The One like a Penthouse Letter
Title: The One like a Penthouse Letter
Author: slidellra
Pairing: Turnbull/Kowalski
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Sequel to The One with the Second Thoughts. 1569 words. Many thanks to llassah for beta.
Sometimes I kind of forgot that Turnbull worked at the Consulate and that I was fucking Turnbull. You wouldn't think it was possible, the way our sex life was scorching up the sheets and I fantasized about him in his red uniform plenty, but it sometimes seemed kind of unreal, like it was this big strapping pretend-Mountie I was fucking, and I'd be distracted, dropping off Fraser or picking him up and then Turnbull would be there, WHAM! And I'd be trying to hide the hard-on I've got for the guy and trying to figure out what he was thinking through his shield of fuzzy, clumsy politeness. Sometimes I wasn't sure if he even recognized me as the guy who'd had him splayed out and moaning, or the guy whose cock had been fucking everywhere it could go, as often as possible.
Once, I just had to check and find out. I was supposed to be picking Fraser up and he was out doing something with the Ice Queen. I was heading back to wait in his office like usual when I realized thatTurnbull was just sitting at his desk with no one around. No reason I couldn't go hang out with him, right?
So I wandered back and propped my ass on the edge of his desk. "So, what're you working on?"
Turnbull was looking, real intent-like, at his blotter. Then he straightened his shoulders, sat up extra straight and said, "Well, Detective Vecchio, it's my responsibility to process paperwork from various Canadian citizens here in Chicago."
He was probably going to go on, knowing Canadians, but I leaned a little closer and asked, "Does it hurt to sit up all straight like that?"
I thought maybe I'd broken some Turnbull law against innuendo on sacred soil when his face stayed extra blank for a minute, but then he said, "And sometimes I have to restock the various basic necessities of the Consulate. Be it pens or sanitary tissue or fresh forms, it's my job to make sure the Consulate machine runs smoothly. Would you care for a closer look at some of the areas my job takes me to?"
I thought, yeah, sure I would, and nodded. And, who knew? The Consulate had a supply closet tucked under the stairs, this one full of sheets and cleaning supplies and stuff like that.Turnbull made a beeline for it, going on in his tour guide voice about his duties. He flicked the light on and ushered me in, all Mountie good manners. As soon as the door shut behind us I got shoved into the door and kissed.
Pulling his mouth off mine, he panted, "Must you? The teasing is so difficult..."
"Yeah," I said, kissing him again, "I must." The light was bright overhead, making Turnbull's tunic look even redder than usual. I ran my hands over it. Never had the chance to touch him like this in the uniform before.
"I'm on duty," he said, kind of pleading. He was on duty, but he had me pinned against the door and was thrusting against my hip.
I was feeling crazy, high on the world-upside-down-feeling from getting the best sex of my life with this weird guy. I pushed my cock against him, grinned as dirty as I could. "Duty, uniform, Consulate. Never knew those words would turn me on." I pushed him off me and turned around, bracing my arms on the door and looking back over my shoulder. "Time's a-wasting,Ren."
"Oh, heavens."
I couldn't help it, started laughing at that. Stopped pretty quick when he reached around and undid my pants, then knelt and yanked them down around my ankles. "Damn."
When he put his hands on my ass and licked me, the urge to laugh was long gone. "Damn."
He'd never done that before. Hardly anybody had. I'd been hot for him before. Hell, I'm always hot for him, but that feeling, that insane softfirmhot pressure against me, ratcheted it all the way up, reducing everything to the need I had for him. I spread my legs as far as I could and couldn't help bucking back against his mouth as he licked around and around and just barely in.
When he pulled away I whined, "Fuck, Ren, please."
"Talk to me, Ray."
He always likes to hear me talk and as long as he was licking me, I was going to talk. I babbled as quiet as I could, "Ren, Ren, more. Jesus, you're so... I want you to fuck me, fuck me in the uniform, okay?" I kind of lost track of what I was saying, but kept talking, kept telling him what he was doing to me, how bad I wanted him, and he kept working me, pushing in with his tongue, making my whole body burn for it.
By the time he started using his fingers on me I was damn near out of my mind. "Yeah, give me that."
He pulled away and stood, fumbling with his pants. I was prepared to take him on spit alone, but when I looked back over my shoulder he was slicking himself up, his cock shiny in his hand, looking incredible in his messed up uniform, tunic pushed up and puffy pants shoved down.
"Hurry."
I tried to relax and push down as he pressed steadily into me. And, thank god he had the lube, 'cause I tended to forget how bigTurnbull was until he was in me. And tall. He must have had to crouch a bit to get the right angle, but it wasn't holding him back. He wasn't having any trouble at all. He slid his hands down my arms, pinned my hands against the door with his own, and I rocked back into his thrusts.
He was muttering, real quiet against my ear, "Oh, marvelous, marvelous. Wonderful."
I laughed again. The guy would never stop being goofier than I could imagine, but he could be as goofy as he wanted when he was fucking me like this, so good it was like the whole world disappeared and the only thing that mattered was the way he felt inside me, the feel of the door under my hands and his hands on mine. I arched back against him, moaning for more.
