Chapter Text
The first week of dating Jake Peralta is, in many ways, like the beginning of every other relationship Amy’s had in her life: there’s a lot of excitement, and a little bit of anxiety about whether this is a good idea and whether this will work out. She finds herself totally pre-occupied with daydreams at work, her anxious mind overwhelmed with how any relationship might affect her one year, five year, and ten year life plans.
But in almost every other way, this thing with Jake is totally different.
The thing is, Amy and Jake have always had an… intense relationship. There have been times when Amy absolutely hated his guts, felt she might boil over with rage at his immaturity and carelessness. Intense moments on dangerous cases where she felt so terrified for her partner’s safety that she the waves of panic threatened to knock her to her knees. Long stake outs and late night shifts where he’s goofed around and made her cry with laughter. Times when he somehow manages to solve an impossible case, or chased down a perp like some heroic character in an action movie, that she’s felt her heart swell with excitement and gratitude that she gets to do this job with him.
The point is, everything with Jake has always been intense. They’ve been through a lot as partners on the force, and Amy’s felt just about every feeling on the spectrum towards Jake, and it’s always been at a factor of a hundred.
But, there’s one feeling that’s newer. The one that Amy has, until recently, kept neatly tucked away in the back of her brain, refusing to feel it, because up until now, she was scared it would ruin anything.
Attraction.
And now that she’s finally let that one loose, it’s an all-consuming, suck-the-air-out-of-your-chest tsunami wave of feelings that at moments feels dizzying. It feels uncontrollable and completely un-Amy like, because Amy has never been the type to let feelings or relationships get in the way of her everyday life.
This afternoon, she rushed through her paperwork in an effort to make it home just a few minutes earlier to get ready for their date tonight. She even noticed a typo—a typo! In Amy Santiago’s paperwork! —as she was turning it all in to Terry. And while she did of course redo that form in its entirety and shred the original one to hide all evidence of her errors, the fact that there was even a typo to begin with is evidence to Amy that her brain’s thinking about other things.
Yep, totally not letting relationships get in the way of her routine at all.
Amy’s perched on the couch at 5:55, waiting for Jake to arrive at six. She feels so ridiculously excited that she doesn’t know what to do with herself. Due to their work schedules, with both of them currently working on separate cases, they haven’t really seen each other for about thirty six hours, since yesterday morning’s briefing meeting. And work has always been less fun when Jake’s not around, but today it felt like torture without him.
Amy’s on her feet the second she hears Jake knock on the door. Swinging it open, she grabs him by the tie and pulls him in before he can say anything. Their lips lock and Jake’s hands are already on her, and Amy reaches around him to push the door shut and then pushes him against it.
They’ve done this the last several nights in a row now, and as much as Amy is concerned that they might be late for their dinner reservation yet again, that suddenly seems unimportant.
Jake’s hands are all over her body, first her waist, then her back, then one slides up to tangle in her hair while the other works its way downward.
Amy works her hands inside of Jake’s jacket, eventually bringing them to his chest to undo his shirt buttons. Suddenly Jake’s hands are on her waist and he flips them, pressing Amy’s back firmly to the wall, his hands skimming along her dress.
Amy’s the first one to give in and break the kiss, needing to catch her breath. She lets her head fall backwards against the wall and for several seconds, neither of them says anything, the sound of ragged breathing filling the room.
And this is what Amy means when she thinks about how intense this all is. She’s never dated someone, never, who she greeted like this every single time. Someone who she thought about all day and stood by her door in the evening, just waiting for the chance to kiss them, touch them. But it’s like this every time they see each other. They don’t need to talk—they’ve spent years just talking when they could’ve been doing this, and Amy feels crazy for having waited this long. Wants to start making up for it right now.
“Hi,” she says after a minute, feeling a grin on her face. Jake smiles back.
“Hi.”
“So how was work?” she asks, trying to steer things back to safer territory. They need to leave in five minutes if they want to get to dinner on time.
“Work,” Jake rumbles, leaning closer, “Was very boring.” He leans closer and whispers in her ear, “Thought about you the whole time. Thought about tonight, thought about what you were going to wear. Thought about taking it off you.”
