New J/B Snippet: What You Do (NC-17)
May. 18th, 2007 03:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
arrow00I done accidentally wrote a Sentinel snippet. It just popped in my head full-grown, even though I've only seen S1.
Title: What You Do
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
arrow00
Fandom: The Sentinel
Pairing: J/B
Rating: NC-17
Categories/Warning: PWP, experimental POV, somewhat dark.
Summary: Sometimes it has to hurt a little.
On sentinelfic: What You Do
What You Do
By Arrow
When Jim comes stomping in, slamming the door behind him with such force it makes his face squeeze tight in pain, and the first and only thing he does is bark, "Upstairs," at you before heading up to the loft, you know what to do.
Because maybe while you were teaching class today, that asshole, the Rawhide Killer, left Jim another little present, hogtied and bloody. Maybe there was another mocking note for the cops, and maybe this time Jim was close, so close behind that he arrived on the scene just to see the first drift of dust scatter onto the unseeing eyes of the victim. Dirt that dulled the blue to ash.
And by the time you get upstairs, Jim is already naked and waiting, powerful body crouched over and head turned away to rest on his forearms. You come up behind him and he says roughly, "I need it fast and hard."
So you strip as quickly as you can and kneel between those big thighs, see the tension in the broad back, and maybe you hesitate, but you still manage to catch the tube of thick lube he tosses your way. And you suit up and smooth it on, touching him in that hot place with sticky fingers, but he shakes his head and growls impatiently, "None of that. Open me with your cock."
And you do. You slather on some extra goop right below your cockhead, and then split his cheeks and hold yourself against his tender little hole, and you have to hold yourself snug there and push goddamn hard to get past the outer muscle, because Jim has obviously dialed up all the way for this, and he's so tense it hurts. It hurts, and that's a good thing for both of you, because he was hurting already, and maybe you deserve a little pain for not being with him when he had to face his failure today. He couldn't protect her, and you can't protect him—that's not what he needs. He needs this, and the tightness around you just makes you harder, until you're like steel, pushing in, making him give.
Maybe he moans like you're killing him as you take him and force him to make room, to let you in. He lets you in.
You back out just a little to spread the thick lube around, and then you thrust in hard, opening him with your cock until you're sunk in, deep inside, and Jim gasps and jerks and straightens his arms, his head going down, chin tucking against his chest as he takes it, takes all of you.
And maybe then you start fucking him fast and hard like he asked, like he didn't need to beg, because you always give him what he asks for when you know it's what he needs—you in him, sliding roughly, fucking in and then down as he drops to his elbows again to stretch and grip the bottom rail at the top of the bed. His knuckles go white, and he's rock solid, taking the slamming, arching his back to make it good so he's groaning now in pleasure, in pain.
"Jim," you say on a short breath, and maybe you reach around to take the heavy, swinging weight of his cock in your hand, but he just shakes his head.
"No. Just this. Just fuck me. Fuck me."
So you fuck him hard, riding him until he sucks in a deep breath, his ribs expanding and his body going rigid, his hands twisting on the bars until they squeak. And then you feel him squeezing your cock, feel it as he shoots, but he doesn't make a sound as he ripples around you, on and on.
But you hold on. You don't come, because you're not through with him yet. You've given him what he wants, but you're still going to make him give what he needs to give.
While he's still shuddering off his orgasm, you lower yourself over his back and whisper, "Not done with you." And you push him down, down until he's flat, covering him as much as you can, spreading his legs wider with your knees.
And this is when you turn it around. You spin this scene on its axis while he's still too out of it to stop you, and now you have him under you, skin to skin, and you start rocking gently. So gently, but determined to take this. And maybe he whimpers when he feels you turn to gentleness. Maybe he tries to fight it by tightening around you, bucking under you, trying to make you come. But you hang on and keep moving inside until he shivers, and the shiver turns into a constant tremble, and he's making sounds again, soft, pleading whispers, but you just rock, rock, letting your weight rest on his slick back, letting your hands slide down his arms to loosen his white grip on the railing so you can twine your fingers together.
And you tilt in and out, loving him now. You feel it when it happens, when he gives, when he turns hot and melts inside, so soft around you. And you hear it, too, because he's making these wounded sounds, choking out your name. "Blair. Blair."
He flutters around you in weak, trembling spasms as he comes again from the inside, and you push deep and let it go, let the pleasure wave take you and raise goose bumps on your skin as you pulse into him long and hard, and it's his name you groan, releasing the pain, releasing the love.
And he sighs.
And it's enough, for now.
>>><<<
Later, you rise to fetch what you need: the softest towel, worn fine, and he lets you clean him, lets you touch him, lets you move him, turn him toward you.
Lets you see the wetness on his face. Lets you kiss it from his skin.
You gather him up, warm and lax in your arms, and he thanks you with the painful weight of his eyes, with lips soft against yours.
You hold him and say, "You're gonna get him. Soon. I know it. You're gonna end this."
