On the other side of town

[ms-tique.livejournal.com]

Some things never change.

Ramon lights up another cigarette. Half a dozen butts litter the street by his feet.

He knew the minute he saw Issac's body. The additional data Mr. Lensherr sent along only confirmed it. This shouldn't be possible. Isaac's killer has been dead for over twenty years.

Ramon stares at the juggling rooster on the Cock and Balls bar sign. He doesn't have to do this. He could send in Mortimer or Dominic instead. They've never met the man.

He doubts they'd survive.

The broken glass outside the window, layers of peeling paint on the badly repaired doorsill, and strong stench of whiskey and cigar smoke are like a set piece from the worst part of his past. They should've stayed in Europe. America is too cold, too hard.

He takes one last drag on the cigarette and lets it fall to the ground. Time to go to work.

Comments

[ms-tique.livejournal.com]

She's been a pitcher so long she's forgotton how good it feels to play reciever. Her arms slide around his back, one hooked on his shoulder, the other pulling him deeper into her.

His open shirt is still on, pants pooled around his ankles, hat fallen to their feet. The cool, hard brick against her back is a stark contrast to the sweaty heat of him pressed against her.

[canadiansixpack.livejournal.com]

There's no delicacy in his movement, no restraint in his attentions. His teeth rake her neck, claws sink into flesh as he drinks her in and falls into her, her sweat and his mingling in their exertion. Twenty-three years are compressed into frenzied, unmitigated minutes.

[ms-tique.livejournal.com]

Her head slams back against the bricks. One hand is buried in his hair, pulling his mouth down to her breast. The other rakes the length of his spine. Her back arches to meet each pounding thrust with her own hungry intensity.

[canadiansixpack.livejournal.com]

The challenge is met, and set again, and met; each ragged breath a milestone, every touch a memory reawakened, its zenith marked by a hoarse declaration to the skies.

[ms-tique.livejournal.com]

She moans in ragged, heavily accented German - hands digging in, holding on, riding it out, gasping with the intensity before her body finally shudders to a finish.

Her hands stroke his face. She's still amazed. This shouldn't be real. He's supposed to be dead.

"Mein Tierchen." She plants a slow, languid kiss on him.

[canadiansixpack.livejournal.com]

He's holding on to her still, like his life depends on it.

Maybe it does.