Full of Grace
by B. Cavis
Full of Grace
by B. Cavis
Following Alex, which is not nearly as easy as he had thought it would be, presents the very large problem of "non-involvement" to Bobby. Watching but not joining in, observing but not aiding. Seeing, but not stopping.
Very frustrating, to say the least.
It would be one thing, he realizes as he watches her push her new conquest up against the side of the club that wouldn't let her in without a warrant if they knew she was a cop, to hear about her night second hand. Or to have a vague insight of where she was after work and what she did. He could deny those thoughts, after all. But seeing it first hand...
He would be a much happier person, he thinks, if he didn't have first hand knowledge of where the hickey that she will be sporting on Monday came from.
But, of course, he couldn't just let her leave, argues the little voice on his shoulder that remembers calling her a "stupid cunt" a few hours ago. Being angry with her was one thing, but letting her think he was angry with her when he really wasn't was quite another. When that happened, the factor of guilt was introduced quite unexpectedly, and his stomach churned into giant knots beneath his perfectly dry cleaned white shirt.
Not to mention the fact that even though he wasn't angry with Alex, she was most definitely angry with him. And having a woman who carried both a large gun and handcuffs angry with you was no way to start off a weekend.
So he'd called her cell (because he wasn't a stalker just yet, and following her wasn't his first instinct off the bat) and had heard her pick up just long enough to say "Bobby, I'm going out, I'm moving beyond, and I don't want to see you until Monday."
And it was about twenty minutes after that, that Bobby Goren realized just how undesirable, how flat out unacceptable that was to him.
Hence the reason he is currently standing five yards away from her, and gaining.
Alex offers up her throat to the other man, and Bobby and his competitor both trace that line of pale flesh greedily. The man, one who bears a striking resemblance to the face he saw the last time he looked in a mirror, runs thick fingered hands over her bare flesh and attacks her shoulder blades with tongue and teeth. His fingers are everywhere, clutching at her ass, pulling at the small of her back, owning, possessing her.
Possessing what he has no right to touch, growls the voice.
Bobby can hear the man make little "mm" noises of pleasure.
Bobby can hear the sound of the man's nose breaking in his mental ears.
There's a pulsating, angry red color that taints his gaze, and he wonders idly what exactly he is going to do when he gets over to the woman who holds his sanity in a clean little hand.
Hands that are currently unbuckling a stranger's belt.
Fuck logic. He takes three huge steps forward and straightens his posture for the attack.
Fuck thinking. He grabs Alex's shoulder in a pseudo friendly grip and pulls. She looks up at him, dazed and dark eyed, and her look of needy arousal is transformed into one of pure and utter loathing.
And fuck Alexandra Eames.
Oh, groans that same little voice that is being not at all helpful tonight, that would be so much fun.
"Alexandra," he purrs. "How nice to see you here."
"Bobby," she responds cheerfully, and not at all happily, "how would you like to lose your balls?"
He laughs, a deep, harsh, belly laugh. The kind he uses on suspects when they've just said something so ridiculous it deserves a mocking cackle. Her shoulders go back in recognition of the tone.
The kid gloves are off, the anger is real, and for the first time in their four year partnership, Alex is frightened of her partner. Because this man isn't acting like her partner-- he's acting like someone different; a man she doesn't know at all and isn't sure she wants to meet.
Not Bobby, her charming, slightly nutty friend who only appears when Detective Goren has been so emotionally injured that he can't risk coming forward and greeting the world.
Not Goren, because Goren is a sexless, powerful entity who treats her with respect and caring and talks to her like they are the same height.
This man is Robert.
Whom she has never met before in her life, and is starting to wish she hadn't run into now.
Robert runs one hand through her hair, and even as she swats it away, she can feel the hidden threat, and possessive tug that he's put into his touch. There's a look about him tonight that makes her want to do one of two things, and neither one is acceptable.
After all, running would be cowardly. And fucking him hard and fast until he screamed and called her dirty names would be unprofessional.
"I thought you were going home for the weekend," he grumbles. She tosses the hair he just grabbed in retaliation.
"I said I was going away from you for the weekend, Bobby. I never said anything about going home." She grabs her conquest's belt loops and tugs him up against her for the comfort of touch and a human shield. "I'm having fun, Bobby. Which, given your current standing with me, is none of your business."
