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Release	By : KaticaLocke Category: G through L > Law & Order Views: 3499 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Law & Order, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 18
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Alex had never been sucked into the funnel cloud of a tornado, so she didn't know exactly what that would be like, but she didn't think it could possibly compare to this. Perhaps if the tornado were made from pure lust, pure sex, pure raging, aching physical need, but only then. For a moment she couldn't even breathe.

Her back hit the cold stone wall and she gasped, greedily drawing each breath as if air alone could quench the fire raging inside her, but it only fanned the flames. Her eyes didn't want to focus; they kept trying to roll back into her head, but she forced herself to concentrate, the detective taking over and analyzing a situation the woman couldn't control.

Cold cinder block wall, smooth painted surface behind her. Smooth, hot wall of flesh in front of her -- His shirt was gone. When had that happened? -- feverishly hot and damp with sweat. Breath on her hair, hands on her hips, breasts -- She was naked. -- coarse cloth beneath her fingers, denim, jeans, sharp teeth of the zipper -- What the hell was she doing?! Her hand found the satin hardness of him and his whole body tensed, his breath catching in his throat.

"No," he growled, a bass rumble deep in his chest. The cell wall burned against her back as he lifted her off her feet, his hands hot against the backs of her thighs. Her body cooperated willingly, gripping his waist with her knees, drawing him closer, trying to satisfy that ache for his flesh.

He stopped her, his fingers digging into her thighs hard enough that she knew she'd be bruised in the morning. A tortured moan rose up in his chest, but never made it past his lips as he trembled in her arms. Alex stared over his shoulder, his sandpaper cheek resting against the side of her neck, and choked down a sob as she realized what he was doing. Drawing on every ounce of willpower she had left, she pulled back just enough to turn her head and whisper in his ear.

"It's okay, Bobby," she told him, "I won't break." For a moment, he was utterly still, then his hands slowly relaxed. A shudder ran though his body as he finally surrendered.

Alex bit her lip as they came together, hardly daring to breathe lest she let slip some tiny sound, some hint of her discomfort. She was petite, as the rest of the detectives in her squad were always pointing out -- a big attitude in a little package. Bobby wasn't. His package was no less than you'd expect from a man who stood nearly six foot four and wore a size thirteen shoe, and it hurt. He had to know, but she gave no sign as he slowly moved inside her.

The incubus teased though her body, the pain easing and desire taking its place. She accepted him, all of him, and the world seemed to hold it's breath as he stood motionless, buried inside her. For a second, she forgot the pain and the sadness, the implications and the consequences, forgot all the crap that came before and was sure to come after, and just let herself feel whole, complete, safe.

The moment passed and the nightmare returned as the incubus, apparently tired of playing games, drew a low, desperate moan from each of them. They found their rhythm, moving as one in long, slow strokes. Like winding a spring, every time they came together, something tightened inside her, but not enough, never enough, forcing her accept him again, and again.

She closed her eyes, blocking out the sight of the pitted gray walls, the gleaming steel bars, the harsh fluorescent light bleeding the color out of an already colorless room. She should have turned out the lights at least -- maybe lit a few candles. She wished she could have taken him back to her place, or even to his, anywhere but here. They could have done this in the shower, with the water cascading over their bodies.

She'd decided long ago that before she died, she would make love to man beneath a tropical waterfall, in some forgotten grotto, on some uncharted island. It was one of those irrational decisions made over a cheap bottle of wine, the kind you share with your Academy buddies, but not your sister, not your friends, not your partner. The image still lingered, though; the waterfall, the grotto, the island. It was to this paradise that she took them now, with the sunlight filtering down through the leaves, reflecting on the pool and dancing over the sheer cliff rising above them. She leaned back against the cliff, watching the shifting patterns of leaf and sky as Bobby gently laid kisses along her collar bone, up her neck, along her jaw.

