Title: "Scar Tissue"
Author: Rebecca Bradstreet
Rated: R
Archive: Sure.
Summary: John and Becca celebrate an anniversary.
Warning: Sex.
Disclaimer/Notes: This is a Profiler/Anita Blake Vampire Hunter Crossover. I don't own John Grant, or any other Profiler character. I don't own Asher, or any other Anitaverse character. I do own Rebecca Belinda "Becca" Drake. She is a dragon version of me. I use // for thoughts, :: telepathy, and ** as emphasis. This isn't beta'd so all mistakes are my own. ;)
"Scar Tissue"
Rebecca Bradstreet © 2002Atlanta
John's and Becca's Apartment
Monday February 16, 2026The lighting was soft -- the music gentle. John and Becca held each other and swayed slowly to the music. They'd had dinner at a fine restaurant. John was still wearing his suit, Becca her dress, but she'd slipped out of her shoes.
"This is lovely, but I can't help feeling there's something we're forgetting," Becca ventured, her head resting against John's chest.
"Forgetting?" He asked, his chin resting on her head.
"Today is the day we met. If we're together 1,000 years, or 5,000, or 10,000 I will always think it worth celebrating, but..." She pulled back from him to look up into his sky blue eyes.
"You think there's something we're forgetting to do, or to remember?" John questioned, meeting her pale eyes gone pensive.
"Neither. Both. I'm not sure. It's just a feeling," Becca shrugged.
He pulled her towards their bed; sat them both down on it.
"Let whatever it is your trying to remember come to you, Becca, don't chase it," John told her softly, taking the braid she was wearing in his hands and beginning to undo it.
"I'll have to let it. I want it to come to me, and I can't seem to force it," she sighed half in frustration half in pleasure as he ran his fingers through her hair.
:: Let it go Becca. It will come to you in its own time, :: John rubbed her shoulders; kissed her temples.
:: Do years of being a wizard teach patience, or demand it? :: Amusement bubbled in her thoughts, and she turned her head to look up at him.
:: Demand. Of course David demanded it before my powers could, :: he answered affectionately before kissing her.
They fell onto their sides on the bed, and Becca warned, "My dress is getting wrinkled."
"Can't have that. You *actually* like that dress, and you don't like dresses," John stated, getting up off the bed and helping her get up off of it.
"Will you get the zipper for me?" She asked as she turned her back to him.
"Sure," he answered. John brushed her hair over her shoulder getting it out of the way. He pulled the zipper down slowly. It ran down smoothly not snagging on the slip, or the dress. Becca held the dress to her as John unzipped it. When he was done she climbed out of the dress and carried it to the closet. John watched her take the dress off, and put it in the closet. Though the dress was the royal blue Becca liked to wear, the slip under it was a pink she wouldn't have bought for herself. Too cotton candy she'd have told him if he'd asked. John had bought her the slip because he'd realized it might be the only way to find out what Becca looked like in pink.
"You look wonderful in that slip," he smiled at her as she came back to him.
"It fits," she allowed.
Becca took his tie in her hand, "I think this poor thing is done, but you really ought to hang up your jacket."
John took his tie off. It hadn't done well at dinner. He wadded it up, and stuffed it in his pants pocket. John took his jacket off. It wasn't a favorite of his, but it had faired better than the tie. John walked away from Becca, and hung up his jacket. She watched him go. It wasn't a great distance, it wasn't for very long, but somehow Becca felt a touch of the ache that filled her when she knew they were parting for sometime. The night's celebration hadn't been her idea. It wasn't that she had no head for anniversaries it was her dislike of high heels. He'd planned the evening. She'd gone along. Now there was something about the evening that was bothering Becca.
"Going to take your shoes off, and put them away while you're in there?" She called to him while his head was still in the closet.
"If you insist," John smiled at her from the closet.
Becca nodded to him. His smile eased some of her disquiet, but it didn't tell her the source of her concern. John came out of the closet with his socks and his tie in hand. He put them in the hamper as he walked back to Becca. John had left his belt in the closet. He was only wearing his shirt, and slacks. She ran her hands over his shirt. It was one she'd bought for him -- burgundy and tailored specifically for him. John hadn't objected to it the way she had to her slip. One of them had to have the sense to graciously accept a gift. He captured her wandering hands in his, and kissed each in turn. The look in Becca's pale eyes was still a pensive one.
