Black Leather
folder
G through L › Law & Order
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
6
Views:
6,552
Reviews:
27
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
G through L › Law & Order
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
6
Views:
6,552
Reviews:
27
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Law & Order, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Hypothetical Terror
Title: Black Leather
Author: RamJamsBlackBetty
Rating: NC-17 XD
Disclaimer: I have a dream today...and it's *only* a dream....phooey!
Archive: talk to me, people!
-- -- -- -- denotes flashback/dream
I'm baaaaaaaaaaaacccckkkkk! (and still sick as hell, but mom kicked me out of bed...she told me to be 'productive' today...heeheehee)
Thanks to KarinAlyssa for the offer to beta...lemme see how these next few chap's go, then I'll get back to you!
Muchas gracias (I took french in school...forgive me) to you all for your encouraging words!
BTW: this chapter is mostly dark with a dash of fluff and a pinch of H/C...I was in a dark place when I wrote this-namely, my cave!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
...His eyelids got heavy and he slipped peacefully into the world of dreams, fantasies and hidden horrors...
-- -- -- --
His heart is racing; he can feel a drop of perspiration make its way along his jaw to hang precariously off the end of his chin. He’s sweating, but the velvet night is cool.
He and his partner have chased the suspect into an alleyway and cornered him there. At one time in the past, the alleyway must have led somewhere, but since then, it has been transformed into a dead end thanks to a ten foot brick wall. There are many dumpsters and abandoned boxes lining the deserted lane, and their guy could be behind or in any one of them. Finding him will be close to impossible.
The night is one of the more beautiful he can remember seeing – the world is bathed in silver-gray and the shadows are inky black thanks to the quarter moon.
He is aware of his partner’s presence to his left and takes comfort in their shared trust.
There is a scuffling in one of the pitch black parts of the alleyway making it hard to pinpoint where the sound came from. He holds his breath, waiting in the silence for the sound to tease his ears again.
He almost misses the movement near the dead end: a flit of something through a patch of silver t. t. Before he can react, the movement ceases.
The blood begins to pound silently in his ears, he can feel it move, but he seems to have gonaf taf to its thundering.
In fact, he realizes, slowly, he has gone deaf entirely.
He doesn’t hear the footfalls of the perp as he sprints towards his partner with something in his right hand that catches the moonlight as he raises it. He doesn’t hear his partner yell, “Freeze!” Doesn’t hear the suspect’s sharp intake of breath as his partner draws his own gun. He doesn’t hear the warning shot that’s fired above the criminal’s head.
The shot gives the suspect pause, but the felon keeps his weapon aimed, the trigger pulled almost to the critical point.
In another heartbeat, an imperceptible movement by the finger on the small curve of metal looses a slug of lead with blinding speed.
The veteran cop empties his clip into the suspect’s chest even before the initial *crack* shatters the night. He watches out of the corner of his eye as his partner staggers backwards and crumples like a house of cards.
He tries to run to his fallen ner,ner, but his feet can’t seem to move properly. He looks down and, to his horror, finds the bloodied hands of the man he just shot clinging to his ankles. Viciously, he kicks the man, and with a final groan of agony, the suspect lies still.
A moment later, he is at his partner’s side, helpless to stem the flow of blood from the gaping hole in his chest. The dark blood stains the leather of his partner’s jacket a deep red, ruining the coat forever. He pulls his friend close, trying to comfort both himself and the man with the lead in his chest.
He looks searchingly into the eyes of the man he has shared so many long hours and coffee breaks with and realizes, with a sudden sense of emptiness, that Fin is dead.
Everything he’ver ver said, all the lewd comments he’d withheld, every gentle thing he’d almost said but bit back for fear of the fallout, all of these pour forth from his broken soul with an immeasurable force. Propelled by anguish, the cry of pain and loss soars up into the night and is soon joined by the wails of the city dogs.
-- -- -- --
He awoke violently, fiercely gripping a pillow to his chest. For a long moment, he lay perfectly still, his eyes clamped shut. He didn’t want to wake up for fear that what had just happened was a memory, not a dream.
Gradually, his thought processes began to function properly again and he realized that he was almost quietly weeping.
He had rolled onto his side and was facing the wall, so he became aware of the person behind him before he saw who it was. He hoped the person watching over him was Fin because his partner was the only person who knew about the nightmares.
The mattress dipped as his silent guardian sat behind him on the bed. He curled tighter into himself. Fin may know about the nightmares, but he did not need to see his senior partner crying over them.
That is, if his quiet guest was, in fact, Fin. He ’t b’t bother to try and guess who was there; he was too tired.
“That you, Fin?” His words were muffled by the pillow he was still clutching, but his query was not entirely lost in the goose down. A warm hand was rubbing soothing circles on his shoulder.
