By Missy

TITLE: Desirous
PARTS: One of Several
RATING: NC-17 (lang; sexual content: M/F, oral, mast, pet, Anatomical and act reference);
DISTRIBUTION: To Impure Thoughts and Kai only; Lauren, if you want this, you may have it, and I'm pretty sure FG doesn't want it *chuckles*; any other archives are welcome to ask, but disclaimers must be included, my email left intact. send a URL, and provide full disclaimers as well as credit me fully. Please inform me if you are going to submit my work to any sort of search engine. Please do not submit my work to a search engine that picks out random sets of words and uses them as key words, such as "Google"
Please contact me in order for this story to be placed on an archive, or if you want know of a friend who would enjoy my works, please email me their address and I will mail them the stories, expressly for the purpose of link trading. MiSTiers are welcomed! Please do inform me that you'd like to do the MiSTing, however, and send me a copy of the finished product. I'd also love to archive any MiSTings that are made of my work!

Cannon: Post LC (Isn't everything?)
SPOILLER/SUMMARY: Laverne decides to spend a week making up for lost time with Lenny...and making up with him by giving him just what he wants for seven days and seven nights.

NOTES: Diane suggested this to me; it's her fault!


It had been a long day.

A VERY long day.

He was exhausted. He had seen every single part of Northern Wisconsin trying to deliver this one batch of beer to some unknown-to-the-rest of the world pool hall. Squiggy was stuck hosing down the other trucks. Driving usually cleared up his mind, but today he couldn't stop thinking of her for a moment.

Laverne should've just saved time and taken up residence in his head. It would make things easier for the both of them.

He stopped cold at a tiny, hand-written note stapled to Jeffrey's back.

He should have been angry over the abuse of his friend; he stroked the lizard's back comfortingly as he read:

Meet me downstairs.


He crumpled the note viciously; just another chance for her to jerk him around. He knew that he shouldn't even bother to follow her directions, but he did.

She wasn't in the girl's apartment; that was empty. The only other option was the laundry room. And there was another note pinned to the door.


I've been thinking about everything...I'm real sorry for the way I hurt you. Real sorry. And maybe you were right...I think maybe I do wanna be with you.

So what do you think: for the next seven days; Shirley's gonna be out of town. Let me make it up to you.

If you want me to show you how sorry I am, open the door.


He paused at the door; it was risky. Very risky.

He slipped inside silently.

The room was dark. Pitch black. He opened his mouth to call out for her, and then he felt hands, resting upon his shoulders.

They were hers without asking.

He felt her unbuttoning his jumpsuit; frozen in shock, he did nothing, said nothing. Her lips met with his neck, his throat, and his chin. She couldn't reach his mouth without his bending, and Lenny remained too stunned to move.

Somehow, it was more arousing, because he didn't know where her touch was coming from. He heard his belt hiss loose from its moorings and hit the floor with a slapping sound. The jumpsuit came loose and it, too, hit the floor. Her hands caressed his chest through the tee-shirt; then she tugged at it impatiently; it hit the pile covering the floor, as well.

She kissed his chest, licked through the hair sprinkled over it. He wanted to see her DOING all of these things, but the dimness of the room prevented this. His fingers tangled in her hair, trying to hold her.

Her breath whispered across his left nipple; never in his life had that portion of his anatomy seemed so sensitive. It erected and she enclosed the tip within her mouth.

He jumped involuntarily, then moaned loudly. She took her mouth away.

"Shhhs." She whispered. He stuffed his fist into his mouth, muffling all noise. He realized that Shirley could come back early from wherever she had gone and hear them (seven days notwithstanding; he felt that paranoid); worse yet, someone might want to do their laundry...

She kissed his other nipple; suddenly, time seemed of the essence. He sensed her frustration; he wondered why she had picked such a public place for a quickie, then realized that the spicy idea probably tempted her as much as it did him. He didn't want to think, and made an effort not to after that.

Her mouth went to his belly, then he heard more material shifting. Two of her fingers had hooked onto the waistband of his boxer shorts; a sudden rush of cold air followed by another hissing noise told him that she had successfully rid them of the last barrier separating their bodies. She kissed his hips, closed mouth, then opened; she was almost sucking on his hipbone, and somehow this was erotic to him. Something silken brushed his erection, and he groaned into his fist.

Her fingertips brushed across him; teasingly, playfully. She was killing him; she wanted him to die. That would be her revenge.

