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08 January 2007 @ 11:05 pm
Down with Dogs  
Title: "Down with Dogs" (500 words)
Author: Jimbo
Fandom: 'Miami Vice'
Pairing: Sonny Crockett and John Fujima (Colin Farrell, Ciaran Hinds)
Date: January 8, 2007
Gender Code: M/m
Activity Code: Anal, Bond, Dom
Rating: Mature
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters -- just borrowing them for the fun of it.
Summary: I've written a couple drabbles with these guys, although they seem like an unlikely pair (which is probably why I like them). I set this one not long after the events in the movie, which you don't need to have seen to follow the action.
Notes: For the dirty_fic January '07 challenge: 'guidance'

"Lie here and let yourself go."

Sonny's skin smarted from the effects of Fujima's struggle. It had taken effort to get him in the bedroom, to get him undressed, to get him on his back. But Sonny's strong arms and muscled legs were up to the task.

Outside the wind howled, another hurricane blowing in from the Gulf. Inside the Miami cop, a storm had been building for weeks.

Watching closely for signs of resistance, he said, "You look like a man who needs to come a dozen times in a row. To forget about your career and stock portfolio and the mother-fucking regulations you follow every day." Despite the tan and the immaculate haircut, the naked Fujima certainly didn't look like a man used to being in control of Miami's F.B.I. headquarters.

"Crockett, you're out of your mind," was all Fujima said between rough kisses.

"Have I lost it from being under for too long? From fucking bitches like you?" Sonny paraphrased the infuriating term Fujima had used to describe the outlaw attitude and necessary actions that sometimes led to an undercover cop losing perspective on a case.

Lying down with dogs.

Now that Trudy was out of danger and Isabella was out of the picture, now that the F.B.I. had contained their leak and Fujima had gotten the credit he didn't deserve, Sonny Crockett didn't care what happened. Sonny Burnett, his criminal alter ego, still lived, weeks after the operation had ended. Sonny Burnett still woke with a start in the middle of the night and reached under his pillow for the reassuring feel of cool gunmetal, still speeded through dark streets with music blaring on his way to the kind of clubs only open between midnight and dawn, blasting through intersections, oblivious to the occasional screeching protests from brakes or horns.

And Burnett was the one now in control, a self-appointed tour guide ready to describe the deluxe anal excursion. "Here's the experience. When you come in your ass, you let go inside. You get wet, but you're not sure if it's from blood or scum. Your muscles convulse, but you might be about to blow or about to shit." He stood up on the bed, his foot pressed against Fujima's neck as he threw off his shirt, then sat down on the large man's chest to work off his trousers. When he was finished, he leaned over Fujima, his necklaces dangling in the man's rigid face. "Tomorrow you'll worry that your sphincter might not hold after the workout it gets tonight."

Fujima didn't give any sign of either anticipation or fear.

"Will you admit what you want?" Sonny asked gruffly, one hand squeezing Fujima's arm, the other parting his legs and burrowing past his balls. "Me."

The expression in Fujima's deep-set eyes changed slowly as Sonny's words and then his finger sunk in. He finally spoke again. "I'll let you know," he said, pausing to groan, "in good time."


"After you reach six or seven."

The End