We Don't Have To Talk

About Tehuti

I am an amateur writer of novels, serials, and novellas. Most of my work is in the genres of fantasy, mythology, drama, occult, GLBT, and erotica.

As I'm not seeking publication, I offer my work online for free reading. I'm not seeking stylistic critique so much as feedback from people who just like reading what I write. I love hearing what people think of my characters, plots, themes, etc., so if you have any comments or advice on those, feel free to share. I'm not hugely popular and often go many months without hearing from readers so I enjoy all the comments I get!

My interests are Ojibwa mythology, Mackinac Island, Egyptian mythology, Jungian symbolism and dream interpretation, ritual crime, fantasy writing, and various other things you can find in my personal bio, available just to the right. Please click to learn more about me and what I'm looking for in terms of readers and potential friends.

Feel free to hit me up if you're interested in any of these things, and enjoy my writing!

Tar! :)

We Don't Have To Talk

CODE: D (set in the D Is For Damien storyline)

TAKES PLACE DURING (specific story): Missing Pieces (unwritten)

PAIRING: Det. Justin Reichert/Det. Michelle Rosedale (M/F)

EXPLANATION: Please see other scenes featuring Reichert ("Feeling It," "First Ride," "Before Anybody Misses Us") for information on his pretty much messed-up relationships. Seeing as some of the background info there (those scenes were written quite a while ago) may now be out of date, I'll update you on poor messed-up Reichert here. Reichert was formerly a detective with the New York City Police Department and was quite chagrined to discover he just wasn't into women. I have an as-yet unfinished scene of his first encounter with a man who was his sort of on/off boyfriend while he lived in New York; let's just say that Reichert was so nervous meeting up with this guy in a bar that he went outside and promptly threw up. Isn't that romantic? Anyway, aside from that everything was pretty normal, until September 11 2001, when you-know-what happened. Reichert, who arrived on the scene late (it was his day off), was caught up in the mess and ended up under rubble for three days. (Artistic liberty, since I don't think they actually found any survivors after the first day.) He still walks with a slight limp, and wears fingerless gloves to hide burn scars on his hands.

Let's change tense. A year or so passes, and a case he's involved in mirrors similar cases in Minot, North Dakota, where my almost equally messed-up Det. Max Kristeva works, so Reichert heads out west to help with the case. When he gets back to New York, he outs himself to his mother, stepfather, and younger stepbrother; the reaction isn't what he expected and, even though the other two are sympathetic, his mother disowns him and he decides to leave New York for good since there are too many bad memories. Chief Bowen in Minot has promised Reichert a spot on their police force if he wants it, so he amicably breaks up with his sorta-boyfriend and leaves. He settles into the Minot Police Department and moves into a dark, dingy city apartment where he can't even be bothered to unpack his belongings (some YEARS later, by the time of the story Missing Pieces, Kristeva enters the apartment, sees the boxes, and asks, "Are you moving out?"). He hooks up with the pretty much normal Doug Nyrkkanen ("Feeling It"), who provides a stable relationship, but Reichert soon enough breaks it off for no real reason and then starts hopping from relationship to relationship, or rather, sex partner to sex partner, since none of them last that long and are pretty much based on sex. (I really, REALLY tried, several times, to settle him down, but was unable to; my own character insisted on sabotaging every halfway-decent relationship he was put in.) Needless to say, a lot of these encounters are pretty risky and several times Reichert ends up in unpleasant situations (see the explanation to "Feeling It," which is out of date and inaccurate but gives a picture of what I mean), but he just can't seem to get into a relationship that lasts. I believe he fits the profile of a sex addict, since most of these encounters leave him empty and disgusted and he just keeps seeking out others. (Oh yeah, at some point in here he has leukemia, but after treatment it goes into remission. WTF is with this guy's luck.)