The man puts his arms back around Alex. "I think the lady's done with you, buddy," he says in a rough voice. Bobby looks him over and feels a smirk tug at his mouth. It would be so much easier to take this guy seriously if his blue polka dot boxers weren't showing through his zipper.
Bobby throws his shoulder back and laughs once more. "You look familiar. Have I seen you in my reflection before?" He shakes his head in the humor that isn't really funny and bares his teeth at Alex. "Looking for a replacement, Alex, darling?"
She bares her own back in an anger that is truly that. "So what if I am?" And she knows, she knows, she has to be just a little bit drunk off the power of having been an object of desire for the past three hours, in that club and out here, because if she was in total control of herself, she never would have admitted that. Her mouth is moving and she can't seem to stop it. "That's not against the law, is it? Detective?"
Her conquest jerks back suddenly and fights to escape from her grasp. She lets him go, furious at both herself and the situation, but mostly at Bobby.
"Woah, Buddy," the man hastens to say, "she's all yours. I don't want any trouble over this." He sees a friend or fakes doing so, but his next steps are away from them nonetheless.
Alex is seeing red. Bright, friggin', angry red. Bobby can feel the satisfaction rising up inside him and the rush of contentment that comes from knowing that while she'll have a hickey on her neck come Monday, she won't have come dripping down her thighs tonight.
...Well, not the other guy's, anyways...
"That was mine, Bobby. You had no right to take that away from me," she hisses angrily.
Her voice has raised in anger, and it occurs to him in a daze that his has done the same in response. It doesn't register as more than a passing thought.
"That's not true and we both know it." He's feeling the stirrings of the argument he had with her not five hours ago. The thinly veiled argument over a case had been about everything but the case, and as the wounds grew more and more personal, the anger fell closer and closer to home.
They'd been investigating a cop, which never inspired happy feelings between them or anyone else, but it had to be done anyway. The man had literally created a case, filed false reports and taken witness statements from people who weren't actually witnesses, all in order to keep his partner from leaving. The woman, one who Alex pointed out was quite beautiful, was going to transfer in order to be closer to her brother in a Chicago nursing home, right after finishing up one last case. Angry and frightened of losing the one person he perceived as truly being his friend, her partner had killed a man in an attempt to create an impossible to solve murder.
Standing in the bullpen after finishing up their case, Bobby had laughed over how ridiculous it was for this man to actually believe that killing someone would keep his partner by his side, and Alex had bristled.
"So you're saying, if someone you loved was leaving you, completely unaware of your feelings and your emotions, you wouldn't do everything in your power to keep them from leaving?" She asked quietly, and he had laughed harder.
And things had degenerated from there.
She'd called him an insensitive bastard, and he'd called her a stupid everything, and she'd stormed out in a huff as the rest of the office gave them both a wide berth. Deakins had suggested in a quiet voice that he take the rest of the day off and go home, and Bobby had left, angry and frustrated.
And found himself missing Alex. Wanting Alex. Needing... Alex.
Which led him, much later, to here.
Funny how things work out, said the little voice on one of their shoulders.
"It's none of your business what I do or who I do it with," Alex protests in a voice that has scared more than one man or woman to self-deification. "You made that abundantly clear this afternoon, wouldn't you agree?"
He steps forward once more to fully invade her personal space. "You're my partner," he says, and his voice has suddenly gotten low and intense rather than loud and out of control. "You and I are partners."
"I've had partners before," she hisses back. "So have you. Let me ask you, did you do this with Bishop?"
The air freezes. Bobby can feel her heart beat vibrating through the space between them and knocking at his chest. They've never discussed that time. When she woke up in the hospital, he was sitting by her bedside and smiling softly, and when she came back three weeks later, he had cleaned her desk of everything that had to do with her absence. Bishop was no where in sight, and neither were the hintings of her.
Bishop had no place in their partnership. A universe made for two has no place for a third.
"That was different," he argues in a voice gone breathless. She's backed up against the brick, and her outline is harsh in contrast with the dirty red and brown hues.