His voice sends a jolt of tingly electricity directly between her legs, And just like that, Amy’s pretty sure they can wait a few more minutes to leave and still make dinner.
Jake’s hand slips up Amy’s back to her neck, grasping the zipper of her dress and pulling down. There’s a collective sigh from both of them, Amy feeling a wave of arousal knock the air out of her chest. She’s been waiting for this all day. To have his hands on her body, his lips against hers. To have him take her clothes off.
Jake moves to push her dress down off her shoulders, but Amy suddenly pulls back, cringing to herself because this is the exact opposite of what her brain is telling her to do.
“Jake,” she says, trying to make voice sound normal, “We can’t do this again.”
Jake looks confused.
“I mean, we can’t keep just… we can’t miss another dinner reservation.”
Jake smirks.
“Sorry Ames,” he says, leaning closer to close the gap between their faces, “It’s never my plan for us to be late.”
“Mine neither,” Amy replies. His lips are just a couple inches from hers, and she’s having trouble meeting his eyes, and his hand is still tangled in her hair, her body is still buzzing, and her bedroom is just a few steps away.
“It’s just,” Jake murmurs, his lips practically against hers, “Every time I come over here, you’re wearing one of your dresses, and I think surely that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen you wear, but then the next night somehow you’ve topped it.”
The shiver that run’s down her spine makes every part of Amy’s body tingle with anticipation. Unable to stand the feeling of his breath against her lips any longer, she winds her arm around the back of her head and pulls him in, possibly a bit too forcefully, and she seriously wonders if it’s possible to bruise one’s lips from something like this.
But every single time they kiss, it’s desperate like this. Amy guesses it’s probably the blissful release of so many years of pent up feelings. But she should’ve known from the first time, when they were making out in the evidence lockup, something Amy would normally never do, that this thing with Jake was going to be different. An uncontrollable kind of different.
Jake grabs her waist and presses her against the wall, and they’re right next to her bedroom, and his weight against her body feels so deliciously good that she lets a small moan slip from her lips. Every instinct in Amy’s body is screaming at her to forget about dinner and just give in, because this all feels so good. But the thought that she doesn’t even have the self-control to make it through one evening with Jake Peralta that doesn’t start and end with them naked in bed kind of freaks her out. She plants a hand firmly against Jake’s chest, pushing back gently. He walks his feet backwards, and their lips are last to separate with a soft smack.
Jake walks backwards until his back hits the opposite wall a few feet away, hands behind his back like he’s restraining himself. He looks about as ready for a fancy dinner out as Amy does, which is to say not at all. A couple of his shirt buttons are undone, and his hair is a mess.
“Jake,” Amy tries again. “We need to get it together and go have a nice normal date. We can’t keep doing this.”
Jake raises his eyebrows, and Amy quickly adds, “I mean, yes, we can keep doing this, but after dinner. We’ve missed two dinner reservations in the last week and we were fifteen minutes late yesterday. Let’s just make it through one evening.”
Jake, who just a moment ago seemed very confident, now whines like a toddler who hasn’t gotten his way.
“I’m not trying to make us late!” he insists. “Every time I come over here I just want to kiss you hello and then we do… more than that. And you’re always wearing these dresses and it’s like you’re trying to kill me!”
Now it’s Amy’s turn to smirk.
“Okay then, well if kissing is the problem…”
“I assure you, kissing is most definitely not a problem,” Jake cuts in.
“New rule for tonight,” Amy goes on. “No kissing. Or anything else like that. None, until we’re back in my apartment.”
Jake looks as if he’s just been told his right arm is going to be chopped off.
“Amy,” he moans dramatically, “I thought we were done with rules!”
“Jake, we are going to go to this restaurant, and have a normal date. We’re not going to have sex and miss our reservation, or get distracted making out on the subway and miss our stop, or leave dinner early to kiss in some random alley behind the restaurant.” Amy’s just listed off the events of their previous three dates. “No, we’re going to go to this restaurant and enjoy our dinner, and because clearly neither of us has the self-control to make that happen naturally, we’re sticking with the rule.”
Jake doesn’t say anything.
