Moonlight Dreaming

[Pengzilla]

Moonlight Dreaming

Type of story: One Shot

Main characters: Jack & Martha

BTTB rating: T

Genre: Fluff, Regret

Warnings: SC.

Does story include spoilers: Nope.

Summary:

A story which takes place when Jack and Martha have split up and Jack is married with Sam and Martha isn't seeing anyone (for once). A familiar moonlight makes the reminiscing of good times much easier. The good times when Jack violated alcohol and shamelessly flirted. The good times when J&M were together.

The heavy night air was resting on her lame body. It was thick with heat and clammy with the torturous memories of mistakes. The crisp white sheet that lay over her sticky skin offered little comfort and the lumpy pillows beneath her matted locks of hair gave little condolence. The only thing that kept her company was the delicate moonlight falling onto her bed from the window.

She felt so small in her huge bed. Like a flower in a field, or a small boat in an ocean. She was alone and isolated in the vacant mattress that surrounded her. Her legs were twisted in her blanket and her silk nighty was irritating her skin. With every scratch she could hear the grating of wood or ripping of paper, and feel her dry skin roll up underneath her fingernails.

And even though her eyes were closed she was distinctively aware of the silver moonlight which tickled her room. She could hear it in the silence, and imagine it in the darkness of her mind. It was familiar and made her yearn for the past.

She extended an arm away from her chest and reached out to the other side of her mattress. She slipped her fingers between the bed sheet and the mattress, feeling the icy cool space beside her. Her fingers curled up in a ball after her routine check, and her fist eventually sunk back to her side, and her heart broke a little more.

She wished for his snore. She wouldn’t hear often, as he was usually a quiet sleeper, but after a ‘night on the town’ or a particularly long evening in front of the TV when he’d drank more than enough beers for the two of them, his sleep would be affected and a short spiral of noise would shoot out of him and wake her up. And sometimes, much to her amusement, he’d wake himself up too.

She smiled into her pillow as she remembered how cute he’d looked one particular evening, drunk and stupid. He had come stumbling in; a big grin on his face as he’d called out for her in a way that he had believed was seductive. Martha was already in bed by the time Jack came in so she had to wake up to help him into bed. She’d appeared at the door of the corridor, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed against her chest and a smirk on her face, trying her best to look disapprovingly toward his rocking silhouette near the door. His eyes had lit up like a child’s on Christmas day when he saw her.

*************************************************

“Hey, did I wake you up?” He asked in a whisper.

“Yes, Jack. Shockingly you woke me up when you shouted my name.” She growled.

Jack bit his lip and chuckled. “My bad.” He said, leaning back on the door. “Well I guess seen as though we’re both awake…” He smiled cheekily, like he would EVERY time he came home drunk. She could see his idea stained in his looks, and in the way his tongue touched his bottom lip.

“No, Jack.” Martha had declined immediately. “You’re in no state.”

“I was just going to ask for a sandwich!” Jack exclaimed in defence, trying to fight the lazy smirk that was curling one side of his lips. “Gosh Martha! Get your mind out of the gutter.” He tutted at her.

“Well, no to that too.” Martha smiled, ignoring his long, heavy sigh. “I think you should get to bed.”

“Are you going too?” Jack asked with a glint in his eye. Martha laughed.

“Yes. To sleep.”

“But that’s boring….” He moaned, pushing himself from the door and staggering toward her. Martha stood with an amused grin as she watched him near her, his hands in the air ready to steady his shakey body on her shoulders. “I can think of something much more fun.” His eyebrows wiggled in a comical fashion.

Martha giggled, shaking her head. “Fun for you, maybe. But not for me. You can’t even see straight.”

Jack’s head began to lop backwards as he attempted to continue their conversation. “I can see that you look beautiful tonight.” He said, his fingers playing with the spaghetti straps on her night gown.

Martha shook her head in disbelief: “I gotta give it to you, you’re determined.”

Jack nodded, his head falling forward and resting onto her shoulder. One hand slipped down her shoulder and played with her elbow, while the other found itself neatly sitting on her hip. His lips began to tickle her shoulder with kisses.

But Martha was still stood straight and unmoved by his touch. Of course, she wanted to fold underneath him and let him take her in his strong arms that made her feel so protected and secure; but she knew it wouldn’t be a good idea. He was as drunk as a skunk and lacked vital co-ordination. It could only end badly.

“I love you.” He said as he traced her neck with his lips. As he brushed his lips with her jaw she pulled away while she still had the self-control to do so.

“I love you too, but you’re drunk and you need to go to bed.” She told him sternly, peeling his hand from her hip and holding it as she stepped backwards. Jack frowned as he felt himself being led toward the bedroom.

“But I don’t want to sleep.” He groaned. “I’m not even tired.”