"Turnbull? Constable Turnbull?" Shit, it was Thatcher. Turnbull clapped a hand over my mouth and kept thrusting. I grabbed my cock with my free hand and pulled, twisted, pulled again, running my tongue along his fingers. Moaning softly, he buried his face in my neck, his breath hot on my skin.
The yelling outside faded and all I could hear was Turnbull panting against my ear, all I could feel was him thick inside me.
I came first, dropping my head back and making him take some of my weight as everything went hazy-bright, making a mess on my hand and the floor and biting his fingers to keep from yelling. He dropped his hand to my chin and turned it so he could plant a kiss half on my lips, his mouth open and wet and moaning as he thrust deep and shuddered.
I dropped my head and tried to catch my breath, Turnbull still panting against me. We stayed like that for a minute, legs shaking, then he kissed the back of my neck and pulled out, tucking himself away and fixing his uniform.
Once he was mostly Mountie-tidy, he pulled out a big white handkerchief and handed it to me. Except for the flushed cheeks and the way his hair was clumping a little with sweat, he looked just like he always did. He whispered, like some kind of B-movie spy, "Wait a minute, then pretend you've been in the lavatory."
After he slipped out of the closet, I leaned back against the door, waiting for my breathing to slow and the feeling in my legs to come back. I wiped up with the handkerchief, pulled my pants up, dragged my sleeve across my forehead, and peeked out the door. Shoving my hands in my pockets and trying to look casual, I strolled back to Fraser's office and found him flipping through paperwork at the desk.
"Hey Frase, you ready?"
"Just a minute, Ray."
He glanced up and I did my best not to fidget under his too-sharp, too-long look, especially when his nose twitched. Dief made a sound like a snort and Fraser turned bright red. I cracked my neck, kept my cool. I wasn't about to get defensive about being a sexual champion, even if I was championing with Turnbull.
"Chop-chop, Frase. Let's go."
As we headed for the front door, I nodded at Thatcher, who was way too busy yelling at Turnbull to notice.
Turnbull looked goofy and apologetic, standing with his head down and his hands behind his back like some kind of naughty kid, but when I said, "See you later, Ren," he lit up like a damn Christmas tree.
"Yes, Ray. Thank you, Ray. Have a pleasant afternoon, Ray."
Fraser was holding the door open, looking stunned, in an unflappable kind of way.
I flipped my shades open and slipped them on as I stepped outside. "I already am."
***
Continued in The One That's Not Gas
Author: slidellra
Pairing: Turnbull/Kowalski
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Sequel to The One with the Second Thoughts. 1569 words. Many thanks to llassah for beta.
Sometimes I kind of forgot that Turnbull worked at the Consulate and that I was fucking Turnbull. You wouldn't think it was possible, the way our sex life was scorching up the sheets and I fantasized about him in his red uniform plenty, but it sometimes seemed kind of unreal, like it was this big strapping pretend-Mountie I was fucking, and I'd be distracted, dropping off Fraser or picking him up and then Turnbull would be there, WHAM! And I'd be trying to hide the hard-on I've got for the guy and trying to figure out what he was thinking through his shield of fuzzy, clumsy politeness. Sometimes I wasn't sure if he even recognized me as the guy who'd had him splayed out and moaning, or the guy whose cock had been fucking everywhere it could go, as often as possible.
Once, I just had to check and find out. I was supposed to be picking Fraser up and he was out doing something with the Ice Queen. I was heading back to wait in his office like usual when I realized thatTurnbull was just sitting at his desk with no one around. No reason I couldn't go hang out with him, right?
So I wandered back and propped my ass on the edge of his desk. "So, what're you working on?"
Turnbull was looking, real intent-like, at his blotter. Then he straightened his shoulders, sat up extra straight and said, "Well, Detective Vecchio, it's my responsibility to process paperwork from various Canadian citizens here in Chicago."
He was probably going to go on, knowing Canadians, but I leaned a little closer and asked, "Does it hurt to sit up all straight like that?"
I thought maybe I'd broken some Turnbull law against innuendo on sacred soil when his face stayed extra blank for a minute, but then he said, "And sometimes I have to restock the various basic necessities of the Consulate. Be it pens or sanitary tissue or fresh forms, it's my job to make sure the Consulate machine runs smoothly. Would you care for a closer look at some of the areas my job takes me to?"
I thought, yeah, sure I would, and nodded. And, who knew? The Consulate had a supply closet tucked under the stairs, this one full of sheets and cleaning supplies and stuff like that.Turnbull made a beeline for it, going on in his tour guide voice about his duties. He flicked the light on and ushered me in, all Mountie good manners. As soon as the door shut behind us I got shoved into the door and kissed.
Pulling his mouth off mine, he panted, "Must you? The teasing is so difficult..."
"Yeah," I said, kissing him again, "I must." The light was bright overhead, making Turnbull's tunic look even redder than usual. I ran my hands over it. Never had the chance to touch him like this in the uniform before.
