The nameless slash fic
I figured for little furs and other "young" ones I should put a bit of a warning up; This story (such as it is) isn't for little eyes. Aside from that, though, read on :-D Also, no offence or anything to the boys and girls in blue, they do their jobs...I'm just fantasising ;)
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I was mesmerised by those boots - black and commanding - before I saw the blue legal sanctuary of the uniform.
I supposed my clothes got me noticed as well; tight blue jeans and my own boots, though nowhere near as harsh as hers. I was vocally lifted from my seat and lead around a corner, away from the crowd.
The whole way, she was a half step behind me, heavy footsteps, thumbs slackly in belt loops, cuffs rattling and pistol grip gleaming in the afternoon sun.
In the alleyway I was backed into a cool graffitied wall. Her body - muscled, tight - and her shoulders - broad, strong - against me. No kisses, but that's alright by me.
Her hand, bigger than mine, clamps heavily on my shoulder and I'm suddenly faced to the wall.
Her body pressed into my back and I hear her hot rough breath, "belt". My fingers, almost spirited, unbuckle my belt. Her hands undo the button on my jeans and with her two thumbs, they're sent anklewards.
There's ice cold on my lower back. It trails to the dimples above my ass and then traced over the cleft.
I start when I realise what it is. Gun metal.
Again, there's that hand on my shoulder, cheek to the cold, painted brick. Teeth rake my ear, that voice again, "stay". I have no choice. I must stay.
A certain valley is nearly infiltrated, but, safely, the iciness is replaced with less terror and more humanity. Fingers. I breathe a tightly held sigh of relief.
I'm forced to be loud. With the movements of her experienced hand and fingers, hot could I not? The end is near and it's quickly overcome.
The whole time, the standard issue handgun is pressed into the back of my head.
23-10-06
****************************
I was mesmerised by those boots - black and commanding - before I saw the blue legal sanctuary of the uniform.
I supposed my clothes got me noticed as well; tight blue jeans and my own boots, though nowhere near as harsh as hers. I was vocally lifted from my seat and lead around a corner, away from the crowd.
The whole way, she was a half step behind me, heavy footsteps, thumbs slackly in belt loops, cuffs rattling and pistol grip gleaming in the afternoon sun.
In the alleyway I was backed into a cool graffitied wall. Her body - muscled, tight - and her shoulders - broad, strong - against me. No kisses, but that's alright by me.
Her hand, bigger than mine, clamps heavily on my shoulder and I'm suddenly faced to the wall.
Her body pressed into my back and I hear her hot rough breath, "belt". My fingers, almost spirited, unbuckle my belt. Her hands undo the button on my jeans and with her two thumbs, they're sent anklewards.
There's ice cold on my lower back. It trails to the dimples above my ass and then traced over the cleft.
I start when I realise what it is. Gun metal.
Again, there's that hand on my shoulder, cheek to the cold, painted brick. Teeth rake my ear, that voice again, "stay". I have no choice. I must stay.
A certain valley is nearly infiltrated, but, safely, the iciness is replaced with less terror and more humanity. Fingers. I breathe a tightly held sigh of relief.
I'm forced to be loud. With the movements of her experienced hand and fingers, hot could I not? The end is near and it's quickly overcome.
The whole time, the standard issue handgun is pressed into the back of my head.
23-10-06