Work Text:
Jake hauled the bag over his shoulder, the weight pressing into a sore muscle as he readjusted. His eyes were glassy with exhaustion, ten hours of cramped flight and recycled air weighing him down. The arrival lobby was buzzing with quiet chaos—announcements blared overhead, wheels dragged across tile, families reunited. Through the din, he spotted her.
Sherry was slumped in a rigid airport chair, her head tilted at an awkward angle, mouth parted slightly in sleep. The harsh lighting made her blonde hair gleam like a soft beacon in the crowd. A strange warmth flushed through Jake’s chest. He stumbled toward her, boots dragging, and reached out to tap her gently.
“Sher—Y’wake?”
Her eyes fluttered open slowly, a dazed grin creeping across her face as awareness returned. She sat up straight in an instant, realization hitting her like a wave—and then so did she. She launched forward, arms flinging around his neck as she practically tackled him.
“God, how long were you asleep?”
“Twenty minutes... I missed you,” she murmured, voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt, her words sinking into him like a balm.
Jake grinned, resting his hand on her back. “Can you miss me on the car ride to my hotel?”
Her head lifted abruptly, eyebrows raised. “Hotel? I have an apartment for a reason.”
Jake hesitated. He wasn’t sure how her government housing would feel about hosting someone like him—a man with a record that, if printed, might qualify as international toilet paper.
He smirked. “How dangerous of you. Letting a hardened criminal you barely know stay in your home.”
Sherry rolled her eyes and started walking ahead, her boots clicking sharply against the polished floor. Jake followed instinctively.
“Right. The hardened criminal who is extremely active on Facebook,” she muttered over her shoulder.
“The people deserve to know about my life! I’m very interesting,” Jake insisted, tugging at the sliding strap of his duffel. “I’ll have you know my Facebook friends are very invested in my work.”
He counted it as a small victory when she didn’t fire back. A bigger win was getting to watch her lead the way. There was some saying about loving to watch someone leave. He couldn’t remember how it went exactly—English idioms were tricky—but the sentiment definitely applied.
“So what's this work in D.C. you’ve got going on?”
That wasn’t a blatant lie. He didn’t have work in the occupational sense. “Work,” in this case, was more like purpose . And that purpose was walking ten feet ahead of him.
“Oh, there's just some work with the DSO going on that I was pretty interested in. They notified me about a potential freelance gig under them.”
Sherry glanced at him sideways, studying his face. “Is it B.O.W. related? I might go with you.” Her finger pointed out a little cream-colored Buick parked by the curb. “My car’s right there, by the way.”
Jake swerved to keep pace. “You get a nice bonus from the bullshit six months ago or what? Car’s brand fuckin’ new.”
She fished a button from her coat pocket and clicked it. The trunk popped open with a soft thud. “I get paid pretty handsomely,” she said nonchalantly.
Jake groaned, hoisting the duffel and tossing it into the trunk. His shoulder screamed in protest, so he reached up and rubbed it, wincing slightly.
“Don't hurt yourself now, pretty boy,” Sherry called out as she closed the trunk.
His eyebrows shot up. Pretty boy? He blinked in surprise.
Where did that come from? Pretty boy? Since when is she taking a page outta my book?
He shut the trunk with a quiet thud, then ran a hand up to the bridge of his nose, absently thumbing the fresh silver piercing between his brows. A strange, sinking feeling wormed into his chest—not a bad one, just a hot, tight awareness. Like the kind that preceded bad decisions or great ones.
He slid into the passenger seat and buckled his seatbelt mostly because he knew she’d hassle him about safety if he didn’t. Sherry had an uncanny luck with car accidents, but that didn’t mean she was lax on protocol.
After noticing how his knees were practically touching his chest, she chuckled. “Hey, you can move the seat back, you know.”
“Right.” He fumbled for the lever. The seat slid back with a mechanical groan, but comfort was fleeting as the car began to move.
