Fic - Close To Normal (NC-17)

[cj2017]

Author: Caroline (cj2017)

Fandom: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles

Characters: Sarah/Derek.

Rating: NC17

Category: Smut/PWP.

Word Count: Approx 3300

Notes: Sort of a companion/follow on from Never a Good Day… although you could get away with not having read that, seeing as this is pretty much plot-free smut. Figured it was the least I could do for these two, seeing as I’ve been so very horrible to them lately <g> Besides which, I like a challenge…

Thanks, as ever, tocats_paws for doing the beta-thang! And to castellan_craft for cheer-leading…

Feedback is cherished (I’m quite nervous!)

Disclaimer: Don’t own them. Wish I did.

Now with fan art! warainosei.deviantart.com/art/quot-Close-to-Normal-quot-Kiss-159609796 Many thanks to warainosei for her efforts :-)

 

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Close To Normal

 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Derek hadn’t meant to go in there without knocking. The last time he had seen Sarah she had been curling weights in the shade of the porch, her face set with concentration as she worked to rebuild the strength in her fractured arm. Given the physio routine they had planned out, he had expected her still to be there. It wasn’t his fault that their only bathroom connected directly off her bedroom, but still, he usually knocked.

               “Shit. Sorry.” He backed away instantly, his hands raised in a defensive gesture, not entirely confident that – even under these circumstances – she wouldn’t attempt to maim him.

               But Sarah barely moved. Her hair still damp from the shower, she was only half-dressed. The bra and tank top she had intended to wear lay abandoned on the sheets. Sitting barechested on the bed with her legs curled beneath her, she dropped her hand away from her breast and looked up at Derek.

               “Do you think it will fade?”

               As a conversation opener, it was about as obscure as they came. Not knowing what else to do, he held her gaze, utterly confused and beginning to hope that she would take pity on him and just resort to violence, because this, this calm, half-naked Sarah, was freaking him the hell out.

               “Do I think what will fade?” He sounded the words out carefully, feeling like a hostage negotiator waiting for his quarry to finally snap.

She didn’t answer him. Instead, she ran her index finger across one specific area on her right breast, across the angry red line where a doctor had cut into her to remove a tiny piece of metal. When she lifted her head to look at him again, the sorrow in her eyes made him want to say whatever she needed to hear just to make it go away. There was no reaction as he stepped closer, so he took a deep breath and sat beside her on the bed. It wasn’t that he had never seen her naked before, but that time she had been full of drugs and pain and barely able to stand, and they had just spent the night fighting to stay alive.

“I don’t want a scar there.” Her voice was quiet. “I can take the bullets, or whatever the machines do to me, but I don’t want this to mark me.” She shook her head with a sad smile, embarrassment beginning to creep in. “Does that sound stupid?”

“No.” He handed her the rest of her clothing. “No, it doesn’t sound stupid. And, for what it’s worth, yes, I think it’ll fade.”

The smile reached her eyes for an instant, before she lowered her head and let out a slow breath. “Thank you.”

He wasn’t sure if she was acknowledging the clothes or the reassurance, but he nodded and began to stand up, intending to give her some privacy.

“Could you just…?” She made a vague gesture towards the bra, and her cheeks flushed with pink. “They’re fucking impossible to fasten with the cast.” It was a relatively light support, allowing her some freedom of movement, but not much in the way of dexterity. “Cameron’s been helping me, but I think she’s still out with John.”

She was. They had taken a day-trip to a weapons cache, John giddy with the prospect of uncovering a long-neglected armory, and Cameron tagging along to ensure that, in his enthusiasm, he didn’t accidentally blow himself up. In an instant, Derek found himself wishing that he had joined them, because playing third wheel to John and the metal would have been infinitely preferable to tip-toeing along this tightrope with Sarah. But all he said was, “turn around.”

Sarah threaded her arms into the straps, settled the bra in place and turned her back to him. Reaching for the clasp, he told himself to focus, get it done and get the hell out, but instead his eyes wandered across the expanse of her back, the smooth curves where it flared slightly towards her waist, the sharp angles of her shoulder blades and a scar that he had never noticed before. It was a through-and-through on her right shoulder, not messy like a bullet wound but round and neat-looking as if something had been twirled into her flesh. It was strange, and could have been strangely beautiful were it not for the violence that undoubtedly lay behind it.

“I got stabbed.”

His fingers had been surprisingly deft with the fastening and were now feather-light as he traced the whirlpool pattern of the scar. She expected him to pull away, but his hand remained, curiosity distracting him from propriety and steeling his nerve.

“Human?”

“Metal. Liquid metal. An advanced model. Made its finger into a spear and pinned me to a wall. Twisted it to make me scream.” She swallowed hard, acid rasping in the back of her throat; she had told this story all too recently. “John was there.”

There was no need for her to elaborate any further. He dropped his hand down, sorry now for pushing the point, but she turned slowly until she was facing him, and there was no recrimination in her voice. “Long time ago, Derek. Picked up a few more since then.”

He followed her lead, keeping his tone light. “I think you’d give me a run for my money.”   

