Fic: Better than Fiction

Sep 25, 2008 00:38


Title: Better than Fiction (or the benefits of working in a library)
Rating: Brown Cortina
Summary: sam/gene in a library for
candesgirl the way my mind was going I also ended up using that first 3AM Epiphany prompt (first person, only two uses of personal pronouns allowed, 600words).
Wordcount: 750 *cringes*

It’s almost midnight, the library is silent, and would be blessedly empty if not for the two detectives researching psychosis in connection with their case. The taller, larger man (who is still wearing his heavy set camel hair coat) is pacing restlessly in front of the table where his slighter colleague (with the strange haircut) is seated. The latter appearing to be either completely absorbed in his reading or going to considerable effort to ignore the other man. Without warning the larger man stalks forward and grabs the book, throwing it across the floor and slamming his hands down on the desk. From my vantage point behind the shelves it is difficult to bite back a cry at the mistreatment of the medical journal but the other librarians have long since left, and to be caught staying behind to observe the (not unhandsome) pair would be mortifying.

The smaller man glares up angrily and rises to his feet, he looks as though he is about to yell when, suddenly,  he is assaulted with a vicious punch to the ribs. As he doubles over one hand darts out to grab his collar while the other wrenches his left arm behind his back, pinning it there with practiced ease. From that position the man is pulled back upwards and slammed face first into the shelving, the strong arms holding him there so closely that he must be inhaling dust from the various tomes his forehead is pressed against.

Suddenly the hand at his neck drops and begins tugging feverishly at his clothes, pulling his leather jacket open to get at the shirt underneath. Closing his eyes, the man flinches as the polyester material is lifted and replaced with a large hand pressed flat against his abdomen, pushing him backwards into the curve of the body behind him. The two of them remain in that intimate position for a short while, breathing loud enough to be heard from several feet away. Slowly, but with such brazen determination impossible to mistake for tentativeness, the hand moves lower, slinking under the waistband of his pants, stalling only when it reaches its desired target. Lips half-pressed against the shorter man’s neck curve into a smirk at the shallow breathing this action provokes. The younger man in particular looks as though he is withholding a groan as the oppressive tightness of the brown corduroy against his groin limits the movement of those long fingers, which must now be stroking against bulging hardness. He whimpers softly, a sound of raw need and desire, and seems unaware of his arm being released until a palm is clamped down over his mouth to muffle the noise. A scratch of teeth against his ear a non-verbal warning to keep silent.

As the fingers curl into a fist, gripping him, a surprised gasp suggests that he has begun teasing the flesh held against his mouth with his tongue, no doubt coordinating each lick to the timing of the pulling and squeezing.

Before long the hand working his cock becomes less coaxing and more frenzied, and he throws his body further backwards, writhing in an attempt to feel as much of the man around him as possible.

When he comes, with a muffled moan, in short shuddering waves; his entire body arches, exposing his long neck as he allows his head to loll gently on the other man’s shoulder. It is only the support of the man behind him that prevents his limp body from sinking to the ground, while firm kisses are pressed against his throat.

As thick, sticky fingers unfurl and the hand lazily traces back across his stomach the man twists in the embrace so that he is facing his lover with a breathless laugh and a small smile.

“Gene, what the ‘ell was that about?”

“Gene” sniffs, and releasing him, turns away. Picking a book off the shelf at random, he wipes his hand on the pages and then, closing it, places it back.

“You were ignoring me.” The gruff voice is petulant and the other man grins, a pleasant transformation of his features that makes him appear years younger. He looks as though he is about to say something teasing but suddenly Gene is on him again, grasping him by the shoulders and leaning over to whisper in his ear. “And I," he pauses to pull the man closer to him before continuing, "...just thought I’d grab yer attention.”

Shivering at the predatory growl Gene emits, and despite longing to stay, I creep backwards out of the room through the still open door, careful to avoid notice. Remaining to listen further would be to flirt with discovery and although it might be slightly ironic to acknowledge the thought now; the two unlikely lovers are (after all) entitled to some privacy.

now continued here

lif on mars, fic

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