Reflection

By Tiriel

NC-17, m/m

Part Three of Illusion, an Ian/Jake Witchblade series.

I think you should know that I'm writing under the influence. I'd hold out my hands so you could put the cuffs on and take me away, but I'm not really into that and it's so much prettier when Ian does it. (See Thanatopsis for example) Of course, I mean that I'm writing under the influence of Alfred Hitchcock and an obscureish band called Soulpusher, so that's not too criminal anyway. No need to arrest me.

Disclaimer: They are *so* not mine that it isn't even funny. I'm not making any money, here or elsewhere, so don't sue.

Takes place after the sixth ep, "Maelstrom" --Irons touched Ian again. Ew. *shudder* This is a little interlude before things change. Also a further lead-in to the promised prequel story.

Aithine got me started on this series. Caly and D have kept me going. Thanks, all of you.

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Reflection

By Tiriel

Jake half-dozed on his couch, letting himself drift into a pleasant memory as an antidote to the pain he'd witnessed that day. His exhaustion turned the images vivid, like a movie in his mind.

---

Male bodies packed the dance floor. It was 1995, one of Jake's rare nights in town between trips, and he'd decided to go out and blow off some steam. Dance a lot, drink a little, and maybe get laid, if he found anyone who caught his attention. So far, that didn't look likely.

The song changed, and he waded through the sea of California hardbodies, squeezing into an empty spot at the bar. He ordered a beer and took a long drink, the cold liquid refreshing in the heat of the club. It was then that he noticed the man on his right.

What Jake intended as a quick, inventory-taking glance turned into a stare. The stranger was, to put it simply, tall, dark, and handsome. Shoulder-length wavy black hair hung loosely around his face. Beard, moustache, eyes that could break your heart. Tanned skin, what little of it Jake could see. His body, which looked near-perfect, powerful but not bulky, was covered up by black jeans and a black long-sleeved t-shirt. The man, who had been looking straight ahead, seemed to feel him staring. He turned, his eyes skimming quickly over Jake.

He was a little embarrassed to be caught staring, but Jake decided to make the most of it. He knew he looked good like this, shirtless and sweaty from the dance floor, jeans tight in the right places, hair pulled back, wearing just enough makeup to bring attention to his eyes. Rather than turn away and try to pretend he hadn't been looking, he ran his eyes over the other man's body again, finally meeting his gaze and flashing a brilliant smile.

Outside, Jake was cool and calm, while inside he searched frantically for an opening line. He finally decided that for the tall, dark, handsome stranger, he might as well go with the cliché. "Haven't seen you around here before."

The other man didn't answer, but didn't turn away, either.

Oddly nervous and hoping it didn't show, Jake continued. "Not that I'd know, really. I'm not in town very often. I travel a lot."

Finally the man spoke. "I've just been traveling myself." His voice was careful and relatively quiet.

Jake had to lean in closer to hear him over the music. He didn't mind that at all. "Really? Where?"

"France, mostly."

"Beautiful place. It's been a year or two since I was there. Paris is a great city." Time to take things up a notch. Jake looked down a little and glanced up from under his eyelashes. "Very romantic, but I never did get lucky there. Now London, on the other hand..." He trailed off with a grin. "So what took you to France?"

"Researching Joan of Arc." An enigmatic smile. "And what do you do all that travel for?"

So he was some kind of historian, then. Jake had always had a weakness for smart men. "Professional beach bum. You want to dance?"

The other man just shook his head.

"How about a drink, then?" The song changed again, and strobe lights started to flash on the dance floor.

The stranger nodded, then suddenly paled. "I need to leave." He was gone in an instant, vanishing through the crowd toward the exit.

"Damn, McCartey, that's some technique," Jake muttered to himself. But then again, the other man had looked genuinely sick at that last moment. "Better check on him."

He found the dark-haired man outside, leaning heavily against the brick wall of the club.

"Hey, you okay?"

