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Catherine’s Mark

Jackson Lamb x Catherine Standish

18+ smut

12k+ words Set after the events of S4, River notices something different about Catherine's appearance, is that makeup she's wearing to cover up the mark on her neck? Here's the story of the night before...

“Does anyone else think Catherine looks different today?” River asked into the room of silence, his eyes on Catherine as she stood talking to Jackson in his office.

“Have you been checking Catherine out?” Shirley asked.

“What- no!?” River scowled, looking back at Shirley.

“Do you usually spend your time checking Catherine out?” She arched a brow, “How else would you notice a difference?”

“That is obviously not what I meant.” River rolled his eyes. “Something just looks different. Like she’s wearing make-up or something.”

“And you think she’s wearing it for you?” Shirley squinted, looking over at Catherine and then back at him.

“Congratulations on the hat trick of things I clearly didn’t mean.” River glared.

“In what way does she look different?” Shirley sighed, only half pretending to be interested.

“I don’t know…” River narrowed his eyes, looking back over at Jackson’s office again and shrugging, “She just looks… somehow… in some way…” He pursed his lips as he tried to think before saying simply; “Different.”

“Right…” Shirley raised her eyebrows, speaking sarcastically as she began to walk away, “Remind me to never ask you for descriptions of a body. It seems the only way of describing it that you would know would be ‘different’.”

“Well, no, actually, that wouldn’t work, would it!?” River retorted as she disappeared out of view, “Because, if I didn’t know the person or the body, then how would I be able to tell if they looked different?!”

Shirley’s only response were her footsteps going down the stairs. River rolled his eyes and rested his elbow on the desk, his gaze returning back to Jackson’s office again and chewing on the tip of his thumb as he attempted to watch Catherine and Jackson’s interaction as discreetly as possible.

—————————————————————

Jackson held the file in front of him, though his eyes were focused on Catherine from over the top of it, and he watched as she busied herself in his office.

“What the fuck you got make-up on for?” He asked after a few long moments, placing the file back on his desk.

“What?” Catherine looked over her shoulder at him, “I—“

“And don’t try telling me you haven’t.” Jackson said before she had a chance to say otherwise.

“I just fancied a change.” She shrugged, turning back to what she was doing.

“Trying to impress me?” Jackson taunted, then mumbled under his breath, “Like you didn’t already do that last night.”

Catherine’s heart thumped harshly when she heard when he had said that, but continued to keep her back to him in an attempt to hide her blushing cheeks.

“Why are you covering it up, Standish?” Jackson asked, his lips twitching into a smirk.

Catherine’s grip weakened on the book she was pretending to dust under and she spoke with her head still turned, “Covering what up?”

“Don’t fuck around, Standish.” Jackson rolled his eyes, pushing the file around his desk as his eyes fell upon her neck. “You know what I'm talking about.”

“I… don't…” Catherine pursed her lips, looking over her shoulder at him as she absentmindedly rubbed her fingertips against the side of her neck.

“Come here.” Jackson curled his index finger once their eyes met.

Catherine swallowed hard, losing her breath slightly from the way he had beckoned her over, and made her way to the front of his desk, gazing down at him. “Hm?”

“Closer.” Jackson raised his eyebrows.

“But— the… they… can see… us.” Catherine widened her eyes, glancing to where the windows once were around his office.

“Closer.” Jackson spoke in a firmer tone.

Catherine nodded slowly and dipped her head, resting her hands flat on the table. Jackson licked his lips as he gazed up at her, exhaling slowly, “Perfect.”

“What?” Catherine scowled, but when their eyes met and she saw the expression on his face, she leaned forward as if about to kiss him, and for a moment, she forgot that they weren't the only people in Slough House.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jackson laughed, leaning back in his chair and leaving Catherine with her lips pouted into the air.

“What am I doing?” Catherine scoffed, standing back up straight and trying to conceal her blushing cheeks once more, “Wh-What are you doing?!”

“Trying to get through this fucking file without distraction.” Jackson shrugged.

“Hm.” Catherine pressed her lips together.

“What’s the matter?” Jackson fought off the grin threatening upon his face.

“I just thought, maybe, you know…” She scratched the side of her neck, the thin layer of makeup now starting to rub off and show the remanence of the night before, “You were going to kiss me.”

“Not now, Standish, I’m working.” Jackson gestured toward the file. “Fucking Christ, one night with me and all your professionalism goes out the fucking window.”

“O-Oh, right, yes…” Catherine nodded timidly, avoiding eye contact with him before turning to walk toward his door, “Sorry, I just thought- because- last ni- never mind.”

“Standish.” Jackson sighed, catching her just before she left his office. She halted immediately, her heart thumping in her chest harshly again like before, and looked over her shoulder. “I never said I didn’t need you to help me.”

Catherine scowled slightly and walked back in his direction, swallowing hard once she was stood in front of his desk again. “Help you with what?”

“This.” Jackson mumbled, standing up and lifting the file horizontally so it was covering both of their faces from the still-to-be-repaired window and leaning forward to gently peck her lips.

“Oh.” Catherine whispered barely audibly against his lips, mad about the fact she could taste a recent cigarette upon them, but not mad enough that she didn’t immediately kiss him back.

“I hope that’ll be enough.” He whispered, winking as he removed the file as their shield and placed it back down on the desk. “You can’t be taking advantage of me at work, I’m a busy man.”

“If my memory serves, you rather enjoyed me taking advantage of you last night.” The kiss seemed to have fuelled some sort of confidence in Catherine’s response.

Jackson’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, lips dry from her words. He blinked hard and narrowed his eyes a little, speaking as he sat back down in his chair, “Your memory only serves from last night because, the time before that, you had one hand around my cock and one around of a bottle of fucking gin.”

The day before:

Jackson sighed heavily, opening the cupboards above the kitchen sink in search of a clean-ish glass. Sure, he had a used one on his desk next to the bottle of whisky in his office, but it was below even Jackson Lamb to use a glass so old and dirty that it might have things growing in the bottom of it.

“Should I buy a hat?” He heard Catherine ask from behind him.

“Why, has one of your cats taken to using your current one as a bed?” Jackson spoke through an exasperated sigh as he reached into the top shelf of the cupboard.

Catherine didn't respond, just stood with her arms crossed across her chest and eyes on the floor. Jackson attempted at shutting the cupboard door but shrugged it off when it stayed hung half open before turning around and being met with Catherine’s unimpressed expression. Perhaps now was not the best time to ask her if she was coming back to Slough House for good.

“Something the matter?” He asked.

“If there was, would you even listen?” Catherine asked.

“I’m sorry?” Jackson scowled, genuinely confused but unable to stop himself from letting out a small laugh.

“I bet you’d listen to her.” Catherine huffed, pushing past him and walking further into the kitchen to place her cleaning gloves on the side.

“Listen to who?” Jackson turned around to face her.

“You know exactly what I mean.” Catherine shook her head, not facing him.

“Standish, what the fuck are you getting at?” Jackson grew more irritated.

“Is it because I don’t have any authority? Is that why I never get a ‘thank you’ or taken seriously by you?” She ranted, walking back through the kitchen.

“Ah,” Jackson exhaled, trying not to laugh again, “Could you be referring to Lady Di, by any chance?”

“You tell me.” Catherine spoke in a dismissive tone. “Why don't you just run along to your precious little bench and leave me here to clean up after you like usual?”

“That bench isn't there anymore, actually.” Jackson shrugged.

“At least she knows how it feels to be appreciated.” Catherine mumbled.

Jackson sniggered. “Are you jealous, Standish?”

Catherine shook her head.

“Oh, you should see the absolute fucking mayhem we cause behind closed doors at The Park…” Jackson sighed dramatically, trying to sound as convincing as possible, “There’s a reason why there’s cameras pointing to the store rooms now. Just you wait ‘till Lady Di becomes First Desk; they will be the first things she fucking rips down.”

