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Red Lace and Third Chances

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Under any other circumstances, she would really fucking hate herself right now. Jessica Jones is a lot of things, but a cliché is generally not one of them. Yet here she is, wearing a knee-length black trench coat and red heels - and she hates heels, fucking impractical creation - and waiting outside her sort-of-ex's door and hoping to every deity ever worshipped that he doesn't totally hate her. Or, at least, that his version of hatred still leaves space for some stress-relief sex.

Maybe she should've called, she wonders. Is that something normal people do? Okay, fine, normal people don't do things on this scale. Normal people, in Jess's limited experience with that hypothetical species, generally stay the fuck away from their exes. Especially when the reason the ex is an ex is this kind of complicated. Normal people, people who aren't blessed with shitty impulse control as a dominant personality trait, don't do stuff like this. Jess is not normal. Jess is bored, and it's a Tuesday night, and worst of all she's horny. That never ends well. Ever.

She can practically hear Trish giving her the vibrator talk, again, but she ignores it. Vibrators are boring. Too controllable. And breakable as fuck and therefore not worth it. No, Jess prefers actual human beings. Ideally, randoms. Tonight, though - if he'll have her - the one person she knows in this goddamned city who can give her exactly what she wants.

She knocks, hand shaking, and since when was she nervous about anything ever? The heels aren't helping, and she's tempted to kick them off but she knows they'll rot in this hallway forever if she does and that feels wrong. No, she wants to get a little more use out of 'em first, dig the stiletto points into her lover's hips and smirk because he can't even feel it. Or maybe he can feel things - she didn't bother to ask last time, and now she's kinda curious about that too. She knows he can't bleed, which is really fucking convenient and she's kinda jealous, but sensation might be another matter and-

"Jess?"

She missed him. She fucking missed him, and her first thought is that she wants him to hold her for like forever. Her second, slightly more relevant at the moment, is that he's not giving her the look she expected.

"Hi?"

"What are you doing here?"

Time for phase two of the grand seduction plan. The great thing about chasing around cheating spouses for a living is that Jessica has a fantastic understanding of how to do this sort of thing, how to slowly unbutton her coat and reveal what she's got on underneath. Red lace lingerie, doesn't cover a damn thing, won't take any effort at all to tear off of her. She's thoughtful like that.

"You're fun, I'm bored, and I miss getting fucked by someone who knows what they're doing."

Luke leans down and kisses her, twirling her around and pulling her into his apartment. Once the door is safely shut, she's slammed against it and her jacket thrown aside as he covers her face and neck in wet kisses. If nothing else, he's thorough. She grinds against him - he's wearing way too much clothing right now and she's annoyed - and he growls and god she missed this.

"Just sex," he murmurs, lifting her up and walking her over to the bed. "Doesn't mean anything."

"Wasn't hoping it would," she counters, flipping them.

Her bra is torn to ribbon in seconds, his hands mapping her skin as their position changes yet again. He kisses her like fire and she feels what she hoped to avoid, that she's still not quite forgiven, but he's still shedding his clothing and he's still looking at her with want in his beautiful eyes and it's still enough for her.

No, she thinks when the only thing between them is one tiny bit of lace that isn't even practical with how wet she is right now. No, this is more than enough. This is so much more than enough.

He tears aside her panties and she closes her eyes as he thrusts into her because she wants to remember this moment. She wants to remember this for the rest of her life, wants to remember the first time she ever let herself feel vulnerable in another person's arms. She doesn't think she's ever been this passive during sex before, this trusting that another person will give her what she wants, but it's happening and it feels right.

No, no, it feels amazing.

He fucks her and she screams and he slips his hand between them and she screams louder and he kisses her right as she finds release. For a few beautiful moments, there's nothing in the world except for this gem of a man and the way he works her body so perfectly, and she wants to hit pause on her life and stay here forever because the aftermath is gonna hurt like hell.

First, though, coming back down and squeezing herself around him because how the fuck does he have this kind of endurance. He breaks moments later, empties himself inside her with a breathy moan of her name, and collapses beside her. This, the recovery period, she can handle. Few more minutes of peace and then… then she's kinda scared.

"Did you get what you wanted?" he asks, and there's a tone to his voice that she can't quite pin down.

"I'm sorry," she says, because it's true and because her guilt complex has done more damage to her stability than her sex drive has lately and that's almost impressive right now. "All I do is fuck up your life and I-"

"You do more than that," Luke counters, reaching out and lacing his fingers with hers. "I'm not sure what you do but it's more."

"So you don't hate me?

"I don't hate you." He turns on his side to look at her better, smiling as his free hand pushes hair out of her eyes. "I'm not sure what I think about you, Jess, but… my life's better with you in it."

She blushes, actually fucking blushes because that sounds way too much like a declaration of love for her comfort level, and buries her face in a pillow. "You're crazy," she mutters.

"Nah. It's just nice to have someone who can keep up."

Okay, fine, not a disaster. Not what she expected either, but if this turns into the very regular booty call that she thinks it's gonna be… worse things have definitely happened to her.