[Fic: Law & Order] Never Let me Go; Mike Cutter/Connie Rubirosa; PG-13
Title: Never Let me Go
Prompt: 02: Word: Snow
Word Count: 1011
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Never let me go, she whispers against his chest. Mike agrees.
Notes: Done for writerverse
Never Let me Go
Connie leaves New York City in the first blush of fall. Mike hadn't noticed it then, and he barely notices it now. But, what he does notice is how Los Angeles is warm and sometimes humid, even in the middle of winter.
He takes in the sky-reaching palm trees from his spot at Connie's apartment window, as he sips his morning coffee. Mike cannot help but think how disconcerting it is not to see at least one flake on the window ledge. In New York it would be cold and damp now. A layer of snow blanketing the streets. He told himself that was the reason he left to come here for the holidays. Every reason he keeps escaping to LA. Why he's been doing it for the past year or so.
Mike hears Connie as she approaches him. He sees her reflection in the glass, and can't help but smile. He used to think the cold and dampness of New York suited her, but now, he realizes Connie would be comfortable wherever she was. She is still in her pyjama pants, and a tank top. It shows off her wrists, pale forearms, and smooth skin.
"How's New York?" she asks, as she stands next to him.
"The same as you left it," he replies.
Their reflection's gazes meet then, both of them sizing up the other's unspoken questions as best they could.
"Do you ever think about it, Connie?"
"About what?"
"Moving back."
The silent stretches between them. Mike knows the answer she wants to say; the one she is trying to keep silent. He's always known the answer. Much like how he knows her body, knows the curve of her spine when he curls his arm around her. Knows how she feels when he has her beneath him. The soft skin of her neck tasting like sugar and cream.
"I do," she confesses finally.
It makes his heart stir.
-»«-
Mike still remembers the first time he kissed her. They were working late on a case file together, and she handed him a file. Their fingers had brushed against each other's, and he knew he was too far gone to back away.
So, he hadn't. He just let his lips touch hers.
When she did not push him away, he felt much the same way he does now after hearing her say I do.
-»«-
For months after their initial first kiss, Mike had not been able to get the taste of Connie out of his mouth. It lingered on his lips, against his tongue.
Even when he told her she had taken the job in LA, her taste still lingered. If he was honest, he did not want the taste of her to leave. It was as if her taste was a tangible piece of what mattered.
He knew nothing lasts forever. And, really, it wasn't as if they had made promises to each other then.
They couldn't.
-»«-
Mike could count on one hand the number of people he had been (or thought he'd been) in love with. He loved them in the only way he possibly could. He had watched their tears as he left their apartment for the last time, or kissed their cheek before he slips off into the night.
He never thought it possible to fall in love as deeply as he had with Connie. Never dreamed he would love the way she looked in a dress, or the curve of her spine when she sat up on the side of her bed. Or how he loves hearing her laugh, how she tilts her head back slightly, her eyes bright and full of life.
Mike wants her so much sometimes it hurts. The kind of hurt that makes someone's insides churn. Makes him want to reach for her in the still of the night when he's awake in his bed in New York.
He doesn't know what it is they are doing. He doesn't think he'll ever know unless they actually define it. This time he's so unsure of what the unknown will bring, but he wants it all the same. Wants to run towards it, let it catch him in its grasp, and never let him go.
-»«-
"What do you want from me?" she finally asks.
"Not this," Mike says, gesturing at the space between them with his hand, as if that was a good indication of how far apart they actually were.
"I don't want this either," Connie admits, not looking at him.
He sets his coffee cup down on a nearby table, before his hand reaches for hers. Mike curls his fingers around her wrist, thumb stroking the pulse point in her wrist.
"No?" Mike asks, and smiles as she brings her dark eyes up to his.
"No," she repeats.
"So," he says, stepping closer to her, his other hand reaching out to stroke her cheek. "What does that mean exactly?"
"It means whatever you want it to mean," she says cryptically.
Mike touches her chin with his index finger and thumb, raising it slightly. "Come home," he whispers.
She smiles slightly, before she lets their lips meet.
He curls his arms around her waist, pulling her against him as their kiss deepens.
Connie sleeps beside him that night, her dark hair resting on the white pillow, facing Mike. He resists the urge to reach out and touch her cheek. Instead, he settles for watching her sleep, the way her darkly fringed lashes are in direct contrast to the pale skin of her face.
Mike watches as her eyelids flutter eventually, how she opens her eyes and blinks at him. He knows he doesn't want to let her go. Doesn't know if he can.
"I'm coming home," she finally says.
"Really?" he asks.
"Really," she agrees.
Mike curls an arm around her shoulders, and pulls her close. He rests his chin on her head, listens to her heart beat.
"Never let me go," she whispers against his chest.
