Fic: Freefall’s Net.

[munnin]

Title: Freefall’s Net.

Author: Munnin

Rating: PG – fluff with smutty implications

Pairing: Inspector & Racer X

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the inside of my head. And even then I wonder who I’m sharing it with.
Author’s notes: 100% organic. May contain minor flaws and imperfections that beta-treated slash wouldn’t.

Feedback: sticks and stone may break my bones but feedback will excite me.

This is what I get for using the words ‘One shot’. Bara no Kishi’s lovely fantastic story Freefall has overtaken my brain. Most of this was written while I should have been paying attention during an OH&S workshop. I promise the next part will include serious smut, possibly also a steaming shower scene.

I roll over in my sleep, groaning as a spasm of pain flickers through my leg. His hand is in my hair, warm and comforting. “David?’ His voice is so gentle it almost breaks my heart.

“I’m fine.” I squeeze through clenched teeth.

“Bullshit.” He says with a smile, good natured in his teasing. He ruffles my hair, his hand sliding down my collar to caress the side of my neck, smiling as I moan for a different reason.

In hindsight I find it difficult to believe I mistook the hospital bed for heaven when clearly this is it: laying on a couch in the afternoon sun, my head in my lover’s lap. His fingers dip lower beneath the open buttons of my shirt, brushing almost idly over the hairs on my chest.

A fresh spasm has me in the foetal positing, my knees drawn up to my chest as I fight to ride out the pain. X holds me tight till it passes; his hand still in my hair but as it recedes I find I can’t straighten my leg.

“Sit up a sec.” He lifts my head off his lap and onto a pillow, shifting to the other end of the couch. His long and clever fingers work into the matted knot of muscle my left leg has become. I bite my lip and swear in French as little by little he eases my leg out and back.

I feel his eyes on my face, deep muscle manipulation softening to caresses as I stop flinching. “Better?” he asks as I remember to breathe.

“Merci.”

“Avec plaisir.”

He keeps playing with my feet, brushing his fingers over the sensitive skin of my ankle with feather light strokes, soothing me back into my lost sleep.

I dream of the shot that tore through me, of the foolishness that nearly cost me my life. I dream of his voice, his fingers on my throat; willing my own heart to beat just to answer his touch.

I dream of the hospital, my team around me as the doctor explains about the nerve damage, about my leg, about the cane I may never be able to walk without. X doesn’t touch me, not in front of the others but I feel his grip tighten on the arms of the wheelchair. I feel his anger and helplessness as clearly as I feel my own but now is not the time to express it. Besides, Frank rants enough for all of us.

It’s Minx’s who suggests the hunting lodge for my recuperation. It is she too who suggests Racer X stays with me; for my protection. Though my attackers are behind bars someone should watch out for me, lest their confederates try to finish the job. I glimpse X’s half hidden smile and once again repent making them partners – such natural conspirators should never be trusted.

I wake alone to darkness beyond the great windows and a flickering fire in the hearth. I struggle to my feet, reaching for the cane I despise so much. I stumble, clumsy in my own body and drowsy with sleep. I throw out a hand to catch myself but his strong arms are around me, holding me up till I find my balance once more.

“Easy,” he whispers, his lips close to my ear, his breath raking my throat.

“Wretched thing.” I mutter, leaning back into his embrace and trusting my weigh to him.

“You know you should get Minx to have a look at that thing. She could install a spyglass.” He smiles into my hair. “The better for detecting clues.”

I spy his abandoned book, lifted from Jack’s stash of detective novels and summon my best scowl. “Yes but Poirot was Belgian. And short.”

He laughs, turning me to kiss me lightly and running a hand through my hair; a fascination he has and one I have never objected to. “Not to mention balding.” He leans back, holding me up as I steady my footing. “Detective Albertson dropped by while you were asleep.”

I raise an eyebrow, Frank and X could hardly be called friends. The pair struggle at the best of times to remain collegial. “And may I ask what happened?”

“Nothing at all.” He protests, holding his hands out in a vain attempt at innocence. “I played nice. He wanted to see how you’re doing. Somehow I don’t think he trusts me alone with you.”

His eyes sparkle with mischief and I can’t help but smile.

“Anyway he dropped off a bottle of painkillers.”

“I would have thought what the Doctor prescribed would have been sufficient.” Both Frank and X know well my distain for pharmaceuticals. I have taken them of late only under extreme duress and some truly frightening threats of violence from Minx.

He smiles, smoothing my furrowed brow with the tips of his fingers. “I very much doubt that even Frank can get a prescription for Hennessy.” A bottle of my favourite cognac sits on the side table, tempting me with its golden glow. Yet another reason I despise taking drugs; I can not drink till they are out of my system.

