Addendum, Part Twenty (Chicago P.D.)
Chapter: Hard Not Easy (Part Twenty)
Fandom: Chicago P.D.
Author’s Note: This chapter is set at the end of “If We Were Normal” (3x19). Please note that the rating jumps to M for this chapter.
Her lips press against his collarbone; her nose nuzzles against the soft patch of skin where his neck slopes down to meet his shoulder bone. And his hips move rhythmically against hers one last time as unintelligent mumblings slip past his lips, as he reaches the logical conclusion of what she started back at Molly’s when she mentioned an unopened box at home.
She plants another kiss – her lips savoring the salty taste of his skin – and waits for him to move away. To roll to the right and slump backwards into the mattress rather than slumping down on her because he never lets her hold him that way. Never lets his weight press her into the mattress or her hands spread across his back for longer than necessary.
Always pulls away to take a moment to catch his breath and clean up the mess he’s made before returning to her, before letting his hand curl around her waist and her head rest against his chest as they drift off to sleep. Always pulls away before turning to cuddle.
And so she doesn’t bother trying to dig her fingers into his back or employing some other tactic to get him to stay. Merely presses another kiss against his skin – this time, against the line delineating his muscles of his chest – when he pushes up on his left hand and slides his right down – fingers ghosting over her skin – to where they are joined. Curls his fingers around himself to make sure the condom comes out with him – the least sexiest move in his repertoire and yet one of those that makes her feel the safest.
One that reminds Erin that the trust she places in Jay – on the job, at home, in the bedroom – is well founded and deserved. One that shows her how his diligence says more about him and his protection of their relationship than any kind of commentary about her and the bad news of her past that her mind might dredge up because he always punctuates it with a kiss to her lips and words whispered against the skin of her lips and her cheek about how he’ll be right back.
And, truth be told, she doesn’t mind the view as she watches him walk out of her bedroom. As she stretches out her legs and surveys the damage done. The metallic tank top and the two pair of jeans tossed on the floor; the pile of pillows congregating over by the window thanks to the bounce of her body against the mattress and the swipe of her hand as she searched blindly for the headboard.
There is the tiniest twinge of a muscle spasm as she slides her legs over the edge of the bed, as she moves to stand up and retrieve some of those pillows, but it’s the good kind of twinge. The kind that brings a blissful smile to her face as she bends down to gather up the jeans and the tank top and toss them onto the chair near the open-aired entry to her bedroom. As she walks around the bed to gather four of the pillows laying on the floor to her chest in order to hide them in the closet.