Date: Sat, 27 Dec 1997 16:11:05 -0500

From: Audrey Cooper <xf_writer@mail.geocities.com>

Subject: Abandon *NC-17* (1/1)

-----------------

 

Abandon *NC-17* (1/1)

by Audrey Cooper

xf_writer@geocities.com

December, 1997

 

Summary: Conflagration in a motel room. 'Nuff said. <g>

 

Spoilers: Nope.

 

Classification/Rating: V. NC-17.

 

Disclaimer: No one is mentioned by name, so... no disclaimer here.

 

Archive: Yes to Gossamer--everyone else, please ask me first.

 

Author's Notes follow the story. I would appreciate feedback in any

shape or form.

*********************************************************************

Abandon *NC-17* (1/1)

by Audrey Cooper

xf_writer@geocities.com

 

 

She'd left the door open. Just a crack.

 

He pushed it open a bit more and peered through cautiously, not

wanting her to be surprised and come up with her weapon, then

stopped, stunned, to see her facing away in three-quarter view,

stripping off her top, watching herself in the mirror.

 

His left foot actually made a step backward, and then he halted as

she unclasped her bra and tossed it onto the black pile of knit

already adorning the bed. His pupils dilated as he watched her draw

her hands from her sleek belly to slip under her breasts, first

cradling their weight, then caressing them gently before gliding her

hands higher, stroking quickly over the upper slopes of her breasts

and stretching up, up. Her spine crackled with decompression, a sound

audible eight feet away.

 

A white-hot streak of desire kindled, then flared through his body,

every nerve alive and pulsing with heat, inciting an incendiary flash

in his rapidly swelling sex.

 

He stood silently, barely daring to breathe lest she become aware,

admiring her form as she was admiring it: the decadent creaminess of

her complexion, the kaleidoscope patterns of cinnamon on apples; the

slide of firm muscle under taut skin. Her breasts were small but

full. Lush. The velvety nubs crowning them put him in mind of cafe au

lait.

 

She turned this way and that in the mirror, arms still held high over

her head. The sleek muscles of her back tightened and released as she

moved, and he found his muscles tightening along with hers. The

column of her spine was a slim, shadowy furrow that she twisted to

see again and again; her hair sliding over and away, over and away,

from her jaw as she tried to find the perfect angle.

 

Finally she dropped her hands to the waistband of her skirt. He found

himself holding his breath as she slowly, methodically, unbuttoned

the two buttons and slid the zipper down along her hip. The skirt

fell to the carpet and was kicked away. He swallowed the groan

trapped in his throat and released his breath in a soundless rush as

the remainder of her clothing quickly followed and she again stood

tall, unguarded, looking at her body in the reflective glass.

 

He followed the path her eyes traveled with his own, beginning with

her small feet, each toenail shockingly, pugnaciously scarlet. She

flexed first one foot, then the other. Her calf and thigh muscles

stretched and relaxed, drawing his gaze higher, to the tight, satin

skin at her rear.

 

She bent slightly at the hips, her breasts swaying forward. His own

hips jerked forward instinctively at the pose, and he grasped the

doorjamb tightly in one hand to keep from entering the room, from

entering her.

 

She shifted her legs and trailed a hand down the centerline of her

body. Down, down, until she held herself cupped in the palm of her

hand. Her expression was slow, dreamy, her eyes in the mirror gone a

smoky blue, half closed and languid. Her lips parted on a soft sigh.

 

He moved infinitesimally, the scrape of cloth on his skin harsh,

distressingly loud. She looked delicious, and he was hungry, so

hungry. His mouth filled with longing, aching to taste her. He wanted

to taste her, taste that sweet, spicy, cinnamon apple skin and her

cafe au lait nipples. He wanted to watch her eyes turn that smoky

blue as she took him deep inside. He wanted her hands on him, on

every last aching inch of him, and he would die for her mouth.

 

His fingernails bit wood.

 

She drew her other hand slowly down her side to cup that sweet spot

that lived where thigh became ass. Squeezing lightly, she widened her

stance as she moved the hand between her legs. She threw her head

back, then looked into the glass again.

 

Another gasp escaped her. His name. She straightened, her hands

jerking from her body. They came up to cover her mouth, her eyes wide

and shocked in the mirror.

 

Now he could see what she had been touching: a wisp of curling hair,

and the delicate frilled edges of her sex--berry shaded, swollen

and glistening, peeking from between her spread thighs.