"Penny for your thoughts?" John held her hands between them.
:: I was just thinking how very lucky I am to have you in my life, :: she answered him softly. The thought was a mere whisper in his mind.
"You're stuck with me you know," he told her, letting go of her hands -- sliding her slip off her shoulders.
"I know," Becca closed her eyes. She stood perfectly still. John slid first one strap then the other slowly down her arms. He lifted each gently over her hands, and watched as the slip fell to the floor at her feet in a flutter of pink silk and lace. Becca had worn a number of layers: the dress, the slip, and under it panties and a bra. The bra didn't hide the scars the way the dress and slip had. There were very few things that could do her lasting damage -- that could kill her, but the claws of one of her own could. 2,000 years ago she'd met one that hadn't been content with breaking her heart he'd had to try and rip it out of her chest. That dragon was dead, but the scars remained.
"You are beautiful," he promised her.
Becca opened her eyes, and the look in them at that moment wasn't pensive. Somehow she looked at him with a mix of disbelief and trust.
:: You are beautiful, :: John repeated. Becca stepped out of the circle of pink silk on the floor, and kissed him fiercely.
"You probably want to pick that up off the floor," he said, nodding at the slip when she let go of him.
"I probably should pick it up off the floor whether I want to or not," she agreed reluctantly. Becca picked the slip up and put it in the hamper. She didn't wear lacy underwear anymore than she did heels. It didn't matter to John. As far as he was concerned she looked good in anything.
"Is this shirt going in the hamper next?" Becca asked as she reached up to begin unbuttoning his shirt.
"If you say so," he grinned at her. Becca unbuttoned the shirt slowly taking her time to work each button out of it's button hole. When she had all of the buttons free, she slid the shirt off his shoulders. Though John's food had put up a fight at supper the shirt wasn't in the same shape as his tie. The undershirt showed no sign of the disaster dinner had been. Becca slid his shirt down his arms, and took her time unbuttoning his cuffs. When she could slide the shirt clear of his hands she took the shirt off of him. Holding the shirt in her arms it filled her head with a variety of smells -- dinner, John's cologne, her own perfume. Becca reluctantly carried it to the hamper, and stuffed it in.
"Not much left to put in the hamper," John smiled when she came back to him.
"Those pants?" She questioned, running her hands along the top of his.
"Or those," he grinned, sliding his hands into her underpants.
"Whichever," Becca smiled, resting her hands on his arms. John slid her underpants down her legs, and lifted her feet out of them one at a time. He didn't kiss her toes while he held her feet in his hands. She still felt the need to lean on his shoulders, and try not to giggle.
When he had her underpants clear of her feet he warned her, "I'm going to stand up now."
She had to laugh then. Becca stood back from him, and covered her mouth giggling into her hands.
"Don't hide your smile like that. It's beautiful, Becca," John told her.
"I, I'm sorry," she grinned, fighting the urge to cover her smile.
"*You* keep right on grinning while *I* put *these* in the hamper," he twirled her underpants on his fingers. Becca nodded, and watched him put her underpants in the hamper.
"I think it's definitely time for *your* pants to come off," she told him firmly when he came back.
"If that's what you think Miss Drake," John smiled at her.
"*That* is what *I* think Mister Grant," Becca grinned back. She unfastened his pants, and slid them down his legs.
"I'm not sure I can get these off your feet elegantly," Becca chuckled from the floor.
"Elegantly?" He laughed, and shook one foot at her. She pulled the pant leg off his foot, and he nodded at her.
"Other foot," John instructed her, waiving his other foot at her. She pulled the pants away from him, and lay on the floor giggling.
"Those are supposed to be going into the hamper," he managed to stare down at her straight faced...for a moment...before he was laughing again.
"I'm going, I'm going," Becca crawled across the floor to the hamper. John shook his head as he watched her get up off the floor to put the pants in the hamper.
"Next?" John asked her when she came back.
"Next," Becca repeated thoughtfully.
"I think I'd like to finish getting pants clear of your feet," she grinned grabbing the top of his underpants.