Catherine huffed and stared at the ground, pressing her lips together in a thin line.

Jackson watched her for a few moments, squinting his eyes with a smirk, “Standish, I can't even fucking remember what I said to her.”

“Something about a marriage of convenience…” Catherine spoke quietly, “Like I’m not the one who keeps you alive most days.”

“Fuck me, who put 50p in the cleaner?” Jackson laughed instead of trying to explain himself. “What, would you prefer it if we had a marriage of convenience instead?”

“Goodbye, Jackson.” Catherine spoke whilst turning her back to him and walking out of the kitchen.

Jackson exhaled loudly and reached into his pocket for a cigarette. Perhaps he had ruined the opportunity to ask her if she was ever coming back to Slough House for good.

—————————————————————

Jackson didn’t even check the time as he trudged through the door to his home, all he knew was that it was already going dark. He needed to sleep.

Kicking his shoes off at the door and dragging his feet up the stairs, a craving for something he usually never even had the time or energy to think about crossed his mind: how nice would it be to feel some warm water against his skin in a rare way of trying to wash away the events of the day?

Once he had rid himself of his clothes, he gritted his teeth and stepped into the shower — usually the last thing he could be bothered to do. The water cascaded down his naked body and he exhaled deeply, closing his eyes. After a few long moments of being in there, he was starting to find more reasons why showers were a pointless exorcise; this one being that he couldn't smoke a cigarette whilst under a constant stream of steamy water.

After carelessly scrubbing his body with a god-knows-how-old bar of soap, he ran the shampoo, or what was left of it, through his hair in the least elegant way possible — more like a monkey trying to find a bug in their fur. Briefly, his mind went back to the period in his life where he rather enjoyed showering in someone else’s house, because it meant he could play around with all of the products stacked up on the side rather than the old singular bottle of shampoo he had refilled with water several times to try and get all of the dregs out of it before begrudgingly buying another. She would notice that the volume of her products had gone down and be evidently cross with him about it, obviously, but he could always win her back round again with a kiss and telling her she looked ’far too fucking cute’ when she was angry. A small smile crept upon his face and he sighed to himself, having to force the memory out of his head as he tilted it back and closed his eyes in order to rinse all of the shampoo out of his hair.

Stepping out of the shower, he reached for his singular, stale towel and began to dry himself with it, scrunching his nose up from the roughness against his skin. He exhaled loudly and rubbed the nicotine-stained towel against his wet hair, his mind hankering for a cigarette. His skin still partially damp, he held the towel around him and walked out of the bathroom and towards the closest packet of cigarettes he could find.

‘Last little friend before bed.’ He thought to himself as he sat on his towel at the end of his bed, placing the cigarette between his lips and lighting it. ‘Like the touch of a good woman.’

As he took his first, long drag of the cigarette, he laid back on the top of his untidy bedsheets and stared up at the ceiling. His head was so busy, he didn’t know which racing thought to process first.

‘The touch of a good woman.’ haunted him again, justifying the idea by telling himself that he wasn’t even craving it in a sexual sense, just something perhaps intimate enough to be comforting.

Naturally, his mind slipped into the idea of Catherine. ‘Is she coming back? Like… really coming back?’ he’d never had the opportunity to ask her — self-admittedly through no fault but his own. ‘Would she ever come back?’

The cigarette raised to his mouth several times, chasing that age old problem of trying to get her out of his mind. Each time the smoke left his lips, it floated into the air and clouded his vision briefly, and he imagined her appearing through it in the doorway.

—————————————————————

Catherine didn’t go straight home that night from Slough House, instead she wandered aimlessly around the local streets whilst trying to clear her head—even though it was raining. The days were gone when this would be done by a bottle of some form of alcohol followed by passing out at the kitchen table.

Jackson was plaguing her mind, as per usual. Plaguing rather than happily taking over, since the thought of him felt like it swept through her body like an incurable virus these days rather than the excitement it once brought her.

Often silent rather than shouting and screaming what she really wanted to say, she would spend dangerous amounts of time in her own head. Jackson had learned to realise over the years that if she was silent, he needed to be worried.

She eventually returned home later that night and locked the door behind her with a quiet huff. Shivering slightly, she took her coat off and hung it by the door before pottering over to the kitchen and making herself a cup of tea.

Once she had finished her tea, she ran herself a shower and, much like Jackson, hoped this would work as some form of cleansing her from the day she had just had. She had no vices like Jackson, having left cigarettes and alcohol in the past.

Sighing quietly to herself, she began to dry herself off, putting her hair up in a towel first. The conversation she overheard between Jackson and Diana was playing like a loop inside her head. The main question being this: whether he was joking or not, why did it bother her so much?

Her thoughts, however, were interrupted by a knock at the door. She paused for a moment, unsure of whether to answer it or not. When the knock sounded again, she removed the towel from her head and quickly grabbed a robe off the back of the door, wrapping it around herself and tying it as she proceeded to the main door.

Her heart rate increased as she approached it, quickly glancing around to see if there was anything she could use as a weapon nearby if needs be. The figure on the other side of the blurred glass, however, both calmed and increased her heart rate even further - unsure of how this could be done at the same time. She inhaled shakily and unlocked the door, swallowing hard the moment the blurred glass no longer stood between them.

“You’ve had a wash.” Were the first words to fall out of her mouth, immediately recognising the difference in his appearance.

“No, the heavens opened while I was on my way here.” He tried to sound convincing and held out the sleeves of his overcoat to see how wet they were from the rain. “Got fucking soaked through.”

“And you chose this particular block of flats to seek refuge from it?” Catherine raised her eyebrows, crossing her arms across her chest.

“Yeah,” Jackson replied, trying to act like this was an inconvenience, “Terrible coincidence, isn't it?”

“You do know the entrance to the flats, the stairs, the lift… are all also undercover?” She huffed, looking him up and down.

“Yes, but the entrance, stairs, and lift aren't half as fucking warm and inviting as where I currently stand.” Jackson grinned sarcastically.

Catherine’s lip twitched and she remained silent, scratching the back of her neck absentmindedly as her gaze fell to the floor.

“Hang on a minute!” Jackson gasped dramatically, widening his eyes.

“What?!” Catherine raised her voice in alarm slightly and looked around, scowling as she turned back to him again.

“Is it fucking raining in here, too?” He gestured toward her.

“What?!” Catherine repeated again, though in a more irritated tone this time.

Jackson raised a hand and pointed to the small droplets of water that were slowly dripping down the side of her neck and into the crook of it - trying to act like it wasn’t having any effect on him at all. He forced his mind not to wonder and cleared his throat, waiting for her to catch on.

“Oh…” She mumbled, wiping her hands against the side of her neck. “You just interrupted me.”

“Expecting someone?” Jackson arched a brow, taunting her.

“No.” Catherine shook her head, trying not to show him her slightly flushed cheeks. “What do you want, Jackson?”

Right now? You. I am jealous of every drip of water running down your body. It takes me right back to the times where sweat would be the only barrier between us. His internal voice was screaming.

“Jackson?” Catherine sighed when he didn’t respond. “Why are you here?”

To ask you if you're coming back to work? To beg you?

“Sugar.” Jackson plucked the first thing that came to mind. “I was trying to make a cup of coffee before bed and I realised I was out of sugar. You were the first person I thought of who would probably have some laying around — since you probably only ever make a cuppa for yourself. Must be fucking heaps left over, right?”

“A coffee before bed?” Catherine scowled. “Won’t that achieve the exact opposite of what you want?”

“Who fucking cares what I want to achieve by it, it’s just what I wanted!” Jackson sighed, sounding less and less convincing by the second.

“Why on earth you’d want to drink something that will make this day last even longer is beyond me.” Catherine mumbled, looking to the ground.

Jackson pressed his lips firmly together as he fought with himself about what he really wanted to say. After a few long moments, he finally raised his head.