“Yeah…it’s me.” Fin’s voice was almost a whisper, full of promised comfort and support. “You ok, John?” The hand stopped its small circular journey and lay dormant.
The man in question let out a shuddering sigh and seemed to deflate. For some reason, seeing dead bodies and walking through crime scenes everyday did not bother him nearly as much as dreaming about something that might happen. The hypothetical always seemed to scare him more than the actual.
He rolled onto his stomach and turned his face towards the only other person in the world who seemed to almost understand him. He looked up into the dark eyes of his partner, and saw the silent questions there. They never really talked about the nightmares, but Fin’s questing gaze demanded an audible answer. It was a few moments in coming.
“You…you died…” He buried his face once again in the pillow, and his whole body tensed with the effort of fighting off the tears. The warm hand began its journey again, this time covering the expanse of his back in its wanderings, trying in vain to ease the pain of the imagined loss.
Once the seasoned cop got control of his emotions, he rolled onto his back so that he could look at Fin and talk to him at the same time.
The soothing hand moved back to the young man’s thigh, where it rested, utterly harmless, yet astonishingly fascinating to the elder man.
He noticed the way the knuckles of the index and middle fingers were more pronounced than the others. With his eyes, he traced the curves of the strong fingers from their tips to where they merged into the hands that were both powerful and graceful. He could count the number of veins on the back of the tanned hand. The slight calluses at the tips of the fingers were especially intriguing. He took in all of this through eyes that were still half-closed against the retreating grief. He saw the whole and every detail at once and wondered dimly at the full potential of the subject of his scrutiny.
Very suddenly, he returned from his musings and looked Fin in the eye.
“What time is it?” He was surprised at how quiet his voice was. He sounded almost…scared?
“Eleven thirty.” His partner’s voice was equally quiet, but it lacked the tinge of fear. “Everyone else has gone home already.”
“Oh…” He contemplated this fact as if the secrets of the universe had just been revealed to him in that simple phrase.
“Come on.” The strong hand returned to his shoulder to pat it encouragingly. “I’ll take you home.”
“Thanks.” He got up slowly, his tired body complaining the whole time.
The drive to his home passed in companionable silence. Fin pulled up in front of the building and turned to the passenger seat to see if he should walk the tired man to his apartment. His question was answered before it was asked; his partner was sleeping like a baby, glasses askew, mouth slightly open, snoring lightly.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
oich...please tell me if the tenses got screwed up in that dream sequence or if anything was unclear...
Prelude to smut? Maaayyybe...
Love ya!
RJsBB
Author: RamJamsBlackBetty
Rating: NC-17 XD
Disclaimer: I have a dream today...and it's *only* a dream....phooey!
Archive: talk to me, people!
-- -- -- -- denotes flashback/dream
I'm baaaaaaaaaaaacccckkkkk! (and still sick as hell, but mom kicked me out of bed...she told me to be 'productive' today...heeheehee)
Thanks to KarinAlyssa for the offer to beta...lemme see how these next few chap's go, then I'll get back to you!
Muchas gracias (I took french in school...forgive me) to you all for your encouraging words!
BTW: this chapter is mostly dark with a dash of fluff and a pinch of H/C...I was in a dark place when I wrote this-namely, my cave!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
...His eyelids got heavy and he slipped peacefully into the world of dreams, fantasies and hidden horrors...
-- -- -- --
His heart is racing; he can feel a drop of perspiration make its way along his jaw to hang precariously off the end of his chin. He’s sweating, but the velvet night is cool.
He and his partner have chased the suspect into an alleyway and cornered him there. At one time in the past, the alleyway must have led somewhere, but since then, it has been transformed into a dead end thanks to a ten foot brick wall. There are many dumpsters and abandoned boxes lining the deserted lane, and their guy could be behind or in any one of them. Finding him will be close to impossible.
The night is one of the more beautiful he can remember seeing – the world is bathed in silver-gray and the shadows are inky black thanks to the quarter moon.
He is aware of his partner’s presence to his left and takes comfort in their shared trust.
There is a scuffling in one of the pitch black parts of the alleyway making it hard to pinpoint where the sound came from. He holds his breath, waiting in the silence for the sound to tease his ears again.
He almost misses the movement near the dead end: a flit of something through a patch of silver t. t. Before he can react, the movement ceases.
The blood begins to pound silently in his ears, he can feel it move, but he seems to have gonaf taf to its thundering.
In fact, he realizes, slowly, he has gone deaf entirely.
He doesn’t hear the footfalls of the perp as he sprints towards his partner with something in his right hand that catches the moonlight as he raises it. He doesn’t hear his partner yell, “Freeze!” Doesn’t hear the suspect’s sharp intake of breath as his partner draws his own gun. He doesn’t hear the warning shot that’s fired above the criminal’s head.
