FIC: Shut Out the Light (1/1) RPF
TITLE: Shut Out the Light
AUTHOR: Laura Smith
PAIRING: Jamie Bamber/Katee Sackhoff
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: Shut out the shadows too
DISCLAIMER: Jamie Bamber and Katee Sackhoff belong only to themselves. I don't claim them, I don't claim to know them and no harm is intended. I make no profit from this, I just like playing with them.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: For indigo419
It’s a bar in London, somewhere off the beaten path. Jamie goes there once a week for one drink and then he leaves. He doesn’t talk to anyone. He doesn’t look around. He simply goes to the bar, orders his drink, sits at a table in the back. He drinks his drink slowly, watching the clock, and then he leaves. No one knows him. No one recognizes him.
It’s been two years, seven months and four days since the last time he saw her, since he told her that he’d be there if she wanted to see him again. So every Tuesday night he shows up at seven and orders his drink, staying until seven-thirty before making his way home, taking a tangle of roads back to the flat he sublets during filming or to the house when he’s not working. It’s off season now, so he’ll go back to the house tonight, even though his family is off in Los Angeles waiting for him to join them. He flies out tomorrow, and he’s ready to be gone from here for a while, but he can’t leave until early in the morning, which means he still has tonight to get through.
He knows he should stop. He wants to stop because week after week of coming here is killing him slowly, making him ache in ways that feel like broken bones, sharp and vicious in the winter, a languid persistent pain in the summer. He’s made a promise to himself that this is the last time. He’ll go away to the states and then, when he comes back, the habit will be broken, the routine torn asunder.
There’s just tonight to get through, he knows. One more night and he’s free.
Except there’s someone in his booth. Someone with blonde hair to her shoulders, falling in looping curls against her neck, hiding her face as he stands at the bar. His hand shakes as the bartender gives him his usual scotch and soda, but he carries the drink steadily, willing himself to complete every step.
She doesn’t look up as he sits across from her, just sips her drink - always one of those god-awful fruity drinks with swords or umbrellas or parrots sticking out of them that he’s relatively certain no one in this bar knows how to make - and continues reading the book in front of her. Jamie settles on the bench and sips his own drink, willing his heart to slow back to normal. She continues reading, plucking the straw spearing the fruit from her drink.
“I really wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Why’s that?” She looks up at him and meets his eyes and it’s like a kick to the gut and thick, gorgeous need in his groin.
“I imagine that fruit probably dates back to the Second World War.” He takes the straw from her hand and lays it on the scarred surface of the table. “Trust me. It’s for your own good.”
“Let’s get out of here.”
He nods and stands, waiting for her and then taking her elbow lightly in his grip. She’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt, so he’s not touching skin, but just the heat of her body is enough. “Let’s go.”
**
He has a lease, but when he’s not filming, he sublets the flat. He knows there’s someone living there now, but there’s no answer at the buzzer, so he lets them in and leads her straight to the bedroom. Someone else’s sheets are on his bed, and someone else’s clothes are scattered around the room. She raises an eyebrow and then strips off her shirt, and she’s not wearing anything underneath.
He groans and tugs of his own shirt, only unbuttoning it enough that he can strip it over his head. She wiggles out of her skirt, hips swaying and breasts moving and he undoes his trousers as she lets it fall. She stands there in front of him, a strap of lace that could only be called panties if one was very generous and knee-high brown boots. He discards the rest of his clothes and moves over to her, one hand tangling in her hair as he kisses her, the other pushing her panties down.
She groans into his mouth as her panties fall, as his fingers move to the heat of her, pushing past wet flesh to find her clit. Her breasts rub against his chest and the hardness of her nipples makes him groan in return.
“Jamie…”
He shakes his head and sinks to his knees, guiding her legs apart. Her fingers grip his shoulders for support and he lowers his head to flick his tongue over the swollen nub. H works two fingers inside her, his tongue playing over her clit as she digs her nails into his skin. She makes thick, gasping noises as he teases her, her body shuddering as he slides his fingers deep. She reaches orgasm quickly, spilling over his fingers. He replaces them with his tongue, as Katee reaches for his hand, lifting it to her mouth to suck his fingers clean.