“Every day will feel that long and longer to me if you don’t come back.” He finally admitted, though it came out in more of a rushed mumble.

“I’m sorry?” Catherine frowned, genuinely unsure of what he had just said.

Jackson exhaled, looking down at her with narrowed eyebrows. “Can we just talk? Please?”

Catherine’s eyes met his briefly and she let out a small sigh, not saying anything as she turned to walk away, leaving the door open behind her. Jackson raised his eyebrows at this silent invitation and stepped forward into her flat, closing the door behind him. He paused for a moment and then took it upon himself to lock the door, swallowing hard and feeling nervous for the first time in as long as he could remember.

Catherine felt her heart skip momentarily when she heard him locking the door, but instead of finding the thought of him locking them in threatening or unsettling; she was actually quite appalled with herself that she found the whole situation rather safe; knowing it was only the two of them in there with no distractions.

Jackson walked toward the living room and let out a deep breath, leaning against the doorframe as his gaze was immediately drawn to Catherine sat on her sofa. Still in her robe. Drops of water still trickling from her hair and toward the crook of her neck.

“You have to…” He started to speak until the words were robbed from his mouth for a moment as he watched her remove the towel from her head and shake her head a little to let down her hair properly, “…come back.”

“Pardon?” Catherine asked since his words were more of a mumble.

“I can’t fucking be there without you, Standish.” Jackson exhaled heavily, “I’ll go fucking insane.”

“Has someone put you up to this?” Catherine narrowed her eyes, leaning back in the sofa but looking him up and down suspiciously.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jackson scowled.

“You coming in here with this grand gesture of confession hardly sounds like something you would willingly do of your own accord.” Catherine blinked hard, wiping a drip of water from the back of her neck as their eye contact broke.

“Is that really what you think of me, Catherine?” Jackson raised his eyebrows, though his tone was strangely soft.

“Don’t you dare make me feel sorry for you, Jackson.” Catherine’s eyes moved up to his, though her expression remained stern.

“Y-You think I’m here because I want you to feel fucking sorry for me?” Jackson attempted to laugh in order cover up how the whole situation really made him feel.

Catherine shrugged timidly this time but didn’t speak, combing a weary hand through her wet hair — and having no idea of the effect this action was having on a completely different part of Jackson’s mind.

“Why’ve you got the window open?” Jackson attempted to change the conversation.

Catherine opened her mouth to respond before Jackson spoke again:

“Menopausal hot flush?”

“Why would that be so shocking?” Catherine scoffed.

Jackson shrugged, rubbing his fingertips against the beard on his chin. “Just never thought you’d fucking make it to that age.”

Catherine’s eyes widened and she scoffed even louder than before, shaking her head in disbelief from what had just come out of his mouth. She crossed her arms across her chest and scowled, turning away from him as he stepped further into the room. Her back was turned to him now, but it didn’t stop him from looking at her; her hair was still wet and unbrushed and it was now starting to dampen the upturned collar of her dressing down.

“So, uh,” He sniffed and then cleared his throat, “What do you say?”

“About what?”

Jackson rolled his eyes as if he was under the impression he had implied it enough at the door. “Will you come back to Slough House?”

“For whose benefit?” She arched a brow.

Jackson let out a comical laugh. “Everyone’s.”

“Hm.” Catherine turned to look away from him. “I don’t believe that.”

“Why?” Jackson squinted his eyes, though there was a hint of playfulness in them. “Who’s been giving you bother?”

Catherine turned to look at him with one of her knowing ‘you-know-exactly-who-I’m-talking-about’ glares. “You are Slough House, Jackson.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Jackson pursed his lips. “I think that rotting building is more fucking stable than I am these days.”

Catherine huffed. “Oh—“

“And if hit with a major blow…” He sighed dramatically, looking toward the window before back at her, “Such as losing a real driving force to its operating procedures…” He raised his eyebrows, shrugging as if unable to comprehend what he was trying to say, “I am unsure which one of us would crumble first.”

“Op…operating procedures?!” Catherine scoffed, offended. “Is that all I am?”

Jackson didn’t react, just said, “Not to me, no.”

“Oh, really?” Catherine gave him an unconvinced look. “Some kind of sounding board to your insults, too?”

“Standish, no…” Jackson sighed, “You know as well as I do, neither that building nor I work without you there.”

“I don’t believe you.” Catherine turned her head away again.

“What do I have to do to make you?” Jackson’s tone was unusually soft rather than standoffish.

“Pitch it.” Catherine spoke in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Pitch what?” Jackson scowled. “What the fuck do you mean? Just come back to m– Slough House.” His eyebrows narrowed, his expression practically pleading with her at this point. “Please.”

He didn’t mean Slough House at all, he meant come back to him and wherever he was.

“Pitch it to me, and I just might consider it.” Catherine shook her head, forcing herself not to break. “Why am I such a vital part of Slough House, Jackson?”

“You seriously want me to…” His voice trailed off, looking unamused at Catherine’s in-anticipation expression. “Fine. Fucking hell, if that’s what it takes.”

“No, only do it if you want to. If you mean it.”

“I do. I’m thinking.” Jackson’s index finger ran along the beard on his chin.

“The fact you even have to think about it is showing me that speaking positively about me clearly isn’t something that comes natural to you.” Catherine mumbled.

“Oh, for fuck sake, Standish!” Jackson exhaled loudly.

Truth was, he didn’t even know where to start. And an even more scary thought to him was saying too much. What if he confessed how she really made him feel, still made him feel, and she didn’t reciprocate? Was it even worth mentioning? It all came down to this internal debate: did Catherine Standish mean more to him than his pride?

Of course she did. She was probably the only thing that did.

“Clearly trying to think of something nice to say about me or my work is too much for you, Jackson.” Catherine broke his concentrating silence and looked toward the window. “There’s an umbrella by the door so you don’t get wet on your way home. Keep it. No more excuses to just turn up here out of the blue.”

Jackson was stood in the middle of the room now, and the silence remained until he said; “How do you want to go?” he paused briefly. “You know, in the end?”

Catherine immediately turned around upon hearing this, looking at him confused. “What?”

“Is it not something that usually plagues your mind?” Jackson asked.

“The end?” Catherine pursed her lips. “As in… death?”

Jackson nodded. “How do you want to go?”

“Well, I can’t say its something I often think about.” Catherine shook her head, looking at him curiously.

“Interesting.” Jackson raised his eyebrows.

“Why?” Catherine inhaled deeply. “Is this the part where you tell me you expected me to be found dead with my head in a pint of gin?” She scowled at him.

Jackson shook his head.

“Do you think about it?” She asked.

Jackson shrugged and exhaled deeply.

“Oh, come and sit down, for god sake.” Catherine huffed, “You’re making me nervous.”

He didn't even hesitate. He sat down next to her on the sofa and said, “Would you rather know someone is ill and have to watch them deteriorate, but know that you have to make the most of that time you have left, or would you rather not know, and one day they’re here, next day they're brown fucking bread — but you wouldn't have to see them suffer?”

Catherine’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, genuinely taken aback by what he had just said.

“Is everything okay, Jackson?” She narrowed her eyebrows.

“Take The Old Bastard, for example; suffering gradually and deteriorating faster than I think River is willing to admit, but at least he knows the time he has now is limited and therefore precious — to him, at least.” Jackson pursed his lips for a moment. “But, then, take Longridge; fit, healthy, but shot dead in a matter of seconds. Wife that's now a widow, kids that now don't have a father — but at least they never got to see him suffer, you know?”

“Jackson, I—”

“But, see, Longridge’s family, they never got to say goodbye, either.” Jackson pressed on, “I mean, I’ve no doubt he said goodbye to them in the morning, kissed them before he left, fuck, he might have even given her one the night before,” He tried to ignore Catherine’s scolding expression in the corner of his eye from his last comment, “But they never knew it was the last time.”

“No…” Catherine shook her head. “It is terribly sad.”

