(no subject)
Title: Anonymity
Author: fc2001
Rating: FRM to be safe. Urainakko - you might want to avoid this one.
Disclaimer: Without Prejudice. The characters used herein are the property of all involved in the making of ER, and are used here without permission. Don’t sue - I own jack worth having, except an 18 year old Micra and a toaster.
Content Warning Sexual content.
OK. So I was watching Law and Order SVU the other week, and I know that’s a random place to get inspiration for smut-fic - but it was just the one line, about hotels, that really got to me. So, to kick my muses butt, here’s what I came up with. It’s weird, I know, but bear with me.
Lol, Fi.
Anonymity
The cool breeze kissed her bare skin as the glass door opened. She didn’t need to look to know who it was. She adjusted her hair one last time, and took a quick glance down to make sure the dress was still sitting right.
She flicked a momentary glance over to the door - and nearly fell off her stool. Her heart quickened. Damn. That made a change from the band t-shirts and jeans, or her personal favourite, the jersey and scrub bottoms combination. Cool, smart, sharp - a direct line from her eyes to a vital part of her between her belly button and her knees.
She was sitting at the dark, polished bar, absently stirring the drink in front of her. The fingers of her other hand caressed the long stem of the glass, and sent a shiver down his spine.
The angle of her body meant he could drink in her full profile from a distance, before he had to break the moment. The height of the stool meant her feet couldn’t touch the floor, so she’d crossed one leg over the other and was resting the back foot, her right, on the crossbar.
It was one of the many tiny details he’d noticed about her - it was always left over right when she crossed her legs. Those slim, athletic legs, only elongated by her high heels. Much as he fought not to, his gaze travelled up the languid, perfect curve of her calf. The material of her dress fell in folds just below her knee, a hazy, fragile barrier.
He swallowed hard, forced himself to look at her directly, and sauntered as casually as he could manage to stand at the bar beside her. The deep, rich plum of the dress was nigh on perfect lying against her beautiful, burnished skin. It was sophisticated, but soft, and it was all he could do not to reach out and touch her.
“Waiting for someone?”
He ventured, as boldly as his by now thundering heart would let him. She flicked a nonchalant glance his way, regarded him with an expression approaching contempt.
“Oh, come on. Pretty girl like you, all alone in a hotel bar.”
Her eyes were smoky, smouldering with a barely restrained fire. She pursed her lips, again disapproving. Slowly, deliberately, she lifted the glass to her lips, and drained the last of the drink away.
“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” She said, relishing the way each syllable rolled from her tongue, enjoying the way his self-restraint was slowly slipping away. “But alcohol just might.”
She teased, folding her hands in her lap. His eyes instinctively followed them. She felt sure his gaze was burning through the flimsy material, and felt sure the tingling she felt there would be enough to be visible to the naked eye.
“Happy to oblige.”
He gestured at the empty glass.
“Martini,” She answered, fingers playing the glass stem again. He tore his eyes off her hand and caught the bartender’s gaze.
“So - make a habit of buying random strangers drinks do you?” Her voice drawled. It wasn’t like her; this was a character, a role for her. She couldn’t help but like it.
“Only the gorgeous ones.” The corners of her lips curved ever so slightly upwards despite herself. He edged almost imperceptibly closer to her, so her bare knee just brushed against his leg. Electricity jumped between them, and she worked very hard not to look startled.
“That accent - you’re not from around here, right?” The barman delivered their drinks, a knowing look in his eye that said he’d seen this scene a thousand times before. He turned to face her, propping himself on an elbow, attempting nonchalance.
She shook her head, felt soft tendrils of hair fall against her cheek.
“London, England.” She answered eventually, latching onto his intense, sea-glass gaze. The smile that followed was devastating, knee-weakening.
“So, what brings a nice British girl like you to Chicago?” He returned, holding the eye contact magnetically. She took a long, lingering sip of her drink, tilted her head.
“Who says I’m nice?”
The words stopped his thought processes in their tracks, and left him speechless. She pinched the cocktail stick that speared the olive in her drink between two fingers, contemplated her next move very carefully. Too much too far? She glanced over at him. No…just far enough, she decided.
She twirled the garnish backward and forward between nimble fingers. Her lips parted, and a pink tongue played across the glossy surface. It drew attention to her mouth and fixed the attention there. She took her time about bringing the olive to her mouth, piquing his attention almost to breaking point.
