Title: The Chemicals Between Us
Author: AlyJ
Fandom: The Bill
Pairing: Nick/Smiffy (Nick POV)
Rating: Oh, I don't know. I'd suggest a 12, but it's an over-18 list... :)
Archive: Shyeah, like anyone'd want this ;)
Warnings: Angsty. So not comic-reliefy. Not beta'ed, but I wanted to get it
in for the deadline. Yes, I *know* I need a beta; please, no emails
reminding me of that fact. I'm just being charity-minded, and forcing Helen and
Michelle to part with their money :) And apologies for my style of
writing. People either like it or loath it. Aye, I'm *so* instilling
everyone with confidence, aren't I? *g*
If you want the red nose, just skip to the second-but-last paragraph :)

Email: PineappleBaby@btinternet.com

 


The Chemicals Between Us

 

by Aly




I sometimes wonder if this is ever really going to work out.

Smithy and I have been dating for a few months now, and I'm already starting
to think that it's over. Actually, dating really isn't the right word. It's
more like frantic, animalistic sex; a desperate meeting of bodies and mouths
and fluids, a rough entwining of limbs, muffling our cries against one
another's flesh in case someone should hear us. He's always the one to
initiate it, the one who'll feel the physical need first, and he'll sneak
into my room late at night, when no one is around to see us, and we'll wake
up several hours later in a tangle of hot sweat and semen, my bedsheets
twisted around our bodies, craving nothing more than a long shower and a
caffeine fix.

No words pass between us, no sweet nothings whispered in the dark, just
grunts and moans and sighs in a language of pure lust.

The first time he came to my room, we'd had another one of our arguments
that had lasted the whole day. I can't even remember what it was about now,
but we had driven the rest of the relief mad with our constant bickering. It
had ended, like it invariably does with us, in a shouting match in the
locker room, Tony and Sam stood in the corner behind us, not daring to move.
I'd caved in first like I always do, walking out of there in a kind of proud
submission, leaving him to muse over his semi-victory. This is the way it
always happens with us, and this is the way it'll always be. That night,
however, it wasn't all over in the locker room.

I'd gone to bed early, and was lying on my bed in the dark, curtains open to
let a little light in, listening to some albums I'd picked up earlier in the
week. There was a knock at the door, a single forceful bang, and then the
door was opening and he was standing there, a silhouette against the bright
lights of the corridor. He closed the door behind him, not saying a word,
sliding across the thin metal lock until it hit home with a final-sounding
clank. I stood up, more than aware that something was happening here beyond
my control, that I couldn't stop this ride even if I wanted to, and we just
stared at one another in the near-darkness, neither of us daring to move or
talk.

The moment had seemed to stretch on forever, the sound of our breathing the
only thing to break the dark silence.

Then he was on me, hands grasping my shoulders, mouth imprisoning my lips in
a harsh, bruising kiss, pushing me back onto my bed. I was pulling at him,
tugging him closer, hands underneath his shirt, wanting to feel every inch
of him, wanting to crawl inside his skin and be with him, a part and apart.
His skin was hot and fevered, feeling like it was burning into me, branding
me his. His teeth marked my throat, claiming me as his, and I submitted to
him again and again and again.

I don't think anyone suspects what we've been up to, or there'd be rumours
flying all over the station. I don't think that anyone would want to know,
either. There's this strange atmosphere that binds us together that I know
the others are aware of, an erratic display of dominance and submission that
they watch with keen interest, trying to figure out who comes out on top of
the power struggle. They don't know that the real battle goes on where they
can't see, a battle which leaves both of us physically exhausted and
bruised, yet satiated.

And in the morning, alone again.

In a way, I guess I love him. I love the way he holds me close in sleep,
covering me with the whole of his body as our sweaty flesh cools and the
temperature around us falls. I love the way that he initiates the sex,
dominating me, allowing me to let go for the night. I love the way his nose
turns red during sex, as if intimacy were something that made him feel warm
inside when the rest of him can be so cold. And I love the way he says
nothing, so that no words can break the spell of our lust, and we can
pretend that we both understand what we're doing.

And at the moment, I don't care how long this is going to go on for, because
it's enough for now, it's all I've ever wanted, and it's him, and it's me,
and we're doing okay.



The End. You can all come out of hiding now :)


 


 

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