After considering that for a moment, she nodded in agreement. “You’re probably right.” She smiled suddenly as a thought occured to her. “I don’t have a plasma burn on my ass though.”

He was genuinely stunned. “How the fuck did you…?” She said nothing, waiting for him to figure it out. “…Oh, the shower. Y’know, that fucking hurt like a son of a bitch, it wasn’t funny.”

Sarah, laughing softly now, evidently disagreed. He found himself staring at her, struck by how much younger she looked, as if something had just come in and wiped seventeen years of stress and terror from her face. Now that she had spent more than a week at the safehouse, a combination of sun, regular exercise and the time to sit and eat decent meals had banished the sickly pallor that she had had long before their encounter with Kaliba. She had regained lost weight, was able to hold civil conversations with her son, and had taken to smiling more. For Derek, it had been about as idyllic a life as he had ever known.

“What?” She had stopped laughing and now just looked puzzled.

He blinked, feeling as guilty as a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Nothing… you just, you laugh more here.”

“That might have been the morphine.” The expression on Derek’s face told her that glibness wasn’t going to suffice, and she looked away, not entirely at ease with this new, more honest relationship that she could no longer blame on narcotics or the fear of imminent death. “It’s just…” She grasped for the right words. “I don’t know. That normal life I mentioned…”

A quick nod; he remembered that conversation and its desperate circumstances with perfect clarity.

“…I think this is as close as we’re ever going to get. No one knows we’re here. No one’s trying to hurt us. John’s happy; he’s not fighting me.” Her voice had lowered to a whisper as her fingers toyed with the clothing she held in her lap. “I know that we’ll have to go soon, and I just want to make the most of it.”

Without thinking, he reached for her hand and untangled it from the cloth she was clutching compulsively. Her grip relaxed immediately, as if she hadn’t even been aware of her actions, and he was about to drop his hand away when she slowly curled her fingers around his.

“Sarah?”

There was no fucking way he was moving another inch without her permission, without some indication of exactly how she wanted this to play out. Everything seemed to go very still, then she made a strangled noise that didn’t sound like a warning, and when she pressed her lips to his that didn’t feel like a warning either. Another softer noise escaped her as her lips parted slightly, allowing for a tiny flick of her tongue, and that was all the encouragement he needed to wrap his fingers in her hair and kiss her properly, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip, his tongue hot against hers, because fuck it all and make the most of it; they could be dead tomorrow.

She broke away first, her breath warm and quick on his cheek before she lifted her head and gave him a small, dangerous smile. Without giving him time to even contemplate what that might mean, she straddled him, forcing him to sit further back on the mattress as her hand curled around the nape of his neck and pulled him forward to meet her lips.

He should’ve known this about her, should’ve known that even in the bedroom Sarah would be calling the shots. It only took seconds for him to decide, with her nails raking along the length of his back, that he really didn’t give a shit, and he immersed himself instead in the taste of her. She tasted of toothpaste and cherry lip balm, and when he ducked his head down to dip his tongue between her breasts she tasted of salt and the cheap apple shampoo that they all used. The clasp on her bra was just as easy to work in reverse, and she drew the flimsy material down her arms, then rocked her hips across the bulge that was pressing painfully against his jeans.  

“Fuck, Sarah.”

She ignored him and did it again, so he hooked his fingers in her belt and lifted her, pulling her over him until his mouth could reach her breasts, and she suddenly didn’t seem too interested in trying to torment him anymore. Rubbing the pad of his thumb across one nipple, he grazed his teeth along the other. She let her breath out in a hiss, took hold of his hand and guided it to the top of her pants.

This wasn’t the time or place to start disobeying her orders, so he unlooped her belt and worked the zip down before easing his fingers beneath the cotton of her panties. In one single, fluid move she shifted herself upwards, spreading her thighs for him, and bringing her mouth down to his. Her tongue mimicked the movement of his fingers as he stroked lower, opening her to find slick heat, then running that heat over her clit to make her moan into his mouth. Apparently, Sarah knew a lot of curse words, and she let loose with a string of them as he pushed two fingers inside her, his thumb leisurely working her clit. When she ran out of English and resorted to Spanish, he added a third finger, curling them slightly and letting her set her own rhythm above him. The pattern of her breathing told him how close she was; he half-expected her to hide, to bury her face away for fear of anyone witnessing her breaking apart, but instead she kept her eyes on him as they moved together, a brazen smile on her lips, until he felt her clench and then begin to spasm uncontrollably around his hand. Her eyes did close then, her teeth biting down on her lip as she came hard and silently. When the tremors began to ease, she clawed for his wrist, gasping for him to stop, but still holding him deep inside her, as she rocked slowly and continued to gently tighten and release against his fingers.

It only took a couple of minutes before she was shifting restlessly in his hold. He withdrew his hand reluctantly, forcing a groan from her, which she muffled by biting and sucking at the side of his neck. She was already reaching for his belt, but he gripped her wrist and stood up with her in his arms, pressing her hard against his groin before he turned and lowered her back onto the bed. He raised a questioning eyebrow at her and she lifted her hips, allowing him to pull her jeans and underwear down and away, leaving her naked and causing more blood to rush to his cock.

