Black Leather
folder
G through L › Law & Order
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
6
Views:
6,554
Reviews:
27
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
G through L › Law & Order
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
6
Views:
6,554
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.
"Yeah, John?"
Title: Black Leather
Author: RamJamsBlackBetty
Rating: I think NC - 17 about covers it, no?
Archive: Yup
Disclaimer: Wait...they're not mine? *k, bk, blink* Dammit!
-- -- -- -- denotes dream/flashback
*blows dust off computer and compences to type...*
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
...“I just want to forget. Forget all the victims, all the pain and loss… Help me forget.” His voice cracked. ...
His request was directed at the room in general, though he was staring intently at the half-full bottle of scotch. Seeing the direction of his gaze, his partner grasped the bottle and escorted it back to the cabinet from whence it came.
He leaned back against the couch, closed his eyes and sighed heavily.
-- -- -- --
The scrape of stubble on his cheek makes him ache. A moan slides past his lips as he feels hot breath on his ear. The heat focuses itself into a point and teeth gently nip at his tender skin. He is trapped between the instinct to pull away from the tickling mouth and to move closer to the source of pleasure that is making him pant.
The hands pull him flush against throngrong body before him. For a moment, he is frozen but the mouth and the hands and the heat are too much; once again he retreats to the comfort of the black abyss. This time, though, the leather only reminds him of what is waiting for him.
He feels the scrape of teeth against his own neck followed by the gentle caress of lips and it is a few moments before he realizes that the shallow, rhythmic roll of his hips is being matched by an equally shallow counter-rhythm. His hands move of their own volition: one slides over leather and comes to rest between the powerful shoulder blades, the other stops just above the jeans. He spreads his fingers over the hard back, as if trying to cover it with just his hands.
He feels the rhythm increase and is helpless to stop own own immediate response; he matches the new tempo and pulls the heated body closer, trying to make the two of them into one by pure force. He can feel the ragged breath on his neck and knows, with an aching satisfaction, that he is the sole cause. Again, the rhythm increases and he matches it, his control slipping.
The searing h are are strong, yet supple on him, and with each movement they remind him who they belong to. The name of that man is on the tip of his tongue and he desperately wants to say it, if only to experience the reaction it will elicit. He fights to force the single syllable past his thick tongue; every muscle that’s nnvolnvolved in keeping pace with the ever-increasing rhythm is taut with the effort.
Strangled gasps and half-formed pleas escape his open mouth, but not the name. His hands are tense on the back, his fingers crooked as if he were scratching an itch. The rhythm reaches a frenzied pace, and just as his hands clench the leather on a final desperate push towards ecstasy, the name erupts from within him.
-- -- -- --
“Yeah, John?”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
haHA! I\orryorry, but I just *had* to! Looks like someone has some explainin' to do!
It's been a long time, I know... ah, well, at least this site still exists, if not my fanbase...
RJsBB
Author: RamJamsBlackBetty
Rating: I think NC - 17 about covers it, no?
Archive: Yup
Disclaimer: Wait...they're not mine? *k, bk, blink* Dammit!
-- -- -- -- denotes dream/flashback
*blows dust off computer and compences to type...*
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
...“I just want to forget. Forget all the victims, all the pain and loss… Help me forget.” His voice cracked. ...
His request was directed at the room in general, though he was staring intently at the half-full bottle of scotch. Seeing the direction of his gaze, his partner grasped the bottle and escorted it back to the cabinet from whence it came.
He leaned back against the couch, closed his eyes and sighed heavily.
-- -- -- --
The scrape of stubble on his cheek makes him ache. A moan slides past his lips as he feels hot breath on his ear. The heat focuses itself into a point and teeth gently nip at his tender skin. He is trapped between the instinct to pull away from the tickling mouth and to move closer to the source of pleasure that is making him pant.
The hands pull him flush against throngrong body before him. For a moment, he is frozen but the mouth and the hands and the heat are too much; once again he retreats to the comfort of the black abyss. This time, though, the leather only reminds him of what is waiting for him.
He feels the scrape of teeth against his own neck followed by the gentle caress of lips and it is a few moments before he realizes that the shallow, rhythmic roll of his hips is being matched by an equally shallow counter-rhythm. His hands move of their own volition: one slides over leather and comes to rest between the powerful shoulder blades, the other stops just above the jeans. He spreads his fingers over the hard back, as if trying to cover it with just his hands.
He feels the rhythm increase and is helpless to stop own own immediate response; he matches the new tempo and pulls the heated body closer, trying to make the two of them into one by pure force. He can feel the ragged breath on his neck and knows, with an aching satisfaction, that he is the sole cause. Again, the rhythm increases and he matches it, his control slipping.
The searing h are are strong, yet supple on him, and with each movement they remind him who they belong to. The name of that man is on the tip of his tongue and he desperately wants to say it, if only to experience the reaction it will elicit. He fights to force the single syllable past his thick tongue; every muscle that’s nnvolnvolved in keeping pace with the ever-increasing rhythm is taut with the effort.
Strangled gasps and half-formed pleas escape his open mouth, but not the name. His hands are tense on the back, his fingers crooked as if he were scratching an itch. The rhythm reaches a frenzied pace, and just as his hands clench the leather on a final desperate push towards ecstasy, the name erupts from within him.
-- -- -- --
“Yeah, John?”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
haHA! I\orryorry, but I just *had* to! Looks like someone has some explainin' to do!
It's been a long time, I know... ah, well, at least this site still exists, if not my fanbase...
RJsBB