Push the Bruise (The Pretender, R)
Title: Push the Bruise
Author: zeplum
Fandom: The Pretender
Pairing: Miss Parker/Jarod (of course)
Rating: R
Notes: All for bantha_fodder, one of my favourite people ever. Title ganked from "And" by the Headstones, one of my favourite bands ever. Nice how that works out. [Unbeta'd and on the fly.]
Notes, part the second: Written for the Hot, Hard and Against the Wall Challenge. Bless Audra and Sori for their brilliant idea.
The gun is thrown to the floor, clatters and slides on the polished wood. Comes to a stop against the foot of Jarod's ratty couch, much too far out of reach for her to even speculate. Besides, she's preoccupied at the moment, what with Jarod's mouth sucking deep at the base of her throat, his hands already busy.
"That could be dangerous," she says, her voice already raspy and low. Prickling tingles travel through her limbs, center themselves between her legs, and she arches into his body.
He growls, laughs, breathes into her ear, "This could be dangerous."
Now it's her turn to laugh. "Only as dangerous as you want it to be."
Jarod pulls away, looks at her then. Searching, testing, but she doesn't back down. Her back may be against a wall, but she's anything but trapped. Lets him know it, kisses him with hunger and scorn. He's taking it, letting his hands still at her sides, palms hot against her skin, fingers tight against her back, pressing in when she bites at his lower lip.
And then it's his turn, pressing her against the wall, kissing her long and deep, dominating her mouth as he works at the buttons of her blouse, easing the silk back, his heat and the cold air of the room confusing her skin, only to be replaced with the warmth of this hands as they travel up her belly, cup her breasts through her bra, fingers teasing the whole way.
She sucks on his tongue and is rewarded with another growl. Parker pulls away, smirks against his mouth, not willing to relinquish contact.
Jarod kisses her again, quick, insistent; hands moving from her breasts, and she hates the sound of defeat that issues forth, but it makes him laugh, a deep, pleasant rumble in his chest that she can feel through her own body.
"Do you do anything but tease?" Parker bites out, frustrated.
His answer is physical. Large, square hands round her hips, pushing her skirt up, lifting one of her legs to wrap around his body. Hard heat through his jeans, and he fits against her perfectly. Parker bites her lip and rocks down against him.
Everything's a competition and they both know it. Have for a long time.
"Is that what you had in mind?" He's trying to remain steady, impassive, but his body betrays him; right hand running up and down the length of her thigh where it rests against his hip, Jarod's breath hitches each and every time his fingers run over the lace at the top of her stocking.
"Getting there." Knows her smile is a little predatory, but it fades when Jarod's other hand finds its way between her legs, his fingers finding her flesh already swollen and wet. He shudders, grinds out her name like a curse, and she bites at his jaw, soothing it with her tongue.
He works her deftly, with artist's hands, worker's hands, fingers that seem to know her body and soul. Damn him. Parker clings to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin through his threadbare t-shirt, as she works a bruise onto the perfect flesh of his throat. He marked her; she's bound and determined to mark him.
Bites at his shoulder, suppressing a cry, when he strokes her clit just right. Again and again and she can feel it building, her fingertips tingling, limbs loose, so she squeezes her eyes shut and lifts her head. Cheek to cheek, they have to be on equal ground for this. And he whispers in her ear, demanding and pleading all at once for her to let go. And doesn't she always end up doing exactly what he wants?
Her orgasm leaves her boneless and satiated, Jarod supporting her more than the wall at her back. God, craving a cigarette as much as she craves, needs, Jarod inside her. Hates herself a little bit for the weakness.
"Fuck, Jarod."
"Impatient, are we?"
Narrows her eyes against the post-orgasmic haze. She's always been patient, chasing after him for years. She only catches him when he wants to be caught, like this time.
"One of those things you might've missed, Jarod." She palms his length and this time he's the one to bite a lip. "Patience is a virtue."
No words after that, only kissing and fucking, gasping in pure need. More marks and bruises follow, and when he slinks out the next morning, she smiles wickedly. He'll have an interesting time playing boy scout when he looks thoroughly fucked, not to mention the florid bruise on his neck in the shape of her mouth, the marks on his shoulders in the shape of her nails.
Twisting herself indulgently in the sheets, she lights a cigarette and calls the Centre's pilot. It's a new day, and she has to reset the mouse trap.
