errorYou must be logged in to review this story.
Black Leather
folder
G through L › Law & Order
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
6
Views:
6,553
Reviews:
27
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
G through L › Law & Order
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
6
Views:
6,553
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.
I Want to Forget
Title: Black Leather
Author: RamJamsBlackBetty
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I don't even own the computer I'm typing this on...
Archive: yesserie-bob!
-- -- -- -- Denotes flashback/dream
** WAIT! Are you sure you've actually read chapter 4? There is some story there now, not just a blurb about how I was too sick to think...
I know it's been forever, but I have full confidence that none of you have died waiting for me!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
...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...
He was dreaming again, he knew it. The leather was engulfing him, torturing him with the knowledge that he could never have it. No matter which way he turned in the darkness, the smell was just as strong. He could hear it rustle as if his movements were making it move. He stopped fighting and surrendered himself to the blackness.
His world began to shift and he became aware of the fact that he wasn’t really asleep; he had just forgotten to open his eyes.
He opened them, then, to find himself draped gracelessly on his partner’s shoulder. He realized slowly that his face was in very close proximity with a finely made black leather coat.
He felt the heat begin to rise and a flush come to his cheeks. He took a deep breath of the leather-infused air and would have begun to live out his dream if not for his partner’s slightly husky, yet amused voice that gently scraped over his ears.
“For a skinny-assed man, you sure are heavy.”
The breath he had taken a moment earlier was expelled as a non-committal grunt that was both defiant and consenting. He pulled himself away from the warm black abyss to find that he was only a few feet from the front door of his building.
“Too weak to carry me all the way to my own door?”
“I didn’t say that.” There was a slightly awkward pause; the heat was still high, burning him inside and out.
“Yeah, well, the stairs are a bitch anyway.”
His partner turned to go, and he would have let him, but the coat called like a siren.
“You wanna come up?”
The young man turned, curiosity evident in his gaze.
“Sure.” There was a hesitant caution about him, as if he was out of his depth.
“Never been to your partner’s place before?”
“Nah…That wasn’t really a Narc thing…”
“Oh…” He blinked, mulling over this fact for a moment, “Well, come on, I don’t bite…usually.”
Fin cracked a smile, a bit of the tension leaving his shoulders.
The older man led the way; the only sound in the lobby of the apartment building was the scrape of their shoes on the hard stairs as they climbed the single flight to his floor.
His apartment wasn’t lavish, nor was it lacking. He lived the way he dressed – there were no frills. He was not a neat-freak; though everything had its proper place and he tried his best to ensure that everything stayed were it was supposed to be, instead of on the floor or in other random locations.
By his own standards, he was becoming a slob, but that could hardly be helped considering how much time he didn’t spend at home thanks to the psychos who kept him working for days at a time.
They shed their coats and hung them by the door.
“You want something to drink?” The question was more of a formality than anything else.
“Just some water would be great, thanks.” The answer was almost a question.
“Sure.”
He put ice into two glasses and filled one of them with water. Into the other, he poured a half-inch of scotch. He gestured vaguely to the couch with the near-full scotch bottle, the invitation was clear enough.
The couch was worn and soft; it was the kind you could get lost in if you weren’t careful. They sipped their drinks in silence, the clinking ice making a skewed melody as it shifted in their glasses.
“It’s so hard, you know?” He rolled his empty scotch glass between the palms of his hands. He was hunched over, his elbows braced on his knees, as if the weight of the world had found its resting place at the base of his neck. “Catching bad guys never heals the victims or brings back the dead. Bad people will always do bad things to people who don’t deserve it.”
This last was almost a whisper.
The hand returned to his back, searing and soothing him. He hated the hand for its anonymous comfort, but he knew he’d go crazy without it.
“That’s why we’re here.” Again, the voice scraped his ears and flowed over him. He poured himself another drink. He downed it quickly.
“But we’re always one time too late.” His vision began to swim, like he was looking up from the bottom of a pond.
The cold of the scotch chilled his insides, making him feel hollow and lightheaded. There was no response to his declaration. The only sound that reached his ears was that of the hand moving over the cotton of his shirt.