Martha smiled at his child-like moans. Whenever she glanced back to ensure he was doing okay, she’d notice another childish trait in his features that made her feel so motherly toward him.

She guided him to the edge of the bed and helped him undress. He’d tried to help her in turn, a sneaky grin playing on his lips every time his fingers began to pull at the night gown, but Martha had always swatted him away. Eventually she’d gotten him into his boxers and she rested the light sheet on top of him as she tucked him in.

“Do I get a story too?” He asked teasingly with a smirk.

Martha hummed as she thought to herself, “I only know the one about the wife who murdered her drunken husband for coming in at half 2 in the morning and pestered her for sex and wouldn’t let her go to sleep. I can act you out that one, if you’d like?” She asked sarcastically.

Jack pretended to think for a minute, “Nah, that’s alright. I’ll let you get to bed before you get grumpy and sarcastic.”

Martha rolled her eyes, turning around to walk around the side of the bed. But once she’d spun and taken her first step away she felt a hand draw her back to his side again. He was looking up at her with that cute sparkle in his eyes.

“What about a goodnights kiss?” He asked cheekily.

Martha sighed, pretending to be reluctant to bend down and brush her lips against his. But to her surprise when they met she felt a hand behind her neck and one on her waist that dragged her down. She let her body lower onto his as he deepened the kiss with such hunger that mesmerised her, and she found herself knelt between his legs with her body resting against his chest. She felt light headed and dizzy and so in love that she was afraid she’d fall off the bed. She forgot all previous refusals and was more than happy to give up her night’s worth of sleep for him. However, he wasn’t on the same wavelength.

He pulled away suddenly, allowing his eyes to roam over her face for a brief moment, and then with a smirk he leant forward and pecked her on the nose.

“Good night.” He said, gently nudging her off of him and turning onto his side. Martha rolled into her place, her face a blaze of anger. She knew what he was doing. And with a frustrated groan she shook her head to him and ducked under the covers. It only took a few seconds before she felt his breath prickle the back of her neck and the insides of his arms brush against her stomach as he enveloped her into a hug.

“Love you.” He said lazily in her ear, his chin rested on her shoulder and his hands were held in a clasp at her navel.

But Martha couldn’t stay mad at him. She smiled as she rested in his arms and sunk inwards and moulded to every fold and bend of his body.

“I know.” She said lightly, before dropping off to sleep with his faint breathing dancing in her ear.

During that night Jack had woken himself up with his snores on many occasions. Each time he'd feel pretty shocked at his sudden awaken, and a little confused as to why Martha was grinning up at him. She'd told him everytime he woke what had happened, but each time he'd blatantly denied it. Because he doesn't snore. He was far too cool to snore. He adamant it was Martha.

Then she'd turn in his arms and they'd kiss, or he'd bring her palm up to his mouth and kiss it softly in the centre. Occasionally he'd become defensive and begin a verbal fight, and they'd tease each other with their little come-backs and secrets that nobody else knew until one of them fell asleep mid-sentence. Then the other would be left admiring their spouse in the moonlight.

The day after had been a nightmare for them both: especially Jack. He'd had the least sleep and the hangover. They'd both spent the day apart, both looking like death warmed up, until they met up on Jack's sofa seven o'clock that evening. They fell asleep there shortly afterwards, a smile on their faces as they slept in each others arms in front of a movie Martha forced Jack to rent, undisturbed by any snores. From either of them.

****************************************

He dug his face into the pillow, a groan of all sorts of twisted emotions spilling out into the cotton fabric.

Sam was angry at him.

He’d come in blindly drunk and she hadn’t been the tiniest bit impressed. Especially when he playfully suggested that they “take the feistiness to the bedroom.”

Especially when he called her Martha.

He would blame it on drink when he woke up early and boiled the kettle for her the next morning. She would also blame it on drink over a very awkward breakfast. It would all appear to be forgotten in a few days, but she’d use it against him in the future. It would be added to the folder he was sure she kept, rightfully named “Jack loves Martha.” And he couldn’t blame her. Sam wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t even be totally surprised that even when she’d banished him to the spare room which had walls and spaces between them that she knew that he was thinking about Martha.

The way her skin felt. The sweetness of her lips. The scent of her hair.

The shape of her neck as he lay with his head rested on her shoulder, and the warm radiance of her small body rested so closely next to his bare chest.

Her feet that fit so perfectly with his near the foot of the bed, their legs intertwined with each other like the white sheet around his lonesome legs.

The sound of her voice, with its delicate playful edge and caring undertone. The way she uttered “I know” because she didn’t dare be so cheesy as to say it back.

The way she felt when he held her in his arms all night.

And only a whisper of a memory in soft moonlight kept him feeling.

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