“Unless,” Amy adds, “You think you can’t handle the challenge.”
That gets him. Because of course it does. Because they’re Jake and Amy, and they manage to make everything they do into a competition, so why would this be any different?
Jake still doesn’t speak, but his eyes narrow slightly, and he nods his head. Amy crosses over to him, keeping a few inches of distance between them.
“I promise,” she whispers, “The anticipation will just make it better.”
There’s a pause, a moment of absolute total silence where their eyes lock, both daring the other to back down. Amy uses every muscle in her body to retrain herself from closing the gap between them. Finally, she draws in a breath, hoping it doesn’t sound too shaky, and reaches around to zip her dress back up.
“Now,” she says, “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’m going to go fix my lipstick.”
She walks by Jake, brushing as close as she can to him without touching.
“This isn’t fair Amy!” Jake calls after her.
Amy inspects herself in the bathroom mirror. Her lipstick is smudged, and her hair, once neatly straightened, is mussed. She picks up her lipstick and then almost puts it down again.
This is stupid, she thinks to herself. We’re two consenting adults, why shouldn’t we skip dinner if we want to? But Amy Santiago is never late. She just isn’t. And she doesn’t want any man, even Jake Peralta, to get in the way of the rules by which she lives her life.
Although, there were the three other times this week when Jake did just that, and she can’t really find it in her to care.
But Amy would rather die than back down from a challenge with Jake Peralta, so she fixes up her face and runs a brush through her hair, hoping she can make it through this dinner.
When she exits the bathroom, Amy finds Jake, peering at his reflection in the mirror hanging in the entryway, trying to smooth down his hair. He takes in her fresh coat of lipstick, and Amy can see the thoughts running through his head, but he doesn’t say anything, and neither of them move. In the week or so that they’ve been dating, there haven’t been a lot of awkward pauses. Mostly because all opportunities for awkward pauses have been filled with alcohol consumption or frantic make out sessions. Suddenly, Amy finds herself uncharacteristically nervous.
There’s several moments, in the cab on the way to dinner, that Amy thinks she might give in and call this thing off. Since they’re already on the way, she reasons, there’s no way for them to get sidetracked and miss their reservation. There are a thousand images running though her head: grabbing Jake by his shirt collar, pressing their lips together hard, slipping her hands underneath his jacket, under his shirt, under his belt. She looks at his lips and thinks this is stupid, but she does not want to be the first person to give in. She feels like a giddy teenager drowning in a cocktail of adolescent hormones, not the mature, intelligent adult she knows herself to be. And the logical part of her is totally freaked out by this notion, but the rest of her is just totally turned on. And she’s pissed at herself for even coming up with this challenge, because she’s waited years to kiss Jake Peralta, and now of course she’s gone all masochist on herself and found a way to cut herself off instead of just enjoying it.
Amy’s torn from her thoughts and when they arrive at the restaurant. It’s a nice looking Italian place with a long oak bar and flickering candles on white tablecloths. A waiter leads them to their table, which is tucked away in a corner. Jake pulls out Amy’s chair for her, gesturing dramatically.
“Ladies first,” he says, with a goofy grin, doing a ridiculous bow. She rolls her eyes at him, but she’s relieved. They have years of practice at this; jokes and teasing are how she and Jake have communicated since they met. This is safe territory. As Amy sits, Jake runs his hands up the sides of the chair, allowing his fingers to brush the length of her arms. Amy whips her head around at him, but he acts aloof, grinning and helping her push her chair in.
They manage to avoid any awkwardness during dinner, mostly taking turns talking about the cases they’re currently working on and discussing one they’re currently assigned to together, a double homicide. Amy is fully aware the entire time that this is decidedly not what people usually talk about on dates. But she thinks it’s probably okay. She’s always tried to keep her work and professional lives separate. Whenever she was dating somebody not on the force (and even with Teddy) she avoiding talking too much about her cases, because people quickly lost interest when they realized her job wasn’t literally chasing down serial killers all day. Amy could talk for hours about the strange patterns of bodega robberies, but nobody really wants to hear that.
But Jake does. Moreover, he wants to hear about it and then also run through the bodega robbery he worked with Rosa last week, wondering if the cases could somehow be connected.
