Summary: Chris fantasy. Self-beta'd, and well, just a teeny bit of plot snuck into this one when we weren't looking.

Categories: Adult
Characters: Chris Keel
Genres: PWP - Plot, What Plot?
Warnings: None
Chapters: 1 [Table of Contents]
Series: None

Word count: 2547; Completed: Yes
Updated: 12 Sep 2004; Published: 12 Sep 2004

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The spider crawls slowly down the wall from the web it has constructed for itself in the corner by the ceiling, and with nothing else to occupy my mind I watch its progress, taking bets with myself on which way it will go when it reaches the lurid girly calendar nailed to the cracked plaster. It's safe to say this is not one of the most stimulating jobs I have ever had - at least not at the moment. Whether that will change only time will tell, but the waiting is beginning to get on my nerves.

The sound of voices raised in controlled argument breaks into my tedium, reaching through the grimy windows of my sub-basement cubbyhole, and I lean over to peer out and up at the two figures standing on the pavement at street level. Immediately my day improves enormously - they are both well worth a second look, both tall and, from the way they carry themselves, both very fit. The one facing me is darker, hair parted to flop softly over his forehead, dark eyebrows at this moment drawn down over eyes that shimmer silver-green in the weak sunlight. He is glaring intensely at his companion, who turns towards me briefly, giving me a fleeting glimpse of ice blue eyes, strong jawline clenched in anger, short spiky brown hair matching his aggressive stance perfectly.

I watch them with interest, wondering at cause of their disagreement, but the argument ends abruptly as the dark one steps back and walks away, leaving the other to turn towards the stairs leading down to my door, his expression becoming more amenable as he clatters down the metal steps. I realise with a start that this must be Jimmy's 10.30 appointment, and just have time to plaster a welcoming smile on my face before he walks in.

He introduces himself, and now he is here in front of me I can see that my more distant observations were not wrong. Under his casual clothes his body is obviously well toned, and the blue eyes observe me with amusement as he sees me automatically lean forward over my desk to run my gaze over him. He smiles, all dimples and white teeth, and asks in a soft American drawl if he passes the test. But before I can respond Jimmy arrives in a whirlwind and whisks him away to the studio. I see the glint in Jimmy's eye, knowing what that means, and wonder if, perhaps, the waiting is over.

A phone call from an agency seeking Jimmy's help in a photo shoot distracts me for a while, but when I'm done I lock the office against passing intruders and follow them into the back room. The sight that greets me takes my breath away and leaves me sagging weak-kneed against the doorframe. Jimmy has chosen to shoot this would-be model in just a pair of old and faded 501's which cling lovingly to his body as he leans nonchalantly back against the stool placed behind him, arms folded loosely across the smooth bare expanse of his strongly muscled chest. The top few buttons of the jeans are undone, allowing them to hang low on hips, which just serves to enhance the powerful contours of his upper body.

Dragging in a shaky breath I raise my gaze from his muscular thighs to his face, surprised to see the dangerous look which briefly appears in his blue eyes before they resume their posed moody contemplation of Jimmy's flashing camera lens, full lips pouting just slightly, lightly-tanned skin glowing under the lights. Despite his undeniably attractive presence, I somehow know that, unlike all the other hopefuls who have been and gone before, this man does not really want to be here, now, doing this.

Jimmy is animated, more so than I have seen him in almost the whole time I have been here, and I can tell from every nuance of his body language that he really likes this one. His eyes are shining with barely disguised lust and the sweat sheens his pasty features. The hairs stand up on the back of my neck as I realise that this could be my moment.

The doorbell rings and Jimmy tells me that he's expecting visitors and to show them right in. I go to unlock the door, finding two tall and menacing figures waiting impatiently outside. They push past me, moving straight into the studio and closing the door behind them. I try to follow, but the door is locked, and I am left outside in the small reception area trying to decide what to do. There is no noise through the soundproofed studio walls, and I am unwilling to take action without some proof of what is taking place, so with a heavy heart I go back to my desk to wait.

After only ten minutes or so, the door opens again, and the two men leave without a glance in my direction. Jimmy follows shortly afterwards, locking the studio behind him, nervously licking his thin lips, telling me he is going out for a while. I give him five minutes to make sure he has gone before I reach under the desk to the hidden space on top of the small filing cabinet pushed under it to pull out the tools of my trade - lockpicks and my gun. I check that my warrant card is still there, taped to the underside of the desk, before I move quietly to tackle the locked door.

It gives way with little fuss and I ease in cautiously, closing and locking it behind me. The room itself seems unchanged from my last visit, so I walk purposefully to the far side, sliding behind the draped cloth which disguises the walls to the hidden door I discovered on an earlier tour of discovery. These locks are more challenging, but they eventually succumb and I slide through into the red-tinged gloom of the room beyond.

As my eyes acclimatise to the poor light, I can see more clearly the pale shape tied to a chair in the middle of the room, head drooping against his chest. I shove my gun into the back of my jeans and step toward him, reaching to catch his chin and lift his face to confirm my suspicions, shaking my head at the sight of the dreamy smile playing around his lips and the deep black pools of his pupils compressing the blue into a small ring around them. With a sigh I let his head down gently and reach to undo the straps binding him to the chair.

I have guessed what Jimmy and his friends use the room for, but I have never yet managed to find anyone in there - until now. I know this is only the beginning, the softening up process before they move on to another location, another level of insanity, and I know I should leave him here so I can follow them, catch them in the act, crack the case. But there is something about this man, something that draws me to him and will not condone allowing that to happen to him.