Jake wasn’t about to call her a bad driver, but he could see where her attention wasn’t . Not that he minded. He wasn’t exactly eager to meet her eyes either—not after everything they’d been through. The last time she’d seen him, they were both wearing hideous, see-through hospital gowns in a military facility halfway across the world. He wondered if she was still seeing that version of him. Couldn’t blame her, really.
Maybe he was doing the same thing—trying not to see what he felt too clearly.
Jake didn’t lie. Not outright. He just... left things out. His mama had instilled a few values before everything went sideways. So, yeah. He wasn’t going to say he’d fallen in love with her. But he had. A little too much. Enough to cross oceans with vague excuses just to be near her again.
“So,” Jake started awkwardly, “I’m sure you have plenty to say, right?”
Sherry shook her head but didn’t take her eyes off the road. “I’d think you would. Considering the fact that you came out here to talk to me.”
“Well, not specifically to talk to you, but yeah, I guess that was part of the plan.”
Her hand flicked the wheel. “I think we're headed into a traffic jam.”
“I like talking to you,” he admitted, “but I like listening to you more, if I’m being honest.”
“Did you hear what I just said?” she asked.
“What?”
“See? You don't like listening.” She pointed ahead. “Traffic jam. No other turns can get us to my place.”
Jake felt the temperature rise inside the car, the air thinning. His chest squeezed tight, and it had little to do with the cramped space. This car was starting to feel more like a confessional.
“We're coming up on it. I think we're gonna be stuck for a good while. Sorry, Jake.”
“Huh?” he asked, breath catching.
Sherry clicked her seatbelt off and put the car in park. “I said we're going to be here a while. Again with the listening?”
She leaned across the center console, her elbow pressing into the leather. Her body was dangerously close.
“You seem pretty nervous, Jake.”
Jake sputtered, “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” she said, voice low and cutting. “So what's wrong?”
The sudden aggression caught him off guard. It wasn’t like her.
He shrank toward the window. “Did I do something? What is this about?”
“Can you be serious with me, Jake Muller?” she demanded, voice trembling with something raw.
Her face was flushed. And then it crumpled. Her composure shattered in real time as her eyes filled with tears. They fell quickly, streaming hot and fast.
“Did I really upset you like this?” he whispered, his voice unsteady.
She collapsed back into her seat. “You never call me. You never want to see me. Why are you lying to me?”
He laughed nervously, eyes wide. “Lying to you about what? I love you, isn't that good enough?”
The words hung in the air like smoke. He blinked, stunned. Did he mean to say that?
Sherry stared at him, breath hitching. Then, without warning, she surged toward him again, cupping the back of his head and burying her face in his neck. Her fingers threaded through his growing curls as she sobbed quietly.
“I knew you had to feel the same.”
And then she kissed him. Messy, wet, desperate. Her lips met his over and over, scattering across his mouth in a frenzy of emotion. He returned the kiss, dazed but eager, hands fumbling to hold her waist.
She finally pulled back, only to notice something shiny glinting in the low light.
“Mmf—fuck! Since when do you have a tongue piercing?”
“Been a while since I’ve seen you. You haven't said anything about the one in between my eyebrows either,” Jake replied with a breathless chuckle.
“I—this is really embarrassing,” she said, swiping at her face with her coat sleeve.
“Oh, you were all over me two seconds ago. Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts.”
She grabbed his face again, cradling it like something fragile. “If we’re going to… do this, we’re going to have to be careful. People in the other cars might see if we were too brave. I need you to follow my lead.”
Jake’s heart swelled. He could melt right then and there.
He nodded slowly. “Do this. You mean—” But her silence was answer enough. “Right. Okay…”
Sherry’s hand returned to the wheel. The car crawled forward again, the stop-and-go rhythm syncopated with something unspoken pulsing between them. Whether she was avoiding his gaze out of nerves or focus, Jake couldn’t tell.
“I can't believe I’m saying this… Take your pants off. Just like… shimmy out of them a little bit.”
He unzipped and pushed them down to his knees, boxers included. “Some dirty talk you got.”