The conversation is easy, but Amy’s brain is not in the right place for this.
Amy’s brain is back at her apartment, pressed against the wall, Jake’s lips against hers. Her brain is listening to Jake say something about a pick-pocket he arrested down yesterday but really just thinking about his hands and how much she wants him to touch her. And Amy’s brain is thinking that she’d like to tell Jake all of this, but she doesn’t want to be the first one to show a sign of weakness in this challenge.
Amy excuses herself to run to the restroom, seriously considering splashing cold water on her face or something to snap herself back to reality.
Jake watches Amy round the corner, but he’s sure the image of Amy in that red dress is forever seared into his eyes. He wants to follow her, drag her off to somewhere they can’t be seen, and do things with her that you are definitely not supposed to do at a fancy four-star restaurant. They’ve spent the last half hour talking about work, and while Jake could talk for hours about his open cases, that’s also all he and Amy do at work every day. He wonders if, after so many years of being professional colleagues, he and Amy will be able to learn how to talk about something other than work. He wonders if maybe they’re just using all of this work talk to avoid talking about feelings and all that other stuff they’ve been too afraid to touch thus far.
It doesn’t help that Jake’s been using all his brain power to keep his eyes from drifting down to Amy’s lips. And her chest. And her bare shoulders.
He feels like a teenager again, and not in a good way. Well, it’s kinda good if he’s being honest. For the last week, all he’s thought about is Amy. Her smile, her laugh, her genius detective mind. Her hair, her dresses, her pretty red lipstick that she only wears for special occasions. And for the first time, he doesn’t have to footnote every thought about Amy with a reminder to himself that it’ll never happen. Because, somehow, it’s happening.
But all of that makes him nervous. He’s finally getting his shot, and he’s desperate not to mess it up. Why did she start this challenge anyway? Does she really not want to kiss him? Does she not like him anymore? Oh no, is this somehow a breakup dinner?! Amy Santiago, Jake knows, is not the type of person to be late for things. Maybe she really is upset about missing those reservations the last couple nights (thought she didn’t really seem to care at the time…). Maybe Jake is ruining her whole life plan with his general lateness, and Amy’s going to end things tonight.
Jake knows he’s being ridiculous, but he also doesn’t really know that.
He wants Amy to come back to the table. He wants to tell her, Can we please call this thing off? Because I’ve been waiting for years to kiss you, and I still don’t even really believe that it’s possible for someone as beautiful as you to like me, and I’m scared because clearly none of what we’re doing fits into your life plan so how long can this relationship even last? Jake thinks that if he were to say all of this to Amy, he’d probably have to end the speech with By the way sorry, but you should know that my confident detective persona does not extend to my personal life, and I’m a little bit terrified that if you get to know me outside of work you won’t like me anymore.
Jake stews in all of these thoughts and wonders if there’s any version of them that might be appropriate to say to someone you’ve only been seeing for seven days. But instead, when Amy comes back to the table he makes a stupid joke about how long she took and then launches into a story from work, because that honestly feels like the safest territory right now.
They climb into the cab and Amy gives the driver her address. Jake climb ins in first, scooting all the way to the opposite side, and Amy follows, settling herself right in the middle, just inches away from him.
Jake doesn’t dare turn to look at Amy. He knows if he did he would give in. Tell her he’s fine with losing, that he wants to end this bet. He’s spent the entire evening staring at her hair, her lipstick, her dress, and it’s really not helping that they almost ended up in bed earlier, before finally making it out the door to dinner.
She turns to look at him, her face set with the grin of someone who’s sure they’re going to win, but Jake sees something in her eyes that makes him think maybe she’s a little unsure about this too.
He wants to beg her to call this off. He wants to make out with her in the back of the cab like they’re two teenagers. He doesn’t want any more rules, and he thinks why shouldn’t we do whatever we want? He’s been waiting to be with her, be with her in every sense of the word, for so long, and the fact that she thinks they need rules, or that they’re not doing this relationship the right way, it makes him kind of sad.
