Fic: Under my Skin
Title: Under my Skin
Story Rating: R/NC-17
Fandom: As the World Turns
Pairing: Luke/Reid
Disclaimer: If only Reid belonged to me....
Notes: I was listening to Frank Sinatra and found it amazing how LuRe 'I've Got You Under my Skin' is. Which inspired me to write this. If you want to see the whole lyrics, go here. This is more R than NC-17 but I'm covering my bases :)
Link:
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Under my Skin
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
You see their hands entwine on the hospital bed and it's remarkably like being punched in the gut.
You know this because you've been punched in the gut by enough people to know how it feels.
You could lie to yourself and insist this dull ache is indigestion but you are far too arrogant to pretend to be that ignorant.
If you're one thing, you're honest. If you're two things, you're an honest ass.
Noah's large hands sit immobile as Luke's curl around them, clinging tightly with a desperation that leaves a bad taste in your mouth.
You really do wonder why he bothers to care. Mostly, you wonder why you care that he cares.
Touches linger and eyes meet and you distinctly remember the times he has looked at you like that - like you were the only thing in the room.
But he was not looking at you now.
You try and tell yourself you don't care. Even you don't buy it.
Luke tilts his head and you vividly remember running your mouth across that throat, dipping your tongue into his clavicle and tasting him on your lips. He always moaned when you did that and whispered your name desperately against your ear.
It annoys you that you can still feel his warm breath in your hair.
"We're just friends, you know," he murmured tiredly into your sweaty collarbone once, his head tucked under your chin. "Me and Noah. He doesn't have anyone else." His fingers traced invisible shapes across your stomach, his hair brown with sweat and plastered to his forehead as he stared at you intently. You told him you knew it was innocent. You can lie just as well as you can tell hard truths.
Their laughs bring you hurtling back to the present and you tighten your jaw, their smiles silently reminiscing about a past you know you just can't compete with.
So, turning on your heel and heading to your office, you don't try to. Some people would call this self sacrifice. You call it self preservation.
"I saw you watching us, you know," he says leaning over your desk ten minutes later, violating your personal space and giving you that look. He's locked the door behind him, face inches from yours.
You hate how attractive you find him.
"Despite what you think, Mr Snyder, the world doesn't revolve around you," you reply shortly, going back to your files and trying to ignore how hot your skin feels. "You're delusional."
"And you're jealous," he says but his voice is fond and he's smiling that infuriating smile. "Why, Dr Oliver, you do have feelings."
"No, I don't," you lie dryly but he laughs and crushes his lips against yours anyway.
You really don't think you'll ever get enough of that mouth.
So you concede and kiss him back.
Your left hand is tight on his and tries its best to erase Noah's touch from his skin.
Your right rakes through his hair and pulls him forcefully onto your lap.
"Reid..." he groans, undulating against you with a desperation that grows more frantic with every grind of your hips.
You catch every sigh in your mouth, hungrier for him than you've ever been for anything in your life.
"Maybe... We shouldn't... Someone might..." he pants, contradicting his words by continuing to thrust into you, mouth open and wanton against yours. "Not here..."
"Here," you growl commandingly in a voice you don't recognise, your hands hard on his ass and rhythmically pushing him to and fro against you until neither of you can take it anymore.
He makes a keening sound and collapses bonelessly on top of you, his shirt sticking to him like a second skin. You follow soon after, your mouth sucking on his slippery neck until it bruises.
Even exhausted, he manages to comb a tired hand through your sweaty hair and urge your ravenous mouth on its quest inside his skin.
He is going to be the death of you one day. You know this just as well as you know how brilliant a neurosurgeon you are.
But when he moans your name reverently against your mouth, you think that maybe death is a worthy payment.
Story Rating: R/NC-17
Fandom: As the World Turns
Pairing: Luke/Reid
Disclaimer: If only Reid belonged to me....
Notes: I was listening to Frank Sinatra and found it amazing how LuRe 'I've Got You Under my Skin' is. Which inspired me to write this. If you want to see the whole lyrics, go here. This is more R than NC-17 but I'm covering my bases :)
Link:
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Under my Skin
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
You see their hands entwine on the hospital bed and it's remarkably like being punched in the gut.
You know this because you've been punched in the gut by enough people to know how it feels.
You could lie to yourself and insist this dull ache is indigestion but you are far too arrogant to pretend to be that ignorant.
If you're one thing, you're honest. If you're two things, you're an honest ass.
Noah's large hands sit immobile as Luke's curl around them, clinging tightly with a desperation that leaves a bad taste in your mouth.
You really do wonder why he bothers to care. Mostly, you wonder why you care that he cares.
Touches linger and eyes meet and you distinctly remember the times he has looked at you like that - like you were the only thing in the room.
But he was not looking at you now.
You try and tell yourself you don't care. Even you don't buy it.
Luke tilts his head and you vividly remember running your mouth across that throat, dipping your tongue into his clavicle and tasting him on your lips. He always moaned when you did that and whispered your name desperately against your ear.
It annoys you that you can still feel his warm breath in your hair.
"We're just friends, you know," he murmured tiredly into your sweaty collarbone once, his head tucked under your chin. "Me and Noah. He doesn't have anyone else." His fingers traced invisible shapes across your stomach, his hair brown with sweat and plastered to his forehead as he stared at you intently. You told him you knew it was innocent. You can lie just as well as you can tell hard truths.
Their laughs bring you hurtling back to the present and you tighten your jaw, their smiles silently reminiscing about a past you know you just can't compete with.
So, turning on your heel and heading to your office, you don't try to. Some people would call this self sacrifice. You call it self preservation.
"I saw you watching us, you know," he says leaning over your desk ten minutes later, violating your personal space and giving you that look. He's locked the door behind him, face inches from yours.
You hate how attractive you find him.
"Despite what you think, Mr Snyder, the world doesn't revolve around you," you reply shortly, going back to your files and trying to ignore how hot your skin feels. "You're delusional."
"And you're jealous," he says but his voice is fond and he's smiling that infuriating smile. "Why, Dr Oliver, you do have feelings."
"No, I don't," you lie dryly but he laughs and crushes his lips against yours anyway.
You really don't think you'll ever get enough of that mouth.
So you concede and kiss him back.
Your left hand is tight on his and tries its best to erase Noah's touch from his skin.
Your right rakes through his hair and pulls him forcefully onto your lap.
"Reid..." he groans, undulating against you with a desperation that grows more frantic with every grind of your hips.
You catch every sigh in your mouth, hungrier for him than you've ever been for anything in your life.
"Maybe... We shouldn't... Someone might..." he pants, contradicting his words by continuing to thrust into you, mouth open and wanton against yours. "Not here..."
"Here," you growl commandingly in a voice you don't recognise, your hands hard on his ass and rhythmically pushing him to and fro against you until neither of you can take it anymore.
He makes a keening sound and collapses bonelessly on top of you, his shirt sticking to him like a second skin. You follow soon after, your mouth sucking on his slippery neck until it bruises.
Even exhausted, he manages to comb a tired hand through your sweaty hair and urge your ravenous mouth on its quest inside his skin.
He is going to be the death of you one day. You know this just as well as you know how brilliant a neurosurgeon you are.
But when he moans your name reverently against your mouth, you think that maybe death is a worthy payment.