Every movement was a further tease. The slow slide between her lips, the gentle bite - hiding the olive behind with her straight, perfect white teeth - and the lingering, sensual withdrawal. The now empty cocktail stick was cast aside, its purpose met. She bit down on the olive, and then her throat bobbed as she swallowed.
He brought his eyes up from her painted, sultry lips, and met the fire in her eyes.
“Where were we?” She said, uncrossing her legs, adjusting the hem of her dress. It became clear he had lost any composure he had had, so she continued. “Oh yeah. What’s a nice girl like me doing in Chicago?” She repeated playfully, resting a hand between them on the bar, dangerously close to his.
“I’m a talent scout,” She answered eventually, stringing out the expectant silence.
“Right. So, seen anything you like?”
Her chocolate eyes appraised him, soft as velvet but burning underneath.
“That depends…” She replied, inching her hand halfway over his.
“On?” He returned, turning his hand palm upwards under hers. A shudder passed down her spine.
“I don’t normally make judgements without a full physical inspection - ” She broke off, slid off the stool, and traced her free hand down his back, feeling the muscles tense. Her voice dropped - low and dripping with desire “ - and I’m notoriously hard to please.”
The next movement was so bold it caught her completely off guard. He whirled, and in one swift motion, brought their joined hands behind her back, pinning her against him. She feigned shock.
“I don’t think I’ll be found wanting.” He ducked his head, breath rushing over her skin.
“I’ll be the judge of that.” She stated, slightly breathless, extracting herself from the odd embrace. Their hands remained intertwined.
She sashayed away from the bar, the heels accentuating the swing of her hips as she walked ahead of him. He’d have followed her with or without her hand in his.
He was watching her move, and that was turning her on. It meant the dirty thoughts running so quickly through her mind were being echoed in his. She didn’t turn back, just relished the feeling of knowing he was trying to burn a hole right through her dress, trying to make it disappear telepathically.
When she stopped to open the room door, he pressed his body against her back, roamed a hand over her stomach. Her nerves danced under the touch, and she struggled to keep her breathing under control. She fumbled the room key, suddenly nervous.
***
The room was dark, shadowed, but there was no time to find the light switch. The door swung shut behind them and in an instant, her mouth was on his. The kiss seared itself indelibly on his soul, her lips tearing right through him - hot and demanding, yet deliciously pliable. He could taste the bitterness of the alcohol on her probing tongue, warring with his for dominance. Expert hands found their way to his shoulders, pushed his jacket away impatiently.
Clearly, there was to be nothing slow or tender about this encounter. She broke the kiss, slid her mouth down his neck and just barely touched her lips to the small v-shaped patch of skin at his throat exposed by the first button of his shirt. He lost his fight to keep control of his senses at that point, her hand sliding up over his back.
She snapped her head back, her cheeks already flushed, and looked him dead in the eye as she sealed her body against his, fluid, moulding together. He snatched her mouth back, and slowly but surely, backed her up until she was crushed between his body and the wall.
A tiny cry escaped her throat - her body arched - and he used her own momentum against her to lift her slightly. Her response was to curl one lithe, perfect limb around him and tighten her hands at the nape of his neck. The dress fell away, pooled around her upper thigh. He whispered his fingers along the length of her thigh, the skin cool and soft, and played under the hem of the dress.
She thrilled to the touch, tightening her grip until it was practically vice like, determinedly holding his pelvis against hers. Bravery got the better of him, and he pushed his hand down onto the hot, damp, silken skin on her inner thigh, and crept ever upwards.
The noise that she made was deep, guttural and utterly wild, and it only served to make him push on faster, and harder, until he was inside her, both of her legs tight around his waist, and their moans became synchronised - together, it seemed, in both body and soul.
***
Her eyes followed the trail of clothes - from the spot by the wall where it had first happened hot and hard and breathless - to the end of the bed. She smiled to herself, silently glowing, satisfied with herself and - she was ready to admit with some pleasure - with him.
His hand lay warm and reassuringly heavy on her bare stomach. She turned her head, expecting from the rhythm of his breathing to find him still asleep. Instead, his green eyes were wide open and staring back at her.
They stared at each other for a long moment, and then simultaneously broke into a foolish grin.
“Talent scout?”
He teased gently. She turned onto her side and faced off with him, his hand sliding into the small of her back, so naturally - like they were born to fit this way.
“So - did I pass my physical?”
Her lips pressed to his briefly, and she smiled - genuine warmth filtering from her lips into her eyes - before answering.