“I just want to forget. Forget all the victims, all the pain and loss. Help me forget.” His voice cracked.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Oh, cliffie! I promise on my life, and your life, that the next update will not take as long as this one did!
RJsBB
Author: RamJamsBlackBetty
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I don't even own the computer I'm typing this on...
Archive: yesserie-bob!
-- -- -- -- Denotes flashback/dream
** WAIT! Are you sure you've actually read chapter 4? There is some story there now, not just a blurb about how I was too sick to think...
I know it's been forever, but I have full confidence that none of you have died waiting for me!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
...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...
He was dreaming again, he knew it. The leather was engulfing him, torturing him with the knowledge that he could never have it. No matter which way he turned in the darkness, the smell was just as strong. He could hear it rustle as if his movements were making it move. He stopped fighting and surrendered himself to the blackness.
His world began to shift and he became aware of the fact that he wasn’t really asleep; he had just forgotten to open his eyes.
He opened them, then, to find himself draped gracelessly on his partner’s shoulder. He realized slowly that his face was in very close proximity with a finely made black leather coat.
He felt the heat begin to rise and a flush come to his cheeks. He took a deep breath of the leather-infused air and would have begun to live out his dream if not for his partner’s slightly husky, yet amused voice that gently scraped over his ears.
“For a skinny-assed man, you sure are heavy.”
The breath he had taken a moment earlier was expelled as a non-committal grunt that was both defiant and consenting. He pulled himself away from the warm black abyss to find that he was only a few feet from the front door of his building.
“Too weak to carry me all the way to my own door?”
“I didn’t say that.” There was a slightly awkward pause; the heat was still high, burning him inside and out.
“Yeah, well, the stairs are a bitch anyway.”
His partner turned to go, and he would have let him, but the coat called like a siren.
“You wanna come up?”
The young man turned, curiosity evident in his gaze.
“Sure.” There was a hesitant caution about him, as if he was out of his depth.
“Never been to your partner’s place before?”
“Nah…That wasn’t really a Narc thing…”
“Oh…” He blinked, mulling over this fact for a moment, “Well, come on, I don’t bite…usually.”
Fin cracked a smile, a bit of the tension leaving his shoulders.
The older man led the way; the only sound in the lobby of the apartment building was the scrape of their shoes on the hard stairs as they climbed the single flight to his floor.
His apartment wasn’t lavish, nor was it lacking. He lived the way he dressed – there were no frills. He was not a neat-freak; though everything had its proper place and he tried his best to ensure that everything stayed were it was supposed to be, instead of on the floor or in other random locations.
By his own standards, he was becoming a slob, but that could hardly be helped considering how much time he didn’t spend at home thanks to the psychos who kept him working for days at a time.
They shed their coats and hung them by the door.
“You want something to drink?” The question was more of a formality than anything else.
“Just some water would be great, thanks.” The answer was almost a question.
“Sure.”
He put ice into two glasses and filled one of them with water. Into the other, he poured a half-inch of scotch. He gestured vaguely to the couch with the near-full scotch bottle, the invitation was clear enough.
The couch was worn and soft; it was the kind you could get lost in if you weren’t careful. They sipped their drinks in silence, the clinking ice making a skewed melody as it shifted in their glasses.
“It’s so hard, you know?” He rolled his empty scotch glass between the palms of his hands. He was hunched over, his elbows braced on his knees, as if the weight of the world had found its resting place at the base of his neck. “Catching bad guys never heals the victims or brings back the dead. Bad people will always do bad things to people who don’t deserve it.”
This last was almost a whisper.
The hand returned to his back, searing and soothing him. He hated the hand for its anonymous comfort, but he knew he’d go crazy without it.
“That’s why we’re here.” Again, the voice scraped his ears and flowed over him. He poured himself another drink. He downed it quickly.
“But we’re always one time too late.” His vision began to swim, like he was looking up from the bottom of a pond.
The cold of the scotch chilled his insides, making him feel hollow and lightheaded. There was no response to his declaration. The only sound that reached his ears was that of the hand moving over the cotton of his shirt.
“I just want to forget. Forget all the victims, all the pain and loss. Help me forget.” His voice cracked.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Oh, cliffie! I promise on my life, and your life, that the next update will not take as long as this one did!
RJsBB