Title: Just To Watch You Be Seen
By: theimpressionis
Pairing: Elle/Gideon
Rating: R
Summary: I wrote het! No it's not a sign of impending doom it's a request from unmellow_yellow. A little different then my usual style-I have never tried writing het before. *eep*
Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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It's starts, she thinks, as a series of moments leading to this. Bodies folding together like origami. She can see them in her mind; hard and polished, but distant. That distance makes this heat, the feel and taste of his skin, seem all the more inevitable. Deliberate and real as Jason's mouth on hers, his hands on her breasts, her spine. Sighs at the solid heat of him, the pleasure of his weight over her, covered but never smothered. When he enters her it's the first leap off the family dock at the dawn of summer; shocking in its clarity, vivid.

It was to be a celebratory round for the the team, a job well done. Victory was always bittersweet; their work was created by the worst kinds of thefts, the truly lucky torn between grateful awe at being alive and staggering under the irreversible imprint of trauma. The knowledge that as soon as one destructive force was removed from the general populace, another appeared to take its place. But it was a choice and it was what they did, each with their own reasons. Even if it meant that your private life would be spent slowly peeling back your work persona until you could walk through life without noticing the violent potential in every situation.

Even sitting in a bar after-hours with your coworkers. Regarding your colleagues; not watching, just looking. Aaron in shirtsleeves, for once he has abandoned his tie and his open collar reveals his throat. Not for long; he is anxious to get back to his wife and child, and Spencer catches a ride with him. It isn't long before Morgan is off chatting up a voluptuous redhead. They are suddenly alone in the bar, Jason nursing a scotch, as she pulls at the label on her beer, quiet but not uncomfortable. Regarding not watching.

He kisses her mouth like he his kissing flowers. Kissing roses; beautiful and sharp, slow and decadent. Deliberate. Jason strokes her hair back, trails a finger along the edge of her blouse. He sighs when she lets her nails rake lightly over the back of his neck. Works at the buttons of his shirt. And here is where experience trumps youthful beauty; he won't fumble with her bra, she won't have to help him inside of her. The patience to learn the length of her spine, this tiny scar on her hip, the taste of her. And she sighs and sighs and when he replaces his tongue with his broad fingers and licks and sucks, she cries out and arches into his mouth.

The regulars are trickling in, young hipsters looking for the next big thing. This new breed of man; skinny young professionals with their carefully faded, expensive clothes and artfully mussed hair. There is something cruel about them; unwarranted and unwanted, put-upon airs by those who have yet to notice how brief this life is. One youngster decides he's intrigued by this seasons latest FBI fashions and stops at their table. If she wasn't so annoyed by his presumptive attitude it would be funny. After all, what is she doing with this old man, surely she wants to dance, wants to get to know this slightly camp boy who won't call; she won't want him to. Elle shuts him down, gently but firmly.

"I know a place." Jason's voice is quiet but clear over the rising din.

Walking into the cool blanket of night; gasoline and cherry blossoms. He is laughing at something, such a little thing, but she imprints it in her mind; this is the sound of Jason Gideon laughing. Letting go for just a moment. Elle wonders about this pub he has promised her; she has trouble imagining Jason being a regular anywhere.

But that is one of his talents; to remain utterly present and guarded at the same time. She turns to find him watching her; amusement and something like desire. She feels like she is rearranging herself as a person: Elle the woman looking back. Not softened; rather, the choice to reveal another side of herself, the diamond strength of clarity, her body remembering its own hidden knowledge. Her breast feel full and heavy, her legs are long and strong, feline. Her throat feels elegant, waiting to be touched. And she smiles.

Elle wakes to the sound of the shower. The flowing toga of her sheet only makes her feel more vulnerable, so she steals his shirt and ducks into the steamy bathroom. Appreciates the broad necessity of him; his shoulders, muscular legs, the softness of his stomach. He offers her a hand in invitation, the corners of his mouth curled up. This moment is true, they have created it for themselves. Whatever happens, whatever they had done or said in the past, this moment belongs to her, and that is enough. She accepts his hand and lets him pull her under the warm spray.

Fin

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