AN: this is strictly AU. It revolves around my OC Elizabeth Grecco, from You Can't Con a Con and others. I have written five seasons worth with my OC. They can be found on LF. This AU focuses on the marriage of Elle and Dr. Jack Sheppard. I have also thrown a wrench into the story and he is the beloved Detective James Ford. Miles is also present for comic relief. Things gets quite sexual and complicated. Please read and review- Let me know if you like it and I will post more. Thanks! Happy Reading =]
She used a handful of wooden clothespins to hang up her final black and white photos, sealed the caps on the developing liquids, laid all her instruments, into the soapy disinfecting solution, and wiped her hands on a worn, faded, terry cloth towel.
She had spent hours processing film; while the world went digital, Elle remained content getting up close and personal with her Erickson. She had to feel the control in her trigger finger, snapping photos at superhuman speed, capturing every iota of movement in her subjects. Her latest favorite was one she had captured of her husband. His five o'clock shadow overpowered his delicate features, making him appear his age, something only facial hair could do. He was in is late thirties, but his lean, muscular body, his strong, taut arms, chiseled chest, all were indicative of hard work, a lot of pleasure, and courtesy of their joint subscription to the local gym. His eyes, however, regardless of the black and white film, were a constant black; poignant, caring, and unsuspecting.
She took one last look at his picture as it hung on the wire to dry, in her dark room, a room he had worked hours to make just for her, so she wouldn't have to rent out a shady, hole in the wall, closet downtown. She traced his features with her forefinger, lingering on his lips, and turned to walk out of the room. She flipped off the switch to the dark room, exited, and locked the door. He was working, late, as usual. His hours were confounded, but necessary. They weren't something she desired for herself when she married him, but she knew what he was, and that was enough for her.
That was also eight years ago. Her nights now, she spent mostly alone. She missed his touch; his slender fingers, tracing her nude body, caressing her breasts, lingering on her throat, where he could feel her heartbeat, pulsing in staccato beats, never slowing down, until he entered her, loved her, erased the mindless hours spent separated. She took a shower, donned a pair of silk panties, a shade of blue like the ocean, and a camisole. She pulled down the duvet, crawled into the silk sheets, he had bought her for her birthday, and fell asleep.
He had come home, after a double shift, running on caffeine, his libido in overdrive. He showered, slipped into the silk sheets; his forever tanned and nude body moist from the shower, spooned into her, letting her know that he was home. She instantly felt him enlarge against her hip, her pulse quickened, and she reached for his strong hand. She guided it up and over her body, leading his fingers to her panties, parting her legs slightly, there, she awaited his touch. He worked her slowly, tapping and rubbing her, while his free hand would massage her neck, then circle her breasts, playfully, until she arched away from him, aroused, awakened, and roll towards him, her nipples alert, piercing through her sheer camisole; like twin peaks, calling him home. He was always careful with her, undressing her slowly, memorizing her from the dip in her hips, to the beauty mark that nestled itself beneath her right breast. Their bodies, both moist and hot, folded into one another, her legs, entwined themselves with his, her nails scratched slightly down his bare back, where she would take hold of his muscular buttocks, pulling him towards her, their lower halves, melding into one. His hand grabbed her thigh, lifting her slender, yet well-developed, leg around his waist, so he could fill her with his manhood. He thrusted into her, and she rocked with him, her nails digging into his shoulders, their mouths searching for one another's. They met, with ferocity, his tongue teasing her, her teeth playfully tugging at his lower lip while she moaned in ecstasy, his name leaving her mouth in raspy breaths; a sound that would get him off every time, a sound he knew, and cherished, as she climaxed. It was his name and she was his. He could feel her coming close, her body flowing over him with desire, as his warmth erupted in her, releasing them both into submission; she cried out his name.
"Jack."
"Hey," he breathed into her mouth, a smile curling on his lips, he kissed her mouth twice, her breathing slowed, and she leaned her head back on the pillow, and smiled at him.
"Hey, yourself," she still had her hands on his shoulders, but now she was rubbing them up and down his back, landing on his sides. She playfully pinched him in what she called his no flub, love handles, and felt him stir against her, again.
"You know what that does to me," his eyebrows arched and she bit her lower lip, nodding,
"Oh, I know," she pinched his flesh again, and watched as he arched his head back, closing his eyes, stifling a moan.
"Calling Dr. Sheppard," she teased, her leg, bent at a forty-five degree angle, resting against his hip.
"Doctor…Jack…Sheppard," she said his name slowly, raising the other leg up, straddling it across his back, "it appears we have an emergency."
Jack opened his eyes, their dominance returned, and he buried his face in her ample breasts, taking them into his mouth, sucking on her flesh. He began to trail his tongue between her bronze medallions, slowly flitting his tongue across her bare stomach, where he stopped at her belly button, his hands on her hips, slowly parting her legs, where she graciously opened into him, her fingers wound tightly in his hair, pushing his head lower, until she could feel his lips on her. She moaned in response and murmured,
"Emergency rerouted," she twisted her legs around his lean, back, and flipped him onto his back, inverting their positions. Her long, wavy, chocolate hair, with natural amber reflections, fell about her face. He ran his hands up from her form fitted bare bottom, to her waist, rocking her atop him, where he fit like a well-worn suede glove. He warmed her from the inside out, chill bumps formed on her arms, where he rubbed them away. She laid atop of him, her breasts nestling amidst his dark chest of hair, she placed one hand on his chest, playing with his nipple, while the other one, raked its fingers through his cropped, but wavy, hair.
"I've missed you," she kissed his chest, while Jack stroked her bare back, traipsing his fingers up and down, slowly, raising the bumps on her skin, again.
"If you couldn't tell," Jack kissed her atop her head, "I've missed you as well."
"Oh, is that what that was," she laughed into his stomach as he inched her into his arms, so he could spoon her from behind. Jack rested a hand over her breasts, which she took into her own, and traced his fingers.
"Long day?" she asked. She could feel him nod into her, a silent yes.
"Did you lose anyone?" she asked and felt his grip tense.
"She was only sixteen," Jack sighed, "cheerleading accident."
Elle kissed his hands and turned over, facing him. She touched the tip of her nose to his, and tenderly kissed his slender lips.
"You did everything you could," she reminded him and he kissed her back, his tongue recognizing the taste of strawberries.
"I did," he pulled her close, where she rested her head into the crook of his arm, which he held over his head, while he stared at the ceiling.
"I love you," he whispered, he could feel her breath on his skin, labored. He looked down at her, asleep in his arms, and thought to himself, I don't know what I'd do without you here.