X senses my frustration and pulls me close again. “Are you hungry? I’ll make you something.”

“Thank you but no.”

“A shower perhaps?” He smiles, knowing my hedonistic weakness for hot water. “Although…” he teases, “in your state it might be dangerous. If you were to slip or hurt yourself in any way…”

This time I pull him to me, trusting his balance for both of us and kissing him deep. “Then Racer X, I must beg a

favour of you…”

***

I lean against the bathroom wall, once again reviewing my idea of Heaven. A week ago it was waking up to the support and protection of my team. A few short hours ago it was waking up to in my lover’s embrace and now...X undoes each button of my shirt like a sacrament, worshiping the skin they reveal with his hands, his tongue. Each lick, each caress drawing sighs from my lips. He runs his hands over the tilt of my hips, pinning me to the wall as he drops to a knee and drags down my fly with his teeth.

His smug smile answers my moan as he frees me of my trousers and boxers, tracing spirals on my inner thigh. He derives such perverse pleasure in seeing me fall apart. Another time I might have fought him for that privilege, a clash of will and dominance, self control and determination.

But not tonight.

I’m too tired and too sore to do anything but cling to the tiles and let him have his way with me. Let him spoil me.

Ignoring my hardness he explores my body, mapping each scrape and scar like a traveller returning home. He knows me all too well, playing me like a concert musician, drawing out each note to my exquisite and inevitable release.

I relax into his embrace, bonelessly content if faintly embarrass at just how easily he has brought me to my fall.

He manoeuvres me to the edge of the bath, steadying hands on my shoulders till he’s sure I have my balance. I scowl, beginning to pall of this overprotectness. He kisses me, fierce and forceful; reminding me that right now - I have no choice in this matter.

Oh but vengeance will be mine! When this wound is healed and my strength regained...

Thoughts of wicked retribution slip from my mind as he leans against the wall, his lean body framed exquisitely by the starkness of the tiles. He strips for me – every movement is slow and deliberate, tormenting me with his predatory grace.

Each article of clothing reveals a little more of his beautiful body, a view our oft hasty trysts rarely allow. The dip of his collarbone, the light dusting of hair over his chest, the ragged scar that runs down his right flank.

I catch his hand and draw him close, running my fingers over that scar. One day perhaps I’ll ask him what happened to cause it. One day perhaps he’ll answer me. But for now the fact he trembles under my touch is enough. He pulls my hand away, still shivering as he brings my fingers to his lips. I can’t help but moan as his sweeps his tongue over the tip of my index finger, lavishing it before sucking it into his mouth.

His hand curls around the back of my neck, holding me up as my head falls back with pleasure. I lose myself in the sensation as his cheeks hollow around my fingers with a teasing scrap of teeth, releasing them with a pop.

“X.” I gasp, too enraptured to worry how breathless I sound.

“Patience.” He laughs, kissing me deep, his lips deliciously swollen as he pulls away, resuming his teasing.

I let my eyes raking his stunning body. The trail of hair like a leading path down the flat of his stomach, the slide of denim over the curve of his hip, the clean, long lines of his legs, the tight shelfed muscles of his carves. What possible good could I have done to deserve this breathtaking creature in my life?

I reach for him again, exposed now but for this: the bandana rolled and tied at his wrist, the civilian substitute to his racing cowl. Even here in our seclusion he keeps it close. A security for the secret trusted only to a favoured few.

I unwind it slowly, kissing the pale skin it reveals. Here I know his weakness, the sensitive skin of his inner wrist. The merest brush of my lips is enough the set him trembling. I bite down, sucking on the soft skin, not yet hard enough to mark but more than enough to push him to the edge of his self-control. He falls to one knee, too overcome to hold himself up.

This small victory in our passionate battle enlivens me greatly; the joy of the challenge in my smile as I grab his shoulders and push, straddling him as we fall to the floor.

He makes an undignified huff as I knock the air out of him. I kiss him hard before he has a chance to recover, forcing my tongue between his lips as he gasps to breath. He runs his fingers through my hair, using it to pull head back to give him room to breathe.

“I didn’t think you’d be up for this sort of thing right now.” He pants, arching off the tiles to pressing his hard body against mine.

I push him to the cool tiles, trapping his erection between us and forcing him to stillness. “You underestimate me.” I grind down, the burn of friction drawing deep moans from him as I graze at the tender skin of his throat. He bucks against me but the still fresh stitches of my wound protest and I ease back.

He grabs my waist and holds me still, his expression dark with concern. I shift my weigh to favour my leg and the stickiness of our skin sets him laughing. “Well so much for getting clean. I promised you a shower.” He plants a kiss in my hair before rolling us over and helping me to my feet.