Under the waterfall, he would touch her face and look in her eyes, speaking her name softly in that rich and resonating voice of his, watching as the heat filled her eyes, colored her cheeks, quickened her breath. He would smile as he coaxed small sounds from her, the ones she tried so hard to keep inside --

The sound of her own voice, hollow and echoing, stole her away from her paradise, thrusting her back into gritty reality as another tremulous wave rocked her body, trying to draw another gasping cry from her. This one she held inside. She wasn't standing under a waterfall, after all.

The incubus roiled around them, picking at the small shivers of pleasure that radiated from her, but it's hunger would not be satisfied with anything less than an orgasm. Neither would hers.

Bobby was fighting again, his face turned completely away from her, gasping for air as he struggled with himself. She couldn't understand why; another minute and this would all be over. He was almost as close as she was, she could feel the urgency in his body, the tightness across his shoulders, the pounding of his heart. So close, they were so close.

The orgasm shuddered through her, prickling the skin along her scalp, raising the hair on her arms. She rode one, two, three waves in silence, her chest and throat tight as she buried her cries deep within herself. Bobby moaned as the incubus, sated at last, dissolved around them.

Alex had a split second to realize that she was again in control of her body before she was pushed away, her bare feet hitting the cold floor with a stinging slap. Her knees nearly buckled, her legs both weak and sore, and she leaned against the wall for a moment, trying to figure out what had happened.

Bobby had staggered to the opposite corner, holding his jeans up with one hand and hiding his face with the other. He stood, head bowed, with his back to her, his skin glistening with sweat and marred by several sets of fingernail marks. Fresh blood trickled from scratches on his right shoulder. In the silent aftermath, should hear him softly muttering to himself as his breathing returned to normal.

She shivered, and the chill woke her up. Turning away from Bobby, she gathered her underwear and coat up off the floor. The coat she slipped on, cinching the belt as tight as she could and still breathe. The underwear she slipped into the coat pockets. She needed to wash, but not here. Standing at the front of the cell, she leaned her head against the bars and listened to Bobby clean himself up, muttering all the while. She couldn�t make out what he was saying, but she had the feeling that she didn�t want to know.

Across the room, Bobby's cell phone rang, making her jump. She glanced over her shoulder, at the phone on the bed, and then at Bobby. He looked at it, then turned away. Irritation flared through her and she stalked across the cell, snatched up the phone and answered.

"Eames," she said, watching out of the corner of her eye as her partner dabbed at the bloody scratches on his shoulder.

"Alex, it's Olivia." She sounded hesitant. "I'm not ... interrupting ...?"

"No, it's okay, " Alex told her. "It's been dealt with." She'd picked her cold words carefully, watching Bobby for any kind of reaction, but he didn't even appear to have heard her. Too busy licking his wounds and wallowing in self-pity. She turned away in disgust. "What's up?"

"John's back, and if you think Bobby's up to it, the two of you have got to hear what he found out."

"He's found a cure?"

"Maybe," Olivia said after a brief pause. "It's ... Well, I don't understand it, but he says there's a chance ..."

"We'll be right there." She hung up and stared at the wall a moment. A cure, a solution, an end to this nightmare. Now, if she could just get Bobby to give a damn. No, that wasn't fair. He had to be feeling six shades of horrible right now, and she was letting her own selfish needs get in the way of seeing that. This wasn't about her.

She turned to find him standing beside the cell door, the usual thoughtful look in his eyes even as he finished buttoning his shirt. Looking at him, she never would have guessed he'd just finished screwing someone. Except that he hadn't finished, he'd stopped, exerting a control she'd glimpsed in the interrogation room, but hadn't fully appreciated before. But why -- Bobby cleared his throat. He arched an eyebrow at her.

"So, what have your friends found out?" he asked. "Is there any ... hope?"

"There's always hope," she murmured before she could stop herself. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, tossing her sweat-damp hair out of her eyes. "Detective Munch wants to talk to us."
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