InsaneJournal

Giles Babcock didn’t remember the drive over to Kirsty Cotton’s. For all he knew, he could’ve driven right through red lights with a child’s bike stuck in his rear wheel. All he was thinking about was the dreams. The police walking toward him as he sat on a porch to a house he’d never lived in, blood splattered across his chest, hands and neck. Then there was the hunger. The sweet red hunger, the warm beauty of blood rushing down his throat. He was in a dark place, and then he was running through corridors without his feet touching the ground. People had guns and were shooting at him, but he moved through them and their flesh parted ‘neath his grip.

And then he was at Kirsty's. His mouth was still dry and harsh from earlier.

After parking, he reached her door and knocked heavily. He only just realized he was dressed in the same clothes he’d been wearing since yesterday. A sweaty tank top and jeans with a big Nevada buckle. Babcock sighed, and waited.

Kirsty had been enjoying the time she had at home, the time to refresh and read up on her cases, to eat, to sleep, and to have a visitor.  She wasn’t sure why she was so fond of Giles, simply that she was.  When the knock sounded at her door, she went to answer it, a hand running through her damp hair.  She’d just showered, and was wearing a pair of boxers and a men’s undershirt, her usual PJs-slash-day off wear.

“Hey,” she grinned, looking up at him.  “You look like hell.”

Babcock smiled a little upon seeing her. “I just came from hell,” he said, walking in and using one arm to pull her into a quick kiss that grew longer, and then finally ended. “You look good. Those your work clothes?”

She felt bad he had to lean down so far to kiss her, so she jumped up a little, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.  “I wish, they’d be comfy work clothes.  Nah, just took a shower.  You still hungry?”  She couldn’t cook anything fancy, but she could make a steak like she’d been planning for herself anyway.

Babcock liked Kirsty. Not just because she was hot as hell, but her toughness, and he felt no judgement from her. Even if she was a cop, she was the rare ‘cool cop’. “Sure. I could eat,” he replied with a slow smile, reaching down between her legs.

She’d become a cop to stop people like her uncle, people who took advantage of a child’s trust.  Whatever other people did, that was for other precincts to worry about.  That wasn’t for her.  So whatever Babcock had done, that was between him and whoever he’d done it to.

Laughing, she nipped him on the chin.  “You can bite as long as you don’t take out chunks, just so you know.  I have a couple of New York strips, you want one?”

“Sounds good to me,” he grinned, feeling better, or feeling well enough to reach around to pinch her ass. “Thanks for having me over. I don’t usually dream, but these...crazy. Crazy-ass shit rollin’ around in my head.”

“Yeah, mine have been weird too.  Dreamed my uncle had no skin and was eating people in the attic of my dad’s old house that was in London for some reason.”  She rolled her eyes.  “Uncle Frank was a piece of shit, but I think he had skin.  I could be wrong.”

The ass pinch got him a grope of his own, and she went to the kitchen to grab them both a beer while she cooked.  “Think the dreams are what made you go all feeding frenzy?”  Hers had woken her up in tears, gasping and retching, but she wasn’t about to tell anyone that.

Babcock dragged out the chair from the table and sat down. “Who needs family? I ran through my fair share. Didn’t get anything out of ‘em,” he said. “Bastards and assholes, most of ‘em.” He took the beer, snapping it open.

“I think so. I had a bunch of dreams, I was...I was going down a corridor. Ripping army men apart, and they just...exploded in my hands,” he said, looking down the neck of his beer. “It was...intense. But I felt good at the same time, in the moment, y’know? I felt like I was in control.”

“Ugh, I wish I was in control in most of mine.”  She shook her head.  “My uncle died in GP, which didn’t really make me do anything but throw a party.  I mean, he was a piece of shit.”  She swigged her own beer, realizing that she was close to telling a near-stranger about her childhood.  That was probably progress.

“Probably a Freudian thing like mine.  You want control, so in your dreams you took it.  Nothing wrong with that.”  Steaks went onto the stove to sear, and she started rinsing potatoes to bake.

Babcock didn’t consider himself an especially smart man. But he knew how to recognise someone who’d been through what he’d been through. When Kirsty started talking about her uncle, he assumed something or the other had happened to her. Something similar had happened to him, once upon a time. Before he was...the way he was.