While she waited for him wrestle his pants and t-shirt off, she crooked one knee and then lazily let it fall away to the side. He wondered briefly if she was intending to give him a heart attack, before concluding, with a mental shrug, that there were definitely worse ways to check out. When his knees hit the edge of the bed, she reached for him, closing her hand around his cock and smoothing her thumb across its head.

“Jesus… Sarah, do I need…?”

“No.”

The only coherent word she had spoken, and she didn’t seem to be planning on elaborating. Lying back with him, she spread her thighs to let him settle between them. As she arched to meet him, he took his cock and guided it to her entrance. Her eyes held his unflinchingly as he pushed inside her, and she smiled at the same time he did, wrapping her legs around him and urging him deeper. They were both panting roughly, sweat-slicked and flushed in the afternoon heat of the room, as he finally began to move within her. Something heavy thumped onto his back; when he realised it was the cast on her arm, he grinned, shaking his head. She smirked up at him, then did it again. He jerked his hips in response, making her gasp and call him a “son of a bitch” under her breath.

He didn’t care about the bruises, didn’t care about anything other than the wet heat he was driving into and the small sounds she was making as they fucked. The hand she wasn’t using to pummel his spine sneaked down between their bodies, and he heard the catch in her breath when she reached her clit. That nearly finished him there and then, and he quickened his pace, trying to match the movement of her hand, his own breathing as harsh as hers.

The force of her orgasm, so soon after her first, seemed to take her by surprise. He watched her eyes widen with shock, then close with pleasure, as her body trembled and pulsed. He continued to stroke into her, holding her tightly against him, her legs still locked around his back. It was so quiet when she spoke that he thought he’d imagined it: just the softest whisper of his name. Then her hand brought his head down to hers, her lips crushed against his, and he stiffened and came, shuddering inside her with a gasp that her mouth claimed.

~ ~ ~

               They had lain together for a while. Both sticky with sweat and aching, but too languid to face the effort of breaking apart and returning to their corners. Derek was dozing when he felt Sarah finally move, carefully and quietly and without a hope in hell of leaving him undisturbed. He hadn’t survived the apocalypse and lived long enough to form a part of the Resistance without perfecting the art of sleeping with one eye open. Water ran in the bathroom; he swallowed, suddenly and painfully aware of how thirsty he was, but he didn’t stir. Not until he heard the bedroom door opening then shutting behind her. Only then did he roll onto his back, staring at the white stucco on the ceiling and doing his utmost to keep his mind equally blank.

~ ~ ~

               The beer was ice cold and just the right side of fizzy. Sarah took a long drink, then rested the bottle on the ramshackle railing of the porch. Footsteps approaching her from behind were high on the list of her least favorite things, but Derek’s tread was familiar, even when it was barefoot and wary, and her hands remained on the railing, nowhere near the Glock at the small of her back.

               There was a swish of pressure being released, a bottle-cap clinking against wood, and she heard him sit down on the bench with the beer that she had left for him. He drank, cleared his throat, said nothing, and drank again.

When she turned and walked over to sit next to him, he moved up to make space, then hunched forward, the bottle in his hands, fingers toying with the label. Minutes passed before he finally broke the silence.

               “This gonna make things complicated?” He sounded uncertain. He never sounded uncertain.

               “I don’t know.” She drank slowly and licked her lips. She had been contemplating that question long before he had voiced it, but still wasn’t sure that she had an adequate answer.

He sat back, mirroring her position: legs outstretched and crossed at the ankle, head leaning against the rough wood of the bench, except that she was managing to look a hell of a lot more relaxed than he felt.

               “…I don’t know.” Another attempt at a response, her speech tentative, feeling the words out as she spoke. “You’re the brother of the man who was sent back through time to save my life and father my son. And you also happen to be from the future. Meanwhile, we’re fighting to keep John safe and stop machines from blowing up the world.” She looked at him then, torn between laughing at how ridiculous it all sounded and crying for exactly the same reason. In the end, she settled for a despairing laugh. “Things are already pretty fucking complicated.”

               He considered that for a moment. She watched him, waiting for him to broach the inevitable. When he did, his voice cracked on the name.

               “Kyle?”

               Kyle. The Reese boy with the kind eyes and the only complication that she had really been thinking about while she had been staring out over the desert scrub.

               “He’s not here, Derek.” She sat up straight and turned slightly, needing him to know that she was being honest. “And this… you and me. It’s not about him.”

               It had been a difficult peace to make, but she wasn’t the Sarah Connor of seventeen years ago, and Derek – damaged and fucked up on so many levels – made a good match for the scars she had amassed since then.

He put his bottle down on the table, the cold liquid still lingering on his lips as he kissed her. She kissed him back, unhurried, her tongue playing along his, before breaking away, one last thing to say.

“John doesn’t find out about this.”

“No.”

His hand was beneath her tank top - she hadn’t attempted the bra on her own - and his fingers were running gently over the thin scar on her breast. Without a word, she stood, took hold of his hand and led him back inside.

 

~ ~ ~ End ~ ~ ~

 

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