Storming the Bastille
By ga
garrull@yahoo.com
Rating: NC-17; some may find certain sexual imagery disturbing. This
is, however, Sallie-safe
Category: DRR, PWP, erotica/smut fusion
Spoilers: I rather doubt it
Disclaimer: I couldn't afford to keep them
Distribution: I'm a consenting adult, but prefer it be informed
consent
Summary: It's late at night...

Note: Happy birthday to our own dear Kimberly. Love you, honey!


The last hour of a stakeout is when things happen. Not with the
suspect. Things.

John was watching the house. I was watching John. We both do it; when
it's my turn to watch for the suspect, I'll feel him watching me.
They'd be serial-killer eyes, his eyes, but for the kindness in them,
and I can't not feel their weight on me. It's different now, of
course, but even so there's something respectful about it. More than
he even needs to be--I don't worry about that, with him. If
anything... In the car, he won't undress me with his eyes even if he's
going to do it for real in an hour or two once we get home. He waits
for the proper time and place and my express consent before he lets
his gaze turn hungry. This is more like he's studying me, reading me
in order to learn something. If that sounds creepy, it's not. It's not
invasive or possessive or paternal. It's just John.

I kind of like it that he seems to have me less and less figured out
the longer we're together. I like playing with his head that way,
showing him parts of myself I hadn't before.

When I watch him, I study his mood, his energy. Decide whether and how
far I can push him. I was in a mood...

I leaned over, croon-whispering into his ear. "John, can I tell you
something? Something I...imagined? It's something you'd never do,
John; you'd never, EVER do this. But in my imagination, in my
fantasy"--I let the word glimmer in his mind for a moment--"you do."

I settled back into my seat a little, staying close but with enough
space so that he could see my face. I didn't touch him.

"It's late at night, a night like tonight, and we're going home, after
a stakeout where nothing happened or waiting for a contact who never
showed...it doesn't matter what, except that whatever it is, John,
whatever case we're working, it's pissed you off. You didn't show it,
you never would. But it's building up inside of you.

"We hadn't planned that you were coming home with me; we were each
supposed to go our separate ways. Sometimes, when I picture it, it's
even before we were...us, so of course we'd have been going to our own
homes. But, you see me to my apartment door, watch me as I unlock the
bolt and open the door. And, as soon as the key is back out of the
lock, before I know what's happening, you slam me against the wall,
just inside the door, and you kick the door shut.

"Can I tell you this, John? Does it offend or upset you, the idea that
I'd fantasize about you doing things to me, and be aroused by it, that
I've pictured this over and over? You pinning me to the wall, your
forearms trapping my arms by my sides as your hands paw at my breasts
through my clothes. Your crotch thrusting against mine, your erection
rising in your jeans. John, I would never wish a violation on myself
or anyone. It's only because I know and trust you that I could imagine
this and let myself get off on it, the idea of you taking me.

"And you do, in this fantasy; you take. Your knees trap my legs
against the wall. You capture both my arms in one of yours--sometimes
when I imagine it, your arm is across my ribs where it rubs against
the bottoms of my breasts as I thrash, and sometimes you pin my arms
over my head, so my chest is thrust out at you. Either way, you won't
let me go, even as you struggle to undo my pants one-handed. You do
it, though, and shove them down just far enough to be out of your way.
Then your own, you open your fly. I'd been fighting you, but now all I
can do is stare as you take your cock out. You're almost fully erect.

"You swipe your hand between my legs to steal my moisture. I think, if
you were thinking about it, that you'd be surprised at how wet I am.
But you're beyond noticing. You use my wetness to lubricate your cock,
wrap your fist around it and stroke sharply--once, twice, three times,
a few more. I watch, hypnotized--it's rough and frightening and
beautiful. I want to beg you to keep doing that but I'm afraid I'll
break the spell. I want to beg you to fuck me.

"When you're completely hard, you thrust up into me. Your strokes are
harsh, fast--you're desperate for release. You still have me trapped,
and my pants and underwear bind my legs further. You shove my shirt
and bra up out of your way and grab at my breast, claiming it for
yourself--for your pleasure, not for mine.

"But John, I...it gets me so...I don't know how the fantasy ends
because I usually come before you do. Sometimes I come before you've
even gotten inside of me. The idea of you so out of control that
you'd..." Somewhere in the telling, my eyes had slipped shut. I hadn't
quite forgotten he was there; I knew what I was doing. But part of me
wanted him to think I was lost in the moment, and part of me was. I
knew he'd be watching my face, but I didn't need to see his. I could
feel his muscles tighten, hear his energy crackle, smell his sweat as
it rose to his skin.

But I opened my eyes to fix on his for one last moment. "But John, I
know, in this fantasy, that no matter how far gone you seem to be, you
know it's me you're doing this to. And you know that you're not doing
anything against my will."

We sat in silence a few moments. Then, John started the car.

At my apartment door, John stood beside me as I unlocked the bolt and
opened the door. As soon as the key was back out of the lock, he drove
me into the wall, his tongue in my mouth and his hand in my pants as
he kicked the door shut. His fingers went straight for the kill, for
the spot, the stroke, the pressure he knows will send me right over.
I'd been close, in the car...less than a minute, and I shuddered
against the wall. His knees, against my legs, kept me upright. My
gasps for breath broke the kiss.

He growled against my ear. "You know what I'd do, if I were going to
be selfish? If I were going to take from you? I'd take that look on
your face, the one I'm looking at right now that says how good it
feels." He stared at me, drinking me in, and kissed me again, hard.
His fingers had slowed and softened after my release, but still he
clutched my curls. He tugged them and I moaned into his mouth.

"And I'd make you keep feeling it til you couldn't see, couldn't
think. I'd keep making you come til you forgot every word you ever
knew except my name." He started stroking me again and my body jerked.
"I'd take it all, Monica, til the only thing you knew was that I was
the one doing it to you. And then I'd keep doing it." It was almost
painful--too much, still too soon--but he shifted the pressure away
slightly and my wail came out as a groan, instead.

He dragged his fingers along my clit as he withdrew his hand. As I
sought to calm my breath, he brought his fingers to his nose and took
a long, deep inhale. I could smell it too, myself on his fingers.
"God, if I could take what I wanted, I'd take that smell--the way you
smell when you want me." He dropped to his knees and yanked the waist
of my pants forward, burying his nose in the space between my clothes
and my skin. "Monica, you smell so good," his voice muffled against
fabric.

For all his roughness, his hands were reverent as they undid my pants.
"I want to take you on my tongue. I want to make you...please, Mon."
He'd taken my words; I whimpered and nodded. But that wasn't good
enough, it seemed--he held the sides of my pants and yanked, but not
enough to get them out of the way, and repeated, more forcefully,
"Please."

"John..." I cried. It was what he'd been waiting for. He shoved the
clothes down. His tongue touched me, soft and hard at the same time,
and I hissed giant gasping gulps of air. My knees threatened to buckle
again and I hit my head on the wall as I thrashed. His name, I chanted
his name, begging and laughing and crying and coming: "John John John
JOHN John..."

Somehow, I was still standing, my pants puddled around my ankles. He
scooped me into his arms as he rose; my boneless arms draped around
his neck. "And then I'd take you in my arms," he whispered, and kissed
me tenderly.

"And I'd take you to your bedroom," he continued. "And I'd take our
time." Steadying me, he let go with one arm and threw the bolt to lock
the door, and carried me through the dark apartment.

END