“Nobody ever gave me control, gave me choice,” he said, nodding in understanding. “They always just told me what to do. It gets to a point where your name becomes a curse. You know the tone, ‘Babcock, Babcock, Babcock’. Y’know, ‘Babcock, get over here, Babcock, you need to focus, Babcock, you need to move again, Babcock, where’ve you been, Babcock, don’t you tell anyone, Babcock-’.....I’m sorry.” He trailed off, suddenly realizing he was rambling. “I just...I think you’re right, is all.”

She looked over her shoulder at him.  She recognized the lost look in his eyes, it was the same look she’d had, the same look that all of her vics had.  “You too?”  She resumed cooking, saying nothing more about the subject.  Sighing, she put the potatoes into the oven and then went to sit on his lap while things cooked. 

Kissing him lightly, she ran her fingers through his hair.  It was odd; the more she knew him, the more it felt like she wanted to protect him for some reason.  He really didn’t need it, though; he was huge, and could probably fend for himself just fine.

Babcock lifted his head to look at Kirsty. That was all she needed to say. There was no need for detail. His old memories flashed through his mind: a basement with a single bulb, the shine of a camera lens, the corner of a bedroom. You didn’t leave that behind. You picked it up and took it with you, and lived with it.

He placed an arm around her waist when she sat on his lap, kissing her back. “I don’t much believe in God. Heaven, hell, all that. But if there’s a hell, your uncle bought a condo there,” he said. “Forget it. We’re doin’ damn good. You’re like a big city cop, some...some Law and Order SVU shit. And you’re banging a handsome bastard.” Smiling, he kissed her again, his other arm reaching to pull her in.

“Me either.  When we die, we die, that’s the fucking end.”  But part of her hoped there was a hell, a place where her uncle would feel the same fear, the same dread, the same agony that she had for so many years. 

Babcock’s smile made Kirsty grin in return, moving closer to him, running her fingers through his hair.  “We did do pretty good, didn’t we.  I hear you’re sleeping with this super bitch who has a decent ass.”  She winked at him, laughing at her own joke, hoping that she’d remember she was cooking and not get too carried away with kissing him.

“Oh, I hear she’s a badass,” he said, dropping a hand to her rear. “...with a hot ass.” His kisses began to trail down her jawline, and then her neck. And then her collarbone. Babcock leaned her against the table, and slipped her up onto it. His hands were already roaming, reaching up to grope her breasts roughly through her shirt.

“Careful, you’re going to end up with a well done steak instead of a med rare one.”  She wasn’t really upset, though, eyes closing and arching her back against his calloused fingertips.  He wasn’t really a valentine, this wasn’t really not a date, but she still liked the time they spent together.  Being able to smile was a victory for the both of them.

Babcock’s hands moved down and then beneath her shirt, moving upwards as he began to kiss down her chest. He grew rougher, loving how her body shivered in reaction to his touch. “I think I could live with well done,” he said, his breath hot against her flesh as he reached her belly-button.

He moved out of the chair, dropping to his knees while his hands moved to massage her thighs, gently pushing them open. “I think I’d like an appetizer first...” he said, biting on the edge of her underwear.

It struck her as supremely generous of him to do this to a woman he wasn’t dating and barely knew.  She reached out, running her fingernails through his hair and over his scalp.  “Spend the night?”  Her voice was breathier than usual, more quiet, but no less genuine.  Her hips canted upward into his touch.

Her voice sent a pulse through him. Damn, that woman. “Yeah, of course,” he grunted, pulling at her underwear more intently. The fabric gave way to more and more creamy white thigh, and his kisses grew more fevered.

Babcock reached the warmth of her flesh, running his tongue roughly along her opening before pressing his lips to it in the way he would’ve kissed her mouth. Inhaling, he still felt a hunger. A pull inside him to reach inside and wrap himself around the very core of her and feel her surrender.

Sleeping next to someone was something that Kirsty had done far less often than having sex on her kitchen table.  Sex on her kitchen table was easier to find than someone she wanted to curl up next to.  She would’ve been excited at the idea of him staying, but then he was pressing his lips to her.

Arching her back so hard her stomach cramped, Kirsty whimpered his name quietly, trying to pull him closer, trying to press him further, faster.  He was all lips and tongue and teeth, and it was making her dizzy.