“Fuck,” Jamie growls, getting to his feet and giving her another taste of her come, hot on his tongue. Katee sucks hungrily at it as Jamie slides his hand to her arse, tugging her closer. Her leg curves around him and he lifts her, guiding her onto his cock as she locks her ankles around his arse, the smooth leather of her boots soft against his skin. His whole body stiffens as she sinks onto him, his hands full of the firm flesh of her arse as he pins her to the wall. “So fucking hot.”
“Fuck me, Jamie.” Her voice is high and reedy, full of want as Jamie begins thrusting, his prick buried deep inside her. Her shoulders scrape along the wall as he strokes upward, filling her again and again. “God. Yes. Fuck.” Her back arches and she grinds down, heels digging into him. “Harder.”
Jamie shifts his weight and thrusts harder, faster. His breath falls against her breasts in hungry gasps until he finds her nipple and takes it on his tongue, rolling it and squeezing, teasing her. Katee shudders and tightens, breathing roughly through her nose. His hands tighten on her arse, no doubt leaving dark, hard bruises in the shape of his fingers, pulling her down onto him even harder.
“Shit.” Katee is like a vise around him, her muscles clenching at his prick. “Fuck, Jamie. God.” Whatever good girl she’s ever been disappears when he’s inside her, just like whatever good lad he’s ever been is as good as gone when she’s near. “More.”
Jamie breaks away from her breast and inhales desperately. Katee wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him, her tongue fucking his mouth in unison with his prick sliding inside her. She moves her leg and the heel of her boot scrapes across his arse and his whole body jerks, driving him deeper as he comes.
“Fuck. Fuck.” Katee’s head falls back and she snakes one hand between them, her fingers working her clit hard and fast as Jamie pulses inside her. She comes as well, hard and tight around him, still teasing her clit until she collapses against him, shuddering and exhausted.
**
They don’t say anything as they dress, the borrowed shower full of whatever is going to pass for goodbye for them. They talk about work and family, about mutual friends and acquaintances. It’s a normal conversation carried on in what amounts to a stranger’s bedroom.
She kisses his cheek on the street as the taxi pulls up. “You need to stop waiting.”
“I’ve already decided that.”
“Good.” She nods and climbs in, unrolling the window and reaching for his hand. “No more Tuesday nights at seven.”
“No,” Jamie agrees as she drives away. They both know he’s lying.
AUTHOR: Laura Smith
PAIRING: Jamie Bamber/Katee Sackhoff
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: Shut out the shadows too
DISCLAIMER: Jamie Bamber and Katee Sackhoff belong only to themselves. I don't claim them, I don't claim to know them and no harm is intended. I make no profit from this, I just like playing with them.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: For indigo419
It’s a bar in London, somewhere off the beaten path. Jamie goes there once a week for one drink and then he leaves. He doesn’t talk to anyone. He doesn’t look around. He simply goes to the bar, orders his drink, sits at a table in the back. He drinks his drink slowly, watching the clock, and then he leaves. No one knows him. No one recognizes him.
It’s been two years, seven months and four days since the last time he saw her, since he told her that he’d be there if she wanted to see him again. So every Tuesday night he shows up at seven and orders his drink, staying until seven-thirty before making his way home, taking a tangle of roads back to the flat he sublets during filming or to the house when he’s not working. It’s off season now, so he’ll go back to the house tonight, even though his family is off in Los Angeles waiting for him to join them. He flies out tomorrow, and he’s ready to be gone from here for a while, but he can’t leave until early in the morning, which means he still has tonight to get through.
He knows he should stop. He wants to stop because week after week of coming here is killing him slowly, making him ache in ways that feel like broken bones, sharp and vicious in the winter, a languid persistent pain in the summer. He’s made a promise to himself that this is the last time. He’ll go away to the states and then, when he comes back, the habit will be broken, the routine torn asunder.
There’s just tonight to get through, he knows. One more night and he’s free.
Except there’s someone in his booth. Someone with blonde hair to her shoulders, falling in looping curls against her neck, hiding her face as he stands at the bar. His hand shakes as the bartender gives him his usual scotch and soda, but he carries the drink steadily, willing himself to complete every step.
She doesn’t look up as he sits across from her, just sips her drink - always one of those god-awful fruity drinks with swords or umbrellas or parrots sticking out of them that he’s relatively certain no one in this bar knows how to make - and continues reading the book in front of her. Jamie settles on the bench and sips his own drink, willing his heart to slow back to normal. She continues reading, plucking the straw spearing the fruit from her drink.