Enter Officer Joseph Silvertree ("First Ride," which is somewhat inaccurate/out of date by now, and "Before Anybody Misses Us"), a Lakota tribal officer who gets involved in some of the Minot investigations for whatever reason. Obviously, the two hook up. And I'll be damned but Reichert tries everything in his power to make the relationship fail, without success. It turns out that Silvertree is just as messed up as he is, so within no time the two of them are first hurling things and screaming (mostly Reichert) and beating the crap out of each other (mostly Silvertree), then they're having sex, then they're indifferent toward each other until the next time they get into a screaming slugfest. I discovered that Reichert acts like a bad borderline every time he's in a relationship, thus driving away every good boyfriend he comes across, but Silvertree's sadistic streak goes along pretty well with Reichert's masochistic one, so the two of them mesh. And so even though every other day they hate each other's guts, and Reichert is threatening to walk out and Silvertree is daring him to and then putting him in a chokehold and hurling him on the bed and going at him despite Reichert's threats and often throttling him half unconscious in the process, this seems to be the most "stable" relationship he's capable of being in, and Reichert has gotten good at brushing off the numerous injuries incurred since unconsciously he feels he deserves them. (Fun fact: While I'm pretty sure Silvertree is involved solely with Reichert, I'm equally sure that Reichert is still messing around with numerous other sex partners. Jealousy seems to be the one problem these two don't have.)

That's way more info than you needed to enjoy this scene, so cut to Missing Pieces. The basic plot so far is that Det. Michelle "Mike" Rosedale, of a different police department, contacts Det. Kristeva to help her on a missing persons case since her own department won't take it seriously and she's learned through Google how good Kristeva is at finding who's missing. (Part of the meaning behind the title; the other meaning is more psychological. FYI, Rosedale as a bare-bones character has been in my head for quite a while now; it's been only very recently that she finally acquired a name.) Kristeva quickly learns (since he's intuitive that way) that much of Rosedale's obsession with the case stems from the fact that her own brother went missing in childhood and the case was never solved; her obsession with finding him led to the breakup of her marriage. So there you can see, Rosedale has enough of her own problems. (Weird how the monumentally messed-up Kristeva actually seems to be the most stable of these three. Maybe because he has several personalities to help him out!)

Rosedale and Reichert meet in the course of investigating the case and hit it off immediately as good friends; I think he reminds her somewhat of her missing brother, even though he was a child when he disappeared. So that makes what happens in this scene a bit weirder than it really is, seeing as it's a scene with somebody who is decidedly female having sex with somebody who is decidedly a gay male. Mostly the alcohol is to blame, though these two do apparently have a soft spot for each other; they consider each other more to be friends. They're both aware a romantic relationship is absurd, which makes the aftermath of this scene all the more awkward. (The bisexual-but-happily-married Kristeva's reaction once he intuits--yes, intuits--that Reichert and Rosedale have done it?--*disgusted voice* "Oh my God. Oh my God!" Silvertree's reaction? A mere "Meh, weird" look and then utter indifference. I'm sure he'll be roughing Reichert up again sometime soon, though likely not over this incident.)

So there's all the background you really did not need to know, but if I didn't type it up here, it'd probably never see the light of day. See all the stuff that goes through my head that people never see, even in the slight chance they are interested? Thanks for letting me share. The scene picks up in medias res with the drunken Reichert helping the equally drunken Rosedale back to her apartment, and this is what follows. (BTW, did I mention that the result of this one-night stand is...Rosedale gets pregnant? You really didn't expect Reichert to escape another relationship unscathed, did you?)

DISCLAIMERS: Aside from how the hell the clothing ended up in the bedroom (remember Rosedale kind of blacked out, anything could've happened!), as this scene is pretty new, disclaimers are few, but to warn that earlier Reichert scenes are now out of date and inaccurate in some areas. I'll take this chance to say that I've grown very leery of sharing my erotica online as I look at it, especially the older stuff and the dirty dialogue, and cringe at how stupid it all seems to me, but then I read the free Ellora's Cave samples at Amazon and realize that in at least some cases my stuff is actually somewhat better. In my pathetic opinion. Which admittedly is not worth much. Does anybody out there actually read this stuff, anyway? If you write smut in the woods and nobody reads it is it still smutty? This scene is not proofed yet, so beware typos.