But they’ve only been dating a week, and they haven’t really gotten around to the whole being vulnerable thing yet. They’re still new at this, and both desperately trying to avoid any awkwardness, like that terrible first dinner they endured. And so they’ve been falling into their typical work patterns: teasing and jokes, competition, switching to the topic of their open cases at work if their conversation gets too serious. So he doesn’t think dumping out all of his feelings right now is the right call.
Amy watches Jake carefully as they walk up to her apartment. He seemed off on the entire cab ride home, and she wants to ask him why, but she’s also not sure if he would want her to ask. She and Jake have been colleagues for six years, partners for three, and in the last year or so have become something close to best friends. They’re always there for each other, but it’s exceedingly rare that they really talk about serious stuff. Every time they drift too far into that territory, one of them makes a joke or changes the subject. Or kisses the other.
And now that they’re dating, Amy wonders how long this strategy will be sustainable.
They reach Amy’s door, and suddenly Amy’s nervous that he won’t want to come in. Maybe she ruined the mood, or maybe he’s annoyed at her because they’ve been together for a week and she’s already making rules about their sex schedule.
Amy pauses as she’s taking out her keys.
“So,” she asks, her voice coming out surprisingly timid. “Do you want to come in?”
“Yes,” Jake says, just forcefully enough that Amy giggles. She gets the message.
And once they’re through the door, it’s clear they’re both on the same page. If the entire evening was a contest for who could touch the other the least, this seems to be the exact opposite. Amy’s lips are against his so fast that Jake drops his phone in surprise as his hands immediately reach for the curves of Amy’s body. The trip from the front door to Amy’s room takes less than a minute, and they leave a trail of clothes behind them: their shoes, Jake’s jacket and shirt, and Amy’s coat are tossed, and Amy reaches around to pull the zipper on her dress before Jake’s hands paw hers away. Amy rolls her eyes but lets Jake handle the zipper himself. While he’s focused on slipping the dress down over her shoulders, Amy walks them backwards until Jake’s knees hit the bed, tipping him backwards. Jake lands on his back but props himself up on his elbows to watch Amy as she lets her dress fall. His eyes on her body are intense, and for a moment it freaks her out, but before she can dwell on it she’s pushing him back to lay on the bed, climbing onto the bed and finding his lips again.
Their sex is every bit as intense as everything else. It’s every bit as competitive and desperate and frustrating as every other part of their relationship, professional and romantic. And ever since that first night, they haven’t really changed things up much, because this, as frantic as it feels, is good. Okay, it’s better than good.
It’s stupid good. It’s phenomenal. And Amy doesn’t know how she’s gone through the last two days without it.
Jake’s hand is on Amy’s back, his fingers trying to undo her bra. Amy gives him a few seconds before she smirks at his frustration.
“Need help with that Peralta?” she murmurs against his lips, reaching around to unhook it herself. Jake, eager to regain the upper hand, grabs the bra and tosses it aside, flipping the two of them over so he’s on top. Before Amy has time to think, his mouth is on her breast, tongue hot and electric and sending waves of arousal rolling down her body. Her fingers are clutched on Jake’s shoulders, and although she’s normally fighting with Jake to be on top, right now that suddenly seems unimportant.
Amy’s entire body is buzzing, and she really doesn’t want to wait any longer. Because she’s been waiting all day. She’s been waiting for years. She’s dimly aware of the noises she’s making as Jake’s mouth moves lower, working it’s way down her abdomen. He’s moving too slowly, and she wants to curl her fingers into his stupid curly hair and push his head lower, but she settles instead for gripping the sheets tightly as his fingers skim the waistband of her underwear. One finger reaches out to snap the elastic, and Amy lets a moan rip from her lungs, low and desperate. Her entire body is at the absolute edge, her legs already a little shaky, the anticipation of what’s next already making her shivery and desperate.
Because if there’s one thing Amy’s learned over the course of the last seven days, it’s that Jake knows exactly what he’s doing in the bedroom. She doesn’t totally get it, but dear God, she’s thankful for it.
Amy wriggles out of her underwear, and then Jake’s lips are on her upper thigh, and Amy feels her toes curl and her grip on the sheets tighten.
