Prompt: "The bloodstained material is treated with blood antiserum." YEAH THANKS LESLIE. It prompted, but I still think I used it badly. Cop out!
Author's Notes: Thanks to lizbee and miss_andromache (just for being there, yo). One day, I'll write a CSI fic without an epigrath featuring Hawksley Workman. But today isn't that day! Thanks also to Brass for being the best fictional character on television. No thanks to me for being crap at smut.
Perfect Feelings of Emptiness
geekfiction Smut-a-Thon 2005
All these ways to behold you
Until the tide will I wait
'Even an Ugly Man', Hawksley Workman
"It's like the bloodstained material is treated with blood antiserum." The person she is talking to does not find this a feasable answer; the squacking that comes from the black handset sets her nerves as close to the edge without going over. "I know. I know. But you have to give me time. I'm going back to the crime scene with Captain Brass now."
She turns in her chair, the phone resting between her ear and shoulder. It's cold and wet out, she knows, and begins the arduous task of putting her large, black gumboots on.
Her skin prickles and her chest lifts.
Perfect feelings of emptiness.
"You just have to give me time."
"Have you seen Brokeback Mountain?" she asks him, spotting a billboard advertising two cowboys in love. Pointing the car away from the crime scene and towards headquarters, she knew nothing different from before, the case frustrating and pulling at her until she had to change the channel in her brain and send the marching chorus away.
He smiles, his pointed canines reminding her of Lestat, or her last beautiful dream all at once. "Have you seen Apocalypse Now?"
"Brokeback Mountain isn't a war movie, Jim."
"Yeah, but it's about love, right? And if love isn't war, what is it?"
The perfect answer, from an imperfect man.
Two ice cubes and an inch of liquid rattle in his glass as she takes off her cumbersome boots. He takes her feet, slowly massaging them in semi-circles from the ankle to her pink-painted toenails, the stubby fingers of a long-hardened police captain becoming as soft and delicate as those you'd imagine belonging to a Swede named Sven.
"You're good at this."
"Ellie. Ballet. She'd come home after class and her feet would look like they'd been through a meat grinder."
He works his way from her feet to her thighs, through the microfibre fabric and eventually reaching her belt. Neither can tell when it went from friendly touching to gathered emotions; neither could have stopped even if they tried.
Because even tonight, the relative cocophany of their professions could be drowned out by the one thing that rang louder than anything else - silence, from absolute safety.
"Ow," Catherine muttered, as they hit heads again. They both laughed, breathless, reaching again for a lick of lips and a kiss that shattered all conceptions they had of each other.
Beauty and the Beast, marooned on a small island in the middle of Catherine's living room - Lindsey, sleeping over a friends house like this whole thing had been planned and Jim simply had to turn up. Something told him, through the haze of lust and the grip of her fingers on his arm, that this whole night had been on the cards since the beginning - but neither had had the guts to do something about it until she lost a husband, he lost a daughter and they both had lost more than either could deal with or bear.
Perfect feelings of emptiness.
With easy hands, his shirt came off. Hers was long gone, probably hurled onto the breakfast counter or a lamp or some other part of the room with her pants and her sense of time and place. Slowly, she kissed down his chest, smatterings of hair across a torso that had been worked at and slaved upon, only to be pulled down by the worst mistress of age, gravity. Still, with a paunch and a sag, Jim still knew how to handle himself, pulling her up to his mouth to devour her again, and again.
He kissed like a teenager. She, for the first time in years, felt like one.
Throwing her weight, Catherine straddled his waist and slowly, painfully unbuckled his belt. Within seconds, he felt her mouth on him, her tongue - and her teeth - working and playing across his shaft just like he'd always imagined she would. Like a freakin' pro.
White noise pressed in his brain, the bells and whistles pinging like a Mills and Boon novel gone to seed. He came, she swallowed, and within minutes he had his head buried between her legs to return the favour.
You learn something new everyday. Today, Catherine learnt Captain James Brass gave head like (she imagined) a seasoned lesbian.
He held her thighs down as muscles contracted and spasmed; as her groaning threw his erection higher, he kissed the insides of her legs with the delicacy of a butterfly. Ragged and torn, her breathing matched his as his tongue did the talking - snaking, looping over her stomach and her breasts, stopping for pit stops where his lips kissed and mouthed dirty words on her nipples, neck and the place between her cheek and ear.
Hair, sopping wet from sweat. Hands, tipped red from the blood rushing to them. Words, confessions, wants and needs groaned against the air as finally he entered her with a tantalising, forcing pump that left anything she had to think about behind.
"Jim." Quicker, her legs wrapped around his waist, memories for them both of fucking in the basement when they were seventeen years old with psychadelia on the record player and a joint in the ashtray. The setting was different, their bodies older and wider, but the emotions and slippery handle on time were still the same. In the back of his mind he wondered what they were doing, but Catherine tightened around his dick, making the friction heavier and the noise in his brain whiter until nothing but this seemed like home.
Nails in his back leaving marks he'd never have to explain to anyone but himself in the mirror tomorrow. A hickey - a hickey! - she could hide with a turtleneck and no-one would know the difference. A feeling of absolution, of fighting the tide and winning that neither could give up, ever or forever.
Faster, then slower; teasing with the thirty-five years of sexual knowledge that had taught him how to keep a woman on the edge and then how to take her over it. One, two, three - Catherine's back arched, her open mouth against his cheek as she crested with him following close behind.
They sounded like extras from a bad porno film, making Jim's face break into a smile and eventually a laugh.
"What - are you laughing at?" Her voice was jagged, her eyes hazy, both moving slightly so he could pull out of her. He put his arms around her, her shaking body fitting like that old spoon analogy they'd both heard so many times in their lives but hadn't really understood.
"Who'd have known, huh?"
All they'd needed was time.