* * * * *

We Don't Have To Talk

They both burst out laughing and this made them stumble even more, almost striking the door; it was all Rosedale could manage to get the thing unlocked, and even then they almost fell inside together, her legs nearly failing to support her. She felt Reichert grab at her arm before she could topple to the floor, and instead ended up being jerked back toward him; they both hit the doorjamb and started crowing again as if this were the funniest thing in the world. Rosedale had to gasp to catch her breath, and glanced back at him to say something, but then whatever the thought was fled and her mind went completely blank. As such she ended up staring at him stupidly, and, seeing her doing so, he stared back just as blankly. For some reason half of Rosedale wanted to laugh again, but half of her didn't. She thought of commenting on how stupid they must both look gawping like that, but her tongue couldn't form the words. She tried to remember if she'd ever been so drunk before but couldn't think of that either.

Reichert at last opened his mouth as if to say something himself, but that was the same moment that Rosedale reached out to grasp his head in her hands and pulled him forward so their mouths crushed together; she heard him let out a startled noise, and felt his muscles tense, and there was some tiny part in the back of her mind that screamed to know what the hell she was doing, but it was easily drowned out when her tongue met his and she sucked at him hungrily.

What do you expect from him--? the tiny part, growing ever dimmer, said, as she trailed her fingers into his hair and bit at his lip, still feeling him tense as if trying to pull away without tossing her to the floor. He likes guys. At last the tiny part made a tiny bit of sense, and she started to think of pulling away herself, only to feel Reichert's hands--which had grasped at her arms and started to push her back--now clench around her tighter, and instead of separating them he pulled her forward so her breasts mashed against his chest, and suddenly they were devouring each other. Rosedale dug her fingers into him, gasping when their mouths briefly parted, feeling how the tension in his body had changed, drawing them together rather than apart. The heat and alcohol finally doused out the tiny voice completely, and within seconds she pulled him into the apartment, the door slamming behind them. Her fingers fumbled clumsily at his pants, trying to undo them; he ended up helping her, unbuckling his belt and working at the zipper, but she at last got control of her motions and pulled it down. She slipped her hand inside to draw him out as she dropped to her knees in front of him; he was already half hard and throbbing warm to her touch. Rosedale took him in her mouth almost without thinking--this was something she'd never done before, not even with her ex-husband, but for some reason it just seemed like the right thing to do. She felt Reichert jerk as if an electric current went through him and he immediately went hard in her mouth; she ran her tongue all along his length, taking him as deeply in her mouth as she could, digging her fingers into his thighs. After a moment of this she released him, catching her breath and planning to mouth his testicles next, but he grasped her arms and pulled her back to her feet so they kissed again. His fingers tangled in her hair; she shivered, her nape prickling when he dragged her head back and jabbed his tongue sharply into her mouth, the vaguely aggressive gesture making her breath come faster. She shut her eyes when his mouth moved to her neck, a guttural growl escaping him, and pressed her body close to his, feeling how hot he was, how hot she was.

They didn't even make it to the bedroom, much less the bed; they stumbled further into the apartment until the backs of Rosedale's legs met the coffeetable and she nearly fell over it. They both dropped to their knees this time. Rosedale reached for Reichert's belt while he worked at her own clothes, pulling her blouse loose and tugging down both slacks and panties. She grabbed his penis by the root, making him gasp; he seemed more than ready, but she moved anyway, awkwardly fumbling to turn herself around, grasping the coffeetable with both hands and leaning over it to bend herself almost double. Her pants and undergarments bunched around her knees but she spread herself as wide as she could, her breath sharp and quick. No sooner had she squirmed into position than Reichert's hand reached around to grasp her thigh, making her gasp and flinch; she hadn't been aware he was so close. He pressed his hips to hers--the thick dark hair she'd felt moments before, when her hand had been on him, now rubbed against her buttocks, and she shivered again and used one hand to splay herself, hazily uncertain if he would know what to do or not, though not terribly caring. Her fingers quickly grew slippery. Reichert placed his knees between hers and without any pause or warning, he was inside her, his hips crushing hers to the table as he filled her with his full length.