“Jake,” she says, but it comes out with a long moan, and that seems to get his attention more than anything else. He pauses, peering up at Amy, grinning.
“What?” he asks innocently.
“Jake, please…”
Amy can feel his breath against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, and it’s overwhelming and yet not nearly enough. She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, silently begging that he’ll just keep going. But when she eventually opens them, he’s still grinning up at her.
“Jake,” Amy tries again, her breath trailing off into a whine. “Jake, for God’s sake please hurry up.”
“What?” Jake repeats. “I thought the anticipation just makes it better?”
He’s wearing that stupid, teasing grin on his face; the one he pulls when he thinks he’s being clever. She’s seen it a thousand times before. And there’s been times when Amy wanted to slap that look off his face. Times when she wanted to push him against the wall and kiss it away. But right now, she can think of only one thing she wants Jake Peralta’s stupid mouth to be doing. If only her brain worked well enough for her to remember the words.
There’s another long, torturous moment before Jake seems to take pity on Amy. His hands press her thighs into the mattress, and then finally his mouth is against her, hot and wet and sending delicious waves of pleasure flowing from between her legs. Amy’s never been very vocal in the bedroom, but every shift of Jake’s tongue wrings soft sighs and moans from her mouth. Amy, not in the mood to drag things out any longer than they need to, reaches a hand down to grip Jake’s hair, moving his head exactly where she needs it to be. Jake gets the message, the tip of his tongue circling firmly against her clit, steady and unrelenting as Amy feels herself unwind, her body melting into the mattress.
Jake pushes on of Amy’s legs to the side, opening her up for a better angle and crooking a finger inside of her. It’s sensation overload, and Amy’s losing herself completely, unaware of the noises she’s making or the time that’s passing. She can tell Jake’s slowing down slightly, trying to drag this out just a little longer, but Amy’s not interested, bearing down hard against his palm, feeling the pressure building rapidly between her legs. Jake barely has time to add a second finger before Amy’s flying over the edge, shaking as her orgasm wrecks her entire body. Jake doesn’t stop for another several seconds, and the pulses of pleasure rock her body for another several seconds.
Amy’s the first to break the following silence.
“Holy shit.”
Jake’s crawling up the bed beside her, his face smiling, but Amy can also see genuine concern in his eyes.
“Good?” he asks.
“I… sorry, I just… wow. Just give me a second.” Amy’s breaths are slowing now, but still labored. She’s not even sure what she wants to say.
“You know, we can just stop here,” Jake says after a moment. Am turns to look at him, eyebrow raised. He asks this every time, and she loves that he does. But she needs this to happen right now.
“I don’t want to stop,” Amy says. “Do you want to?”
“No,” Jake breathes, “But if you--”
Amy’s lips are against his, rolling herself on top of him easily. His lips, amazing on any part of her body, are quickly back at work, his tongue against hers making her whole body hum. She reaches down a hand to stroke him, and Jake lets out a high pitched moan that Amy would probably tease him for if she wasn’t so transfixed by it. Quickly though, his hand is on her wrist, tugging it away.
“Amy,” Jake says breathlessly. He screws his eyes shut, drawing in a few ragged breaths before continuing. “If you keep doing that, I’m not going to make it.”
Amy smirks, and rolls off of Jake for a moment so she can grab a condom from her nightstand. She unwraps it slowly, relishing in the chance to leave Jake the one in anticipation this time. She licks one, long, hot stripe up his entire length before rolling the condom on, and Jake lets out a string of mostly unintelligible curse words.
Then she’s climbing back on top of him again, and neither of them have any desire to wait a second longer than they need to, so Amy sinks herself down quickly, trying desperately to breathe through the sensation, because she’s already at the edge again. Amy anchors her hands on Jake’s shoulders and then starts moving, fast and hard. Jake’s already pretty far gone, and Amy smiles at the stream of sighs and ohs and Amys spilling from his mouth. She grinds down, her forehead falling down against Jake’s, and her head is spinning, but she can tell Jake’s close, so she continues.