The shot gives the suspect pause, but the felon keeps his weapon aimed, the trigger pulled almost to the critical point.
In another heartbeat, an imperceptible movement by the finger on the small curve of metal looses a slug of lead with blinding speed.
The veteran cop empties his clip into the suspect’s chest even before the initial *crack* shatters the night. He watches out of the corner of his eye as his partner staggers backwards and crumples like a house of cards.
He tries to run to his fallen ner,ner, but his feet can’t seem to move properly. He looks down and, to his horror, finds the bloodied hands of the man he just shot clinging to his ankles. Viciously, he kicks the man, and with a final groan of agony, the suspect lies still.
A moment later, he is at his partner’s side, helpless to stem the flow of blood from the gaping hole in his chest. The dark blood stains the leather of his partner’s jacket a deep red, ruining the coat forever. He pulls his friend close, trying to comfort both himself and the man with the lead in his chest.
He looks searchingly into the eyes of the man he has shared so many long hours and coffee breaks with and realizes, with a sudden sense of emptiness, that Fin is dead.
Everything he’ver ver said, all the lewd comments he’d withheld, every gentle thing he’d almost said but bit back for fear of the fallout, all of these pour forth from his broken soul with an immeasurable force. Propelled by anguish, the cry of pain and loss soars up into the night and is soon joined by the wails of the city dogs.
-- -- -- --
He awoke violently, fiercely gripping a pillow to his chest. For a long moment, he lay perfectly still, his eyes clamped shut. He didn’t want to wake up for fear that what had just happened was a memory, not a dream.
Gradually, his thought processes began to function properly again and he realized that he was almost quietly weeping.
He had rolled onto his side and was facing the wall, so he became aware of the person behind him before he saw who it was. He hoped the person watching over him was Fin because his partner was the only person who knew about the nightmares.
The mattress dipped as his silent guardian sat behind him on the bed. He curled tighter into himself. Fin may know about the nightmares, but he did not need to see his senior partner crying over them.
That is, if his quiet guest was, in fact, Fin. He ’t b’t bother to try and guess who was there; he was too tired.
“That you, Fin?” His words were muffled by the pillow he was still clutching, but his query was not entirely lost in the goose down. A warm hand was rubbing soothing circles on his shoulder.
“Yeah…it’s me.” Fin’s voice was almost a whisper, full of promised comfort and support. “You ok, John?” The hand stopped its small circular journey and lay dormant.
The man in question let out a shuddering sigh and seemed to deflate. For some reason, seeing dead bodies and walking through crime scenes everyday did not bother him nearly as much as dreaming about something that might happen. The hypothetical always seemed to scare him more than the actual.
He rolled onto his stomach and turned his face towards the only other person in the world who seemed to almost understand him. He looked up into the dark eyes of his partner, and saw the silent questions there. They never really talked about the nightmares, but Fin’s questing gaze demanded an audible answer. It was a few moments in coming.
“You…you died…” He buried his face once again in the pillow, and his whole body tensed with the effort of fighting off the tears. The warm hand began its journey again, this time covering the expanse of his back in its wanderings, trying in vain to ease the pain of the imagined loss.
Once the seasoned cop got control of his emotions, he rolled onto his back so that he could look at Fin and talk to him at the same time.
The soothing hand moved back to the young man’s thigh, where it rested, utterly harmless, yet astonishingly fascinating to the elder man.
He noticed the way the knuckles of the index and middle fingers were more pronounced than the others. With his eyes, he traced the curves of the strong fingers from their tips to where they merged into the hands that were both powerful and graceful. He could count the number of veins on the back of the tanned hand. The slight calluses at the tips of the fingers were especially intriguing. He took in all of this through eyes that were still half-closed against the retreating grief. He saw the whole and every detail at once and wondered dimly at the full potential of the subject of his scrutiny.
Very suddenly, he returned from his musings and looked Fin in the eye.
“What time is it?” He was surprised at how quiet his voice was. He sounded almost…scared?
“Eleven thirty.” His partner’s voice was equally quiet, but it lacked the tinge of fear. “Everyone else has gone home already.”
“Oh…” He contemplated this fact as if the secrets of the universe had just been revealed to him in that simple phrase.
“Come on.” The strong hand returned to his shoulder to pat it encouragingly. “I’ll take you home.”
“Thanks.” He got up slowly, his tired body complaining the whole time.
The drive to his home passed in companionable silence. Fin pulled up in front of the building and turned to the passenger seat to see if he should walk the tired man to his apartment. His question was answered before it was asked; his partner was sleeping like a baby, glasses askew, mouth slightly open, snoring lightly.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
oich...please tell me if the tenses got screwed up in that dream sequence or if anything was unclear...
Prelude to smut? Maaayyybe...
Love ya!
RJsBB