-end-
Author: zeplum
Fandom: The Pretender
Pairing: Miss Parker/Jarod (of course)
Rating: R
Notes: All for bantha_fodder, one of my favourite people ever. Title ganked from "And" by the Headstones, one of my favourite bands ever. Nice how that works out. [Unbeta'd and on the fly.]
Notes, part the second: Written for the Hot, Hard and Against the Wall Challenge. Bless Audra and Sori for their brilliant idea.
The gun is thrown to the floor, clatters and slides on the polished wood. Comes to a stop against the foot of Jarod's ratty couch, much too far out of reach for her to even speculate. Besides, she's preoccupied at the moment, what with Jarod's mouth sucking deep at the base of her throat, his hands already busy.
"That could be dangerous," she says, her voice already raspy and low. Prickling tingles travel through her limbs, center themselves between her legs, and she arches into his body.
He growls, laughs, breathes into her ear, "This could be dangerous."
Now it's her turn to laugh. "Only as dangerous as you want it to be."
Jarod pulls away, looks at her then. Searching, testing, but she doesn't back down. Her back may be against a wall, but she's anything but trapped. Lets him know it, kisses him with hunger and scorn. He's taking it, letting his hands still at her sides, palms hot against her skin, fingers tight against her back, pressing in when she bites at his lower lip.
And then it's his turn, pressing her against the wall, kissing her long and deep, dominating her mouth as he works at the buttons of her blouse, easing the silk back, his heat and the cold air of the room confusing her skin, only to be replaced with the warmth of this hands as they travel up her belly, cup her breasts through her bra, fingers teasing the whole way.
She sucks on his tongue and is rewarded with another growl. Parker pulls away, smirks against his mouth, not willing to relinquish contact.
Jarod kisses her again, quick, insistent; hands moving from her breasts, and she hates the sound of defeat that issues forth, but it makes him laugh, a deep, pleasant rumble in his chest that she can feel through her own body.
"Do you do anything but tease?" Parker bites out, frustrated.
His answer is physical. Large, square hands round her hips, pushing her skirt up, lifting one of her legs to wrap around his body. Hard heat through his jeans, and he fits against her perfectly. Parker bites her lip and rocks down against him.
Everything's a competition and they both know it. Have for a long time.
"Is that what you had in mind?" He's trying to remain steady, impassive, but his body betrays him; right hand running up and down the length of her thigh where it rests against his hip, Jarod's breath hitches each and every time his fingers run over the lace at the top of her stocking.
"Getting there." Knows her smile is a little predatory, but it fades when Jarod's other hand finds its way between her legs, his fingers finding her flesh already swollen and wet. He shudders, grinds out her name like a curse, and she bites at his jaw, soothing it with her tongue.
He works her deftly, with artist's hands, worker's hands, fingers that seem to know her body and soul. Damn him. Parker clings to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin through his threadbare t-shirt, as she works a bruise onto the perfect flesh of his throat. He marked her; she's bound and determined to mark him.
Bites at his shoulder, suppressing a cry, when he strokes her clit just right. Again and again and she can feel it building, her fingertips tingling, limbs loose, so she squeezes her eyes shut and lifts her head. Cheek to cheek, they have to be on equal ground for this. And he whispers in her ear, demanding and pleading all at once for her to let go. And doesn't she always end up doing exactly what he wants?
Her orgasm leaves her boneless and satiated, Jarod supporting her more than the wall at her back. God, craving a cigarette as much as she craves, needs, Jarod inside her. Hates herself a little bit for the weakness.
"Fuck, Jarod."
"Impatient, are we?"
Narrows her eyes against the post-orgasmic haze. She's always been patient, chasing after him for years. She only catches him when he wants to be caught, like this time.
"One of those things you might've missed, Jarod." She palms his length and this time he's the one to bite a lip. "Patience is a virtue."
No words after that, only kissing and fucking, gasping in pure need. More marks and bruises follow, and when he slinks out the next morning, she smiles wickedly. He'll have an interesting time playing boy scout when he looks thoroughly fucked, not to mention the florid bruise on his neck in the shape of her mouth, the marks on his shoulders in the shape of her nails.
Twisting herself indulgently in the sheets, she lights a cigarette and calls the Centre's pilot. It's a new day, and she has to reset the mouse trap.
-end-