I undo the last strap and move to catch him as he sags forward, getting my arms under his to wrap them around the warm smooth skin of his waist above the soft denim of his jeans and pull him to his feet. He sways against me, and I move my hands up across the firm muscles of his back, trying to turn him so I can get him moving to the door, get him out of here to somewhere he can sleep off the drug flooding his system. But he suddenly lifts gentle fingers to stroke my cheek, drifting them along my jaw to run them through my hair before he enfolds me in his embrace, pulling me tighter to him. Raising my face to look up into his, I can almost see myself reflected in the unfocussed darkness of his eyes, the distant smile still tugging at his mouth. And although I know I don't have time for this, that we have to get out of here before anyone comes back, I find myself unable to move as he lowers those tantalising lips to mine, caught up in the web he has woven of my attraction and desire...

As those lips brush mine, a sharp tingling skitters through me from the brief contact, before I pull away. I would love nothing more that to explore that seductive mouth, investigate what lies beneath those exquisitely tight jeans, but common sense barges rudely into my mind.

Jimmy could be back at any moment, and while I know that I could handle him, I'm not so certain about his two friends, should they also return.

I lead the man, still supporting him out of the room and across the studio, desperately trying to ignore the hands that persistently wander, touching gently, caressing, sending fireflies buzzing ecstatically through my nerve endings. I can tell that he would be a strong, gentle lover, considerate, yet demanding and I have to ruthlessly clamp down on these thoughts; there is no time for them here.

We manage to get out of the office, and I nod farewell to the spider, knowing my cover would be blown. I have no idea how we manage to get to my car, parked in the back alley.

He pushes against me as I unlock the passenger door, his hands sliding round my waist, slipping under my blouse, caressing, massaging my waist and stomach. He places his head against mine, nuzzling at the nape of my neck and I respond instinctively, pushing my hips back to meet his, arching my neck, demanding more. He hungrily obliges, his hands move up, under my blouse, searching out and finding sensitive flesh and I can feel his heat pressing hard against me.

A distant shout penetrates the haze of growing passion, and I look around dazedly. Jimmy is running up the alley towards us, waving, his two friends behind him. Further back, another man joins them, the dark one I had seen before; no not joins, chases them.

Breaking roughly free of my drugged companion, I open the door and bundle him inside, then dart round to the drivers side and jump in, tearing away from the scene with shrieking rubber.

I glance over to my passenger, and he's gazing at me, a silly grin on his face, his head lolling against the seat. I worry about his lack of seat belt, but there's nothing much I can do about that now.

Cutting through traffic and taking shortcuts that long familiarity with the area gives me knowledge of, I finally draw up to my little house. I cruise past the front and park a few doors down. He's quite docile now, as he I lead him to my house, and I have trouble reconciling this with the ball of restrained energy that bounced into my office barely an hour ago.

I push him onto my sofa and go to put the kettle on as coffee seems like a good idea right about now. When I go back into the lounge, I stop in my tracks, my gaze captivated by the vision of masculine beauty sprawled over my sofa, one denim-clad leg raised, his heel hooked over the back, one hand trailing the floor and his head half-turned into a cushion as he seems to doze.

I wonder what excuse I could use to get those jeans off him, licking my lips as I take in the unmistakable bulge that lurks beneath the few still done up buttons remaining. I can't think of any but unbridled lust, and biting back a groan of disappointment, I potter about, clearing the remains of this mornings breakfast away, setting up the cups for coffee.

The kettle boils and I've just finished putting the water in the mugs when hands sliding around my waist make me jump. The press of his body against mine is familiar, and once again I push back into it even as his hands slip upwards. I arch my throat again, more than happy to pick up where we left off, and he plants small, feather-light kisses down the line of my jaw.

I guide his hands through the thin fabric of my blouse, and on encountering my bra, he hesitates. I press back, silently demanding, and he delves inside the supporting article, not bothered about undoing it, stroking gently with strong hands, finding the spots that make me gasp as shooting sparks blaze through me.

He groans a little, burrowing his face into my neck and shoulder and retrieves one of his hands. I protest with a soft sound at the abrupt absence, but he trails fire with his fingers down my stomach and I draw in breath sharply as he reaches my waistband.

He places his hand flat against my waist, dipping lower over my jeans to push my hips against his as they slowly begin to grind. Matching his rhythm, my skin screaming for his touch, I take his hand, resistant at first, and guide it to the top of my jeans, undoing the button there for him. He slips his hand inside, and I moan gently at the intimate, sparking contact.

But something is missing; I want to touch him, too. I turn within his embrace, reluctantly forcing him to remove his hands, but they are quickly under the back of my blouse, finding new areas to explore. He moves forward, between my legs, lifting me up against the work surface and pressing his hardened groin into mine, the heat intense even through the thick denim.

Trailing the fingers of my left hand over his back, I explore his taut chest and stomach with my right, reveling in the flow of rippling muscles. I run my hand up to the hollow of his throat, pausing there, wanting to lick and nip, to see what reaction I would get. But, something stops me. I follow the line of his throat, his jaw and run my thumb over those full, slightly parted lips. He bites down on it slightly, brushing the tip with his tongue, and my breath quickens with the promise of what is to come.

But something is still stopping me. I want, I need to do this but...

I avoid his eyes as I caress his cheek and run my fingers through his short, soft hair. With a dread that holds back the dam of passion inside me, I force myself to look into his eyes. They are amazingly blue. And clear. All signs of the drug vanished.

Yet he is still here, still pressing into me, his hips rocking against mine, demanding. I bring my left hand up to join the right and snag his hair with unbridled lust, crushing his lips with mine. As he supports me, I bring my legs up to hook around those muscular thighs and slip my hands down, and under, the waistband of his 501's.

The End


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