“And it just got me thinking.” Jackson leaned back into the sofa, staring forward.

“Thinking?” Catherine arched a brow.

“Our work involves putting our lives on the line every day. Well, some more than others.” He quickly corrected himself, knowing the peace he craved to be left alone in his office at times. “But I don’t think I could live with myself if you said you would prefer the second option.”

“Why’s that?” Catherine turned her body fully to face him now, resting her elbow on the back of the sofa.

“Because all the time I’ve wasted not telling you how much I need you or how grateful I am when you are there would ring so much louder in my conscience.” Jackson swallowed hard, turning his head to meet her eye. “I need you to know how badly my life functions without you in it.”

“Jackson…” Catherine frowned, narrowing her eyebrows.

“No, please, just let me fucki—“ He stopped himself from swearing fully and closed his eyes for a brief moment as if gathering both thoughts and courage. “If I woke to the news that you had gone, poof, like a puff of smoke, and I hadn’t told you… I would live my life even more miserably than I do now.”

Catherine placed a hand on his upper arm and rubbed it gently, smiling at him encouragingly. “I appreciate you saying that, Jackson, I really do. And there I was thinking you just wanted me there so I could organise your life for you so you don’t have to think about anything but your next drink or cigarette.” She tried not to smile.

“Well, that, too, but I thought that goes without fucking saying at this point.” Jackson tried to raise his eyebrows in seriousness. “I want you there because you, Catherine Standish, are the only thing that does what cigarettes and drink don’t do; you are the peace I crave in this crazy fucking world.”

Catherine didn’t say anything, but her hand remained against his upper arm. She exhaled slowly and brought it back into her lap, even though she wanted to cup his face. Jackson crinkled his nose and smiled — genuinely smiled.

“Mind if I have a smoke?” He asked, patting his coat pocket for the packet.

Catherine frowned. “I keep telling you they’re bad for you.”

“You say that like you didn’t used to love a ciggy.” Jackson rolled his eyes. “Besides, name me one thing that isn’t bad for me.” He exhaled deeply, turning to face her properly. “Besides you.”

Catherine’s lips twitched, glancing down at his. “Well, I just… I think the taste isn’t… very nice.”

“Oh, you don’t like the taste of them now?” Jackson raised his eyebrows, bringing his hand away from his coat pocket and staying silent for a few moments before mumbling, “Suppose I probably shouldn’t, then,” He inhaled sharply as if building up to something, “Best not if I’m going to ask my next question.”

“N-Next question?” Catherine tilted her head, her eyes falling to his lips momentarily again before back to his eyes.

Jackson swallowed hard, trying to disguise his nerves, “Mind if I…”

“What is it, Jackson?” She narrowed her eyebrows, reaching out to gently touch his forearm.

“Would it be okay if I kissed y—”

Before he even got to the end of the question, Catherine had already leaned forward, and she kissed him slowly, only pulling back to whisper, “Yes.”

Jackson raised a hand and gently cupped Catherine’s face in it, kissing her slowly and properly this time. Their eyes fell shut simultaneously and heads tilted either way, pulling each other closer. Jackson parted his lips and Catherine soon followed, their tongues touching, and suddenly they became an older couple making out on a sofa.

“Are you okay?” Jackson asked, coming up for breath.

Catherine nodded. “Don’t stop kissing me,” She inhaled shakily, reaching a hand up to brush through his beard, “Please.”

“Don’t need to fucking tell me twice.” Jackson flashed her a smug grin and placed one hand on her robe covered hip this time as he leaned in again.

Catherine raised her hands and placed them on either of his cheeks, caressing her thumbs through his beard as they kissed. Jackson was having a hard time already trying to stop his hands from wandering - the one on her hip already grasping at the material covering it. They both grunted softly as their tongues massaged together, Catherine able to taste every cigarette she had told him not to smoke in the last week — but right now she didn’t care. One of her hands moved further down his body and rested it against his thigh. Jackson’s heart was thumping against his chest, and his hand began to tremble against her hip as her hand started to move from it’s resting place.

Oh, fuck. He thought. She’s going for my cock…

Jackson inhaled sharply when he felt her fingers timidly reach the crotch of his trousers and start to feel around for the button. He couldn’t tell what he was more nervous about; her own reaction when she came back down to earth and realised what she was doing, or not even being able to get it up in the first place.

Her fingertips lazily swept over the bump where his cock rested, and Jackson immediately felt a stir in his groin. Who was he kidding about not being able to? This was Catherine Standish, for crying out loud. He just didn’t expect her to want him like this anymore.

“Should we…” Jackson inhaled shakily, “Maybe go…”

Slower? Cautiously? Jackson finished the sentence in his head.

“To bed?” Catherine suggested.

Bed?! Jackson’s internal voice exclaimed.

He blinked hard and pulled back to look at her, her face still cupped in his hand. “Are you sure?”

Catherine wasted no time in nodding and stood up, reaching for his hands. “Come on.”

Jackson stood up and squeezed her hands, though it wasn’t long before their lips were pressed back together with them barely taking two steps toward the door. Catherine untucked his shirt from his trousers and started to unbutton it, walking backwards as Jackson guided her toward her bedroom. Jackson’s nervous hands moved to Catherine’s robe and began to carefully undo it, untying the tassel first and letting out a small gasp when her robe came apart whilst stood in her bedroom doorway.

Jackson’s eyes glanced down at her nightgown now showing through the parting of her robe and he swallowed hard, his lip twitching; he could tell that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath it. Her nightgown clung to her figure and the shaky breath he let out through his nostrils was the only giveaway how much he liked it — that and the licking of his lips.

Catherine turned around as they entered her room, but Jackson’s hands remained fixed to her hips. She parted her lips to speak, but when she felt the bristle of his beard brush against one side of her neck, the only thing that left her lips was a soft moan. His hands moved to the opening of her robe and pulled at it lightly, encouraging it to come off her shoulders.

It wasn’t long before Catherine’s robe was pooled on the floor, and Jackson kicked the door shut with his foot. Jackson’s shirt was tossed carelessly to the floor, trousers unfastened, and cock stood to attention within it’s material confinements.

Catherine turned around to face him again, but something was different. She leaned up to kiss him, but her kiss was slightly more hesitant this time. Jackson noticed, just like he noticed everything.

“Everything alright?” he asked, keeping their lips close but not kissing her back.

“Fine.” Catherine responded almost robotically, stepping closer to him.

Jackson squinted his eyes. His hands remained on the small of her back but pulling his head back fully this time to gaze down at her.

“No, you’re not.” he inhaled slowly, studying her. “You know you can’t lie to me, Standish.”

Catherine exhaled and attempted at getting around answering him properly. “Can we drop the ‘Standish’?” she asked, distractingly trying to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “It feels like we’re still at work.”

Jackson dropped his arms by his sides and tilted his head, speaking in a soft tone, not a condescending one.

“You know that I know, probably more than anyone, when you’re lying, Catherine.”

Catherine glanced to the floor and nervously licked her lips, staying quiet. He had caught her out, and she should’ve known better—it was true, he did know her better than anyone else.

She shook her head.

“Did I get the wrong idea?” Jackson asked into the silence.

“What wrong idea…” Catherine mumbled, still avoiding eye contact. “I kissed you, I brought you in here…”

Jackson half laughed, scratching his cheek. “So-fucking-what? Doesn’t mean we have to do anything you don’t want to.”

At this, Catherine’s head lifted. She eyed him timidly, her gaze gesturing to the half undressed, aroused state that she had gotten him in.

“I’ve lead you on.” she said, blinking hard.

“Lead me on how?” Jackson asked – partially just because he was curious of her explanation.

Catherine’s eye contact broke again and she gestured toward the obvious additional bump in the front of his trousers, feeling her cheeks burn mildly.