The man started to push himself away from the wall, but stumbled weakly back against it.

"Slow down, slow down." Jake moved in to help the other man steady himself. He pulled him to a standing position and they wobbled a little, together. Jake had an arm around the man's waist and one of the man's hands gripped Jake's other arm. His other hand was on Jake's bare chest. It felt like something came to life at the contact of their skin. Their eyes met and held, and even though their lips weren't touching, it felt like they were kissing. They leaned closer together, almost did kiss, but somehow didn't quite. "What's the matter? Do you need a doctor?"

"Thank you. I'm fine. I get headaches. The lights just got to be too much. You can go back in if you want."

Jake stepped back reluctantly. That one moment had made him achingly hard, and he wanted nothing more than to stay close, but it suddenly seemed strange. He definitely didn't want to go back into the club. "No problem. You want that drink? We can go somewhere else, where the lights won't bother you."

After a pause, the other man cocked his head and said, "My hotel is just around the corner."

Jake felt a chill run down his spine. He grinned. "Works for me."

---

The phone rang. Jake sat upright on the couch and reached for it.

"McCartey."

"Did you get it done?" Ian's voice.

For Ian to ask so directly, he had to be fairly certain their connection was secure. But Jake kept his answer nonspecific, just in case. "It's done. Thank you for letting me help. I was just thinking about you. Are you coming over?"

"I can't get away. What were you thinking about me?"

"About the night we met. It's been on my mind since you mentioned it last time."

"Mine as well. It was the earring that reminded me. You were wearing the same earring."

Jake had forgotten that detail.

Ian spoke again. "Are you watching cartoons?"

"The tv is on, but mostly I was just lying here on the couch, remembering. I was just about to get to the good part when you called."

"I have to go. Pretend I'm there with you when you get to that good part."

"I will." Jake heard the click of the phone and hung up. Yes, Ian definitely had a way of getting his message across. Earlier, the voice he'd heard when he'd answered his phone had been that of one very nervous informant with an Irish accent.

"Detective. We met earlier. I have important information for you. I'm to tell you that he's calling on you like he said he would. Meet me at the pub right away."

So Jake had hurried to meet a terrified-looking Connor Duryea in the back room of the pub where he'd left Sara earlier.

"Here's the address. You'd better go right away. He said to tell you that he'll make sure she survives, and you're to get her out of there. He said he lives with her alibi if you need it." Connor shifted from one foot to the other, looking around as if expecting Ian to emerge from the shadows. "Is that all? Can I go now?"

Jake nodded.

"And don't be looking for me next time. I'm leaving this mad country as soon as I can."

"That's probably a good idea," Jake said, and headed for the scene of the shootout. He'd found Sara and gotten her out one step ahead of the patrol cars that responded to the call. Her grief was huge, crippling, but she'd refused his help, going into her apartment and locking the door. So he'd gone home. He'd check on her in the morning. Ian had finally let him help, at least a little. It was a start. But he didn't want to think about that, either. Not right now. He'd told Ian that he'd get to that good part of their first night together. He lay back down on the couch, settled in, and returned to his memories.

---

He pulled on his shirt and followed the other man back to his hotel. "Jake," he volunteered, breaking the silence of the elevator ride.

"Ian." And silence reigned again.

Ian's headache appeared to have passed entirely. He again oozed the same calm, steely strength as when Jake had first noticed him. The silence felt charged, but not uncomfortable. Jake shifted carefully in his jeans, the brief walk to the hotel having done nothing to cool him down. He still wanted Ian so badly he could hardly think.

Once the door to Ian's hotel room was safely shut behind them, they moved toward each other, hungry. Clothes flew, and Jake found himself on his knees on the bed faster than he would have thought possible. The whole world felt blurry, but in a good way, like being on a carnival ride. An appropriate comparison, it turned out. Lube, preparation, condom, and Ian was in him, fucking him with short, impossibly fast strokes that hit Jake's prostate unerringly. A long moan grew into a shout, and Jake came hard, feeling his entire body pound in time with his heartbeat.