Rosedale cried out hoarsely, tightening at the jolt of pain that surged through her--she hadn't had sex in years, not since her last time with her ex-husband, and their last year together hadn't been a good one. She couldn't remember the last time such a delicious ache filled her, drowning out the brief agony of Reichert's swift entry; when he pulled back a mere second later, the pain was already forgotten, and Rosedale withdrew her hand, since he obviously knew what he was doing. She grasped the sides of the table to steady herself as Reichert began to thrust, lunging at her hard, the two of them gasping and surging back and forth, back and forth over the table. Rosedale dimly realized they hadn't even bothered to unclothe themselves aside from the necessity of exposing themselves to each other; Reichert made no move to pull at her blouse or bra, or to grasp at her breasts, and once he established his rhythm Rosedale didn't bother to reach back and caress him. She merely clung to the table, her bared lower belly rubbing against the glass, while he kept his own hands firmly on her hips, pulling her against himself with each push. His breath came hoarse over her shoulder; she didn't say his name, and he didn't say hers. Rosedale let her head fall forward, her by now damp hair trailing in her face, shaking and gasping, unable to suppress a long, low moan, hearing Reichert let out a heavy grunt in response. She squeezed her eyes shut and trembled. She could tell that the slickness which made the two of them move so smoothly and so right against and within each other wasn't just hers alone.

Despite the urgency of their motions, and his size--he was much bigger than her ex-husband had been, and she hadn't even been sure she could handle him, though again she hadn't cared much--the ache between her legs, inside her, grew, and she wished they could do more. It felt as if it would never be sated. Maybe it's been too long after all, she dimly thought, and wondered if any amount of coupling would ever satisfy her now. She shimmied her knees forward, still hobbled by her bunched pants, her unexpected motion making Reichert slip a little and press against her as he slightly lost his balance. Rosedale's thighs touched the sides of the table; she knew what she wanted to do, but didn't know if he did, and her head was too hazy with lust to ask. Fortunately she didn't have to. Reichert pulled out, making her breath whoosh from her; he gripped her by the hips and hoisted her upward, Rosedale scrabbling to grab on to the table again as she slipped against it, her knees struggling to straddle its sides. Reichert pulled at her slacks, at last removing them, and yanked her panties so sharply that she heard them tear; they tangled around her ankle but at least she could move. Rosedale splayed her thighs to straddle the table, her breasts and groin pushing against the glass, and wrapped her arms around its edges; Reichert slipped his hands under her thighs to spread her open, her buttocks quivering, and she let out a hoarse moan when he again entered, his shaft slick with their fluids but almost as deliciously painful as the first time as he sought purchase so deep she felt his testicles press against her, and managed to work one hand under herself to grasp them. They both moaned now, and she shook to feel his thighs quivering between hers, the taut muscles of his abdomen tightening against her back. He fell over her so his weight almost crushed her, Rosedale gasping for breath as he grasped her arms, her own still clutching the table edges; several magazines fell noisily to the floor as the two of them stretched out over it, Rosedale's legs splayed wide and falling over the sides, and she cried out when Reichert moved heavily upon her, his hoarse panting fanning hot over her neck, his pushes making her lose her breath so that she sucked in a fresh one every time he pulled back. She could feel the glass of the table growing slippery underneath her, and gave a dry sob, pressing her face to the glass and grimacing. She briefly caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirrored lower section of the table, and could blurrily see Reichert moving above her, his own eyes shut and his teeth bared as his breath hissed out between them; a vague part of her mind couldn't help but observe that this looked like nothing less than a rape, her face contorting and a trickle of blood spreading over the area of table beneath her groin, their disheveled clothing and Reichert's by now brutal thrusting and animal grunting seeming like an assault. Rosedale couldn't help it--she started to cry out with each push, her voice high and cracking, and after a moment Reichert's cries joined hers, deeper and harsher, until the two of them were lunging hard and fast at the table, their groans echoing off the walls of the small space.