“Don’t worry about it.” Jackson exhaled a chuckle through his nose. “After a lifetime in my line of lonely work, I’ve become pretty fucking self-sufficient.”

“But—“

“Just give me a pair of your underwear, and I’ll get cracking in the bathroom.” he attempted at injecting a bit of humour into the now slightly awkward situation. “You won’t even know I’m here.”

Catherine looked up at him, and even though she couldn’t remember the last time she felt so vulnerable or embarrassed, still managed to shoot him one of her unimpressed, silently scolding stares.

Jackson smiled at her—that Jackson Lamb smile.

“Come here.” Jackson sat down on the end of her bed, internally wincing as the material of his pants grew even more restricting from the way he was sat.

Catherine looked over at his hand patting the bed and sat down next to him. Jackson felt a bit of relief from her lack of hesitation and swallowed hard—why was he now the nervous one?

“I’m sorry, maybe if we, maybe…” Catherine exhaled as if frustrated with herself and tripping over her own words. “If we start by, I don’t know, something simple… like…”

Jackson knew she was anxiously rambling, but he didn’t interrupt her. Instead, he grasped his bottom lip between his teeth and listened.

“Start by…” Catherine continued, “Maybe..” there came the ‘maybe’ again, “Seeing how it feels to feel… skin…”

The room fell silent for a longer period of time than it just being Catherine trying to pick her next line. It was more like she’d given up trying to explain.

“Catherine,” Jackson started softly, “Respectfully, what the fuck are you trying to say?”

Catherine scowled and shook her head, staring down at her hands in her lap.

“We could start by…” she tried again.

“We don’t have to start anything, Catherine.” Jackson turned to her properly. “We don’t have to do anything.”

Catherine slowly raised her head and looked up at him.

“Please understand that.”

Catherine nodded but remained quiet, playing with her fingers.

“I can leave, if you’d like…” Jackson said, though it was the last thing he wanted to do—sex or not.

“No,” Catherine responded immediately to this. “I need to get this over and done with.”

“Fuck me,” Jackson raised his eyebrows, and for a moment he almost looked offended. “And they say romance is dead.”

“No, I don’t mean…” Catherine groaned to herself in frustration, covering her face with her hands. “I don’t know what I mean.”

“Catherine, I don’t know what all this is about, but I cannot emphasise enough how much there is no pressure or expectation here.” Jackson said. “We’ve got all night for you to say whatever’s the matter, and I’m not going to force it out of you if you don’t want to do so.” he paused, thought about whether or not he should say it, the said it anyway, “This isn’t a fucking court of law.“

But she didn’t laugh. Jackson frowned and wanted to reach for her hand but was too afraid it might be a step too far, so placed a weary hand upon her shoulder instead.

“I won’t go anywhere unless you want me to. Take all the time you need, love.”

‘Love.’ Catherine replayed it in her head and her heart skipped a beat. It had been so long since he’d called her a pleasant pet name.

“It’s not…” but her voice trailed off again.

“You’ve not…” Jackson scowled, trying to think of the best way to word it. “No one’s forced themselves upon you, have they?” he asked calmly. “Or made you do something you don’t want to do?”

He wanted to reach for her hand more than ever now. Catherine stayed still, chewing her lip whilst avoiding eye contact.

“Or are you seeing someone else?” Jackson’s question had been rattling in a cage in his brain and finally exploded out of it.

Catherine finally raised her head and eyed him sceptically, squinting her eyes. “Which one would you be more upset about?”

“Catherine, please tell me you don’t think I place your safety in a lower position than my balls being emptied.” Jackson’s tone was low and serious compared to how he’d usually say such a comment. “I wouldn’t think twice about putting a bullet through their fucking head, though.”

“Jackson,” Catherine sighed loudly, “No one has threatened me, put me in a position, or forced me into something I don’t want to do.”

“Good.” Jackson nodded, though his mood had changed.

“Anyway,” Catherine flattened down the front of her nightgown, “Even if they had, I can handle myself, thank you very much.”

“Oh, I know.” Jackson flashed her a wise smile. “Wouldn’t stop me holding him at gunpoint, though.”

“You don’t need to.” Catherine shook her head.

“Well, at least there’s that.” Jackson cleared his throat, resting his hands on his thighs. “Who are you courting?”

“Courting?” Catherine felt like, for the first time in the last few minutes, she was about to laugh. “It’s not the 18th century, Jackson.”

“Fine.” Jackson shrugged. “Who are you fucking, Standish?”

“I’m—“

Jackson turned away and began to grumble—more to himself than her. “I hope it’s someone who likes the feeling of bullets in his skull or screws in his thumbs if he puts a single fucking toe out of line.”

“Jackson!” Catherine gasped, widening her eyes at him.

Jackson closed his eyes, inhaled and exhaled deeply, then turned back to look at her. “I hope he’s good to you, Catherine.”

Catherine scowled. “No, you’re not getting it.”

“Getting what?”

Catherine was unsure if he was purposefully playing dumb or not.

“There is no ‘him’.”

“There’s…” but that was all that left Jackson’s mouth, feeling as if a huge wave of relief had swept over him.

“No ‘him’.” Catherine finished the sentence for him.

There was a moment of silence.

“Never has been.” she spoke slightly quieter.

“Then, what–“

“Since you.”

Jackson heard the words, heart skipped a beat, then brought himself back down to earth by asking in the most Jackson Lamb like fashion;

“The bottle still the only thing you can commit yourself to?”

Catherine immediately scowled, looking up at him. “Meaning?” she snapped.

“Well, you can’t deny the rumours about you being a bit of a goer back in the day… no strings attached.” Jackson shrugged, feeling he could speak this way now knowing that she wasn’t in a proper relationship. “Just never thought you’d carry it into your later life.” he paused to think thoughtfully and then shrugged. “Didn’t think you’d carry yourself into later life, if I’m being completely honest. Not back then.” he made a gesture as if holding a bottle to his lips.

Catherine flared her nostrils but chose to not give him a reaction.

Jackson approached his next question a little more carefully, “What’s wrong with me?”

Catherine glared. “Where would you like me to start?”

“Oh, a fucking comedian without the bottle these days.” Jackson raised his eyebrows. “I mean, not to sound like a man who’s got a rather fucking impressive hard-on for his age, but what’s the difference between me and any of your other no-strings-attached tumbles in the bed?”

“There are n–“ Catherine was growing irritated, and it didn’t help when Jackson butted in again;

“Once all the excitement goes away, do you no longer want to mix business with pleasure?” he asked. “Again…”

“Jackson,” Catherine huffed, “There is no ‘other man’. There are no ‘no-strings-attached’. There never has been.” she paused, closed her eyes momentarily, and then finally confessed, “Not since you.”

Jackson paused for a moment.

Not since you… He repeated in his head. Wait, does that mean…

He squinted his eyes. “Stan— uh, Catherine,” he put emphasis on remembering what she had said earlier about being called ‘Catherine’, “Are you trying to tell me that you’ve not had sex with anyone since me?”

Catherine nodded, biting her lip nervously.

“Not a single person?”

“Not one.”

Jackson exhaled in shock, widening his eyes as he looked around the room. “Well. Fuck me.” he scratched his beard with his finger and thumb.

Catherine looked up at him timidly, almost ashamed, even. “What?”

“Well, it can mean only one of two things…” Jackson shrugged.

“What do you mean?” Catherine scowled slightly.

“Either a roll in the hay with Jackson Lamb means you can’t get any fucking better and have to then retire from sex, or—”

“Oh, you—!” Catherine swatted his side slightly.

“O-Or!” Jackson couldn’t help but chuckle, “ Or, this is you telling me you’re into women.”

“What?!” Catherine scoffed.

Jackson laughed and shrugged this time, trying to look at her seriously in the eyes.

“Did I repulse you that fucking much?”

Catherine scratched the back of her head and looked away, mumbling, “I wish…”

Jackson’s lips pursed and he tried to brush off the chip on his shoulder he now felt he had more than ever.

