Title: First Contact
Author: Cherilyn
Author Page: Cherilyn
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: The Fugitive (movie)
Pairing: Sam Gerard/Richard Kimble
Category: Slash. FT.
Date: September 1999
Warnings: none
Synopsis: Sam Gerard and Richard Kimble first met under very different circumstances.
Notes: Many thanks and much mushroom and tomato pasta (with basil sprigs on
top) to HG.
Am I, wondered Richard Kimble, the only person in Chicago who hates parties? He wished, not for the first time, that he wasn't such a wuss when it came to saying no to Helen. These people were friends of his fiancee. It was because of Helen he'd accepted the invitation.
Damn it, why did he let himself be manipulated like that? He'd known it was happening but he hadn't done a thing and once again he wound up doing something he didn't want to and resented it like hell. On the surface it was perfectly reasonable. Helen couldn't go so her little sister had no one to take her. However, Helen's excuse for not going to the party was that she didn't drink alcohol. Then consider her ‘little sister' was a mere three years younger than Kimble's own twenty-nine. Surely Susan was fully capable of taking herself to wherever she chose. Right now it looked like she was choosing to take herself back to her ex-boyfriend's place. Seeing the triumphant look on the woman's face, Kimble was left with the distinct feeling of being used. Again.
Fine. Nothing to keep him here, then. He could go back to his apartment and contemplate the nightmare of a wedding reception that loomed ahead in two weeks time. Raising a hand in farewell to Susan who merely shrugged and waggled her fingers at him, he turned around to leave.
And almost bumped into the man standing right behind him. Swapping startled looks with the man, Kimble received a fleeting glimpse of dark eyes fixed on his butt before the man's eyes flew to his face.
Kimble repressed a grin. Hey, this was the '70's.
The man muttered an apology and moved as if to step aside then paused. Glancing over at Susan, he remarked, "I don't think it's serious."
Kimble looked over at Susan who was pouting at her ex-boyfriend, a bodybuilder type who went by the charming sobriquet of Tank. "I don't give a damn. She's not my girlfriend."
"Oh?" There was definite interest in those dark eyes and Kimble paused to take a good look at the man in front of him. He looked like a quarterback, with wide shoulders and slim hips, strong but equally fast if appearances were anything to go by. Clearly he was avoiding the Saturday Night Fever influence on fashion - no wide-collar shirts and white polyester suits for this man. Instead he looked like a throwback to Easy Rider, tight black t-shirt, tight black jeans and biker boots. If he looked out of place amongst the polyester crowd it was clear he didn't give a damn. He had an attractive face too. Difficult to gauge how old he was, anything from twenty-five to thirty-five. Creases were already forming - there was a lot of character on that face. The voice had been a rich warm drawl, Texan perhaps - a voice you could listen to for hours, thought Kimble, surprising himself with the thought.
Dark eyes - black? Brown? It was difficult to tell - regarded him, almost obscured by lowered eyelashes darker and longer than any woman's. Waiting for embarrassment to creep over him, Kimble found he felt nothing but expectancy and the only feeling gradually building was a sense of excitement. Something was going to happen. He wet his lips, swallowing to ease his dry throat.
The dark eyes - they were brown, Kimble noted distractedly - narrowed and there was a knowing gleam in their depths. A smile began to form on the man's lips, a very attractive smile, and that was a beautiful mouth. Kimble's breath caught as he wondered what it would taste like.
"You want to get some air?"
His mind filled with images of himself and this man tongue-fucking in the middle of the crowded room, it took a moment before the man's meaning became clear.
"Yes." No hesitation, just instinctive response to need, a need that was building to an unbearable level inside him, making him dizzy. Blind with lust, Kimble wasn't even aware of the walk to the shrubbery outside, so fixed on the sight and scent of the other man that everything else became irrelevant. Some spark of sanity - or decorum - must have remained because he didn't give in to the desire to kiss the other man until they were out of sight.
The man turned to face Kimble, smiling.
That was the signal.
Stifling a moan, Kimble grabbed the other man, tugging the dark head closer, fingers tangling in long black hair. It felt like the softest fur in the world, silky and wonderfully thick , then all other sensations were lost as he made contact with the other man's mouth.