"Was it?" She asks. "Bishop was your partner too, Bobby. Did you ever do this with her? Follow her? Take things, take people, take pleasure from her?" She gets up close, personal, and right there. His eyes trace her. "Did you fuck Bishop, Bobby? Or did you simply ruin her the way you're trying to ruin me?"
His hands plant themselves on either side of her. His feet are spread apart and his eyes haven't moved from her face. There's a heavy feeling around him; a weight bearing emotion that clogs up her throat and forces her head up to meet his gaze. Her lips part without conscious thought.
"No," he says. "I didn't do anything with Bishop. Bishop wasn't my partner." One of his hands traces the marks on her throat, fingers the cords that hold her head up high. "You're my partner, Alex. You."
She arches into the touch, hating herself for it and loving him for it all at the same time. Who knew her throat was an erogenous zone?
"Yes, I am, Bobby." Her legs rub together, and he can hear the sound of pale flesh on pale flesh. "But that doesn't mean you get to do this to me." And she darts out from between his legs and body.
The empty space she just occupied is suddenly cold, and Bobby wheels around to face her on her terms. "Where are you going?"
Alex shrugs. "Wherever I want. You've got no claim on me and my downtime, Bobby." The shortness of the leather skirt she's wearing hits him suddenly, and he traces the expanse of leg and skin that it exposes. Her top is half bunched up from the caresses of the other man, and she brushes it down absently. "I'll see you on Monday."
"Like hell you will." He's seething, angry, and the desperate calm that had come over the both of them a moment ago is gone. "You're not leaving, Alex."
She crosses her arms tiredly over her chest and sighs, wondering when her life became something beyond her control and understanding. "And why not? Hm? If I want to have someone in my bed tonight, or if I want to end up in someone else's, that's my own business. You've come, you've told me you never slept with Bishop, and I promise I'm not angry with you anymore about earlier. But right now," she steps forward to punctuate her statement and his arms fall to his side to make room for her presence. "Right now, I'm going off to forget about this whole thing. And you're going to go home and forget it all as well. And come Monday, I'll look you in the eye and you'll look me in the eye and we'll be friends again."
His arms come around her waist automatically, and she looks up at him in askance. "You're not leaving," he whispers. "I'm not going to let you."
"You don't have a choice," she insists quietly.
"Oh yeah I do," he whispers back, and leans down to patch up their wounds, sealing his mouth to hers and hers to his.
Her hands come up automatically to shove him away, but when she feels the crisp handfuls of Armani underneath her hands, her purpose is somehow diverted. She can't seem to focus enough to push him off, to act now, to save herself. His tongue is tracing her teeth, making her sides tickle in delight, and the heavy, unrelenting force of it all is making her thighs damp with the anger that seems to be melting out of her.
His large, thick hands grab her around the waist and pull her towards him, fitting her body tightly against his own. She's so small, whispers his mind, so damn small, and her fingers clutching at him weakly make him feel like he's in control of both himself and her. One large leg inserts itself between her thighs and rocks back and forth until she's keening into his mouth and trying to free herself from the kiss. He lets her lips go and she throws her head back and whimpers breathlessly.
"You," he says again, feeling more confident this time, "are not going anywhere with anyone but me." Her throat still bears the marks from the other man, his evil twin, and he rakes his teeth over the muscle and flesh there in anger and lust. If she's going to be marked, Goddamit, it's going to be a mark from someone who loves her.
Her fingers clutch desperately at his hair and she opens her eyes, blinking a few times to try in vain to clear the haze from her eyes. "Bobby," she pants. "We can't do this-- we're-"
"We can do anything we want," he grumbles back. "And I want this. I want you." His teeth grasp the place her throat meets her shoulder, and she groans in frustration. "And judging by the fact that my thigh is suddenly wet, you want this too."
Her back meets the wall again, and she looks up at him, seeing her partner and her friend, and finally being able to recognize that something in his eyes that has always been there when he looks at her, but has never been identifiable before. That dark, smoky feeling that he has no right to feel for her and she has no right to desire.
The one that is causing her entire body to focus on his contact points and shift to try and increase friction. The one that is now out in the open.
...Hail Mary, full of grace...
One hand, the one that was tracing her neck just a few minutes ago, runs down the side of her, feeling the textures of her clothing and the contrast between that and skin. She can feel his hands getting closer, and closer, and she arches as he finally finds his way under the leather that has kept her going strong all night long.