"Cute," he heard her mumble. Her fingers stroked him gently, not quite gripping him. Her breath was hot upon the exposed tip. One hand traced up his torso, the other steadied her approach. He heard a spitting noise, and her touch felt slick as she encased his erection with her right hand.

He was rampant; half of him hanging in the open air as she stroked what the span of her fist could contain. She kissed his hips, then his thigh; the hand slipped downward, down, through the hair upon his thigh. Her hands left him abruptly, and he pulsed in the air, free of her touch and incredibly needy.

He whispered her name. Suddenly, he was enveloped in something warm, wet, down to the very base of his erection. He shouted into his fist.

She gagged.

His hands flew downward, cupping the back of her head. He felt her muscles work to expel him from her throat; the disturbance lasted for a second, maybe two.

"OK?" He panted, stroking her ears, not wanting her to be hurt.

She said something around the very root of him, but he couldn't make it out. From the way she ran her tongue over the underside of his erection as she pulled him free of her mouth, it wasn't a denial.

"La-verne." He groaned. She stroked his thigh.

Her tongue encircled the smooth tip of his erection; playfully. She took him down more slowly this time, his hands tightened in her hair. Her left hand had a death grip on his thigh. He heard fabric rustling in the distance, could detect the scent of her arousal in the air. He couldn't tell what she was doing, but whatever it was made her more enthusiastic. She pulled him from her mouth once more, licking him, lapping him like an ice cream cone, making almost-obscene slurping noises and she nursed upon what he offered her. He was so hard that she didn't need to support him with her hand, and they both knew that he wouldn't be able to last for more than a few more minutes.

Her mouth closed in on him savagely, she rapidly consumed him, then left off, consumed and left off in a maddening cycle. He wanted to bury himself inside of her completely.

He felt himself drawing closer to the precipice and clutched her head in anticipation, fingers tangled in her hair. The hand clutching his thigh tightened its grip as he thrust into her mouth, then out of it, over and over. She submitted to his will for the first time in her life, and he was so far beyond control that he didn't even recognize it.

Her scent grew stronger, and he thrust into her mouth strongly, but she didn't protest; in fact, she enthusiastically lunged within his gentle grip, taking him rapidly into her mouth.

He heard her gasp around him, and that tiny vibration sent him over the edge. Head thrust backward; in concert her hand slipped from his thigh to his buttocks and he clutched her head to him as he exploded within her mouth.

Her name tripped over his tongue without shame, in moans that came from the deepest part of his chest.

Life couldn't possibly get better than this; nothing could. He heard a gulping noises (two; it had felt like gallons of him pumping into her mouth, and he felt guilty for a moment) as her body jerked against his thighs, shuddering twice before falling into a gasping silence.

She slowly slipped his cock from her mouth.

He almost fell over as their contact broke; a thump told him that Laverne hadn't been so lucky. "Vernie?" He panted. When she didn't respond, he hopped over to the light and flicked them on.

There she was; leaning against the drier, her lips swollen and her eyes dazed by spent passion. His eyes widened as they tracked lower...over her swollen but sweater-encased her rucked up skirt. Moisture glittered in the harsh light, a light trace of fluid upon her thighs and on the tips of her fingers. Only upon later reflection would he realize that she wasn't wearing any panties. And he knew, through many years of careful study, that Laverne had always worn panties. Always.

He grinned at her lasciviously.

She licked her lips and smiled back, "Yum." She took a few deep, steadying breaths before guiltily slipping her right hand from between her thighs. She tugged down her skirt and gingerly climbed to her feet. They were both unsteady as he righted his clothing and she tried to smooth her rumpled hair.

"How'd I do?" Her voice sounded husky.

"Real, REAL good." He kissed her brow tenderly, "Did I hurt you?"

She sighed, "Nope. And if you had, it woulda been my fault. I kinda got you excited..."

He giggled, "You can do that any day, Vernie."

She smiled. "How does tomorrow sound?" He looked as though she had given him the universe on a silver platter. "I did promise you seven days, Len."

"Oh! Right!" He kissed her lips, "Thank ya for that."

"You're welcome." He walked her across the hall to her apartment. "Vernie?"

"Yeah?" He pressed her against the door, kissing her deeply, soundly. He whispered his parting words, "No underwear tomorrow, neither, OK?"

And he left her in the hallway, breathless and nodding feverently.

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