Back To Fucked Up

Jessica took off her jeans and Kurt Cobain T-shirt, her bra and panties, already thinking of a quip to make about the interest Trish was taking in her body. Not that friend was giving up five o’clock shadows and cumshots anytime soon. No, Trish’s interest was in the welts that were revealed as Jessica stripped. 

It was a little too kinky even for Jessica. Getting rid of the material that chafed her raw skin was a pleasure, but it was also a pain. And however much Trish sympathized her, she was also holding back her tongue from clucking in disapproval.

They had no idea of the limits of Jessica’s superpowers. How tough she was, what she could take, what she could heal from. Jessica might be bulletproof for all she knew. But it was a sore subject for her. Not something she wanted to spend her free time on when there was beer to be drunk, anywhere in New York State. 

Which naturally didn’t sit well with Trish. If she had Jessica’s power, she’d be on the Avengers in a week. Probably already have a twelve-step plan, just in case. Jessica made things up as she went. She didn’t even check if there was toilet paper before she sat down on the toilet.

For her part, Trish looked at Jessica’s fine body as it was revealed to her, as beautiful as it was defaced, and wondered if it was a mark of how much she cared about Jessica that she could have any amount of warm, fuzzy feelings when she was this pissed at her. 

She didn’t try to sort out any of her feelings—especially the ones that went beyond warm and fuzzy to tingly and groin-y. She wanted to lie there on the bed with Jessica for however many hours it took for Jess to sleep off her latest violation; just be there for her in the slightest hope that it would help her in some way, make things a modicum easier for her, as if Jessica ever made anything easy for herself. Maybe that was why they had ‘broken up.’

“Let me get some ointment,” she said. “Those welts look like hell.”

“They’re probably doing wonders for my complexion,” Jessica snarked. “Acid, chemical peel, what’s the difference, right?”

Jessica was a goddamn Avenger, at least to Trish, and she was still exhausted. That being the case, Trish didn’t know how her own merely human body was moving. She had to be feeling at least as physically and mentally weary as Jessica did, because there was no way anyone could be more tired than her. But junkies did crazy things for their fixes—went to extremes that made Captain America look like a quitter—and she seemed to be addicted to helping Jessica goddamn Jones.

Shedding some of the outer layers of her ensemble, and getting a few iotas of relief from the ton of weight that seemed to be on her shoulders, Trish came back with a bottle of lotion. She unscrewed the cap and poured a generous helping of the thick liquid into her palm.

“Get on your belly so I can rub this in.”

“Oh, are we saving the happy ending for last?” Jessica teased. Goaded.

“Maybe I just don’t want to look you in the eye. Do as I say.”

“Fine,” Jessica gave in, groaning as her weight settled on new bruises.

With her looking away, Trish let herself take in her beauty. Despite the damage, despite the lifestyle, she was beautiful. A perfect sylphlike vision, pale skin dreamily contrasting her jet-black hair and even darker eyes, those subtle curves like some perfectly proportioned statue of a Greek goddess. Black Widow might’ve had a sexier body, but in comparison to Jessica she was almost obnoxious, over the top. A fantasy. Jessica was just as beautiful and she was real. Too damn real. 

Trish rubbed her hands together, lathering the lotion into her palms. “This’ll burn for a second before it works, but it has a kind of painkiller in it, so you can get some sleep while it helps you heal.”

“Great. More burning. I love it when I pee and that happens, so even more sounds just swell.”

Trish slapped her hands down on Jessica’s back and began rubbing the lotion in. She told herself she didn’t have to be gentle. The lotion had to be rubbed deep into Jessica’s skin, down to the muscle.

“Gkk!” Jessica cried. “Shit, Trish, that hurts like fuck!”

“Don’t get splashed with acid,” Trish replied.

“Fucking—torture session!” Jessica groused. “You couldn’t let me get some tequila first?”

“Like it actually works on you.”

“It works enough.”

“Or you could gut it out for five seconds.”

“Oh, like you’re so tough?”

“I’m not the one whining like a baby.”