His hands move tight around your waist, pulling you closer.
And he says, "Yes. We will."
And you will.
.........................
2007.05.18
Title: What You Do
Author:
arrow00Fandom: The Sentinel
Pairing: J/B
Rating: NC-17
Categories/Warning: PWP, experimental POV, somewhat dark.
Summary: Sometimes it has to hurt a little.
On sentinelfic: What You Do
What You Do
By Arrow
When Jim comes stomping in, slamming the door behind him with such force it makes his face squeeze tight in pain, and the first and only thing he does is bark, "Upstairs," at you before heading up to the loft, you know what to do.
Because maybe while you were teaching class today, that asshole, the Rawhide Killer, left Jim another little present, hogtied and bloody. Maybe there was another mocking note for the cops, and maybe this time Jim was close, so close behind that he arrived on the scene just to see the first drift of dust scatter onto the unseeing eyes of the victim. Dirt that dulled the blue to ash.
And by the time you get upstairs, Jim is already naked and waiting, powerful body crouched over and head turned away to rest on his forearms. You come up behind him and he says roughly, "I need it fast and hard."
So you strip as quickly as you can and kneel between those big thighs, see the tension in the broad back, and maybe you hesitate, but you still manage to catch the tube of thick lube he tosses your way. And you suit up and smooth it on, touching him in that hot place with sticky fingers, but he shakes his head and growls impatiently, "None of that. Open me with your cock."
And you do. You slather on some extra goop right below your cockhead, and then split his cheeks and hold yourself against his tender little hole, and you have to hold yourself snug there and push goddamn hard to get past the outer muscle, because Jim has obviously dialed up all the way for this, and he's so tense it hurts. It hurts, and that's a good thing for both of you, because he was hurting already, and maybe you deserve a little pain for not being with him when he had to face his failure today. He couldn't protect her, and you can't protect him—that's not what he needs. He needs this, and the tightness around you just makes you harder, until you're like steel, pushing in, making him give.
Maybe he moans like you're killing him as you take him and force him to make room, to let you in. He lets you in.
You back out just a little to spread the thick lube around, and then you thrust in hard, opening him with your cock until you're sunk in, deep inside, and Jim gasps and jerks and straightens his arms, his head going down, chin tucking against his chest as he takes it, takes all of you.
And maybe then you start fucking him fast and hard like he asked, like he didn't need to beg, because you always give him what he asks for when you know it's what he needs—you in him, sliding roughly, fucking in and then down as he drops to his elbows again to stretch and grip the bottom rail at the top of the bed. His knuckles go white, and he's rock solid, taking the slamming, arching his back to make it good so he's groaning now in pleasure, in pain.
"Jim," you say on a short breath, and maybe you reach around to take the heavy, swinging weight of his cock in your hand, but he just shakes his head.
"No. Just this. Just fuck me. Fuck me."
So you fuck him hard, riding him until he sucks in a deep breath, his ribs expanding and his body going rigid, his hands twisting on the bars until they squeak. And then you feel him squeezing your cock, feel it as he shoots, but he doesn't make a sound as he ripples around you, on and on.
But you hold on. You don't come, because you're not through with him yet. You've given him what he wants, but you're still going to make him give what he needs to give.
While he's still shuddering off his orgasm, you lower yourself over his back and whisper, "Not done with you." And you push him down, down until he's flat, covering him as much as you can, spreading his legs wider with your knees.
And this is when you turn it around. You spin this scene on its axis while he's still too out of it to stop you, and now you have him under you, skin to skin, and you start rocking gently. So gently, but determined to take this. And maybe he whimpers when he feels you turn to gentleness. Maybe he tries to fight it by tightening around you, bucking under you, trying to make you come. But you hang on and keep moving inside until he shivers, and the shiver turns into a constant tremble, and he's making sounds again, soft, pleading whispers, but you just rock, rock, letting your weight rest on his slick back, letting your hands slide down his arms to loosen his white grip on the railing so you can twine your fingers together.
And you tilt in and out, loving him now. You feel it when it happens, when he gives, when he turns hot and melts inside, so soft around you. And you hear it, too, because he's making these wounded sounds, choking out your name. "Blair. Blair."
He flutters around you in weak, trembling spasms as he comes again from the inside, and you push deep and let it go, let the pleasure wave take you and raise goose bumps on your skin as you pulse into him long and hard, and it's his name you groan, releasing the pain, releasing the love.
And he sighs.
And it's enough, for now.
Later, you rise to fetch what you need: the softest towel, worn fine, and he lets you clean him, lets you touch him, lets you move him, turn him toward you.
Lets you see the wetness on his face. Lets you kiss it from his skin.
You gather him up, warm and lax in your arms, and he thanks you with the painful weight of his eyes, with lips soft against yours.
You hold him and say, "You're gonna get him. Soon. I know it. You're gonna end this."
His hands move tight around your waist, pulling you closer.
And he says, "Yes. We will."
And you will.
.........................
2007.05.18