"Never," he agrees.
They fall asleep like that, and he never lets her go.
Prompt: 02: Word: Snow
Word Count: 1011
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Never let me go, she whispers against his chest. Mike agrees.
Notes: Done for writerverse
Never Let me Go
Connie leaves New York City in the first blush of fall. Mike hadn't noticed it then, and he barely notices it now. But, what he does notice is how Los Angeles is warm and sometimes humid, even in the middle of winter.
He takes in the sky-reaching palm trees from his spot at Connie's apartment window, as he sips his morning coffee. Mike cannot help but think how disconcerting it is not to see at least one flake on the window ledge. In New York it would be cold and damp now. A layer of snow blanketing the streets. He told himself that was the reason he left to come here for the holidays. Every reason he keeps escaping to LA. Why he's been doing it for the past year or so.
Mike hears Connie as she approaches him. He sees her reflection in the glass, and can't help but smile. He used to think the cold and dampness of New York suited her, but now, he realizes Connie would be comfortable wherever she was. She is still in her pyjama pants, and a tank top. It shows off her wrists, pale forearms, and smooth skin.
"How's New York?" she asks, as she stands next to him.
"The same as you left it," he replies.
Their reflection's gazes meet then, both of them sizing up the other's unspoken questions as best they could.
"Do you ever think about it, Connie?"
"About what?"
"Moving back."
The silent stretches between them. Mike knows the answer she wants to say; the one she is trying to keep silent. He's always known the answer. Much like how he knows her body, knows the curve of her spine when he curls his arm around her. Knows how she feels when he has her beneath him. The soft skin of her neck tasting like sugar and cream.
"I do," she confesses finally.
It makes his heart stir.
-»«-
Mike still remembers the first time he kissed her. They were working late on a case file together, and she handed him a file. Their fingers had brushed against each other's, and he knew he was too far gone to back away.
So, he hadn't. He just let his lips touch hers.
When she did not push him away, he felt much the same way he does now after hearing her say I do.
-»«-
For months after their initial first kiss, Mike had not been able to get the taste of Connie out of his mouth. It lingered on his lips, against his tongue.
Even when he told her she had taken the job in LA, her taste still lingered. If he was honest, he did not want the taste of her to leave. It was as if her taste was a tangible piece of what mattered.
He knew nothing lasts forever. And, really, it wasn't as if they had made promises to each other then.
They couldn't.
-»«-
Mike could count on one hand the number of people he had been (or thought he'd been) in love with. He loved them in the only way he possibly could. He had watched their tears as he left their apartment for the last time, or kissed their cheek before he slips off into the night.
He never thought it possible to fall in love as deeply as he had with Connie. Never dreamed he would love the way she looked in a dress, or the curve of her spine when she sat up on the side of her bed. Or how he loves hearing her laugh, how she tilts her head back slightly, her eyes bright and full of life.
Mike wants her so much sometimes it hurts. The kind of hurt that makes someone's insides churn. Makes him want to reach for her in the still of the night when he's awake in his bed in New York.
He doesn't know what it is they are doing. He doesn't think he'll ever know unless they actually define it. This time he's so unsure of what the unknown will bring, but he wants it all the same. Wants to run towards it, let it catch him in its grasp, and never let him go.
-»«-
"What do you want from me?" she finally asks.
"Not this," Mike says, gesturing at the space between them with his hand, as if that was a good indication of how far apart they actually were.
"I don't want this either," Connie admits, not looking at him.
He sets his coffee cup down on a nearby table, before his hand reaches for hers. Mike curls his fingers around her wrist, thumb stroking the pulse point in her wrist.
"No?" Mike asks, and smiles as she brings her dark eyes up to his.
"No," she repeats.
"So," he says, stepping closer to her, his other hand reaching out to stroke her cheek. "What does that mean exactly?"
"It means whatever you want it to mean," she says cryptically.
Mike touches her chin with his index finger and thumb, raising it slightly. "Come home," he whispers.
She smiles slightly, before she lets their lips meet.
He curls his arms around her waist, pulling her against him as their kiss deepens.
Connie sleeps beside him that night, her dark hair resting on the white pillow, facing Mike. He resists the urge to reach out and touch her cheek. Instead, he settles for watching her sleep, the way her darkly fringed lashes are in direct contrast to the pale skin of her face.
Mike watches as her eyelids flutter eventually, how she opens her eyes and blinks at him. He knows he doesn't want to let her go. Doesn't know if he can.
"I'm coming home," she finally says.
"Really?" he asks.
"Really," she agrees.
Mike curls an arm around her shoulders, and pulls her close. He rests his chin on her head, listens to her heart beat.
"Never let me go," she whispers against his chest.
"Never," he agrees.
They fall asleep like that, and he never lets her go.