Theirs Alone | R | The Closer
Title: Theirs Alone
Prompt: This moment was theirs and theirs alone.
Challenge: A to Z Drabble Meme; D is for Dark
Fandom: Sharon/Brenda, The Closer
Requested by: margotgrissom
Rating: R
Word Count: 499
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: I tried something a little different with story…and hopefully it worked for the characters. Let me know what you think!
-
The moon was high, casting its luminescent glow across the ocean. Sharon could hear the soothing, steady crash of the waves twelve stories below and several odd miles away as if she were standing with her toes buried in the sand while the water lapped at her feet. She wasn’t on the beach-she was in her room. It was late. It was dark. However, as if connected to the magnetic pull of the moon, her body swayed and hummed with a low, pulsing energy that made sleep elusive.
The rustle of bed sheets behind her caught Sharon’s attention, but she didn’t turn around. She watched the glittering reflection of the moon on the horizon until the sleep-tousled form of Brenda Leigh came up behind her. Brenda’s strong, willowy arms curled around Sharon’s waist as her lips pressed wet kisses to the back of her bare shoulder.
When their eyes met in the reflection of the window against the dark backdrop of night, Sharon knew that she was not alone in embracing the heady draw of hypnotic wakefulness. Hands caressed the gray silk of her nightgown, pressing into the curves of her waist, and Sharon sighed as she leaned her head back against Brenda’s shoulder and submitted wordlessly to her lover’s touch.
Brenda’s practiced hands covered her breasts, rolling her nipples to hardened peaks beneath the silk. She hummed in pleasure, bringing her own hands up to sink into the lustrous and unkempt blonde curls behind her. Brenda nosed aside Sharon’s hair, her lips settling on the long slope of her neck while her left hand slid down her stomach, pulling the short hem of the gown up into her fist until Sharon’s uncovered sex was exposed.
Opening heavy-lidded eyes, Sharon watched their reflection in the window, mesmerized by the sight of Brenda’s hand dipping between her thighs to stroke her persistently, her nimble fingers immediately seeking and spreading Sharon’s wetness. Her other hand pinched and teased Sharon’s nipple, lavishing the swell of flesh with full-palmed devotion.
Sharon felt undeniably wanton; though they were too high up to be spotted by curious stargazers, she felt as if she were exhibiting herself and her lustful, unrelenting desire to anyone and anything that cared to watch. She cared not for the possibility of a voyeur; she only cared that she was here, in this hotel room on this island with Brenda Leigh Johnson, being loved and caressed and played like a finely-tuned beloved instrument. It could have been the middle of the day on the middle of a crowded beach and Sharon still would have given herself completely to Brenda, as she had from the very beginning.
And yet this moment was theirs and theirs alone, devoutly cherished in the dark, private sanctuary of their room. When Sharon came shattering apart, she blocked out the lull of the moon and the crash of the waves and heard nothing but the rapid tattoo of her own heart, beating Brenda, Brenda, Brenda…
---
Prompt: This moment was theirs and theirs alone.
Challenge: A to Z Drabble Meme; D is for Dark
Fandom: Sharon/Brenda, The Closer
Requested by: margotgrissom
Rating: R
Word Count: 499
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: I tried something a little different with story…and hopefully it worked for the characters. Let me know what you think!
-
The moon was high, casting its luminescent glow across the ocean. Sharon could hear the soothing, steady crash of the waves twelve stories below and several odd miles away as if she were standing with her toes buried in the sand while the water lapped at her feet. She wasn’t on the beach-she was in her room. It was late. It was dark. However, as if connected to the magnetic pull of the moon, her body swayed and hummed with a low, pulsing energy that made sleep elusive.
The rustle of bed sheets behind her caught Sharon’s attention, but she didn’t turn around. She watched the glittering reflection of the moon on the horizon until the sleep-tousled form of Brenda Leigh came up behind her. Brenda’s strong, willowy arms curled around Sharon’s waist as her lips pressed wet kisses to the back of her bare shoulder.
When their eyes met in the reflection of the window against the dark backdrop of night, Sharon knew that she was not alone in embracing the heady draw of hypnotic wakefulness. Hands caressed the gray silk of her nightgown, pressing into the curves of her waist, and Sharon sighed as she leaned her head back against Brenda’s shoulder and submitted wordlessly to her lover’s touch.
Brenda’s practiced hands covered her breasts, rolling her nipples to hardened peaks beneath the silk. She hummed in pleasure, bringing her own hands up to sink into the lustrous and unkempt blonde curls behind her. Brenda nosed aside Sharon’s hair, her lips settling on the long slope of her neck while her left hand slid down her stomach, pulling the short hem of the gown up into her fist until Sharon’s uncovered sex was exposed.
Opening heavy-lidded eyes, Sharon watched their reflection in the window, mesmerized by the sight of Brenda’s hand dipping between her thighs to stroke her persistently, her nimble fingers immediately seeking and spreading Sharon’s wetness. Her other hand pinched and teased Sharon’s nipple, lavishing the swell of flesh with full-palmed devotion.
Sharon felt undeniably wanton; though they were too high up to be spotted by curious stargazers, she felt as if she were exhibiting herself and her lustful, unrelenting desire to anyone and anything that cared to watch. She cared not for the possibility of a voyeur; she only cared that she was here, in this hotel room on this island with Brenda Leigh Johnson, being loved and caressed and played like a finely-tuned beloved instrument. It could have been the middle of the day on the middle of a crowded beach and Sharon still would have given herself completely to Brenda, as she had from the very beginning.
And yet this moment was theirs and theirs alone, devoutly cherished in the dark, private sanctuary of their room. When Sharon came shattering apart, she blocked out the lull of the moon and the crash of the waves and heard nothing but the rapid tattoo of her own heart, beating Brenda, Brenda, Brenda…
---