“That’s funny. That’s real funny.” Jessica gritted her teeth and let Trish’s cool fingers work more lotion into her burning body. It did feel better after a moment. Funny how that only pissed her off more. “It’s Patsy, Patsy, I really wanna be your friend—“

Trish spun her around, dropping Jessica onto her back and holding her down like she was about to punch Jessica’s head through the mattress. “Don’t.”

“What?” Jessica asked, enjoying being an asshole too much to hold back a wicked grin. Saint Trish, not so above it all. “I thought you were a badass chica. A regular Michelle Rodriguez. You can’t even take a sing-along?”

“You are such a fucking dipshit—I’m trying to help you.”

Jessica twisted her head away, hating the hurt look on Trish’s face. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. Not that she’d ever admit it. “I didn’t ask you to. You’re the one who wanted to slather this stuff all over me. What’s the big idea—this’ll save time later when you wanna lube me up?”

Trish groaned as she rolled her eyes heavenward. “You are such a child.”

“Yeah, well, when I was a child, you fucking loved me, so…”

Jessica immediately shut her eyes after saying that. She’d never been accused of being the most sensitive girl, but there were red flags and then there was a nuclear detonation. And she’d stumbled right into it, not thinking, as usual. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—“ she started.

“Let’s just finish up with the lotion,” Trish said. “Before I storm out of here and burn you in effigy.”

“Yeah,” Jessica agreed, feeling totally pathetic. She started turning over. “I could spring for matches…”

Trish stopped her, a hand on her shoulder. “I’m already done with that side.”

“Oh.” Jessica leaned back. That left the front of her. Funny how she wouldn’t care about half the East Side touching her there, but when it came to Trish… “I can do—“

“No, don’t move,” Trish said firmly. “I’ll do it.”

“It’s no problem. Like you said, I can tough it out.”

Jessica started to rise—pain lashing through her as she strained her damaged flesh. Trish was quick to shove her back down.

“I said no,” Trish said, now outright ordering Jessica. “Lie there and let me do it.” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t even have let you walk in here. I should’ve fucking carried you. Or gotten you a damn ambulance.”

“Put me in a hospital?” Jessica grinned in a lame attempt at a joke. “You’re not that mad at me, are you?”

“Oh, I am,” Trish assured her, the heat in her voice scorching even as she was exceedingly careful to rub the lotion into Jessica’s body. Her touch was a light caress no matter how acerbic her words were. “And I’m mad at me and I’m mad at that fucking maniac who did this to you and I’m mad at the whole goddamn world. I’m mad at my mom for sticking us together for a PR stunt and I’m mad at you again for being the best damn friend I could ask for at the same time you are the most frustrating person I have ever met. And I’m mad at me because I keep trying to figure you out even when there’s no goddamn answer and I should just let you drink yourself into the stupor that you clearly love more than me—“

“Trish,” Jessica said weakly. How the hell could Trish’s voice be so ragged with emotion when her hands were as coolly efficient as a machine? No, no machine could display the care and warmth that Trish did as she stooped over Jessica’s hurting body.

“And obviously I’m mad at that fucking tool with the acid and the world that made him and let him run around and is probably going to let him out of jail with a stern warning for some damn reason or another. Did I mention I was mad at my mom?”

“Trish,” Jessica said, forcing strength into her voice. “I’m sorry I sang that damn song, okay? I wasn’t thinking. I’m a fucking idiot, okay? A total retard.”

Trish let out a lengthy exhale. Her eyes were brimming with tears. Jessica would kick herself if she didn’t hurt so much. Day late and a dollar short, Jewel, as usual. 

“You shouldn’t say retard,” Trish said at last. “It’s offensive.”

“Well, that’s how much of an idiot I am. I am offensively idiotic.”

Trish sucked in another breath. She heaved shakily, not like she was on the verge of tears, but like she’d just had a crying fit and was now recovering. If anyone could compress a good cry into five clenched seconds, it was Trish. “How’s the lotion feel?”

“It’s nice,” Jessica said. “Better than I deserve.” 

And she liked the feel of Trish’s hands, how Trish stroked her gently like she was polishing some precious treasure. She could feel the anesthetic in the lotion working, letting her forget how fucked up she was, at least in one tiny aspect of her life. 

“Enough with the self-pity, too. If you really want to make it up to me, you can give yourself a break.”

