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[Image alt text: a pulp-magazine-style centerfold page displaying text and a digital drawing of Peter Nureyev and Juno Steel having explicit, penetrative sex in an office chair. Nureyev is wearing nothing but a trench coat and Juno still has a dress shirt on. The suggestion of window blinds serves as a background.]
Alt text for fic:
I spent a hundred lonely nights with only a dream to keep me warm, a couple dozen less lonely nights with strangers I that I called his name, and one night in my office that started out lonely and ended up with...him.
Juno Steel and A Second of Chance
It was raining in Hyperion City, the kind of rain that sizzled on the sidewalk and steamed up the shop windows. I was sitting in my office cradling a glass and watching my empty coat hanger. A couple weeks back, someone had walked off with my trench coat and I was pretty sure I knew who it was. Maybe, I just didn't want to believe that Peter Nureyev was on Mars again.
I'd given Rita the day off, so I had the office all to myself when the coat came waltzing home with its thief inside it.
The first thing I heard was his shoes, hard stilettos clacking on my boards like temptation closing in on me. I had my back to the door, couldn't see who the caller was, but I could tell from the air of cologne and pretension that wafted in. Then, I heard his voice, smooth like velvet, thick with a smile.
"Hello, detective. Have a moment for an old client?" he didn't wait for an answer, just walked in and up to my desk.
"You were never my client, Glass, or whatever the hell your name is," I turned my chair to face him and--damn, he looked liked a million creds. Dark lips stretched into a predatory smile, that glittering gaze that grabbed me by the globes. He looked like he wanted to eat me alive and I couldn't say I was opposed to the idea.
"I've told you my name, Juno. I only hoped that you would grasp the importance of my gesture. But, that's not why I'm here," he said, slipping off his gloves.
"Huh, knew you'd only come back when you needed something. Don't leave me in suspense. You in trouble or somethin'? Got more Martian junk you need smuggled?" I spat bitterly.
"No, but that time will come. You said it yourself: I never was your client," he was untying the belt of his -- my jacket, "I never had the pleasure of your...services. Oh, I had my taste, certainly, but who ever stops there?" He fixed me with those dark eyes and his plucked brows taunted me, "Do I make my intentions perfectly clear?"
"Cut it out. What the hell are you--?" I stopped talking as his coat fell open to reveal great expanses of exposed skin. Underneath, he was naked as a sewer rabbit. The wide open field of his flesh made my heart hammer in my teeth and my palms sweat.
"I never got to carry through on my offer, and believe me, I intended to. Our work came between us and it will again, dear detective," he stepped slowly around my desk, crossing the line of professionalism like he was entering a war zone, "But, there's nothing between us right now. There doesn't have to be for one night. In fact, there could be...nothing between us at all..."
My throat worked as I tried to speak, to think of a goddamn thing to say. My mind was screaming at me to run for the dome. This guy was trouble, and he'd bring nothing but it. He was only here to take from me and I wasn't going to fall for it again.
"I learned my lesson the first time, thanks. Whatever you're here for, you better spit it out before I hand you back to the cops," I said.
He came to stand in front of my chair and loom between my legs. He was tall. The kind of tall that could throw me around a little.
I kept my eyes stubbornly on his face, but they weren't happy about it. I'd pictured him just like this more times than I could cross off a calendar. I'd dreamt about that tan skin for months on end, what it would feel like under my hands, taste like on my tongue as he sweated and writhed and--
"Nureyev," I said softly. He shivered at his name and I wondered how long it had been since someone last used it, "Why are you doing this?"
"Take the word of a sorry thief, but I've been thinking about you...quite a lot. It seems I can't stop, actually," he said, elegantly embarrassed, "I thought you might be having the same problem."
We looked at each other for a held breath, him seeking permission and me seeking a motive. He stretched a hesitant, slender hand towards me, like he thought I might bite. Maybe I would. His fingers touched my jaw, slid up to my cheek and I couldn't help by melt into him. He dipped towards me, brought that painted face close to mine and I was gone.
"I'm here because I want you, Juno," he breathed, "If you'll have me for awhile."
"Just, shut up," I said and pulled him in by the lapels of my ratty coat. This kiss was like fire, dancing and spreading and destroying. This wasn't like that night in my apartment a lifetime ago. He had been gentle then, careful not to push me too far or too fast. He wasn't being gentle now. He kissed me like it was the last chance he would ever get and I felt some great well of emotion rear up in me like it hadn't in years.
He boarded my chair and I finally got my hands on him proper. He was stronger than he looked, corded muscles lurking below the surface. His skin was suppled with age and I did my best to touch all of it at once.
It had to be a dream. He couldn't be here, in my office, needing me...kissing me...unbuckling my belt...touching me...taking me...using me...
I had wanted this so badly and for so long I was afraid that, now, I'd never be able to stop. And this time, I didn't...
I didn't stop until we were exhausted and limp and drunk on each other. Until the frantic lovers had left us and we were just a detective and a thief hiding in each others' arms.