 

This time he couldn't contain a strangled sound that would have been

a moan if it were given full voice. His heart leapt, flooding with

adrenaline, preparing for fight or flight.

 

Her eyes closed on a suspicious glimmer that might have been tears.

 

He stepped inside, pushing the door closed and locking it, intent on

her face. Three steps and he was behind her, so close he could feel

the heat baking from her body. Her arms crossed reflexively over her

breasts. He closed his arms around her, placing his hands over hers,

and drew her stiff body back against his, his fingertips over her

sternum, the place in which she, all unknowing, held his heart as

well as her own.

 

"It's all right." Soothing.

 

A shudder coursed through her and her eyes opened, meeting his in the

mirror.

 

"I'm here."

 

The smokiness was gone. Her eyes were such a clear, blinding blue

that he felt he was drowning. "I know." Her voice was husky, thick.

"I knew you were there. Not at first, but..."

 

He pondered this, nuzzling her hair unconsciously, then tilted his

head inquisitively. "But?"

 

"I left the door cracked on purpose."

 

"Then why?"

 

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Ever been caught masturbating?"

 

His mouth quirked. "Can't say that I have. Come close a couple times,

though." He blinked at his unintentional--for once--double

entendre.

 

In the mirror, she gave him the ghost of a smile. "I didn't...I

wasn't--" She stopped, then continued at the gentle nudge of his

chin against her temple. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I

didn't know how it would affect me to know that you were watching,

with you believing me unaware of your presence. I liked it--"

 

"So did I," he breathed in her ear, squeezing her gently, and

a ripple of awareness quivered through her frame.

 

"--the way your breathing changed, and how your eyes followed my

hands." Her words were rushing now, tumbling over one another. "I

started imagining it was *your* hands on my body. But then--I was

afraid that you would back away and leave. That you, oh...that you

wouldn't *know*. I started to feel guilty for teasing you." She broke

eye contact.

 

"Teasing is right," he said wryly. She tried to draw away, but he

shook his head, tightening his hold. "You were beautiful. I enjoyed

every second watching you touch yourself, envying your hands on your

body. I wanted to touch you, to taste you..."

 

Her eyes met his again, closed.

 

"I want it all with you. Everything there is." This was a calculated

risk, not one he took lightly, but it needed to be said. His heart

ratcheted up until it seemed to be fairly rocketing along in his

chest as he waited for her answer.

 

Her lashes parted and her gaze bore into his, trying to discover if

he meant what she thought. "Everything?" The word was small,

disbelieving.

 

"Yes." Finality. His eyes spoke to hers. "What we have now is too

precious to lose for less. I'll take nothing less."

 

Her body both relaxed and became more tense in his arms, as she

realized the full intent of his words, snuggling against the hard

ridge at the small of her back. "Always," her answer came, soft but

undeniable. "Show me...everything."

 

"Oh, I'll show you, all right." His voice was full of dark, hot

promise. "All of me, and all of you. Everything that we are. More, I

think, than you expect." He smiled. It looked dangerous. It *felt*

dangerous. It was the smile of a man in control, a man who knew

exactly what he was doing and enjoying doing it so much that it was

well nigh unbearable. It was mouthwateringly sensual and all male.

 

She tried to turn in his arms, but he stilled her, gentled her, his

hands caressing her still-crossed arms. "I can't wait to touch you."

His smile faded and his expression became intense as he slid his

hands down until they grasped her wrists, then stretched her arms up,

up, watching her reflection, watching the way her breasts rose higher

on her chest, pointing their taut cafe au lait nipples at him.

 

"To taste you." His eyes held her, captured in the mirror. "I know

just how you'll taste. Like something exotic, with an almost

unbearable sweetness; something with body. Cinnamon on apples, or

figs, perhaps." He breathed in her scent, letting his lips part,

touching the top one with his tongue, as if licking up every last

bit of her imagined taste. "Sticky and sweet, with a musky, smoky

aftertaste."

 

Her breath broke with a sound very like a sob.

 

That dark smile again. Flicking his tongue over the pulse that

throbbed wildly in her neck, he stroked his hands down the insides of

her forearms to the bends in her elbows, where he traced unknown

patterns.

 

In the mirror, she followed the path his hands traced on her body.

The contrast of his large, tanned hands on her pale skin set off

violent tremors as he completed his downward stroke to circle her

breasts. He brushed against the hard, pliant nubs that crested them,

delicately, then harder, twisting them as she pressed her breasts

farther into his hands.