“Is that what all this was about?” he asked. “The hesitation?”

Catherine nodded, managing a couple of seconds eye contact this time before looking away.

Jackson exhaled. “Catherine, please fucking believe me when I say—“

“I want to.” Catherine said quickly, now looking at him properly and placing a hand on his thigh.

“Want to…?”

“Want you.” Catherine corrected herself shyly.

Jackson was immediately reminded of the protrusion in the front of his trousers that was emphasised from this comment.

“I’m flattered.” Jackson raised his eyebrows.

“I just thought…” Catherine glanced back into her lap. “I’m afraid I won’t be good enough for you.”

“Good enough for me?” Jackson laughed just once. “Believe it or not, I’m not—“

“You’re the one who said one night with Jackson Lamb means you should retire from sex.” Catherine pursed her lips at him.

“Well, I don’t mean to point out the obvious, Standish, but you did.” he winked.

Catherine scowled in an attempt to not laugh from his comment. “No comment.”

Jackson gazed at down at her with a smile and wrapped an arm around her waist, leaning in to lightly brush his lips against her cheek.

“I want this…” Catherine swallowed hard. “Everything that tonight was about to be. I’m sorry. I just… don’t want to make a fool of myself. I’m a bit rusty, and you—“

But Jackson cut her sentence short by tilting her chin with his fingertips and kissing her instead. Catherine’s hand immediately rested against his cheek as she tilted her head into the kiss, her hand on his thigh staying put.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for.” Jackson spoke softly as the kiss broke. “Come up here.”

Catherine watched as he moved further up the bed, sitting up against the headboard. She accepted the silent invitation of his open legs by sitting between them and leaning back against his bare chest.

“Sorry if you feel a bump.” Jackson chuckled softly, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the top of her head.

“Sorry tonight hasn’t exactly gone how things should have…” Catherine tilted her head back against his chest.

“Hey, I was just coming for some sugar.” Jackson nudged his nose against her hair. “You simply took advantage…”

Catherine rolled her eyes and settled her hands over his on her nightgown.

Jackson's lips kissed her ear. “Are you sure you want this?”

“Yes.” Catherine answered in a whisper.

“Right.” Jackson kissed just beneath her ear, then hesitated as he hovered over her neck, “Are you okay with this?”

“Jackson, I don’t even know what this is,” Catherine squeezed his hands gently and tilted her head to one side to allow him more room, “But please don’t stop.”

Jackson felt his smile grow wider and pressed his lips to her neck properly, creating a delicate pathway of kisses down to the crook of her neck. Catherine’s lips parted and she made a soft noise, her grip remaining on his hands.

“I’ll never understand why you still want me…” she said, then shivered from the feeling of his beard tickling her skin.

Jackson began the journey of kisses back up to her ear and whispered simply into it. “You coarse through my fucking veins, Catherine.”

Catherine bit her lip briefly, then parted her lips to speak again, but whimpered instead when she felt his lips lightly drag across her shoulder, and he nudged the strap off of it with his nose—rather skilfully, actually.

Jackson’s eyes had fallen shut momentarily, but he soon opened them again in surprise when he felt Catherine remove one of his hands from her stomach.

Does she not want me to… but she told me not to stop… the thought of saying something floated at the forefront of his mind.

Then, Catherine placed his hand against her now parted thighs—his fingertips just underneath the hem of her nightgown.

Oh.

She nudged his hand a little higher and then let go, hoping that he would get the message.

So, that’s what she wants…

Jackson’s hand showed little hesitation as it began to wander. His fingertips walked up her inner thigh and lips danced along her shoulder again, kissing the bare skin. Catherine watched closely, only allowing her eyes to close once his hand had disappeared under her nightgown fully.

Oh, fuck… she’s not…

He took a breath and lifted his head, resting his fingertips directly between her legs whilst he whispered, “Tell me, Miss Standish, how many times have you not worn underwear in hopes that it is me knocking at your door?” he brushed his fingertips against her, “Hm?”

Catherine squirmed in pleasure as if he had lit a long awaited fire just from one brief touch. She narrowed her eyebrows and responded by parting her legs even further, her bare ankles now over Jackson’s clothed ones.

She said something, but it only came out as a faint, muddled mumble.

“What was that?” Jackson asked against her skin, circling a finger around her for a few moments.

“Ohhh…” Catherine narrowed her eyebrows, trying to gather herself together to speak. “I- I think you need to take your trousers off… it’s… unfair…” she inhaled shakily, “To keep you all… confined like that.”

“Oh, alright…” Jackson said, pulling his hand away. “Sit up a little for me, love.”

Catherine—although wanted nothing but his hand back between her legs again—shuffled forward enough for him to ungracefully swing his legs off the bed and stand up. She watched closely as he pushed them to the floor and stepped out of them, leaving him now in his underwear.

“Mm.” Catherine made a soft noise, biting her lip as she couldn’t help but fixate upon the prominent point held within them. “Those, too.”

“R-Really?” Jackson raised his eyebrows, gripping the waistband of his underwear.

Catherine nodded and flashed him a smile, tilting her head as she watched. Jackson did as he was asked and kicked his underwear carelessly to the floor. Now she had Jackson Lamb completely naked in her bedroom for the first time in years.

The truth was, Jackson felt a hell of a lot less vulnerable here than he did fully clothed and discussing his emotions. And he proved this by standing directly in front of her with his hands on his hips.

“See,” he gestured downward toward his erection, “still fucking works.”

Catherine raised her eyebrows. “Shocking, given your lifestyle.”

“A fucking medical breakthrough, if you ask me.” He nodded. “Not shocking, however, when I am presented with such beauty.”

“Jackson…” Catherine blushed, looking up at him.

“Yes, love?”

She pursed her lips. “Come back to bed.”

Jackson smirked and climbed back onto her bed, leaning back up against the headboard.

“What are you doing?” Catherine asked, looking up at him.

“Come back up here.” Jackson gestured back between his parted legs. “and don’t look at me if you feel something poking your back. Again.”

Catherine giggled and moved closer to him, slotting herself between his legs again and leaning back against him. Jackson narrowed his eyebrows when he felt her press back against his bare crotch, praying that she didn’t move around enough for him to make a mess of her back.

“Hi.” Catherine tilted her head up to look at him.

“Hi.” Jackson smiled softly, his arms now snug around her again.

Catherine lifted her legs again and placed her ankles on top of his calves, soothingly scratching her nails back and forth over his forearm. Jackson kissed the top of her head again and started his hand’s journey back under her nightgown again, lightly rubbing his fingertips against her skin as he did so.

“Wait…” Catherine whispered, swallowing hard.

“What, don’t you want me to dust the cobwebs off?” Jackson teased, bringing his travelling hand to a stop.

“I do, but just…” Catherine said, acting as if trying to pluck up some courage before her next move.

Jackson arched a brow and watched as she reached for the hem of her nightgown and tried to pull it over her head.

“Would you like some help?” Jackson asked, trying to sound like he didn’t want to laugh.

“If you’d be so kind…” Catherine responded timidly.

The main reason why Jackson wanted to help was to prevent her from wriggling around in front of him and the inevitable happening all over her back. Being the gentleman he was trying to make out to be tonight, he carefully pulled the nightgown over her head and placed it on the bed next to them.

The moment Catherine leaned back against him this time—skin on skin—Jackson let out a small moan. His hand swept up her inner thigh and his head dipped to press to the side of her neck, closing his eyes as his lips settled on her skin.

“Mmm… Jackson…” Catherine narrowed her eyebrows, parting her legs a little further and watching Jackson’s hand out of the corner of her eye.

Jackson’s fingertips lightly traced up and down her inner thighs in delicate motions, making Catherine wriggle against him slightly.

“Jackson… mm, that tickles.”

“Sorry, love.” Jackson cooed into her ear, drawing gentle patterns with his finger.