Rosedale wanted to toss her head back, to arch as she felt the heat rapidly rising, but Reichert's weight kept her pinned down; she quivered beneath him instead, her belly tensing, her shoulders shaking. She shut her eyes, as the feral look of lust on both their faces was almost unbearable. Her cries grew broken and hoarse, almost frantic--without thinking she at last spoke coherent words, her voice desperate, pleading--"Unh--oh God, Justin, please, please!"--he let out a noise in response, incoherent, almost a bark--the sound drove all remaining reason, all remaining self-control, from Rosedale's head, and she at last arched her neck to yell at the ceiling, words she'd never cried out to her ex-husband, to anyone before--"Oh God, Justin--oh my God, Justin--yes--that's it--right there--I'm coming--unh--unh--unh--oh my God, Justin, like that, oh yes, unh!--I'm coming--that's it--I'm coming--oh--fuck me, Justin--fuck me--fuck me--oh God, Justin, FUCK ME--!"--and her words dissolved into a wordless scream when Reichert let out an explosive grunt, "Unnh!"--his groin mashing against her backside and his fluid spurting hot deep inside her. They both moaned aloud at the release, his fingers digging into her wrists, her thighs hugging the table top until the spasming of their orgasm died, smaller waves of pleasure washing over Rosedale as she let out her breath and sank, muscles going slack. She heard Reichert let out his breath as well in a whoosh, felt him sag against her, his hardness dying and his own muscles relaxing. His grip on her arms loosened and he sank over her back so the two of them lay sprawled upon the coffeetable, slick with sweat and gasping brokenly for breath.

The alcohol began to settle in Rosedale's brain again, which had temporarily cleared, just a little, enough to get her body to go along with her desires; her thoughts grew clogged and hazy, so she experienced the remainder of their activities in scattered patches. She came to to find them kissing again, not quite as roughly as before, but enough to make her shiver and ache; she came to to find herself taking him in her mouth again, her tongue swirling around him, her fingers trailing through his thick hair, rubbing against it where it ran from his groin up his lower belly, which tensed at her touch; she came to to find his testicles hot in her mouth, her lips pursed around them and her tongue caressing, her hands clasping his bared buttocks, one finger sliding between them to press against his tight opening, which promptly went loose at her touch; she came to to find Reichert tossing his head back and moaning throatily, his body tight and quivering, as all four of her fingers slid in and out of him, in and out, slowly, her other hand likewise rubbing up and down his now fully hard penis; she came to to find him pulling her to her feet, stumbling to kick his bunched pants off at last, his shirt falling down over her busy hands--one of his own hands guiding hers, up and down, up and down his length, and his mouth meeting hers once more; her head went hazy again. She came to to find themselves at last in her small bed, no memory of how they'd gotten there, not really caring; her shirt, though undone, was still on, her bra still on, her lower body naked--likewise with him, his shirt open enough for her to see his dark thick nest of hair, his legs bare; she knew that she parted herself for him again but once more her mind went foggy. She came to a last time to find herself splayed upon her bed, a pillow mashed under her belly, her buttocks thrust upward and quivering, and Reichert clutching her hips, pushing slowly but deeply into her anus. Her ex-husband had done this before--had pressured her into doing it, actually, stopping just short of force--she'd hated it back then. This was different somehow. The delicious tang of pain was what cleared her head enough for her to peer back from one slitted eye and see the way he tossed his head back and arched, groaning at the ceiling, ribs heaving; Rosedale had done this only once, years before, so the sharp pain made her grimace, but the look of pleasure on Reichert's face, the arch of his back and trembling of his thighs against hers, dulled the agony, and she dimly liked that she was pleasing him as much as he'd pleased her, even if he might be imagining her as someone else, as someone not a woman.

