Poetry and Prozac

Reno/Elena. R. ~500 words. For Spring Kink.
Too far away to make a decent target, somebody hiss-whispers into a crackling walkie-talkie.

Elena tumbles to the concrete behind a scaffold, heart pounding and ears ringing. She loses every last scrap of air in her lungs in one explosive rush when Reno lands heavily on top of her. His hand – bare fingers, leather on her lips, he’s wearing gloves like Tseng’s – covers her mouth.

Quick, shuffling footsteps echo in the half-empty warehouse. Too far away to make a decent target, somebody hiss-whispers into a crackling walkie-talkie. Someone else swears at him to turn the fucking thing off.

Even this close, there’s barely enough light to make out the smile curving Reno’s lips. He tilts his head to the side, lashes lowered and lips parted like he’s thinking dirty things. New leather creaks as Elena’s grip on her gun tightens.

Reno’s mouth is warm on her throat, tongue wet. Wet like the ache between her legs, the one she tells herself she didn’t notice until Reno’s teasing fingertips dragged up her thigh. Bits of his hair tickle her face, fill her next breath with the delicious, lingering scent of vanilla cloves instead of the dirt and dust of the warehouse floor. When his teeth find her earlobe her breath stops; she turns her head, neck stretched bare, his smile pressed to her skin smug and knowing.

Light bobs less than five feet away. It sweeps in careless circles around somebody’s booted feet. Reno sees it, ignores it, slides his thumb over the hard peak of her nipple through her shirt. Slowly, Elena stretches her arm out, biting her lip as the heat of Reno’s cock digs into her hip. She aims at the guy’s knee, her face flush, her body feeling heavy, clumsy with the need to spread her legs and feel Reno pressed hard and thick against her.

Reno jerks when she fires, his breath a sensual hiss in her ear. The guy goes down, flashlight rolling; wide, shocked eyes take in Reno’s hand inside her shirt and his knee between her legs. Her second shot takes him in the head. The flashlight winks out on the third. A second of dead-silence follows, then an eruption of shouts and curses and running.

“Shit,” Reno says, halfway between regretful and reverent. His hand drags down her side, up over her stomach and her breast, curling under the back of her neck to pull her into one hard, quick kiss that should be more brutal than it is. “Soon as we’re done.”

Elena levers herself up, nipples tight and aching and underwear clinging to damp flesh. Muzzle flashes are bright in the dark, bullets flying wide thumping into wood and pinging on metal. She thinks about his long, slender fingers, the filthy things he says when his cock is in her mouth.

“If you don’t get shot,” she says, rocking up on her knees.

Reno grins, rolling behind her back to back, and switches out his empty mag for a fresh one. “Sounds like incentive to me.”


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