Heaven. Parted in welcome, hot as hell and yielding - for a moment. Then a thick, slick tongue delved into Richard's mouth, claiming it, tangling with his own questing tongue. They fought and submitted, probing and exploring, filling and possessing until they were forced to pause, drawing ragged breaths of air into starved lungs before starved flesh demanded more contact.
"Sam," the man whispered harshly against Kimble's ear, hot gusts of air turning Richard's knees to jell-O. "My name is Sam Gerard."
"Richard Kimble," Kimble breathed back, latching onto the wildly beating pulse in the man's beautiful throat. The barest scrape of bristle met his tongue and he lapped and licked along the tendon, reaching the strong line of the jaw.
"Richard, shall we take this some place else?"
Kimble groaned and slid his hands beneath the man's t-shirt, fingers reaching for erect nipples, taking the soft sigh of pleasure into his mouth before lowering his head to scrape his teeth across the hardened pink nubs.
Fingers gripped convulsively at his hair and the man - Sam, Kimble thought to himself, repeating the name in his head in mindless repetition - gave a choked cry of pleasure. Unable to hold out any longer, Kimble reached for the fly button fastening on Sam's jeans, tugging at the buttons until his hands found the hard heat of Sam's erection. He felt Sam's hands bumping against his as they tugged at Kimble's fly, the zipper rasping open and freeing Kimble's own needy flesh.
Warm hands on hot flesh, moans of pleasure and tiny broken sounds as sensation built to an almost unbearable high, were the only things of importance now in Kimble's universe. He reached for the bared buttocks, cooled by night air, warmed by his hands as he discovered their perfect curve, shaped by an active lifestyle, designed by a genius to fit Kimble's palms. Pressing close to the other man, nothing between them but flesh and bone, Kimble latched onto the junction of neck and shoulder, nipping and sucking, feasting on the salt and male animal taste of Sam. Senses overwhelmed by the speed of their passion and by the man in his arms, Kimble thrust more fiercely, mindless with the need to claim this man as his.
Grinding hardness against hardness, heat to heat, it wasn't long before Kimble peaked, semen coating hands and bellies as orgasm pulsed through him. Aware that Sam was flying too, Kimble took the other man's mouth, took the guttural moans of ecstasy into himself.
So much pleasure, it seemed impossible that such intensity could have so short a life. Brief echoes lingered but Kimble mourned the loss of that incredible rush. Still catching his breath, he wanted it again, wanted more time to explore, wanted to lose himself in that passion and -
Helen.
It was as if Kimble had been doused with cold water.
"Will you come back to my place?"
Kimble heard the softly spoken request, didn't hear the uncertainty that lay beneath the words. Ducking his head as he fixed his clothing, grateful for the darkness that hid his expression, his mind raced.
What the hell had he been thinking? What had he been trying to do? Punish Helen for taking him for granted?
He ignored the inner voice that whispered, ‘You wanted him'.
He must be crazy. He had hopes. He wanted to be a cardiovascular surgeon, best of the best; he had the potential, everyone said so. He had a beautiful fiancee who would make the perfect wife. He had the respect of his peers.
He closed his eyes, mind filled with a face that was beautiful, strong, unforgettable and undeniably masculine.
Give up his dreams for what would probably be a very brief sexual relationship with a man?
His body thrummed with remembered pleasure and his heart began to pound as he contemplated the intense pleasure he could share with this man, Sam Gerard.
Sam was dangerous.
Running a hand through his thick hair to restore some kind of order, Kimble stepped away from Sam. Reluctantly he glanced up and was caught by black eyes watching him, disappointment clear in their depths despite the darkness.
If he didn't go now he might lose everything.
But think what he could gain.
A safe relationship with Helen in a safe little world or a brief affair with a man?
Ah, but what a man.
If he left now while he still had some semblance of sanity left to him he would probably never meet this man again.
Pain sliced through Kimble at the thought.
Sam Gerard was a threat.
There was no choice.
Kimble ran.
Disclaimer: This fanfic is an amateur fan work and is not intended to infringe any rights of any individual or organisation. The original material is copyrighted to the authors. Please don't archive without permission.