Her eyes didn’t leave the road. “I don't wanna hear it. We do this my way or I’ll leave you high and dry and take your ass to the hotel.”
Jake grinned. “I know you’re not gonna do that. What do you want me to do now? Your word is god.”
Her eyes flicked to his face—brief but intense. Those soft, silver irises burned through him, framed by lashes so long they cast shadows.
The car hit another long stop. Sherry turned to him slightly.
“I’m going to touch you now. And I just want you to keep in mind that I don’t really know what I’m doing,” she muttered, her hands fumbling blindly across his lap until she found what she was looking for.
Her fingers wrapped around him—tentative, then exploratory. Jake inhaled sharply. It had been so long since someone had touched him like this, with care. And not in a bathroom stall or in the haze of drink and impulse. This was different. This was her .
His breath stuttered out of him in choked little bursts as her hand moved. Her touch was soft, almost reverent, and with each pass of her palm, that craving inside him—locked up so tightly since they left China—burned hotter.
He hadn’t had anything like this in years. Not real connection. Just shallow touches, unmemorable bodies. A soldier in a dark Iraqi bar, a woman in Panama who lost interest halfway through, a drunken blur in Russia. Each time, he left emptier than before. They weren’t her. No one was her.
Sherry’s hand came off as the cars around them began to crawl forward. Jake whimpered, chest caving with want. His hips shifted, seatbelt locking as he strained forward.
“I have to drive!” she snapped. “You are so greedy. What happened to being careful?”
“You happened. Can I finish myse—”
“No! I can do it. I want to do it. Please let me finish you off.”
The car lurched into another pause. Sherry slammed it into park and turned toward him with laser focus.
Jake exhaled, shaky. “Hey, could you, uh—God, this is awkward. You need to spit in your hand. It's real rough right now.”
Her eyes widened. “I—uh. Okay.”
She leaned forward, gathered spit in her mouth, then let it fall into her palm. “This is so gross.”
“It all is. Until you realize how nice gross shit is. Gross shit can be beautiful. Especially sex. Sex is good gro—”
“Jake, shut up before this turns into a trip to the emergency room. For you. ”
“Sorry.”
The slick of spit changed everything. Her hand slid easier now, her motions more confident. Jake let his head loll back against the seat, mouth hanging open with a low, breathy whine.
And then, for the first time, she looked down.
Her eyes widened slightly in awe—or maybe curiosity—as she watched him, studying the flush that spread across his thighs, the way he twitched under her touch. She looked as though she were seeing something completely foreign, and yet fascinating.
Jake’s breath caught in his throat. His voice rasped from his mouth without warning, just raw sound and tension.
“The cars are moving again! I’m sorry,” she cried, yanking her hand away and focusing on the road.
Jake groaned and reached for himself, trying to finish the job, but Sherry slapped his hand aside and took over again.
“I said I wanted to finish you off.”
Her other hand gripped the wheel, steering with measured control while her hips shifted in her seat. He could see the press of her body, the way her jeans strained at the seams. Her thighs rocked subtly against the middle seam.
“Fuck, Sher. If you wanted help, you coulda—Shit.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked, breathlessly.
“You’re rubbing one out on the seat, girl! Don’t think I don’t see you.”
“This is about you ,” she insisted.
But Jake could see it—the tension in her jaw, the flush in her cheeks, the slow grind of her hips. She was as affected as he was.
Her hand fluttered rapidly, dragging shaky moans from Jake’s throat. When he began to tense, she suddenly hit the brake and leaned across to kiss his open mouth.
“‘M gonna fucking—Fuck! Oh, shit!”
“I have napkins in my glove box!” she yelled, flipping it open and grabbing a fistful of mismatched fast-food napkins. She clumsily caught his release, her palm steady, the tissues darkening with damp.
Jake collapsed back, chest heaving. The mess was contained—barely.
She held the stack of napkins like it was radioactive, grimacing.
“Don’t throw my jizz out the fucking window, Supes!”
“What else do I do with it?!” she shrieked.
“ Not that! ”