Amy’s not expecting to climax again, is just focused on Jake, but then suddenly his hand slips between her legs, running his index finger along her clit, and the sensation knocks the air from her lungs. Her rhythm falters for a moment and both of them moan, Jake’s hips shifting upwards pleadingly. Amy manages to find her rhythm again, encouraged by Jake, who’s practically shaking beneath her.
“Jesus fuck Amy,” he whispers. “Fuck, please don’t stop, please Amy…”
She can tell he’s close, speeds up faster, letting her hips roll. The pad of Jake’s finger, rough and slightly callused, feels so ridiculously good, and spots are clouding her vision. Then his fingers close on her clit, rolling it between his fingers, and she’s done for, her hips shifting forward a final time as the orgasm washes over her. Through the pounding in her ears she can hear Jake in the throes of his climax, and she lets her forehead drop against Jake’s chest.
“Amy,” Jake pants after a moment. “Stupid good doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
After a minute, Amy rolls off of Jake, lying beside him on the bed. Jake lies there for a minute (or maybe it’s several minutes, he really doesn’t know), not saying anything. For the first time this in the last thirty-six hours, all of the feelings that have been zinging through his body, all of the anxiety, the excitement, the arousal, are overcome by sheer exhaustion. And a complete lack of confidence as to what to do next.
He’s overwhelmed by all of this. By Amy. It feels just as amazing and unbelievable as the first time they did this. Every single time she surprises him. And normally he’d just make a joke or something right now, because that’s probably what Amy’s expecting him to do, but his brain feels hazy, and he ends up just saying the first thing that comes to mind.
“We are really good at that.”
Amy turns her head to look at him, smiling, but with a bewildered look on her face.
“Yeah, I don’t… entirely understand that,” she says. “It’s like, stupid good.”
“You’ve said that before,” Jake says with a grin.
“It’s the best description I can come up with,” Amy replies. After a moment she adds, “And we’ve been doing this for only a week!”
“Maybe it’s because…” Jake catches himself and doesn’t finish the sentence, because he’s not even sure what exactly he wants to say.
“What?” Amy asks.
Jake turns his head from her to look at the ceiling. He hates talking about feelings, or anything that might be related to feelings. But he cares about Amy too much to let his immaturity get in the way of this relationship, so he forces himself to speak.
“Maybe because we’ve wanted to do this for a long time.”
Amy doesn’t say anything, so Jake continues.
“Amy, it doesn’t feel like a new relationship. It feels like a continuation of what we’ve had for the last five years. And I think we’ve both wanted to do this for a really long time. And it’s been… building up.”
He finally looks back at Amy, and her eyes are thoughtful and searching.
“What?” Jake asks, his heart suddenly pounding. Was this the right time to bring this up? Why is he bringing this up!?
“Nothing,” Amy says quickly. “We just haven’t talked about that yet. How long we were… waiting.”
“And to be fair,” Jake adds quickly, “We’ve only been dating for a week, and for a good portion of that week we thought we were going to have to break up. So I guess it makes sense.”
“Yeah, but if we’re really trying to make this work,” Amy says thoughtfully, “We do have to talk about feelings and stuff.”
The two exchange nervous smiles. In their entire six year history together, neither has ever been very good at that.
“And I’ll start,” Amy says. “I like you, and I like this, and I’m sorry that I made up that stupid no kissing rule tonight, because between our work schedules it’s already going to be difficult to find time together. So no more rules of any kind. I promise.”
Jake, not allowing himself to overthink it, goes next.
“Well I like you too, and I like this, and I agree that it was a dumb rule, but I’m also sorry that I made us late for dinner the other times. I know you like to be on time, and you like rules, so I’m fine with that. I’ll follow whatever rules I need to.”
Amy smirks.
“Jake, you didn’t make us late to dinner. We both did.”
“I know, but--”
“I’m serious, Jake. And yeah I like my rules, but in the last week with you I’ve broken more of them than I have in the last year. So I’m just accepting the chaos.”
And Jake feels his chest lighten suddenly, the enormous weight he’s been carrying around all evening released. Man, if this is the result of talking about his feelings, he’s definitely going to do it more often.
They spend the rest of the night in bed, just talking, no awkward pauses at all.
And they agree that the next night, they’ll skip the dinner reservation and just get takeout.