"I'm on duty," he said, kind of pleading. He was on duty, but he had me pinned against the door and was thrusting against my hip.
I was feeling crazy, high on the world-upside-down-feeling from getting the best sex of my life with this weird guy. I pushed my cock against him, grinned as dirty as I could. "Duty, uniform, Consulate. Never knew those words would turn me on." I pushed him off me and turned around, bracing my arms on the door and looking back over my shoulder. "Time's a-wasting,Ren."
"Oh, heavens."
I couldn't help it, started laughing at that. Stopped pretty quick when he reached around and undid my pants, then knelt and yanked them down around my ankles. "Damn."
When he put his hands on my ass and licked me, the urge to laugh was long gone. "Damn."
He'd never done that before. Hardly anybody had. I'd been hot for him before. Hell, I'm always hot for him, but that feeling, that insane softfirmhot pressure against me, ratcheted it all the way up, reducing everything to the need I had for him. I spread my legs as far as I could and couldn't help bucking back against his mouth as he licked around and around and just barely in.
When he pulled away I whined, "Fuck, Ren, please."
"Talk to me, Ray."
He always likes to hear me talk and as long as he was licking me, I was going to talk. I babbled as quiet as I could, "Ren, Ren, more. Jesus, you're so... I want you to fuck me, fuck me in the uniform, okay?" I kind of lost track of what I was saying, but kept talking, kept telling him what he was doing to me, how bad I wanted him, and he kept working me, pushing in with his tongue, making my whole body burn for it.
By the time he started using his fingers on me I was damn near out of my mind. "Yeah, give me that."
He pulled away and stood, fumbling with his pants. I was prepared to take him on spit alone, but when I looked back over my shoulder he was slicking himself up, his cock shiny in his hand, looking incredible in his messed up uniform, tunic pushed up and puffy pants shoved down.
"Hurry."
I tried to relax and push down as he pressed steadily into me. And, thank god he had the lube, 'cause I tended to forget how bigTurnbull was until he was in me. And tall. He must have had to crouch a bit to get the right angle, but it wasn't holding him back. He wasn't having any trouble at all. He slid his hands down my arms, pinned my hands against the door with his own, and I rocked back into his thrusts.
He was muttering, real quiet against my ear, "Oh, marvelous, marvelous. Wonderful."
I laughed again. The guy would never stop being goofier than I could imagine, but he could be as goofy as he wanted when he was fucking me like this, so good it was like the whole world disappeared and the only thing that mattered was the way he felt inside me, the feel of the door under my hands and his hands on mine. I arched back against him, moaning for more.
"Turnbull? Constable Turnbull?" Shit, it was Thatcher. Turnbull clapped a hand over my mouth and kept thrusting. I grabbed my cock with my free hand and pulled, twisted, pulled again, running my tongue along his fingers. Moaning softly, he buried his face in my neck, his breath hot on my skin.
The yelling outside faded and all I could hear was Turnbull panting against my ear, all I could feel was him thick inside me.
I came first, dropping my head back and making him take some of my weight as everything went hazy-bright, making a mess on my hand and the floor and biting his fingers to keep from yelling. He dropped his hand to my chin and turned it so he could plant a kiss half on my lips, his mouth open and wet and moaning as he thrust deep and shuddered.
I dropped my head and tried to catch my breath, Turnbull still panting against me. We stayed like that for a minute, legs shaking, then he kissed the back of my neck and pulled out, tucking himself away and fixing his uniform.
Once he was mostly Mountie-tidy, he pulled out a big white handkerchief and handed it to me. Except for the flushed cheeks and the way his hair was clumping a little with sweat, he looked just like he always did. He whispered, like some kind of B-movie spy, "Wait a minute, then pretend you've been in the lavatory."
After he slipped out of the closet, I leaned back against the door, waiting for my breathing to slow and the feeling in my legs to come back. I wiped up with the handkerchief, pulled my pants up, dragged my sleeve across my forehead, and peeked out the door. Shoving my hands in my pockets and trying to look casual, I strolled back to Fraser's office and found him flipping through paperwork at the desk.
"Hey Frase, you ready?"
"Just a minute, Ray."
He glanced up and I did my best not to fidget under his too-sharp, too-long look, especially when his nose twitched. Dief made a sound like a snort and Fraser turned bright red. I cracked my neck, kept my cool. I wasn't about to get defensive about being a sexual champion, even if I was championing with Turnbull.
"Chop-chop, Frase. Let's go."
As we headed for the front door, I nodded at Thatcher, who was way too busy yelling at Turnbull to notice.
Turnbull looked goofy and apologetic, standing with his head down and his hands behind his back like some kind of naughty kid, but when I said, "See you later, Ren," he lit up like a damn Christmas tree.
"Yes, Ray. Thank you, Ray. Have a pleasant afternoon, Ray."
Fraser was holding the door open, looking stunned, in an unflappable kind of way.
I flipped my shades open and slipped them on as I stepped outside. "I already am."
***
Continued in The One That's Not Gas