Catherine shook her head and looked up at him with a grin. “Tickles in the best fucking way.”

Jackson raised his eyebrows from her unusual choice of phrase and moved his hands slightly higher, his lips brushing back and forth against her skin—now in sync with his fingers between her legs.

Catherine’s back arched, gasping in pleasure each time Jackson’s fingers moved. Jackson smirked.

“You tell me if you want me to stop.” he whispered into her ear, kissing her temple softly.

Catherine tilted her head up a little and kissed the corner of his jaw, making Jackson shiver. He started lightly nibbling the crook of her neck, but arched a brow when he felt her taking hold of his wrist… of the hand that was nestled between her legs.

“M…More…” she mumbled against his beard at the corner of his jaw.

Jackson felt his cock pulse. He let out an uneasy breath and watched over her shoulder as she guided his hand exactly how she wanted him. Jackson allowed her to have both him and his hand at her mercy, his mouth gaping as his eyes grew heavier.

“Fucking hell, Catherine…” he narrowed his eyebrows, watching the best he could as his fingers moved with her instruction.

“Jackson…” she gasped in pleasure the moment he slotted one finger inside her, then two, then curled them back and forth. “Ugh.”

From the way his hand was angled, Jackson took it upon himself to use his palm to her advantage, and once this was paired with the thrusting of his fingers, she threw her head back against his chest in pleasure. Her calves tensed against his knees and toes curled, reaching backward with her free hand to clumsily grasp at his hair.

Jackson completely lost his breath from her reaction, and it only made him work his hand faster. Catherine’s eyes rolled back and she lifted her hips up to meet his hand a couple of times, her hand now trembling in his hair.

“Fuuuck… Jackson…” she spoke out of breath—the feeling of his lips back against her neck amplifying the heat surging through her. “Jackson… you’re… mmhhh…”

“You left your mark on me many years ago, Catherine,” Jackson whispered lowly, then before tenderly sinking his teeth into her skin, “Now it’s time I leave my mark on you…”

Catherine’s mouth gaped from the mixed feeling of his fingers and lips—his tongue flicking against her already sensitive skin to make sure he definitely left a large, raised, red mark.

“J—Jackson…” Catherine’s back arched against him again, making his cock pulsate even angrier against her back. “Mmh, I can feel you…”

“M’hm, sorry about that, love,” Jackson tried to compose himself once he pulled his head back, “Must have something to do with you trying to fuck my fingers.”

Catherine thought for a moment, then forgot why she even hesitated, then said it anyway, “Could always fuck you instead…”

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, Catherine…” Jackson exhaled shakily. “Keep talking like that and it’ll be game over before you even climb aboard.”

Catherine grinned, placing her hand over his wrist. Jackson stopped upon her instruction, pursing his lips.

“No time like the present, then…”

She turned around, biting her lip.

“Lay down.”

“M—Me lay down?” Jackson raised a brow.

Catherine nodded, moving to one side of the bed to allow for him to slide down the bed. She watched closely and smirked, her eyes focusing on the fleshy pole prominent between his legs.

“Look at you…” she crinkled her nose, reaching over to lightly scratch her nails against his thighs.

“C-Catherine,” Jackson swallowed hard, feeling himself twitch, “Catherine, please…”

Catherine pursed her lips and positioned herself over him, resting her hands against his stomach.

“Ready?” she arched a brow.

Jackson’s expression of anticipation quickly turned into one that plainly read; ’come-fucking-on, don’t ask stupid fucking questions.’

Catherine smirked and reached between them, taking Jackson’s needy cock into her fingertips and positioning it toward her.

Fuck, fuck, fuck… Jackson thought to himself the moment he felt her touch. She’s no idea how much I’ve craved her.

Catherine sat over him properly, letting out a soft, elongated ’mmmm…’ whilst doing so.

“Oh, fuck, Standi— Catherine!” Jackson immediately held his breath, trying his best to get used to the feeling without anticipating an untimely end.

“O—Ohhh…” Catherine exhaled deeply, knitting her eyebrows together as she adjusted to the size of him… after all these years.

Their heavy eyes met, and Jackson lifted his hands to rest upon her hips. Catherine flashed him a timid but comfortable smile, starting to rock against him briefly.

Jackson kept his eyes open for as long as possible once she started moving, but found it increasingly hard. Before he knew it, his eyes were closed and his hands held more of a firm grip against her hips. Catherine responded by moving her hands further up his chest and starting to slowly bounce over him properly, her mouth forming an ‘O’ shape as her own eyes now fell shut.

Pleasure swept through Catherine’s body, and it wasn’t long before the bed was beginning to move beneath them. Jackson dug his head harder into the pillow, a little taken back by her sudden increase in speed.

“F-Fuck me,” he whimpered, “To say you haven’t done this for a long time, you certainly know what you’re doing.”

Catherine smirked, opening her eyes to glance down at him briefly. “Like riding a bike.”

“Mm, what a fucking pleasure to be the bike in question…” Jackson grinned, his eyes rolling back blissfully.

Catherine let out a flirtatious giggle in response, lightly digging her nails into his chest as she moved. Jackson’s eyes opened again, and a sudden thought hit him; tonight, for the first time in years, he had found himself not needing a cigarette, not needing a drink, and came quickly to the conclusion that this was due to being skin to skin with the one thing he found even more addictive—and looking her directly in the eye.

One of Jackson’s hands now gripped onto her bottom, trying his best to thrust his hips upward at the same time. Catherine’s movements increased further, and the hand Jackson had remaining on her hip starting to tremble.

Flames of arousal started to climb them both far sooner than they both had anticipated, but this didn’t stop them; rather than trying to purposefully edge each other like they did when they were younger, the aim today was to give in to each other completely.

Jackson felt himself throb each time she bounced over him. Catherine’s hands parted with his chest as she raised them over her head, still able to use his cock like a po-go stick. Jackson opened one of his eyes and lost his breath from the sight; Catherine with her head thrown back in delight, arms flailing about over her head, breasts jigging up and down, and his cock disappearing in and out of her each time she moved. The pit of his stomach sparked dangerously and his thighs tensed.

“Catherine… Catherine, fuck!” he grunted, but she didn’t stop. “Shit, if you don’t… I’m gonna fucking… Catherine!”

If anything, her movements became even faster, slicker, rougher.

“Mmh, Jackson, baby…” she moaned, head still tilted back.

The merciless way she was landing down on his hips now was harsh enough to leave him with a bruised groin. Jackson felt as if he were about to pass out, especially given what he had just faintly heard her call him.

Jackson’s heart thumped wildly against his ribs—more afraid than ever now that he was about to have a heart attack, despite the contributing factors of his unhealthy lifestyle.

“Oh, Jackson!” she cried out suddenly, her hands coming back down to grasp clumsily at his bare chest as she chased her long anticipated climax to it’s very end. “Jackson, agh!”

With the feeling of her falling victim to the pleasure, Jackson’s body had no choice but to follow; he gripped onto her hips just as she gripped onto his chest, back arching beneath her and toes curling as he lost control. Together, they exclaimed in pleasure whilst the long awaited orgasm of decades worth scorched throughout their bodies.

“Mm, mm, ugh!” Jackson gasped for breath, his sticky release pumping inside her as she relentlessly continued to move her hips, “Catherine, fuck!”

“Mmmm…” Catherine’s hands were flat on his chest now, mouth gaping open but eyes remaining squeezed shut.

Jackson’s hands trembled as they rubbed up and down her sides, both of them slowing down now as their chests began to rattle for breath.

Once Catherine’s hips had fully come to a stop, she forced her eyes open, and found Jackson staring right back into them. His forehead was sticky, face glistening with sweat, sticky hair now looking almost as greasy as it usually did, a smirk upon his lips.

“Fuck me,” he exhaled, “the nun is well and truly out of the convent now…”

Catherine blushed, falling to his side with a gentle thud and soft sigh.