The shower feels marvellous and I rejoice in the simple pleasure of it, closing my eyes as the hot water cascades over my body. I reach for the soap but X catches my hand. “Let me.”

Such an offer can hardly be refused. I stand; arms braced against the wall as X lathers us both, his sure hands kneading the tight muscles of my shoulders and back. I sigh blissfully as he works away the knots of tension I have build up over the last week, unravelling me with his touch.

As I relax into the wall his massage softens into caresses that travel slowly but surely downward. He slides a gentle hand down the curve of my ass, halting and uncertain as if asking my permission before going any further. I shuffle my feet to widen my stance, canting my hips to his touch.

He sighs, pressing a kiss to the back of my neck, needing to hear it out loud. “David if you’re not up for this you only have to say. I won’t push...”

His concern is endearing but not what I need right now. “I’m not made of glass X. And for my dignities sake I won’t beg you but if you continue to tease so I may be forced to take drastic measures.”

He laughs, resuming his caresses. I shudder as his thumb brushing the underside of my balls. “I should do that one day you know. Find out how long I have to tease you before you do break down and beg.”

A witty retort dies on my lips as he presses a soap-slick finger against my entrance. I breath out slowly, let my head fall back to rest on his shoulder as he easing in. With our hectic workload and, of late, my injured state, it has been some time and this, most gentle of intrusion is enough to take my breath away.

X feels it too; his lips brushing my ear. “God David! You’re so tight...” his breathlessness makes the blood dance in my veins, “If I was to take you now...” He bites back a gasp of his own. We both know the joy of the burn, the pleasure of pain in it’s time and place but it’s not what either of us want right now.

He works in a second finger, scissoring me open with slow delight till I am slick with sweat despite the rapidly cooling shower. His strong arm around my waist is my only support as he grazes his fingertip over my prostate, the strength in my legs lost to me as I moan to his touch.

Abruptly he pulls out, turning off the water with a sharp flick of his wrist. He pulls me with him, snatching up a towel to dry me roughly. “What’s wrong?” I ask, wondering if his strangely acute hearing has picked up an approaching car.

“Nothing.” He smiles rakishly, “but I think it’s time to move somewhere more comfortable.”

He leads me to the bedroom and lies beside me. Pressed chest to chest, he pulling my knee up over his thigh to resume his ministrations. Three fingers fuck me open as he peppers my throat with hot, open mouthed kisses.

I grab his wrist; I can bear no more of exquisite torment “X! Please?” Breathless and needy, so much for my precious dignity.

“Gladly.” He kisses me and pulls away. A moment later with the crackle of foil and the snap of latex, he returns to lay behind me. I glance round at him quizzically but he lays a hand on my back, guiding me gently to lie on my stomach. “I’m less likely to hurt you this way.”

I want to protest but he breaches me, slowly, gently till his firm body is pressed against mine. For all his preparation I still gasp, my heart pounding in my chest as I adjust to the glorious sensation of being filled. He whispers my name as he kisses the back of my neck and strokes my hair, waiting for me to be ready with a patience that belies his own desire.

I reach back, pulling his head down to meet me and kissing him deep, pushing back against him in the hope he will understand how much I want this.

He draws back unhurriedly, letting me feel every inch him. He wraps a hand around me, stroking me long and slow to match his thrusts, his other arm around my chest drawing me close, whispering in my ear and breathing my name.

We ease into a comfortable rhythm, happy for now just to enjoy each other’s familiar caresses, his sighs play out a counterpoint melody to my own. As the curves and angles of our bodies meet, the symphony builds and I feel the tension in his touch. I wrap my fingers in his hair as I kiss him, “You won’t break me X. Stop holding back.”

His arm tightens around my chest, holding me firmly as his pace quickens. Each thrust now brushes that spot inside me that reduces my world to flashes of sensation.

The slide of skin and smell of sweat.

His breath, hot and sharp on my skin.

The flex of his muscle beneath my hands.

My own voice as I cry his name.

His voice, hoarse and breathless, crying my name.

Our crescendo; like a crashing wave and the pound of my blood, drowning out all other sounds.

We lay together, breathing heavily. He gently pulls away and I roll over to face him as the bed dip with his return. He pulls me close and I rest my head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart as it slows to normal; I feel myself drifting and open my eyes again with a start. He kisses me softly on the top of the head, guiding my eyes closed with the tips of his fingers. “Rest.” He urges, stroking his hand through my hair. “I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

I know nothing of a paradise after this world but as I drift to sleep in his arm I wonder how it could possibly compare to this.