Ian's strong hands on his hips were the only thing holding him up as Jake let his head drop forward to rest on his arms. Then Ian pulled out and let him go. Jake slumped forward, pulling a pillow under his head. "God, you're incredible," he murmured, wondering for a moment where Ian was. Warm breath on his skin provided the answer as Ian moved in close beside him on the bed.

As Ian's hands drifted over his body, Jake began to realize that he was getting hard again. One of the most mind-blowing orgasms of his life had apparently just taken the edge off of his desire for this man. It felt almost like he'd been drugged, but he knew that wasn't it. What he was under the influence of was completely natural and as old as mankind. "Incredible," he repeated, rolling over into Ian's arms for that first kiss they'd somehow skipped, even though it had felt like they'd kissed outside the club.

The kiss was familiar and new and felt like undertow in the Pacific, dragging Jake into the depths. The urgency of their first coupling gone, they moved slowly, sharing a leisurely exploration of hands and mouths. Ian's body was perfect, soft skin over solid muscle. Jake found himself wishing he'd thought to turn on a light. He wanted to see more than just vague outlines and the glitter of Ian's eyes as they reflected the little bit of light that came in through the gap in the curtains. He wanted to see everything.

The second orgasm took him by surprise, as Ian's mouth found that perfect, elusive spot on Jake's neck and one of his fingers slid without preamble into Jake's ass, reaching and twisting just right. He leaned hard against Ian's shoulder until he caught his breath, then moved down to take Ian into his mouth.

From that point on, his memory of that night was a haze of skin and sweat and coming so hard and so often that he thought he'd turn inside out. Ian fucked him again, slowly this time, so slowly that he whimpered, begged for more even as he knew that any more would be too much. Finally, he slid gently over the edge into an orgasm that felt like a caress, whispered, "Incredible," once more, and slept. That was the last thing he remembered when he woke up the next morning, late for a meeting, alone on sheets still soaked with sweat and semen. He left the empty hotel room in a rush, sore and sated and certain that he'd never see Ian again. He was wrong.

---

Stretched out on his couch with his eyes closed, Jake had let one hand drift down and into his sweatpants, where he idly stroked his erection. Ian's presence was so real in his memory that it wasn't at all surprising to hear his voice.

"Are you imagining my hand on your body?"

"Yes," Jake breathed, sleepy and relaxed despite his arousal. The mouth that settled over his brought him fully awake, and he moved as if to sit up. Ian's hand on his bare chest pressed him down.

"Shhh, don't move."

Jake smiled and opened his eyes. "I must be getting really good at pretending that you're here. Probably all that practice I've had."

A smile flickered across Ian's face, and he pulled Jake's sweatpants down. "I shouldn't have come. But I thought of you lying here just like this and that got the better of my better judgment." Then he covered Jake's cock with his mouth.

"I thought I'd never see you again," Jake whispered, knowing that Ian would understand that he meant after that first night. "And then I did, but you... Lucky for us I'm a persistent bastard, isn't it?"

Ian signified his agreement by trailing one finger teasingly down the cleft of Jake's ass as he swallowed deep.

"Ian," Jake murmured, "I want..." Ian's mouth and hands moved away and then the hands returned, lifting him effortlessly off the couch, pulling him upright. He followed Ian to the bed.

Jake lay down on his back and closed his eyes again. The heat of Ian's body covered him, Ian's lips were on his skin, and then he felt cool slickness and Ian, filling his relaxed body with sensation. Jake opened his eyes and looked up at his lover, tension building and building and then finally releasing as they came together. Jake felt Ian withdraw, then the coolness of the sheet over him and the warmth of sleep as he drifted away, into a night of rest far better than he'd ever expected to get after such a long day.

The End...for now...

Tiriel

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