"Oh?" He smiled, grabbing her hands for a moment. He squeezed them and let them go. Becca pulled his underpants down, and she decided to kiss his toes.
"Hey!" John squawked in surprise, before he started to laugh again. He took his feet out of his underpants to get his feet away from her.
"Hamper!" John ordered her as she crawled towards his toes.
"Oh, all right," Becca sighed getting up, and carrying his underpants to the hamper.
"It's definitely my turn," he told her firmly when she came back.
"Definitely," she agreed, turning her back to him. Her hair once more hung down her back. John once more brushed it over her shoulder. Becca resisted the urge to roll her shoulders as he tickled her with her hair. When John had her hair out of the way he unfastened her bra. She held it to her as he slid the straps down her shoulders. Once John had the straps off her shoulders she turned around to face him again. He slid the straps up her arms to her hands, and she let go of the bra. It didn't fall to the floor. Becca didn't drop her hands so low. It hung on her wrists. John took it off them.
"All done," he smiled, holding her bra up triumphantly.
"Not quite. *That* still has to go in the hamper, and *this* still has to come off," she corrected him, grabbing the front of his undershirt.
"One thing at a time," he scolded her, taking her hands off his undershirt.
"Well, get on with it then," Becca grinned, letting go of his shirt. She watched him put the bra in the hamper. John tossed it in, and she thought about how the contents of the hamper were going to have to be sorted before they were washed. Neither one of them liked doing laundry, and they both took pleasure in not having to. It didn't keep Becca from worrying occasionally about a load of white coming back pink, or a load of color coming back badly bleached. John came back to her, and stopped just out of her reach. He could see the wheels turning in her head. John knew that she had so many thoughts and memories to get lost in. He wondered what she was thinking about.
"Past, present, or future?" John asked her.
"Future. I was wondering if the next load of whites will come back pink, or if the next load of colors will come back white," Becca answered him, closing the distance between them. He shook his head, and kissed her soundly.
"One more thing to come off," John reminded her.
"One more," she agreed, and started to pull his undershirt up over his head. Becca rolled it up his stomach -- his chest. She froze when she got it clear of his chest. He wondered what was wrong. Then she started to trace the scars on his chest with her fingers. John finished taking his undershirt off himself. Becca closed her eyes, and shook her head. He tossed his undershirt in the general direction of the hamper. She opened her eyes again, but she couldn't move them from his scars. It wasn't like she hadn't seen them countless times before, but tonight they were reminding her of what they'd been forgetting. They'd met on the 16th, but it wasn't when their lips first met.
:: Becca, :: John called to her softly, lifting her eyes to meet his.
:: The scariest thought in my whole life was the thought of losing you, :: she answered, her voice small and aching with pain. Becca's eyes were close to tears. He wanted to shake his head denying there was ever a chance she could lose him. He wanted to, but they'd both know it was a lie. John remembered how hard it had been to breathe in the warehouse; how hard it had been to listen to her and hang on. She hadn't wanted him to leave and he'd listened, but it was hard. John loved her, and once he'd foolishly thought she was indestructible. Becca wasn't, and he'd had to learn it. John had faced the thought of losing her. He hadn't wanted to do it.
:: I survived. We've survived...a lot of things. It's just an old nightmare, Becca. It's just the past scaring you. Leave it there, Becca. Come with me, :: John pulled her towards their bed. When she hesitated, he picked her up and carried her.
:: There isn't any separating us anymore. No one can part us my lady, my love, my wife. We're together that's what we've been celebrating, :: he set her down on the bed.
:: No, having met was what we were celebrating. Being together is what we're celebrating now, :: Becca told him pulling him onto the bed, and onto her. John thrust his manhood into her, and they began an old familiar dance. Each movement each moment they had been through before, but it made them no less precious no less powerful. The moments built one on another until John and Becca reached the one with the most power the one that was the most pleasure, and like all the times before they felt each other's pleasure as well as their own. When that moment passed and they were once more in more quiet ones, Becca rested her head on John's chest.
:: You always know just how to chase away my nightmares, :: she marveled to John.
:: I do it the same way every time. I do it with love, :: he answered, kissing Becca on the forehead.