Under the Cover of Paper

Title: Under the Cover of Paper
Author: Jenn
Summary: Lauren and Sark make lists and...use them. *wink*
Disclaimer: Not JJ.
Beta: Dearest Kat. *hug*

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Lauren grumbled, pushing her long blonde hair back off her face as she stared down at the sheet of paper before her. She tapped her pen on the desk three times before looking up. The handsome man, with hair as light as hers, met her gaze with a smirk and quickly scribbled another line on his paper. She sighed at his unresponsiveness and added one more item to her list. "Okay, I'm done-I quit."

"Already?" he teased. "I guess you're not as kinky as I imagined. Gesturing to her paper he added, "Or perhaps not as graphic." After writing one final thing on his list, he rose from his seat, placed the book he'd been bearing down on on the floor, and handed her his paper.

Giving him her sheet, she glanced over his to find that, in lieu of an actual list, he'd written whole paragraphs of descriptions Upon closer inspection, she saw that they had all be written in first and second person point of view. Beginning just beneath the heading "My Proclivities," she read.

Meanwhile, Julian Sark had reclaimed his seat and started reading under the title, "The Fetishes of Lauren Elisabeth Reed." It was a simple list, consisting of just three items:

"*Biting *Pain *Dominance"

He looked up and watched her intently as she read his list.

Lauren was amazed. Her lover was able to make her blush without having said a word. His list was made up of relatively short, erotic scenarios. She was surprised, not just by the oddity of some of the fantasies, but also by the frankness with which he described them. There were two that particularly struck her: the first because of its simplicity; the second because of its unique setting.

"You were rather ambiguous when creating this list, love," he said when she'd indicated that she was finished with his.

"You were rather imaginative when creating yours," she replied. She made her way over to him, waved the paper in her hand, and continued, "If you go get the whipped cream from the kitchen, I'll find my way to the bedroom and we can combine number three from your list with one and two from mine."

---

Sark entered Lauren and Michael Vaughn's bedroom wielding a can of whipped cream and was greeted with the vision of her naked and handcuffed to the bed. Immediately, the blood rushed from his head, and his pants became snug. "Tell me," he began, closing the door and unbuttoning his shirt, "is Michael ever kinky with you?"

Lauren snorted. "Yeah, when he's feeling exceptionally wild, he even lets me be on top." The tone of her voice made him chuckle. "Honestly, he's unbelievably dull. He and I would both be better off if he just closed his eyes, pretended I was Sydney, and fucked me the way he would her."

"Speaking of number five…" he trailed off, deliberately riling her up, now that she was restrained. He undid his belt, unzipped his fly, and let his slacks and boxers fall to the floor, freeing his hardening cock.

"Get over here and bite me, you bloody wanker," she growled.

He sauntered over to the bed and crawled on top of her, straddling her hips. He flashed her his trademark smirk before leaning down and sinking his teeth into the skin that covered her collarbone. She cried our as the pain sensation struck her core. Her eyes had slipped closed, so he took advantage of the opportunity to squirt some of the whipped cream onto her abdomen. Then, he waited until she was watching him again before he slid further down her legs and licked the white puff off with the flat of his tongue.

"Bite me again," she breathed. "On my thigh."

He complied without a word and slowly spread her legs to sit between them. Then he lowered his lips to her leg, near where it met her center, and brushed them over the soft flesh, teasing her, before nipping at her once more.

This time a moderately-loud moan escaped her lips as the dampness so near his head grew. When he did not sit up again, she knew what was coming. He rubbed the nozzle of the can firmly over her clitoris just before he released a bit of the foamy sweetness onto it. The small jerking motions of her hips combined with the heat and humidity that sprung from her arousal quickly melted the cream and he had to hurry and clean it up before it dripped everywhere. The quiet whimpering sounds she made pushed him over the edge. Throwing the can across the room, he said, "Fuck it," and unlocked her handcuffs. When her arms were free, he tightly grasped her hips and buried himself inside her in one swift motion.

He led them into a rhythm of roughly sliding in and out of her wet passage, bumping her cervix with each thrust. She screamed in pain-tinged pleasure, and then bit down on his shoulder, throwing off his pattern. Moreover, she dug her fingernails into his back and dragged, leaving behind savage scratch marks.

He came inside her not long after; her climax was mere seconds after his.

When he could finally breathe again, he whispered in her ear, "How did you feel about number six, the air hockey table?"

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