One long finger sinks into her, and she feels her heartbeat pulse in her stomach.
"No panties," he groans. The image of Alex as his own personal porn star is suddenly much more real and much more attainable, and he wonders how she would react if he asked her to play doctor with him. "You're not wearing any panties. Dear God that's so hot." Another finger joins the first, and she is suddenly reminded that her partner is a very big man, and that his fingers are large and skilled enough to brings her to a very nice orgasm right here if she so desires.
"Oh yeah," his chest rumbles as she drips down his fingers to pool in his hand. "You want it so bad..." She swallows compulsively. "Want me to give it to you. Want to give it to you..." His breath is hot and damp on the top of her head, and she can feel her last traces of resistance float away as if they never existed.
"Bobby," she whispers, hot and breathy. "Oh God, Bobby..." One of the fingers not searching for her sweet spot touches her clit, and she can feel her entire body shake in response. Who knew that this man, this wonderfully complex man who is so focused on sense and touch and taste and smell would be so good at this?
I did, she thinks fuzzily.
"Not here," she whimpers. "Not out in the street like this." He pulls back, and his fingers stop moving. She looks up at him, never breaking eye contact, and reaches over to run the back of her hand over the large bulge that has been rubbing against her stomach. His jaw goes slack and his eyes close for a moment as air rushes out of him in pleasure.
"In a bed," she whispers. "In an apartment. With the front door locked and the phone off the hook." And in that way that is just so Bobby, the part of him that can never deny her anything, he nods and slips his fingers out of her heat.
The second they get the door to his apartment closed and locked, they're on each other. Alex has her fingers wrapped around the dark - large enough to make her nervous - bulge, and she's undoing his belt as he takes her mouth with his own and pushes her towards the bedroom. They kick off their shoes and Bobby takes a moment to bemoan the loss of Alex's Fuck Me Hard heels.
"They pinch," she whispers, and he grins against her.
"That's my job," he whispers back, and grabs a section of her ass in between his two fingers roughly enough to make her squeal, and laughs at the sound. "God I love your ass," he tells her, and she allows a few of the possibilities to float through her blood stream before focusing back on the situation at hand. Whether or not Bobby would be open to anal play is not her primary concern right now, even if it does make her shiver and tighten.
Her knees hit the edge of the bed, and it becomes much more real, much more desperate a situation. She needs to be naked. Now, he decides.
He pulls her v-neck shirt over her head, and looks down at the black lace she wore just for the occasion, even if they were for a different man. Her nipples are showing dark through the fabric, and he makes a mental promise to himself that he will never forget the sight of his perfect, tiny little partner the way she is now.
His jacket is shoved off his shoulders by her deft hands, and the buttons on his shirt are undone before he knows what's happening. Her hot mouth, outlined in deep red, fastens itself to his right nipple, and the world goes white around the edges as she pulls with her teeth and tongue. He makes a little panting noise of want and appreciation, and she hums happily while working his pants down to his ankles. She releases him, and after taking a long minute to collect his will power up from the floor, he steps out of them and toes off his socks.
Alex crawls back on the bed and throws her arms up above her body in contented arousal. "Are you going to stand there all night," she complains prettily, "or are you going to get up here with me?"
He grins. "Well I don't know, Alex, I think it might be a little bit fun to stand here all night if I get to watch you lying there on my bed." She blushes rosily, and edges her leather skirt off in response. He watches, focused to the extreme on the patches of skin that are suddenly introduced to his eyes. Her lower stomach. The tops of her thighs. Her hips.
And suddenly he's not feeling playful anymore.
Bobby jumps forward onto the bed, grabs one of his partner's legs in each hand, and fastens his mouth to the areas between her thighs, the ones that he thought he would never be lucky enough to get to see, let alone touch. Above him, Alex squeals and pants in surprise, but he is oblivious to it all.
Alex's cunt. He thanks whatever God was responsible for him ending up here.
She's wiggling and gasping for breath, and he shoves the same two fingers that gained knowledge of her earlier back inside and fastens his tongue and teeth to the nub that he knows, he just knows, will make her wild and crazy and willing to do just about anything in order to keep him on her and in her.