“With flying colours.”
Author: fc2001
Rating: FRM to be safe. Urainakko - you might want to avoid this one.
Disclaimer: Without Prejudice. The characters used herein are the property of all involved in the making of ER, and are used here without permission. Don’t sue - I own jack worth having, except an 18 year old Micra and a toaster.
Content Warning Sexual content.
OK. So I was watching Law and Order SVU the other week, and I know that’s a random place to get inspiration for smut-fic - but it was just the one line, about hotels, that really got to me. So, to kick my muses butt, here’s what I came up with. It’s weird, I know, but bear with me.
Lol, Fi.
Anonymity
The cool breeze kissed her bare skin as the glass door opened. She didn’t need to look to know who it was. She adjusted her hair one last time, and took a quick glance down to make sure the dress was still sitting right.
She flicked a momentary glance over to the door - and nearly fell off her stool. Her heart quickened. Damn. That made a change from the band t-shirts and jeans, or her personal favourite, the jersey and scrub bottoms combination. Cool, smart, sharp - a direct line from her eyes to a vital part of her between her belly button and her knees.
She was sitting at the dark, polished bar, absently stirring the drink in front of her. The fingers of her other hand caressed the long stem of the glass, and sent a shiver down his spine.
The angle of her body meant he could drink in her full profile from a distance, before he had to break the moment. The height of the stool meant her feet couldn’t touch the floor, so she’d crossed one leg over the other and was resting the back foot, her right, on the crossbar.
It was one of the many tiny details he’d noticed about her - it was always left over right when she crossed her legs. Those slim, athletic legs, only elongated by her high heels. Much as he fought not to, his gaze travelled up the languid, perfect curve of her calf. The material of her dress fell in folds just below her knee, a hazy, fragile barrier.
He swallowed hard, forced himself to look at her directly, and sauntered as casually as he could manage to stand at the bar beside her. The deep, rich plum of the dress was nigh on perfect lying against her beautiful, burnished skin. It was sophisticated, but soft, and it was all he could do not to reach out and touch her.
“Waiting for someone?”
He ventured, as boldly as his by now thundering heart would let him. She flicked a nonchalant glance his way, regarded him with an expression approaching contempt.
“Oh, come on. Pretty girl like you, all alone in a hotel bar.”
Her eyes were smoky, smouldering with a barely restrained fire. She pursed her lips, again disapproving. Slowly, deliberately, she lifted the glass to her lips, and drained the last of the drink away.
“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” She said, relishing the way each syllable rolled from her tongue, enjoying the way his self-restraint was slowly slipping away. “But alcohol just might.”
She teased, folding her hands in her lap. His eyes instinctively followed them. She felt sure his gaze was burning through the flimsy material, and felt sure the tingling she felt there would be enough to be visible to the naked eye.
“Happy to oblige.”
He gestured at the empty glass.
“Martini,” She answered, fingers playing the glass stem again. He tore his eyes off her hand and caught the bartender’s gaze.
“So - make a habit of buying random strangers drinks do you?” Her voice drawled. It wasn’t like her; this was a character, a role for her. She couldn’t help but like it.
“Only the gorgeous ones.” The corners of her lips curved ever so slightly upwards despite herself. He edged almost imperceptibly closer to her, so her bare knee just brushed against his leg. Electricity jumped between them, and she worked very hard not to look startled.
“That accent - you’re not from around here, right?” The barman delivered their drinks, a knowing look in his eye that said he’d seen this scene a thousand times before. He turned to face her, propping himself on an elbow, attempting nonchalance.
She shook her head, felt soft tendrils of hair fall against her cheek.
“London, England.” She answered eventually, latching onto his intense, sea-glass gaze. The smile that followed was devastating, knee-weakening.
“So, what brings a nice British girl like you to Chicago?” He returned, holding the eye contact magnetically. She took a long, lingering sip of her drink, tilted her head.
“Who says I’m nice?”
The words stopped his thought processes in their tracks, and left him speechless. She pinched the cocktail stick that speared the olive in her drink between two fingers, contemplated her next move very carefully. Too much too far? She glanced over at him. No…just far enough, she decided.
She twirled the garnish backward and forward between nimble fingers. Her lips parted, and a pink tongue played across the glossy surface. It drew attention to her mouth and fixed the attention there. She took her time about bringing the olive to her mouth, piquing his attention almost to breaking point.