Whatever he might be thinking in his lust didn't matter to her. Despite her fears she was already satisfied and exhausted; her mind started to go dark. By the time Reichert came again, his cry echoing dimly in her ears, his fluid burning inside her, Rosedale was almost too far gone to notice, and within seconds was in a sleep close to death.

* * * * *

Just as it was the alcohol that had shut Rosedale's mind down, it was the alcohol that woke her again, the dull throb of a hangover starting to pound behind her eyes. The pain slowly dragged her, mentally protesting, out of sleep, and she grimaced and grumbled under her breath, rebuking herself for ever thinking to drink so much in one sitting. The pounding in her head was such that at first, the accompanying throbbing between her legs, and between her buttocks, went mostly unnoticed, though she did wonder about it briefly, why she should feel so sore. She put out a hand to push herself up, but there was something across her chest. As soon as she moved it was withdrawn, and she struggled to sit upright, making a face and grinding the heel of her hand into her eyes to clear them. She heard and felt the bed shift beside her and felt a brief flare of confusion.

Rosedale dropped her hand and turned to look to her left. She blinked on seeing Reichert also push himself up, also rubbing at his eyes and grimacing and letting out a soft groan at the pain; after a second he too looked at her, and they stared at each other dumbly for a few seconds, and then Rosedale was gasping and pulling the sheet up over herself--though only her lower body was bare--and fishing frantically beside the bed for her pants and underwear, not even knowing where they were. The sheet was taut in her grasp and she noticed Reichert doing the exact same thing, attempting to cover himself up as he reached for his own pants, a look of panic on his face. He ended up letting out a yelp and tumbling from the bed with a thud so only his foot remained propped against the side of the mattress; Rosedale gasped, pulling herself across the now empty space and looking down at him. She couldn't help that her gaze fell first on his crotch, as he'd landed with his legs splayed wide and exposed plain to view; for the briefest second she stared at his penis, now flaccid but still impressive, but abruptly shook her head and glanced away, feeling her cheeks burning. Reichert quickly drew his leg down and hurried to cover himself with the edge of the sheet and she saw that his face had gone red as well; for some reason this made her feel guilty.

"Are you all right?" she asked in genuine concern, as the sound of his falling had been loud and he was now rubbing at his elbow.

"I--yeah," Reichert stammered, pushing himself to a sitting position and making a face. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just..." Whatever explanation he'd been about to give seemed to vanish, and he made another face. "Could you get me my pants?"

Rosedale blinked, then glanced back at the tangled sheets. There were their clothes, wadded at the foot of the bed, though she noticed as she reached out to draw them forward that her panties were missing. A dim memory of the sound of them tearing came back to her foggy mind, and she tried to hide the blush rising in her face as she handed him his clothes, then retreating to the other side of the bed so they didn't have to look at each other dressing.

"I'm sorry," she found herself saying, tugging on her pants, but was mildly confused to hear the same words echoing back at her at the same time.

"No," Reichert's voice came from the other side of the bed. "I'm sorry. I knew we both drank way too much and should've...I really shouldn't..."

"It's okay," Rosedale cut in, doing up her pants, buttoning her blouse; the odd thought, At least he didn't see my chest flickered through her head. "I shouldn't've drunk so damn much, I know I can't handle my liquor."

"I know, which is why I shouldn't have come here last night. Christ, I'm sorry. Are you all right--?" She lifted her head and saw him looking back across the bed at her, and the look of guilt in his eyes made her twinge inside. She bit the inside of her mouth.

"Look," she said, and had to get onto her knees to tuck her shirt back in. "You didn't make me do anything. I'm the one who led you on--"

"That's no sort of excuse," Reichert said, and she realized her bad choice of wording.

"What I mean is I know what I was doing..." as stupid as I think it was, now, said the tiny part of her mind "...you didn't make me do anything. And no, I wasn't passed out or unconscious or anything either, except maybe at the very end, and by then I think we'd done just about everything physically possible there was to do anyway."

