t one of those instances. I won’t be able to just walk away from this in the morning. There is something more powerful at work here, something which will make one or both of us say something at the moment of ecstasy that we both might regret later. As the pleasure builds in my body, I feel Carter’s movements increase in speed and intensity, making me feel like my breath is caught somewhere in my chest, trapped. I feel lost in sensation and I hear moaning, a low keening filling the room; I’m not sure whose voice it is. I blink back tears as I realize that I am not only ready but willing to let the moment happen, the moment where I would be the most vulnerablem and I can’t recall the last time I have allowed myself to share that with someone. Our movements have become wild, almost feral, and just then Carter’s body strikes mine over and over in just the right way, stimulating me beyond belief, and I cry out. And then I am coming and crying and clutching at him, sparks of color and flashes of light burning against my eyelids. He follows moments later, groaning into my neck, kissing me, calling my name. It takes long moments for our bodies to calm down from the explosion. Carter rolls off me gently and touches my face, my lips. The look on his face is dangerous. Don’t, I beg him desperately with my eyes. Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything you don’t mean. Don’t say anything you can’t take back. He gazes at me with a look I’ve never seen before, and it frightens me with its intensity. I turn on my side and he wraps his arms around me, his breath light against the back of my neck and my shoulder blade. I will not cry, I order myself. I will not. I wait and wait. Carter’s breathing slows and becomes deeper. He presses his lips gently into my hair just before he falls asleep. I stay awake, my eyes focused on a spot on the wall across from the bed. *** A little over an hour later Carter awakens, stirring against me. He runs one hand along my side, down to my hip, to my leg. “Hi,” he murmurs into my ear. I want to speak, but my throat is tight and I can’t answer him. And then, slowly, he starts all over again, even with my back to him the entire time. He touches me, taking his time, driving me mad. At one point I reach over and turn the light off by the side of the bed, throwing the room into darkness. His touches become more passionate and I finally can’t stand it anymore; I turn over to face him and we start to make love again, agonizingly slow. He touches every part of me he can reach in the pitch black, as if trying to memorize my shape, each curve of my body, each scar. He places soft kisses on each scar. He places soft kisses over my breasts, lavishing attention on each one, then moving lower to my belly and beyond. My fingers lace through his hair, holding his head, and I thrash on the bed as he tortures me with his mouth, finally moving up again and slipping inside me so easily. This time as my orgasm builds, I begin to cry, and calling out his name I tumble over the edge and into oblivion. *** Carter has rolled over in his sleep, the sheets pulled around his body to the waist. I stand at the side of the bed and watch him. Mistake, mistake, my mind screams at me, and I wearily rub my eyes. I have turned the light on in the bathroom and closed the door halfway, which has allowed a thin ribbon of white light into the room and leaving the rest dark. I moved around the room silently like a thief, finding each of my belongings, folding them carefully packing them away in my suitcase. When I zipped it shut slowly, the sound seemed so terribly loud, and I thought I had woken him, but he simply shifted in bed and stayed asleep. I am struck by the fact that I am cruel and heartless; I must be to do something like this. I am ashamed of myself but there’s nothing I can do about that now. I can imagine all the things he would say if he woke up and saw me right now and the thought of those words tears at my insides. Quietly, I slip out of the room, pulling my suitcase on wheels along behind me, leaning heavily on my crutch. I make my way down the dim hallway feeling the weight of my heart like a stone. *** In my dreams I'm dying all the time As I wake its kaleidoscopic mind I never meant to hurt you I never meant to lie So this is goodbye This is goodbye Tell the truth you never wanted me Tell me In my dreams I'm jealous all the time As I wake I'm going out of my mind Going out of my mind *** The plane is, thankfully, empty. One of the perks of a red-eye flight. I sit alone in the row of three seats, my face turned towards the window as the plane lifts off the ground. I watch as the lights of the city of Atlanta get smaller and smaller, until they are just tiny pinpricks, glittering in the dark. One of those lights is Carter’s, turning on the bedside lamp and discovering my absence, the fact that I have left no note, no clues. Once the seatbelt sign has been turned off, I carefully move down the aisle to the back of the plane, where I let myself into the tiny bathroom, locking the door behind me. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I don’t recognize what the woman who looks back at me. I can still smell him on my skin; it’s as if our lovemaking seeped into my pores. I can smell Carter, and myself, and the unmistakable odor of passion, combined with the scent of my own fears and insecurities. I brace my hands against the small chrome sink, and finally allow myself to break down and sob. END (But of course there's another story coming! Why do you ask?) Author’s Notes: I usually don’t use songs in stories, but this is an exception since I was listening to one song over and over as I wrote this. To give credit where credit is due: the song is Porcelain by Moby.