Every movement was a further tease. The slow slide between her lips, the gentle bite - hiding the olive behind with her straight, perfect white teeth - and the lingering, sensual withdrawal. The now empty cocktail stick was cast aside, its purpose met. She bit down on the olive, and then her throat bobbed as she swallowed.
He brought his eyes up from her painted, sultry lips, and met the fire in her eyes.
“Where were we?” She said, uncrossing her legs, adjusting the hem of her dress. It became clear he had lost any composure he had had, so she continued. “Oh yeah. What’s a nice girl like me doing in Chicago?” She repeated playfully, resting a hand between them on the bar, dangerously close to his.
“I’m a talent scout,” She answered eventually, stringing out the expectant silence.
“Right. So, seen anything you like?”
Her chocolate eyes appraised him, soft as velvet but burning underneath.
“That depends…” She replied, inching her hand halfway over his.
“On?” He returned, turning his hand palm upwards under hers. A shudder passed down her spine.
“I don’t normally make judgements without a full physical inspection - ” She broke off, slid off the stool, and traced her free hand down his back, feeling the muscles tense. Her voice dropped - low and dripping with desire “ - and I’m notoriously hard to please.”
The next movement was so bold it caught her completely off guard. He whirled, and in one swift motion, brought their joined hands behind her back, pinning her against him. She feigned shock.
“I don’t think I’ll be found wanting.” He ducked his head, breath rushing over her skin.
“I’ll be the judge of that.” She stated, slightly breathless, extracting herself from the odd embrace. Their hands remained intertwined.
She sashayed away from the bar, the heels accentuating the swing of her hips as she walked ahead of him. He’d have followed her with or without her hand in his.
He was watching her move, and that was turning her on. It meant the dirty thoughts running so quickly through her mind were being echoed in his. She didn’t turn back, just relished the feeling of knowing he was trying to burn a hole right through her dress, trying to make it disappear telepathically.
When she stopped to open the room door, he pressed his body against her back, roamed a hand over her stomach. Her nerves danced under the touch, and she struggled to keep her breathing under control. She fumbled the room key, suddenly nervous.
***
The room was dark, shadowed, but there was no time to find the light switch. The door swung shut behind them and in an instant, her mouth was on his. The kiss seared itself indelibly on his soul, her lips tearing right through him - hot and demanding, yet deliciously pliable. He could taste the bitterness of the alcohol on her probing tongue, warring with his for dominance. Expert hands found their way to his shoulders, pushed his jacket away impatiently.
Clearly, there was to be nothing slow or tender about this encounter. She broke the kiss, slid her mouth down his neck and just barely touched her lips to the small v-shaped patch of skin at his throat exposed by the first button of his shirt. He lost his fight to keep control of his senses at that point, her hand sliding up over his back.
She snapped her head back, her cheeks already flushed, and looked him dead in the eye as she sealed her body against his, fluid, moulding together. He snatched her mouth back, and slowly but surely, backed her up until she was crushed between his body and the wall.
A tiny cry escaped her throat - her body arched - and he used her own momentum against her to lift her slightly. Her response was to curl one lithe, perfect limb around him and tighten her hands at the nape of his neck. The dress fell away, pooled around her upper thigh. He whispered his fingers along the length of her thigh, the skin cool and soft, and played under the hem of the dress.
She thrilled to the touch, tightening her grip until it was practically vice like, determinedly holding his pelvis against hers. Bravery got the better of him, and he pushed his hand down onto the hot, damp, silken skin on her inner thigh, and crept ever upwards.
The noise that she made was deep, guttural and utterly wild, and it only served to make him push on faster, and harder, until he was inside her, both of her legs tight around his waist, and their moans became synchronised - together, it seemed, in both body and soul.
***
Her eyes followed the trail of clothes - from the spot by the wall where it had first happened hot and hard and breathless - to the end of the bed. She smiled to herself, silently glowing, satisfied with herself and - she was ready to admit with some pleasure - with him.
His hand lay warm and reassuringly heavy on her bare stomach. She turned her head, expecting from the rhythm of his breathing to find him still asleep. Instead, his green eyes were wide open and staring back at her.
They stared at each other for a long moment, and then simultaneously broke into a foolish grin.
“Talent scout?”
He teased gently. She turned onto her side and faced off with him, his hand sliding into the small of her back, so naturally - like they were born to fit this way.
“So - did I pass my physical?”
Her lips pressed to his briefly, and she smiled - genuine warmth filtering from her lips into her eyes - before answering.
“With flying colours.”