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Pairing is Robert Goren + Original Character (Law & Order: Criminal Intent) for the THIGH RIDING square of ThatEsqCrush's Kinktober Bingo.

Rating: NC-17

Spoilers: Endgame, Untethered

Trigger/Content Warnings: Vague reference to choking, bar/strip club environment, vague reference to mental health, alcohol, frottage, thigh riding

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Approximation

By the time Bobby stopped searching the sea of faces on the sidewalks, even the rise of the pavement meeting his feet felt as slanted as his worldview. Donny wasn't there, of course - finding him was just another item on a long list of things that Bobby seemed to have been failing at for the past year.

Or perhaps for his entire life. He was no longer sure how much he gave a damn, either way.

When his feet stopped moving, though, he heard Frank's voice again - proof that there was at least one thing he still gave a damn about:

"Just take Eames to a motel and get it out of your system!"

Frank had no idea how close he had come to death; Bobby had actually felt the bones of his brother's neck snapping like dry kindling crying out for flame. Most everything else that Frank ever garbled out was just noise, just so much static that never hit home because they were brothers by blood but hardly knew each other at all.

But somehow . . . somehow Frank had known about Eames, as soon as he'd laid eyes on her down a busy street. He had known, and Bobby was angry and frightened at being recognized, being seen by his brother that way. It was as if Frank had reached inside his head and pulled out the exact words that Bobby would mutter to his own self sometimes. When he caught himself gazing at his partner too long, or sitting at home on a Saturday night with his hand creeping past the waistband of his pyjamas.

Just get it out of your system.

The idea only worked, however, if he believed it was just about sex. Bobby wasn't sure there was a big enough fool in all of New York to believe that one.

He stopped walking, vaguely aware of the crowd now parting and flowing around the obstacle he had become. The lights hurt his eyes, still bothering him since Tates (among many other things), as he tried to identify just where he was.

Instead of familiar landmarks, what loomed out at him was a garishly lit sign for some kind of strip club, and suddenly Bobby Goren was dying for a drink. Bobby was parched, as a matter of fact. So he followed the sign inside, just another doomed phototactic creature in the Summer night.

The music in the club was muted, a mid-range warble just loud enough to discourage real conversation, and a couple girls were dancing on a small stage while most were smiling politely in booths with the clientele. Bobby didn't really register any of them yet, too fixed on bellying up to the bar. He ordered three shots of expensive Scotch and knocked them back in succession before sliding a platinum credit card to the bar tender. Nodding his head in the direction of an empty booth, he told the man to keep drinks coming, then went to take a seat.

Bobby'd hardly been seated long enough to contemplate his drink when the first woman approached him. She was tall, with long black hair and high breasts. He greeted her politely, even managed a fascimile of a smile, but she drifted away quickly when he didn't ask her to take a seat. A redhead followed behind, then a Black woman with a long, swinging braid, and the scene replayed itself twice more.

"I suppose you're going to send me away, too, huh Lurch?"

Bobby startled at the sound of the voice - nearly convinced it was his partner, it was so similar. It wasn't Alexandra, however the woman who stood across the table was also petite, with blonde-leading-on brunette hair and a smile like Eames': cute yet somehow stern.

"Lurch?" he echoed.

"Because you're so tall," she chuckled.

"What's your name?" Bobby asked, sure that it would be Alex in some cruel twist of Fate.

"Kelli." He gestured at the free space alongside him in the booth, and she took her time sliding into it. "Unless, of course, your wife's name is the same."

Draining his rum and coke, he signalled for another. "I'm not married," he said simply.

"Really? You look miserable enough for it," Kelli responded, and her eyes lit up when it got a breathless chuff of laughter out of him.

"Would you like a drink?"

Bobby wasn't the least bit surprised when she ordered a Bourbon.

"So. Want to tell me why the long face?" she prodded.

Bobby took his time before answering with, "I lost someone."

"Girlfriend?"

He shook his head.

"Wow," Kelli exhaled over her Bourbon, "for a guy with no wife and no girlfriend, you look real bad off. Must have been some loss."

"It was . . . someone I could have saved."

She regarded him with her hazel eyes that were so like Alexandra's. "I don't believe that. If people are gonna fuck up, then they fuck up. If they're gonna come around eventually, then they do. Everything else is just time."