Jessica lifted her head—apparently the pain had passed enough for her to do that without wincing. “Trish Walker tells me this? Radio host, heal thyself.”

“I’m a work in progress. You’d know that if you listened to the show.”

Jessica shook her head. The sensuous feel of Trish’s hands on her body was erasing the memory of the pain like it’d never happened. “Trish, I always listen to the show. Of course I do.”

Trish let out an uncomfortable chortle in disbelief—not that she thought Jessica was lying to her, but it was all so insane… “What, do you need to get ideas for what not to do for your mental health?”

“I like hearing you talk,” Jessica said. “And the radio seems like the one way I can do that without managing to piss you off.”

“I’m that high-strung, huh?”

“No, I’m that much of a bitch.”

“I thought you were giving yourself a break.”

“Okay,” Jessica shrugged equitably. “You are high-strung.”

“Thank you.”

Jessica paused a moment. “Trish?”

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t stop touching me.”

There it was. Whatever was happening between them, Jessica didn’t want it to stop. Moreover, she was ready to cop to that. Trish sputtered in disbelief—talk about giving herself a break. Then she kept rubbing Jessica.

“You really do have a great body, Jess. So soft and tender and… smooth. I’ve always loved touching it.”

“I’m a sickly little stick insect,” Jessica said as Trish rubbed the lotion into her belly, lower and lower. “It must drive you nuts that my skinny ass has superpowers and your golden goddess yoga body doesn’t.”

Trish smiled. Her hand went further down. “No… it bugs me that you’re taller than me. You wear those fucking combat boots and I traipse around in five-foot heels and that only puts us eye to eye.”

“You like the boots,” Jessica teased. 

“You know one of my boyfriends said you had coltish legs once?”

“Yeah? Which one?” Jessica asked. Then she gasped—Trish gently running her hand over Jessica’s sex, halfway between fondling it and applying the salve. Her arousal gathered on her mons, mixed with what Trish was applying. Jessica wondered if that tipped the balance one way or another. “Jesus, Walker… Jesus… the fuck do you get off being so good at this?”

“Maybe you’re just an easy lay,” Trish taunted her.

“No—no, no, no—if I’d fucking known you knew my cunt better than a Hitachi…”

“You knew,” Trish said firmly. “Remember our first time?”

“Fuck, Trish—“

Jessica reached for her, but Trish took her hand away, stilling Jessica with one hard look. “Don’t move. You’re injured.”

“My pussy isn’t,” Jessica reasoned.

Trish rolled her eyes. Some days, she didn’t know how Jessica could live with calling herself a detective. “Just lie there. Let me take care of it.”

Jessica actually growled, low in her throat. The flow of her juices only grew, and Trish massaged it into her thighs as lovingly, as arousingly, as she had the ointment.

“Trish… your hands feel amazing… so fucking amazing…”

“Shh,” Trish told her. “Shhhh.”

Jessica closed her eyes tightly as she came, bursting, exploding, on fire, the feeling so intense it was next to pain, but cleaner and more sweet than pain could ever be. God, she was an easy lay, but only for Trish. For Trish, she was the world’s biggest slut.

Trish rolled Jessica over, taking up position behind her as the big spoon. It still stung a little for Jessica to be touched, but Trish had judged correctly that it was worth it for Jessica to feel her closeness. Physical satiation piled on top of her exhaustion, the relief of pain, the sheer emotional comfort that Trish offered. Her twenty-four-seven anxiety eased up without a drop of alcohol. Jessica breathed in and smelled Trish’s perfume everywhere. What the fuck—was she in love or something?

“Trish, I… you…”

“Shhhh,” Trish repeated. “Shut the fuck up, Jones. Seriously.” 

“Always telling me what to do,” Jessica groused sweetly.

“Yeah. Shut up and get some sleep. And don’t try to tell me you need another round. I felt how hard you came and you nearly broke my finger. The edge is well and truly off.”

“Just like the first time,” Jessica sighed. “I don’t want to fuck it up now like I did then.”

“Why do you think I told you to be quiet?”

Jessica’s lips wobbled. She wished she could hold it in. She couldn’t, though, and she was also grateful for that. “Stay?”

“You know I will.”

“Yeah, but—thanks. This time, thanks.”