 

"Oh, God," she breathed.

 

She turned, dropped her arms around his neck to pull his head down,

and reached for his mouth with her own.

 

A harsh groan tore from his lips as her breath, then her lips,

touched his. Her eyes slipped shut as she opened her mouth for the

urgent sweep of his tongue and pressed as close as she could to him,

as if she were trying to merge with him. Perhaps she was. He was

doing his best to become one with her--his moan as she cupped him

through his slacks echoed faintly in his ears.

 

His teeth lightly raked the velvet texture of her tongue. His hands

roamed up and down her back, lingering on and coming back to the

places that made her tremble; dipping into the shadowy cleft of her

ass, sliding down and into the slick hot silkiness that was her core.

 

When he touched her there, the muscles in her legs gave way on a

choked moan and he caught her up, holding her easily. "My lady,"

he said, possessively, placing her on the bed.

 

Her eyes opened. "My man." Firmly.

 

They smiled at one another, delighted; broad smiles that were too

rarely seen.

 

"I don't want to wait another minute. Clothes," she said succinctly.

 

"Clothes," he agreed, and started stripping them off with absurd

speed. His finely trembling hands were no deterrent. Loosely knotted

tie, shirt and undershirt were gone in thirty seconds. He kicked off

his shoes--they landed halfway across the room--and peeled off his

slacks, boxers and socks in thirty more.

 

She opened her arms to him and he came home. He feasted on her mouth

while his hands bit into her hair. She dug her fingertips into the

corded muscles of his forearms, his biceps, his chest, then made a

brief foray down his taut stomach, stroking through the thin hair

there. As she reached further, he seized her hands and brought them

to his mouth, nibbling and sucking at her fingers. Her name was a

rough, deep sound.

 

"You touch me now, I'll come in your hands. I want to be inside you

when that happens. That can wait--" he paused, as she freed one hand

and measured the situation. He groaned deeply, mesmerized by her

tongue wetting her lips and by how perfectly she was touching him,

with long, sure, slow strokes from his sac to the head of his shaft.

"--barely," he concluded in a dry tone, as he caught her hand again.

"But I want to taste you first. I want that so much I'm aching with

it. Let me taste you."

 

She watched his eyes for a long moment, searching for and finding the

answer she sought. "Yes. Everything."

 

His name broke from her lips in a hot moan as his mouth licked fire

up her body, biting gently at her lips again and again, tracing their

shape with his tongue. He suckled insistently at her neck, her

breasts, their hard tips fascinating him for long minutes. His tongue

fluttered over her belly, lingering over her wonderfully responsive

flesh, returning over and over to her hip, one of those spots that

made her moan.

 

He had been wrong. She tasted like spring, the first opening of the

earth as the rain came down. Like summer, the flash of heat lightning

that scored the earth in ozone. Like fall, the slow, lazy tumble of

leaves. Like winter, the unexpected joy of holiday snow.

 

He built her passion from hot coals to sparking embers. And when he

spread her tender petals and put his mouth on her--*there* was the

exotic, silken, sweet taste he longed for--she exploded into flame,

crying out, telling him that he had everything, that he *was*

everything, and oh, *God* to please stop, that she couldn't--no--

*don't stop*--writhing in his firm hold.

 

Flowing up her body, he gave her back her taste, sharing it with her

as he slid deeply within her, the pulses of her release shaking him

to his very bones. She was almost too tight, but so hot and slick

that he knew this wouldn't last, couldn't last.

 

"Everything that I am," he panted as he thrust once, "is yours."

Twice. "I give it all to you." Then he was driving into her savagely,

again and again, feeling every nerve in his body coalesce into

incandescent conflagration, feeling as if his heart would burst, and,

opening his eyes to lock on hers, picked her up and hurled her over

the edge and into the fiery abyss. With a hoarse shout of her name,

he followed her.

 

_____

End

 

Author's Notes: Many thanks to viXen, for her intriguing...uhm...

storylines (go look up Scream and see what sparked this story), and

for beta reading; also to Medina, Meredith, and MAB for giving me

positive encouragement; and to Miki, whose imagery never fails to

inspire. Special thanks to Bob for his support and inspiration.

 

So, please, let me know what you think...

 

Audrey Cooper

xf_writer@geocities.com

 

M: "I was told once that the best way to regenerate body heat is to

crawl naked into a sleeping bag with somebody else who's already

naked."

S: "Maybe if it rains sleeping bags you'll get lucky."

The X-Files, Detour