“I really wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Why’s that?” She looks up at him and meets his eyes and it’s like a kick to the gut and thick, gorgeous need in his groin.
“I imagine that fruit probably dates back to the Second World War.” He takes the straw from her hand and lays it on the scarred surface of the table. “Trust me. It’s for your own good.”
“Let’s get out of here.”
He nods and stands, waiting for her and then taking her elbow lightly in his grip. She’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt, so he’s not touching skin, but just the heat of her body is enough. “Let’s go.”
**
He has a lease, but when he’s not filming, he sublets the flat. He knows there’s someone living there now, but there’s no answer at the buzzer, so he lets them in and leads her straight to the bedroom. Someone else’s sheets are on his bed, and someone else’s clothes are scattered around the room. She raises an eyebrow and then strips off her shirt, and she’s not wearing anything underneath.
He groans and tugs of his own shirt, only unbuttoning it enough that he can strip it over his head. She wiggles out of her skirt, hips swaying and breasts moving and he undoes his trousers as she lets it fall. She stands there in front of him, a strap of lace that could only be called panties if one was very generous and knee-high brown boots. He discards the rest of his clothes and moves over to her, one hand tangling in her hair as he kisses her, the other pushing her panties down.
She groans into his mouth as her panties fall, as his fingers move to the heat of her, pushing past wet flesh to find her clit. Her breasts rub against his chest and the hardness of her nipples makes him groan in return.
“Jamie…”
He shakes his head and sinks to his knees, guiding her legs apart. Her fingers grip his shoulders for support and he lowers his head to flick his tongue over the swollen nub. H works two fingers inside her, his tongue playing over her clit as she digs her nails into his skin. She makes thick, gasping noises as he teases her, her body shuddering as he slides his fingers deep. She reaches orgasm quickly, spilling over his fingers. He replaces them with his tongue, as Katee reaches for his hand, lifting it to her mouth to suck his fingers clean.
“Fuck,” Jamie growls, getting to his feet and giving her another taste of her come, hot on his tongue. Katee sucks hungrily at it as Jamie slides his hand to her arse, tugging her closer. Her leg curves around him and he lifts her, guiding her onto his cock as she locks her ankles around his arse, the smooth leather of her boots soft against his skin. His whole body stiffens as she sinks onto him, his hands full of the firm flesh of her arse as he pins her to the wall. “So fucking hot.”
“Fuck me, Jamie.” Her voice is high and reedy, full of want as Jamie begins thrusting, his prick buried deep inside her. Her shoulders scrape along the wall as he strokes upward, filling her again and again. “God. Yes. Fuck.” Her back arches and she grinds down, heels digging into him. “Harder.”
Jamie shifts his weight and thrusts harder, faster. His breath falls against her breasts in hungry gasps until he finds her nipple and takes it on his tongue, rolling it and squeezing, teasing her. Katee shudders and tightens, breathing roughly through her nose. His hands tighten on her arse, no doubt leaving dark, hard bruises in the shape of his fingers, pulling her down onto him even harder.
“Shit.” Katee is like a vise around him, her muscles clenching at his prick. “Fuck, Jamie. God.” Whatever good girl she’s ever been disappears when he’s inside her, just like whatever good lad he’s ever been is as good as gone when she’s near. “More.”
Jamie breaks away from her breast and inhales desperately. Katee wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him, her tongue fucking his mouth in unison with his prick sliding inside her. She moves her leg and the heel of her boot scrapes across his arse and his whole body jerks, driving him deeper as he comes.
“Fuck. Fuck.” Katee’s head falls back and she snakes one hand between them, her fingers working her clit hard and fast as Jamie pulses inside her. She comes as well, hard and tight around him, still teasing her clit until she collapses against him, shuddering and exhausted.
**
They don’t say anything as they dress, the borrowed shower full of whatever is going to pass for goodbye for them. They talk about work and family, about mutual friends and acquaintances. It’s a normal conversation carried on in what amounts to a stranger’s bedroom.
She kisses his cheek on the street as the taxi pulls up. “You need to stop waiting.”
“I’ve already decided that.”
“Good.” She nods and climbs in, unrolling the window and reaching for his hand. “No more Tuesday nights at seven.”
“No,” Jamie agrees as she drives away. They both know he’s lying.