Post by kia on Nov 4, 2009 20:06:01 GMT 10
I've decided to post this one-shot about Luka. It is set in season 9, and I have to warn you about the languange and the situation. It's about sex, so if you're too young or could be offended, please, do not read.
---
Just Another Night
With his fingers circling lazily the glass, he looks at her. Tight black dress, curly blond hair, pale skin and piercing blue eyes. He lets his eyes fall into her cleavage and then looks her into her eye, showing her he’s appreciating the view. The meaning of his glance quickly catched, she bends slightly forward, giving him a better view. He grins curtly while standing. He picks up his glass and walks toward her. He sits without asking her permission: He knows he doesn’t need it.
The bartender is near and a rapid nod is more than enough: A new glass filled with a clear liquid appears in front of her.
She raises it slightly, as if she wants to make a toast. His only move is to smirk again. He's eyeing her breast again, wanting to make his intentions more than clear. When did he become all business-like in these situations? He doesn’t dare to answer. Nor to ask, to be honest.
She’s sipping her drink now, her red lips almost kissing the glass. When she puts it on the counter he can see her lipstick has left a light mark on it. He immediately thinks at those sensuous red marks printed in other places far different from a cold piece of glass. A thought than can arouse him lightly. Let me take her home and then…
“So… thank you for the drink”
“My pleasure…”, his voice is low, the raspy sound he knows the women use to love. He’s getting good at this and, sometimes, it seems to hurt a little less.
“Are you alone?”, of course she is, but a little chat is required. He can’t just take her to bed like this, or can he?
She moves closer to him, resting her knee against his thigh: “I was. But now, I think I’ve found some company…”, she puts her hand on his knee, following the creases of his pants with her index finger. Her nails are red, cured. His imagination starts working again and he can feel them scratching the skin of his back. He shudders, trying not to lose his composure. They’re in a public place, after all. She’s moving her hand a little higher now.
He gulps down in a shift move the rest f his drink and nods toward hers: “You done?”
Her sight doesn’t leave his eyes: “With my drink, yes”
She stands closing the space between them. Her hand his gripping his thigh and her lips are nuzzling his neck, just under his ear: “Coming home with me?” It’s a low whisper sending a bolt of excitement through his body.
He stands, too, brushing his body slowly against her. She’s tall, her head up to his shoulders. He takes his wallet, searching for money. He doesn’t want to look at it, he doesn’t want to remember the picture which is carefully hidden in it. Don’t look Danijela, I’m not the man you met, I‘m gone, lost. Forgive me, if you can.
In a moment they’re out. He gestures towards his Viper, parked in a dark spot of the street. She whistles, her eyes wide. Her hand starts caressing sensually the car body, but she’s fixing him. He can see in the lust in her eyes, they’re clearly saying she can do better with a human body. He inches closer and grabs her, almost in a spasm. She lets him kiss hungrily her lips, biting her tongue and pushing her against the car. She moans lightly feeling his hand sliding over her body, trying to snicker under her skirt.
She breaks the kiss, gasping a little: “Hey… I think my home is more comfortable… and discreet”
He answered against her skin, breathing hard in her scent: “Yeah… right… let’s go”
The ride is silent, full of sexual tension. He can’t help but brush his hand onto her tight. He wants her, he wants to forget for a while. Lose himself in her. Not to think. Ever. Stop the self-loathing. Just have his orgasm and forget.
The bedroom is big, the king sized bed at the center.
She guides him on it: “Just a sec, I’ll be back soon”
While waiting he takes his shoes and his socks off. He’d like to wait for her completely naked just not to lose time, but it seems too cold and meaningless. He wants to make it count a little, at least to her.
She’s back with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. He grabs the bottle and drinks. No glass, he doesn’t need it. She smiles and starts kissing his neck. He can feel her hand over him, touching him, stroking him. It’s good. It’s a feeling. When she opens his pants he closes his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to see. He knows if she looks at her, at them, he cannot go on.
In a moment it’s all mechanical: touching, kissing, biting, licking. Always the same gestures, they never change. She’s moaning under him but he’s focused only on himself. She’s just a body, a way to feel something. A way to escape.
And, then, it’s done. He catches his breath, breathing against her. When he feels her moving closer, trying to hugging him, he sits on the mattress, giving her the back. He’s shivering a little, the air cold against his sweated skin. He stands, picks up his clothes and, without looking at her, goes to the bathroom. He dresses quickly, he’ll shower at home, maybe she would get weird ideas about a shower together and he doesn’t want it. In fact the mere idea of looking in her eyes while having sex makes his stomach lurch.
He’s fully dressed, and, through the mirror he can see his eyes looking at him. He hates himself, he really does. He’s only a cold heartless bastard, lucky enough to be enough handsome to find some girls to f**k. His eyes… so distant and void and cruel. Bad move, Kovac, look at your reflexion. He feels a little sick but he regains the control. He can't lose control, not now.
He leaves the bathroom, she’s still there laying on the bed, the sheets thrown hazardly over her body. One of her long legs is uncovered. Damn, she’s so hot, maybe I can stay a little longer. But, if he stays a little longer, he’ll need to dress again and he’ll have to face again the mirror. And it’s not good. He stares at her, speechless.
“You leaving?”
“Yes… tomorrow morning… mhhh… I…”
“No need to build an excuse, you know”
“Mhhh… ok… so… it’s been nice to meet you…”
“… Linda”
“Linda. Maybe, we can meet again or…”
“Right”, she cuts him short, turning in the bed, “Please, close the door when you leave”
He lets himself out, exhaling a sigh of relief. Useless sex is something he can do, he can block his thoughts during the moment, but the afterward always kills him. He starts the car and speeds home. He needs a shower. And a drink.