She regretted her wording again, thinking it might come across as accusatory or disgusted; she was disgusted, but not for the reasons she feared he might think she was. Just thinking again about how he'd made her feel last night brought the tingling ache right back, and she had to fight it down, feeling her nipples grow hard. She flushed in pointless embarrassment and tried to think of something to say to amend herself.

"Christ," Reichert said again, and she glanced at him as he staggered to his feet, still fumbling to do up his pants; his ears were as red as she imagined her own to be. "You think you can't handle your drink. I can't even remember what the hell the very end even was." He looked across and down at her; after a brief pause he extended his hand, and Rosedale took it and let him pull her unsteadily to her feet; she almost fell across the bed but managed to catch her balance. They then stood for a moment or two in awkward silence, both pretending to see to their clothes, straightening and fidgeting uncomfortably. Rosedale fought to think of something, anything, to say to break the tension rapidly building in the room, but her mind was just as blank as it had been the night before.

Reichert said, "I'm pretty sure at one point you yelled at me to fuck you, repeatedly, and I remember thinking I already was."

An odd noise blurted out of Rosedale's mouth. Reichert glanced at her with a perplexed frown; she put her hands up to her face and a moment later found herself half-sobbing, half-laughing, the comment had been so unexpected. From the corner of her eye she saw him tense as if thinking that he'd said the wrong thing, then he relaxed when he must have realized it was all right.

"I think you might want to get a new coffeetable," he said as she wiped her streaming eyes, and she saw from the face he made that he wasn't entirely joking.

"Yeah, well..." Rosedale finished wiping at her eyes and couldn't think of a decent response. The truth was, she wanted almost nothing more than for him to leave, not because she was disgusted with him, but because she was disgusted with herself and needed to shower and clean the place up and sit down with a scalding cup of coffee to sort out her muddled thoughts.

"I should go," Reichert said, as if reading her thoughts; she cast him a furtive glance as he straightened himself out, ran a hand through his hair, and made another face. "I don't mean that to sound like it does..."

"No, it's okay. I kind of want you out of here too." They both left the bedroom a bit quickly, and she knew that whatever they said to each other now could in no way be misunderstood; he said what he meant, she said what she meant, and there was no subtext behind any of it. "You can use the shower first if you want," she offered.

"No, I won't hold you up. I have to get back to my place anyway and...change..." He looked himself over in mild displeasure, and she could tell he was just as disgusted with himself as she was, and felt a pang that she was the cause. "We don't have to talk about this," they both said at the same time, and though he flushed a little, Rosedale let out a breath of relief, since she didn't think she could handle all the complexities this created.

"I'll see you at the station then," she said, holding the door open as he stepped out, and he nodded. "Go figure," she couldn't help but say, and Reichert paused and turned to look back at her inquiringly. "That the best and most courteous lay I've had in ages happens to be into guys."

Reichert blinked. After the briefest pause he let out a sound like a snort, and turned away again, heading down the hallway. Rosedale's mouth twitched as she pulled back into the apartment and shut the door, heading for the bathroom.

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This item is not looking for critique. It was written solely for entertainment's sake. Although a scene from a possibly longer story, it is complete in itself and unless otherwise stated there is not going to be any more of it written. Additional unrelated SCENES may be written, but single scenes themselves are complete as they are. So please do not expect more. If you are interested in reading the series which INSPIRED the scene, just look elsewhere in my portfolio and you should find something. (Use the "story codes" given in the scene headers. For example, "MI" = "Manitou Island" series.)

I am not looking for critique on grammar, spelling, style, sentence structure, flow, or the mechanics of writing. What I AM interested in is commentary on such things as characterization, plot, symbolism, theme, etc.--the deeper aspects of the story. I like to know if a scene is believable, if the characters are interesting, what you thought of how they interacted, if the writing evoked any emotions, things such as that.

Feel free to criticize, but just keep in mind that I'm working on more important projects and shared this just for fun and/or to illustrate character interactions, so I don't plan to revise it any time soon. Comments on the characters, theme, etc. are more than welcome.

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This page last updated 11/11/09. Still under construction so may change at any time.