Chapter Text
They’re finally finished with dinner (which took an absurdly long time given how much of it was spent bickering and bantering and kissing once or twenty times more), and Zari might not drink but she’s certain that this is what it feels like to be drunk — to feel champagne bubbles zipping through her bloodstream as the world grows fuzzy at the edges, everything light and airy except the electric weight of John’s arm slung across her shoulder. His rolled sleeves let his warm forearm rest on her bare skin, the metal band of his watch a contrasting point of cold, everything sparking and sizzling and real.
She’s so alive it nearly burns.
They stumble out into the street, his grip tightening a little to help steady her on her heels.
“Should we take a car?” John asks. “Maybe go for a drive around the city, see if anything calls out to you — maybe your heart could use a little nudge to find the answer it needs?”
Oh. Right.
Zari had almost forgotten that she’s supposed to be learning some mysterious truth about herself, that the pavement beneath her feet isn’t real no matter how solid it feels, that there’s a whole world for her to get back to.
She’s surprised to find that she’s really not in any hurry.
“One small problem,” she says, gesturing to the row of sleek, shining cars parked at the curb. “None of them belong to us.”
He scoffs and steps to the nearest one, popping the door open and lounging against it with a smile, all languid confidence.
“Thought you’d figured out by now that the usual rules don’t apply to me, love.”
She stares at him for a moment, the way the light from the streetlamp plays across his features, the orange flare from the tip of his cigarette when he inhales, the smoke curling across his face and softening its sharp lines.
He seems mysterious and dangerous and familiar and safe all at once, an enigma wrapped in a trench coat.
Even if this fake world wasn’t empty, even if it was filled with wonders and riddles and adventures and excitement, he’d still be its most intriguing possibility.
So she lets her fingers trail across his waist as she brushes past him, delighting at the way his breath catches ever so slightly with the contact, before climbing gracefully inside the car.
It’s something dark and gleaming, no make or model that she recognizes. She thinks it might not actually exist, not out there in the real world, but its glossy leather and new car smell feel perfectly real to her. John settles in behind the wheel and with a snap of his fingers the engine roars to life; he holds his palm over the gear shift, muttering a few words she can’t make out, and then they’re gliding forward.
“Where to, love?”
Zari shrugs, not feeling an inclination in any particular direction — except toward him.
“Around.”
So he spells the car to drive aimlessly, touring them through the empty city streets before looping onto the highway leading out into the suburbs. The stars shine brightly overhead, illuminating trees that stand perfectly still in the motionless air. There’s not a scrap of litter or any weeds pushing their way through cracks in the sidewalk, no passing cars or barking dogs or planes droning overhead. The world seems to stretch on infinitely in every direction, but they remain the only two living creatures in it.
And, despite somehow knowing that it’s completely contrary to her regular life, Zari finds herself enjoying that right now. Anything else would just be a distraction from this, from them, from the only thing she wants right now.
John told her she’s in a coma; she feels like she’s on vacation.
She looks over at him, at the stubble on his cheeks and curve of his lip, the long line of his throat and that ridiculous loose tie, the way the cuffs of his rolled shirt strain against the taut muscles of his forearms, the tendons and veins visible beneath the skin of his skilled hands. Hands that bend the world itself to his will, that bring her pleasure like nothing else she’s ever felt.
Hands she wants to feel on her skin again.
Right now.
“You’re not actually having to control the car are you?” Zari asks.
He flicks his gaze to her with a knowing smile, moonlight glinting off his teeth when he answers.
“Not in the slightest.”
“Good.”
And then she’s climbing into his lap and pulling the lever to lower his seat back until he’s lying down; John just smirks up at her, folding his hands behind his head.
He’s a cocky little shit but it just spurs her on more, straddling his thighs and kissing him sloppily as she fumbles, trying to unbuckle his belt — but it’s too hard to get to from her current position. So she settles for rucking his shirt up and scratching her nails through the coarse hair leading down from his navel, his hips bucking up into the touch.
She can feel how hard he is beneath her, how hard he’s probably been since the restaurant, and she wonders why he didn’t make a move, didn’t try to get something for himself out of this — but then she sees the wonder and sheer adoration shining in his dark eyes. And suddenly she knows, in some part of her that has nothing to do with her missing memories and everything to do with instinct and intuition and inherent truth, that when he said she could have anything she dreamed of he’d absolutely meant it.
He’s here for her, in whatever way she wants him; nothing less and nothing more.