He isn't disappointed.
Her hips shake and thrust up at him. Her throat tilts back, her poor abused throat, and out comes the begging.
"Please," she gasps, "please, please please, Bobby. Oh Jesus H. Christ I'll give you anything you want... come on, come on come on..." Her hair is tangled and caught in her lips, and she looks like she's been electrified and her skin is conducting heat and power. "I need it, I need it. Come on. Bite me. Fuck me. Fuck me!"
Bobby has never felt anything more intense than this moment, and it occurs to him that he could give himself to this woman, and that she she would take all of him. His guilt, his pain, his self-loathing-- she could take it all and still have room for his love.
This is as close to a religious experience as he has ever gotten in his life. It would be a shame to waste it.
He grabs her clit between worn down molars and sharp canines, pulls, and nips.
And Alex comes undone in his hands.
Her ass thrusts up at him, her body strung as tight as anything he's ever seen, her face rosy and beautiful. Her eyes squeeze shut and her features contort in a look that could be confused as the greatest of agony if he wasn't currently fastened to the source of pleasure making her that way.
"Oh... gawwwwwwwwwdddd..." she groans, and is still once more.
Bobby nibbles his way up her stomach and skin, stopping to circle her belly button with the tip of his tongue before continuing. Her bra is unfastened with the trick his first girlfriend taught him in tenth grade, and he grips her breasts in big hands. She looks so tiny in his fingers, and he leans down to suck on her nipples and bring her back to herself. She blinks down at him and smiles.
He laughs and she pulls him up to kiss her dazed and happy lips with enough passion to remind her that he still hasn't gotten his release and she still hasn't felt him inside her. She looks down at his boxers, smiles, and pushes him so he's lying on his back, thick and lazy on the bed. He goes willingly, and lies back with his hands behind his head, as if he wasn't chomping at the bit to get her naked and panting with him.
She straddles his chest and wiggles down so her cunt traces a line of sticky thick wetness down his skin. Her hands are rubbing over his muscles and his bulk, and if the situation was different, he would want nothing more than to lie in the sun with Alex rubbing his stomach like some gigantic cat.
Lying still, however, is currently not the most important thing on his mind.
Alex rubs herself over the thick bulge in his boxers, pushing herself backwards over it, pausing to trace him with her wetness and push him against her tight ass. He groans and throws his own head back, staring up at the ceiling in shock and unbelievable enjoyment. Alex sits on the very edge of his upper thighs and grins at him.
"You think you can make me scream for God again, Bobby?" She scratches her nails over his lower abdomen before taking the waistband of his boxers in her fingers and pulling them down forcefully. His cock springs up, eager and willing, bouncing against his stomach and arching up towards her pleadingly. Bobby's eyes roll in his head for a moment before recognizing that she asked a question.
"Yeah," he squeaks. "I think I could if given half the chance."
She reaches down and grabs him between her cold hands, and he gasps at the sensation. She grins and measures him with her hands. "How big are you, Bobby? Hm? Can you tell me about what my new responsibilities entail?"
He's panting and grunting and thrusting up into her hands, out of his mind with the urge to just grab her and pound into her until she's permanently imprinted with his body. He can't bring himself to actually think, but the answer slips from his mouth. "Nine."
She laughs cheerfully. "A whole nine inches? All for me?" Her hands grab him around the base and he feels her hot breath on him, daring him to look down. When he gathers enough self-control to glance, her eyes meet him hot and thick, and he watches, entranced, as she leans down and licks the head of his cock.
"Mm," she says as he grabs the sheets between his hands. "Quite generous, Bobbymelove."
Something snaps. Later, he'll ask himself what could have possible resulted in him doing what he does next, and all he can come up with is that he's a weak, weak man, and that a blow job from this woman at that point in time would have forced his brain to leak out of his ears and his skeletal structure to liquefy and boil.
Something snaps, and Bobby grabs Alex by her shoulders, spins her around, takes his cock in hand, and thrusts into her.
Her back arches, her throat convulses, and he bites down on the pillow next to her head.
"Holy shit," she whimpers. "Bobby..." He pushes a little more into her, and it occurs to both of them that Alex is small and Bobby is not and only about half of his cock is actually inside her. She moans at the thought that there's more of this sensation to come-- if anyone had ever told her she could feel this full she would have thought they had watched too many porno flicks and read too many romance novels.