Bobby didn't want to believe that, either, but he admired the simplicity.

"Is that what you do for a living?"

"What's that?"

"Try to save people. A doctor?" she guessed.

"No."

"Shrink?"

"God, no," he chuckled.

"Good, 'cause you might need one yourself," she teased, and bumped his shoulder with her own.

He liked her laugh, but would never tell her. "I'm a police Detective."

She eyed him for a long moment, sizing him up with more interest. "You come lookin' to check the permits or somethin'? Jerry runs a clean place. Take my word for it."

Goren finished another drink. "I don't give a fuck about the permits. Or Jerry," he sniffed, ordering more liquor.

"I believe it." They sat in silence for a few minutes, nursing their drinks. "So what do you want?" she tried. "It's obviously not small talk, and if y'wanted a lap dance, you'd have sat closer to the stage. What's the secret?"

Not that long ago, he had been strapped to a table in a prison, eyeball-deep in his own raving madness, practically crying for a mother he no longer had. And this woman wanted to know why he didn't look like a man who wanted a lap dance. Bobby swallowed his drink and relished the burn of the liquor while he searched for an answer.

What did he want? He wanted Donny back. He wanted his mother. He wanted his partner to be proud of him, to not have to put up with the pitying looks the rest of One-PP gave her when they thought he wasn't paying attention. More than all of that, in that moment in that muted shitty strip bar, Bobby wanted to be a man who looked like he wanted . . . something.

Downing his drink, Bobby screwed his eyes shut and let out a sigh that was also half a groan. "C'mere." His big hands reached for her without waiting for a response. He knew she'd let him.

The petite woman fit in his lap with room to spare. She remained silent, merely curious where it was heading. When Goren parted his knees, Kelli instinctually settled her thighs over his leg. God, he was big. The flex of his leg muscle alone sent a rush of goosebumps through her. With his hands still heavy on her hips, he fixed his gaze at her waist and gently encouraged her to rock.

Bobby shut his eyes again, focusing on his sense of touch as the club drifted away. He could feel the clench and release of her leg muscles, the thin outlined ridge of the pair of short shorts she had on, and before long the insistent jut of her hard clit.

He wanted to get it out of his system.

He let out another soft, sighing groan which spurred Kelli to grind harder against him. She was soaking her shorts, and soon it was another sensation he acknowledged. Fingers fluttered curiously over where he'd grown hard inside his pants.

"Tell me your name,' Kelli murmured near his ear, still chasing her pleasure while his femoris muscle battered her clit.

"Robert."

She cupped him, stroking him as best she could through the unforgiving material of his pants, allowing herself for just a moment to imagine what it would be like to let the hulk of a cop fuck her with what she assumed was a proportionately hulking cock. It drew a muffled whimper from her, which in turn made his cock twitch.

It was just another Tuesday night, and Kelli was about to come on this guy's leg. She smirked and leaned in to his ear again.

"Tell me her name," she breathed.

He responded 'Whose?" But he knew.

"The woman you're picturing dripping all over your thigh," she chuckled. "It's ok, I'll let you call me that - whatever it is."

She increased pressure against where her hand was still keeping his interest up. Bobby was hard, a little drunk, exhausted; his eyes rolled in pleasure and sensory overload.

"Alex," he confessed. He licked his lips. "Alexandra."

She matched the rhythm of her rocking to the stroke of her hand over his bulge. "Alexandra," she echoed, and her voice, so like his partner's, was what did him in.

The smug satisfaction in feeling him stiffen and grunt beneath her got Kelli off, trembling on his thigh as she left the evidence on his pants. She gave him a few minutes before she backed off of his lap, still smiling personably. There was a swig left of Bobby's drink and she slaked her dry throat with it.

"Come back any time, Robert," she said quietly. A moment later and she was on her feet, walking toward the back of the room where the club dissolved into dressing rooms and bathroom stalls.

Bobby looked around a bit sheepishly, wondering if others had been watching, but found the room still just a dim getaway full of people looking to escape themselves. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he decided he would get his credit card back from the bartender and go home.

Maybe he would call Alex when he got there.

END

#approximation

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