A/N: Kisses a la non-platonic-esque with some unusual pairings just to spice things up a bit. This was an evil challenge I threw upon myself, obviously under the influence of alcohol and sinister angels – sorry/not sorry =)
Warning: Don't bother reading if any of these pairings eek you out; Buzz/Morales, Flynn/Provenza, Provenza/Sharon, Andy/Gavin.
Summary: A collection of unlikely kisses between non-canon couples.
/Unlikely kisses/
…
Buzz/Morales
…
In a very strange turn of events Buzz finds himself down in the morgue – a place he usually never visits and certainly he has never intended to do so willingly – and what is stranger still, he has completely forgotten why the place usually creeps him out.
It hard to remember when there's a body – alive and breathing, warm and solid – pressed against his own body, the wall sturdy yet cold upon his back. Buzz sighs into the kiss – it's long and languid, soft and wet and it curls through his body all the way to his toes, the soft tingling that expands beyond simple pleasure. He's aroused, the other man's fingers cold upon his waist as they go under his shirt, raising the material just high enough to slip under and caress the lower point of his spine.
Buzz forgets completely about dead bodies in rows in the coolers just behind the door to his left, he forgets that there is something creepy about the air down here, still and silent like winter – molecules trapped in the grips of temperature – and he forgets that the walls are a ghastly pale color that only invites shivers. The disinfectant lingering in every corner and nook are easily pushed to the back of his mind when lips move against his own, when fingers caress his spine and a moan is caught in the refines of his throat; the smell that usually hangs heavy in the air seems to evade his nostrils, instead he can only detect the scent of him, the flavor of breath, sugary and a tint of coffee – the musk of cologne and the whisk of what he thinks is simply fresh laundry.
"You should come visit me more often," Morales whispers when he breaks the kiss, a little glint in the depths of his eyes as he regards Buzz, his lips turning upwards in what is without a doubt a smug smile.
"You should invite me more often," Buzz replies, his voice sounding dry.
"Noted," Morales says, his hands on Buzz's tie, fixing it even if it's perfectly straight, "Now don't you look presentable."
Buzz blushes, a tendril of exhilaration in his stomach; they've always kept it quiet and separate from work. This is something new; exhilarating, Buzz thinks.
He smiles and then leans forwards, their lips once again in a heated kiss.
…
Flynn/Provenza
…
Damn, the idiot slips under his skin in a rush that reminds him of anger; turns his whole body into rapid fire – blazing and dangerous. His partner has once again managed to pull Andy into a complete-screw-up – it's no wonder he feels an almost feverish wish to punish the idiot in one fashion or the other.
Andy had never imagined it would end up like this though, silencing his partner with his lips – hard and bruising but still it's a kiss.
It's a kiss that seems to not end; hands holding each other still, tilting and giving better access to lips. Without thinking about it Andy pushes them up against the wall, hips just shy of touching, hands rough and his lips slanted across his partner's.
Andy growls, his fingers tightening in his partner's hair, the short strands feeling strangely comfortable in his grip; he kisses the idiot harder, throws his tongue into it as well, bumps hips into hips – it's strange but he can feel excitement coursing through his body in an electrifying sensation that feels like a strange form of anger; anger and arousal hand in hand as they travel down to his groin and he can feel himself hardening.
It takes a split second and then Provenza's angrily kissing him back, his own hands going to Andy's belt instead of his hair, a hand against his erection.
Damn the idiot, Andy thinks and yet he pushes his hips into the hand. Blowing off steam, he thinks to himself; that's what it is. It sure beats simply putting a used coffee cup on Provenza's desk.
…
Provenza/Sharon
…
He's quite smitten with her – if he's forced to honesty with a gun to his head; otherwise with no gun it's something he would rather not admit, to anyone let alone himself – and it's something that frightens him as much as it coils through him in exhilaration. She's beautiful – well that much he can admit to easily; there's nothing in that admission that will sound strange; everyone can see she is beautiful.
He finds her eyes absolutely beguiling – not that he will ever tell her – and there's something entrancing about the way emotions play across her pale face; something that tugs at his soul when he finds the green color obscured by sadness – not that she is going to cry but there's just the little notion of what might happen; maybe a single tear will escape the confines of her eye.
It's so much more than simple beauty however that grips his heart; she shines from the inside and this frightens him even more than simply admiring her looks.
He's never imagined kissing her – it's a lie but sometimes it's better to lie to yourself than admit the truth – and her lips taste nothing like he's imagined; they're soft and he's surprised to find he can taste the coffee they shared earlier in the break room. He's surprised when she does not decide to slap him – beyond surprised when she kisses him back after a short second of stunned motionlessness, her small slender hands moving up his neck, fastening herself to him by the collar of his shirt.
She hums, a little sigh of something that is hard to decipher; still it tingles through his skin, lingering in his groin where it decidedly grows, his lips still on hers. He could quite frankly become lost in simply kissing her he thinks; and it's a strange notion because he is usually not like this – not this sappy. It's just – she strikes something in him. She has situated herself into his heart and made it a comfortable place – it's no wonder he can't get rid of his stupid infatuation then.
He ends the kiss, her eyes expressive and wide, exclusively on him in a way that grips his throat – green eyes flecked with confusion in amidst something else; something strange and surreal he thinks.
"You deserve better," he says; and it's as much directed at himself as it is at that atrocious husband of hers.
Her fingers stay on his collar though, curled around the material.
She opens her mouth, undoubtedly about to speak.
He shakes his head and then with a tender thumb along her cheek, her skin soft, he tries to let go. Yet he wonders about the scent up close briefly, how it would be to bury his nose in her hair or how it would be to wake up next to her in the mornings – he steps back and she lets go of his shirt; wide eyes still focused on him.
He shakes his head again; and leaves.
She deserves so much more.
…
Gavin/Andy
…
…and … he's off on another rant, Gavin thinks, watching the lieutenant sputtering away with an angry diatribe about something or other to do with lawyers for sure; Gavin has stopped listening a minute ago, instead he focuses on the suit the lieutenant is wearing. Now, the man is a smart dresser – utterly attractive if Gavin has to admit the truth and this he will gladly do.
He notices the way the suit fits, not too tight and not too loose – the turquoise color that really does sit well with the ensemble, the nondescript tie that is fashionable. Gavin briefly remembers the tie he saw on Lieutenant Provenza earlier today and shudders, no, his Lieutenant Flynn knows how to dress.
Oh… the hair, the silver short hair; that gets him everytime.
"Hey, are you even listening?"
Gavin looks up; he can almost hear the not-uttered idiot that usually follows a sentence like that from his dear Andy Flynn.
His brown eyes, he thinks, they are like chocolate – and Gavin loves chocolate.
"No, darling – frankly you've gone off on a tangent and I was rather busy admiring your clothing."
The lieutenant rolls his eyes, huffing and crossing his arms, "Yeah, I dressed expressly for you today."
The voice, Gavin smiles, he likes it when it becomes all rough and sarcastic.
Gavin moves closer, step by step, aware of the look he now receives; a derisive arched eyebrow.
"Really, Baker," Andy says in a growl – he always gets in a huff, Gavin thinks. He huffs and puffs; and yet when push comes to shove Gavin knows Andy won't complain about what is going to happen next.
His lieutenant's lips are warm, with the hint of coffee and something else; Gavin runs one hand along Andy's jaw, tilting the head fractionally so he has better access; he bites down on the bottom lip and the other man groans.
Gavin smiles; they are going to have fun tonight – they always do when the sweet man is so worked up about simple lawyers.
…