She doesn't doubt it anymore.
Bobby grabs her by the waist and presses his mouth in a closed mouth kiss to the place under her chin. "Take it, Alex," he grumbles, dazed and aching. His hips push forward without his consent or intent, and she cries out in over stimulated lust. "Oh yeah, baby," he babbles, "you're going to take all of me. All of it. You can do it, you can so do it..."
Each thrust pushes a little more into her, each rock of his hips makes her back arch and her fingers dig into his shoulders in the twisted pain and pleasure that's running through her. She can feel him so deep in her that she's convinced he's going to come out her throat if she breathes out too hard, and all the while he's murmuring things in her ears that make it hard to focus on anything but the hard push of him inside her.
"Oh Jesus, oh yeah, oh yeahhhhh..." He shifts his hands lower to tilt her up at more of an angle, and she wails as he reaches a point in her that's even deeper than where he was before. She's panting and begging and saying things that neither one of them can hear as her body shakes and bends to fit him.
She feels his balls hit her ass, and she's crying out constantly now, pleading wordlessly. Bobby can't feel his feet. He's not bemoaning the loss that much. Who needs feet, after all. Every sensation he could ever want can be found here, in Alexandra Eames's body and it's covenant with him.
Religious experience indeed.
He draws back, half pulling her body with him as he does, and she feels like someone is sucking all the air from her body, taking all she needs from her. Her back muscles clench and protest, and then suddenly he pushes back forward into her and she can feel him up against her throat, and dear God if she had known it would have been this good she would have lay him out on Deakins's desk the first day she met him and rode him like there was no tomorrow coming.
He's in, he's out, and the pace is starting to lose the easy push and pull feeling it had a moment ago. She can feel the tension building in his back as she clutches at it, and she can hardly stand the rise of the similar feelings inside her own body. The heat that no one has truly instigated in her in years is building and swelling, and she can't see anything above her except the darkness of his eyes.
"Alex," he pants. "Alex. Oh Jesus, Alex..." She's nodding, thrusting up against him in time with his own movements.
"I know, I know, I..." Her stomach is clenching and throbbing, and her clit feels like someone's holding a lighter to it. "Bobby, harder, more, more..."
He groans, drops his head next to her neck and turns his face to blow hotly onto her throat. His hips push forward faster and harder, bouncing her body with each thrust, and she can feel herself losing it, losing herself in the motion of his body and the feeling of him inside her. Her nails are making large gashes in his back, and he's sucking on her neck in a way that makes her whole body tense up and focus on the two points of contact.
She never knew she could fly.
"Come on, baby girl," Bobby's grunting. "Come on, you know you want to. Give it to me. Come. Fucking come and lift me off the bed while doing it," he pants fiercely. "You can let go, you can scream that pretty little head off while doing it, and you're gonna, you're gonna..."
Wow, she thinks in the split second before her orgasm hits her, he's right.
And suddenly she'd screaming, pleading with God and Jesus and Bobby and whomever wants to listen to stop, never stop, stop, never stop, keep going, keep going keep...
Bobby is good for a few more rapid thrusts, before his back clenches tightly and his balls rise up, and his mind goes blank as he pounds himself into her and hollers while doing it.
He saw God. And her breasts are perfect when covered in black lace.
They find each other a few minutes later, and make the mutual, calm decision to climb into bed and curl around each other. He can feel sleep pulling at him, can feel exhaustion holding onto him, but he has to last just a moment more, he thinks. Alex looks up at him, smiles and kisses his neck. He traces a hand over her own flesh calmly and gently.
"Stay with me," she whispers.
"Always," he responds.
Sleep will claim them both soon, swiftly and easily, and they will go without protest. Bobby's last thought is in another language, a term of endearment that she won't understand and won't hear. He whispers it softly into her hair, and she smiles in her last moment of consciousness.
"And you're mine, Bobby. Sleep."
He does. And his dreams are full of angels with her hair and demons with her body. She half hears, half imagines him talking in his sleep that night, and if she could remember it the next morning, she's wonder about it.
"Hail Mary, full of grace..."