---
So, what do you think?
---
Just Another Night
With his fingers circling lazily the glass, he looks at her. Tight black dress, curly blond hair, pale skin and piercing blue eyes. He lets his eyes fall into her cleavage and then looks her into her eye, showing her he’s appreciating the view. The meaning of his glance quickly catched, she bends slightly forward, giving him a better view. He grins curtly while standing. He picks up his glass and walks toward her. He sits without asking her permission: He knows he doesn’t need it.
The bartender is near and a rapid nod is more than enough: A new glass filled with a clear liquid appears in front of her.
She raises it slightly, as if she wants to make a toast. His only move is to smirk again. He's eyeing her breast again, wanting to make his intentions more than clear. When did he become all business-like in these situations? He doesn’t dare to answer. Nor to ask, to be honest.
She’s sipping her drink now, her red lips almost kissing the glass. When she puts it on the counter he can see her lipstick has left a light mark on it. He immediately thinks at those sensuous red marks printed in other places far different from a cold piece of glass. A thought than can arouse him lightly. Let me take her home and then…
“So… thank you for the drink”
“My pleasure…”, his voice is low, the raspy sound he knows the women use to love. He’s getting good at this and, sometimes, it seems to hurt a little less.
“Are you alone?”, of course she is, but a little chat is required. He can’t just take her to bed like this, or can he?
She moves closer to him, resting her knee against his thigh: “I was. But now, I think I’ve found some company…”, she puts her hand on his knee, following the creases of his pants with her index finger. Her nails are red, cured. His imagination starts working again and he can feel them scratching the skin of his back. He shudders, trying not to lose his composure. They’re in a public place, after all. She’s moving her hand a little higher now.
He gulps down in a shift move the rest f his drink and nods toward hers: “You done?”
Her sight doesn’t leave his eyes: “With my drink, yes”
She stands closing the space between them. Her hand his gripping his thigh and her lips are nuzzling his neck, just under his ear: “Coming home with me?” It’s a low whisper sending a bolt of excitement through his body.
He stands, too, brushing his body slowly against her. She’s tall, her head up to his shoulders. He takes his wallet, searching for money. He doesn’t want to look at it, he doesn’t want to remember the picture which is carefully hidden in it. Don’t look Danijela, I’m not the man you met, I‘m gone, lost. Forgive me, if you can.
In a moment they’re out. He gestures towards his Viper, parked in a dark spot of the street. She whistles, her eyes wide. Her hand starts caressing sensually the car body, but she’s fixing him. He can see in the lust in her eyes, they’re clearly saying she can do better with a human body. He inches closer and grabs her, almost in a spasm. She lets him kiss hungrily her lips, biting her tongue and pushing her against the car. She moans lightly feeling his hand sliding over her body, trying to snicker under her skirt.
She breaks the kiss, gasping a little: “Hey… I think my home is more comfortable… and discreet”
He answered against her skin, breathing hard in her scent: “Yeah… right… let’s go”
The ride is silent, full of sexual tension. He can’t help but brush his hand onto her tight. He wants her, he wants to forget for a while. Lose himself in her. Not to think. Ever. Stop the self-loathing. Just have his orgasm and forget.
The bedroom is big, the king sized bed at the center.
She guides him on it: “Just a sec, I’ll be back soon”
While waiting he takes his shoes and his socks off. He’d like to wait for her completely naked just not to lose time, but it seems too cold and meaningless. He wants to make it count a little, at least to her.
She’s back with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. He grabs the bottle and drinks. No glass, he doesn’t need it. She smiles and starts kissing his neck. He can feel her hand over him, touching him, stroking him. It’s good. It’s a feeling. When she opens his pants he closes his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to see. He knows if she looks at her, at them, he cannot go on.
In a moment it’s all mechanical: touching, kissing, biting, licking. Always the same gestures, they never change. She’s moaning under him but he’s focused only on himself. She’s just a body, a way to feel something. A way to escape.
And, then, it’s done. He catches his breath, breathing against her. When he feels her moving closer, trying to hugging him, he sits on the mattress, giving her the back. He’s shivering a little, the air cold against his sweated skin. He stands, picks up his clothes and, without looking at her, goes to the bathroom. He dresses quickly, he’ll shower at home, maybe she would get weird ideas about a shower together and he doesn’t want it. In fact the mere idea of looking in her eyes while having sex makes his stomach lurch.
He’s fully dressed, and, through the mirror he can see his eyes looking at him. He hates himself, he really does. He’s only a cold heartless bastard, lucky enough to be enough handsome to find some girls to f**k. His eyes… so distant and void and cruel. Bad move, Kovac, look at your reflexion. He feels a little sick but he regains the control. He can't lose control, not now.
He leaves the bathroom, she’s still there laying on the bed, the sheets thrown hazardly over her body. One of her long legs is uncovered. Damn, she’s so hot, maybe I can stay a little longer. But, if he stays a little longer, he’ll need to dress again and he’ll have to face again the mirror. And it’s not good. He stares at her, speechless.
“You leaving?”
“Yes… tomorrow morning… mhhh… I…”
“No need to build an excuse, you know”
“Mhhh… ok… so… it’s been nice to meet you…”
“… Linda”
“Linda. Maybe, we can meet again or…”
“Right”, she cuts him short, turning in the bed, “Please, close the door when you leave”
He lets himself out, exhaling a sigh of relief. Useless sex is something he can do, he can block his thoughts during the moment, but the afterward always kills him. He starts the car and speeds home. He needs a shower. And a drink.
---
So, what do you think?