The idea alone makes her moan.
She twists her arms behind her back, wrestling with the zipper of her dress just long enough for him to get the idea of what she wants and then it’s magically gone. She’s straddling him in her matching lacy midnight blue bra and thong; John’s gaze is hungry but respectful, reverent almost. And despite how much her body throbs and aches to feel him inside her, she has to pause, kissing him slow and deep.
His fingers tangle in her long hair and he hums softly beneath her mouth and she doesn’t know what she’s feeling but it’s huge and warm and threatening to crash over her, swallowing her whole — but she’s okay with it. More than okay. She welcomes it; she opens her arms and closes her eyes and would willingly drown—
—but then John’s fingers are teasing at the edge of her bra and her hips are rocking over his still-somehow-trouser-clad hips and she doesn’t have space to feel anything else.
“May I?” His voice is low and rough with one hand stilled on the clasp of her bra.
And she’s nodding and gasping, “Yes, of course,” and with a flick of his fingers it’s gone — but that wasn’t magic at all, just skill. The same skill that has his mouth at her nipple, tongue circling and lips sucking and teeth grazing and she’s fumbling at his pants but can’t get to the zipper without moving and she’s definitely not moving.
“Off, everything, I want it all off,” she demands and John barely lifts his face from her chest, their clothes disappearing in the second it takes him to switch nipples. She clutches the back of his head with one hand and reaches the other between them, finally, finally able to touch him.
They both groan as she wraps her hand around the hot hard length of him and strokes, rubbing her palm across the tip to gather the bit of wetness there before pumping her hand a few times.
“Condom?” She’s dizzy with want but she pauses, asking breathlessly.
“We can use one if you want to, but this place isn’t real,” he says, finally lifting his face from her flushed chest to meet her eyes. “Won’t be any consequences whether we’ve got one or not.”
“Good,” she says simply, the only warning she gives him before moving into position and sliding down onto him in one smooth motion.
His fingers grip her hips and he slams his head back against the headrest, mouth falling open in a soft o-shape; Zari holds perfectly still, adjusting to the feel of him inside, the perfect stretch filling her, and trying to memorize this look on his face, his awe and pleasure.
John wraps one arm around her waist, fingers trailing over the knobs of her spine; the other hand reaches up to softly stroke her jaw.
“You’re breathtaking, Zari.”
She feels like she could come just from the way he says her name, the way it curls and slides across his tongue, the lyrical and mystical and spiritual sound of it in his mouth.
The city lights continue to whip by outside the windows as Zari begins to move, rocking her hips against John’s as he lifts and falls in rhythm beneath her. His hands move to her breasts, thumbs sweeping over her nipples, sending shivers across her skin.
And Zari can feel the urge to rush, to quicken her pace and race to the finish line — but everything feels so good and right, the streetlights and storefronts and neon signs blurring as they drive past, the rough rumble of the car’s engine in her ears and the smooth leather seat under her knees. John is warm and steady beneath her, his palms sliding down her ribs and waist to rest easy on the the curve of her hips, clearly just as content as she is to enjoy the ride.
She tips her head back and he sits up enough to drag his mouth across her throat, the flash of a passing green light shining on his skin. He looks beautiful and rapturous and just this side of wrecked, like it’s taking all the strength in his body to hold himself together, to stay here with her instead of flying apart.
Her fingers are digging into his shoulders, leaving white stripes against his flushed skin; her thighs begin to shake as she quickens the pace.
John lies back and pulls her down with him with a hand on the back of her neck, kissing her deep and thorough as his right hand slips between them, rubbing small quick circles over her clit in time with her thrusts. Her heavy breasts are pressed against his chest and the car speeds up and they’re racing, practically flying, and John is inside her and all around her and it’s too much and not nearly enough; she wants more of him, she wants all of him, she wants something she doesn’t have a name for but she knows the shape of it, the place it would fit in her heart and soul.
And then the coil wound tight within her suddenly springs free and she’s coming, clenching tight around his cock and crying out against his mouth.
She feels him move beneath her a few more times before he groans, chin tipping back as he comes inside her.
She collapses, sweating and panting and heavy on top of him but John just wraps his arms around her waist, palms pressing flat to her back as he pulls her in even tighter, his face burying in her damp neck and tangled hair.
The windows have fogged over, cocooning them in soft quiet; their bare skin shines in the faint light of the dashboard.
And the car surges on, carrying them safely through the moonlit night.