“Kind of fucking annoying, really,”

Catherine frowned, glancing over at him rubbing his face. “Why?”

“Because if you do that to me again, that’s where I’ll be heading!” he laughed.

“What, a convent?”

Jackson tutted and let out an exasperated sigh as he shook his head, rolling his eyes.

“No, a fucking grave!”

“Oh…” Catherine pursed her lips, shoving him playfully.

They remained there in silence for a few long moments—comfortable silence until Catherine broke it with;

“I can’t believe we just did that…”

Jackson let out a small laugh and glanced over at her. “That came as a shock to you?”

“Well, yes.” Catherine scowled. “Did it not shock you?”

Jackson shrugged. “Not really,” then he glanced up at her, “I think we both knew it was going to happen at some point.”

“Really?” Catherine tried to make herself sound shocked about it.

“Really.” Jackson said, then mumbled, “Especially since I havent been with anyone since you either.”

Catherine blinked hard and looked over at him.

“What, really?”

“Christ, woman, is that your new favourite fucking word?!” he scowled. “Yes. Really.”

“Wo—“

“Unless you count my fist, or two cushions stacked together, or a watermelon— you’d be fucking surprised how much natural lube there is with that, with it being water, you know?” he could see Catherine’s face becoming more and more shocked and wondered how much more he could push it. “I once had a romantic evening in with a bottle of lube and the hose of the hoover.” he paused and tapped the tip of his finger against his bearded chin as if thinking back to it. “Thinking about it, I didn’t need much lube at all, really, for that one. The sucking element built into it does all the work, that’s the fucking beauty of it.”

“Jackson!” Catherine cackled and shoved his side.

“What?” Jackson scowled, leaning up on his elbow and keeping the deadpan serious expression upon his face. “Henry’s never looked at me the same since.”

“Stop it!” Catherine giggled, also turning to face him with a wide grin tugging at her lips.

“This is quite a serious matter, Standish.” Jackson raised his eyebrows and lifted one of his hands to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.

“Is that so, Lamb?” she bit her lip, but the amused look on her face was going nowhere.

Jackson nodded. “Can’t even fucking go through a supermarket home section anymore these days without getting a hard-on.”

Catherine stifled another laugh and leaned in to peck his lips. “Is that why you live off takeaways?”

Jackson showed no hesitation in kissing her back and playfully held his hands up in surrender.

“You got me.”

They shared a few more moments of kisses, and then both retired to laying on their backs.

“Nobody since me, eh…” Jackson stared up at the ceiling. “You never fail to surprise me, Standish.”

“You’re generally supposed to say ‘no offence’ after something like that, you know.” Catherine rolled her eyes.

“I’m supposed to do a lot of things, Standish, but most of the time I just can’t be arsed.” he shrugged carelessly.

“Well, I could say the same about you.” Catherine rested her hands over her stomach. “Nobody at all? No one? Nothing?”

Jackson pursed his lips. “There were moments, women, pubs, bleak apartments, late nights in dingy hotel rooms, but…”

Catherine arched a brow in the silence. “But?”

Jackson pulled back the bedsheets and made to get under them.

“Jackson?” Catherine squinted her eyes. “But… what?”

Jackson exhaled deeply and looked at her, defeated.

“But it wasn’t you, Catherine, alright?” he tugged at the sheets, kicking his feet underneath them. “Can I go to fucking sleep now?”

Catherine’s eyes widened subtly and she thought over what he had just said before registering the last part.

“Sleep?!”

“I’m a man of a certain old age, Catherine.” Jackson pulled the sheets up to his chin. “You’ve worn me out. I need to recharge my social battery, or whatever the kids say these days.”

“You don’t have a social battery.” Catherine casted him a scolding look.

“Well, regardless, the events of tonight leave it severely fucking depleted.” Jackson cleared his throat, closing his eyes. “Should I sack off all this spy bollocks and become a motivational speaker?”

“Absolutely not.” Catherine laughed.

“Why?” Jackson’s mouth was threatening a smirk. “It got me laid.”

Catherine silently blushed, but it was true. Instead, she thumped him gently and got under the covers herself.

The sex wasn’t long, it wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t rushed either. It was the situation neither of them could fool the other into thinking hadn’t played on their minds. Years, decades, of not wanting to give themselves to anyone else finally coming together in one sweaty, greying, aging, heap.

“Are we not going to talk about what just happened?” Catherine asked.

“No,” Jackson shook his head. “Goodnight.”

“Jackson!” Catherine huffed.

“I’ll tell you what,” Jackson said, turning his head to face her, “you can wake me up by sitting on my face. My treat.” he winked.

Catherine gasped and shook her head, trying to ignore what he had just said. Instead, she turned to her bedside table and opened the drawer, pulling out a packet of cigarettes.

“Do you know what these are?” she held them up.

“Hang on a minute,” Jackson squinted suspiciously, “is this whole ‘I hate cigarettes’ thing just a cover story so if someone’s pack goes missing, no one points the finger at you?”

“Very funny.” Catherine rolled her eyes.

“I didn’t even know they made those ones anymore.” Jackson studied the pack a little closer.

“They don’t.” Catherine replied. “It’s the empty box from the packet we smoked every time we ended up in bed with each other.” she raised her eyebrows. “Well, the first few times… but I’ve always kept them close.”

Jackson thought about it, then scowled. “Why?”

“Just in case I needed a little something to remember you by.” Catherine spoke as if she were in a confession booth.

“Right.” Jackson raised his eyebrows, said “goodnight.” then promptly proceeded to close his eyes.

If she only knew the only reason why I don’t want to get into this sentimental bollocks was because I’d either end up crying or hard—or both—then it would make me look like much less of a twat right now, he mumbled to himself in his head.

“Oh, you—!” but Catherine didn’t get to the end of her mini rant, just placed the cigarette packet back, switched the light off, and rather aggressively turned on her side away from Jackson.

Jackson opened one eye and vaguely made out her figure next to him, inhaling quietly. He couldn’t remember a time where he didn’t turn a serious or sentimental conversation with her into a joke to cover up his feelings.

“Standish,” he whispered.

“What?” she huffed.

“Oh, don’t be like that…”

“Then, don’t you be like—“

But his arms were wrapped around her now from behind, chin rested on top of her head. His beard tickled, but she had dreamed of being held like this by him again.

“There must be a reason.” Catherine said after a few moments.

“A reason?” Jackson asked softly, “for what?”

“Why we kept running back to each other.” Catherine answered. “Then didn’t settle for anyone in between.”

“Fairly easy from my point of view.” Jackson said, “There’s never been anyone like you. You don’t give me your pity, you give me your understanding. That is what I need. It’s what I’ve always needed.”

Catherine paused for a moment. “Are you trying to say that I am what you’ve always needed?”

“You are slap bang in the fucking middle of making me complete and a complete mess all at the same time.” he admitted, followed by a delicate kiss to the top of her head.

Catherine didn’t have a response to that. She just smiled and rested her hands on top of his over her stomach, and when he held her to him a little tighter, she squeezed his fingers.

“Jackson?” she asked after a few moments.

Jackson grunted. “I was just about to fucking fall asleep, Catherine…”

“I’ve got a question.” she said, as awake as a child at their first sleep over.

Jackson huffed this time as if she were inconveniencing his beauty sleep. “What is it?”

She drummed her fingers over his for a moment before asking, “When you say you want me to come back, do you mean to Slough House, or do you mean… you?”

Jackson’s eyes opened from this question and he stared forward into the darkness for a few moments before answering.

“Now, that is a topic still very much up for discussion.” he replied, tangling their legs together. Catherine smiled to herself, moulding back into his chest. Jackson couldn’t help himself, trying not to grin as he said, “Does that mean I’ll have to call off the wedding with Lady Di?”

-

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it :) ❤️ and thank you to @ffrederiks for your incredible art! 🫶🫶🫶

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