Babcock pushed his tongue inside her, feasting on the soaking heat. His hands continued to play with her breasts, mauling and tugging and flicking. He swiped his tongue over her clit before beginning to arch and twist his tongue inside her, hungry to cover every spot and feel that wetness flood his mouth.

She wondered why she hadn’t invited him over more often.  He may have joked about his lack of experience with flirting, but clearly he’d gotten <I>somewhere</i> with women at some point; his proficiency at playing her made her marvel.  Gasping, she could feel her legs start to shake, her toes start to curl, and she gripped the edges of the table hard. 

One of his hands gripped her thigh tightly, and he became more aggressive. Babcock practically smothered himself against her pussy, licking and nibbling and sucking with increased fervour. “Goddamn, you taste good,” he groaned into her. He was seriously thinking of bottling her. As Babcock pushed deeper and even lightly bit, he reached up to trace her lips with his thumb.

She sucked his thumb into her mouth, biting gently, reaching down to tug hard at his hair when she came.  Fucking Christ, it was ridiculous how easily he got her off, how fast he took her from feeling cuddly to feeling limp and wanton. 

When she’d finished, when she could breathe again, she looked down at him and motioned for him to come snog her properly by crooking her finger toward him.  “Pants, off.  Now.”

Babcock grinned dumbly, wiping his mouth before rising to join her in a searing kiss while fumbling with his belt. Her immediate tone was beyond sexy and made the need to get naked feel practically life-threatening. He tore his belt off as if it was a poisonous snake and gripped her by the waist.

She kissed the taste of herself out of his mouth, her tongue wrestling against his as she reached down to help him tug his trousers off.  Shifting her legs so they were high around his waist, hiking one calf up to rest on his shoulder, she wondered if they’d break the kitchen table.

Then she realized she didn’t care so much at all and reached down to try to guide his hips toward hers.

Babcock fell upon her, pulling his shirt off as he did and tossing it away. Pressing his body against hers, he felt her hardened nipples against the strength of his chest. He grabbed her by the ass, lifting her up and onto him. He struck the entire length of himself into her, with no warning, preparation or ease. Just power and intensity.

It was a good thing she liked soreness and a little bit of pain; he was as tall and broad as she was petite and slight.  Shuddering, her fingernails dug into his shoulders as she pulled him closer, just to have something to cling to. 

Murmuring his name, she whimpered loudly, falling back and allowing him to toss her about, to manipulate her how he saw fit.  She’d really have to invite him over more often.

Babcock barely reacted when he felt the nails dig in. He enjoyed the pain. He needed the pain. It made everything feel like something....something he understood, something that was real and visceral and raw. There was very little about him that was subtle, including how he fucked. He just wanted to feel as much of her as he could, gripping hips and biting a nipple and pushing and thrusting and holding and slipping on her sweat and her wetness.

It was more raw and primal and <I>real</i> than she was used to, and she liked that.  She moved hard against him, trying to increase the depth, the speed, trying to make it more for him.  His teeth on her skin made her cry out, not in pain, in encouragement.  Thus far, the table was holding up admirably.

He could hear the skid of the table across the floor, and didn’t fucking care. Babcock could smell her: the sweat, the breath, the blood in her veins. Without knowing what he was doing, he bit down on her shoulder, hard. Not hard enough to draw blood, but wouldn’t that be sweet? Just like the dream.

As he came, he lifted her up and quickly withdrew. He hadn’t worn a condom, and the idea of bringing a small Babcock into the world was a terrifying one. Babcock just managed to edge it, ruining the edge of the table in the process while bodily lifting her up and against him.

She could feel her shoulder bruising, and she gasped against him, holding his head there.  Somehow a little pain, a little suffering - she understood why that made pleasure somehow more palpable, more intense. 

When he pulled out, she was puzzled for a moment, but finally understood.  Laughing, she lay back on the table, breathing hard.  “Don’t think I can get pregnant, but thanks.”  Some of it had trailed onto her hand, which she licked off idly.  “Maybe we’ll just have to get pizza.”

Babcock watched her tongue with sudden fascination. “Maybe. I can provide my own topping, I guess,” he said with a slight chuckle. He tilted his head slightly, just looking at her. It was nice, he thought, to look at her.