Silly Games
Summary: In which Wendy develops the irresistible urge to see how Mr. Carpenter looks in leather straps.
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, and they don't like me. Especially Joker. Whiner. I'd let Wendy tie me up any time!
"What, exactly, do you think you're doing?"
This question is addressed to the solemn-eyed little blonde creature kneeling over him, her face and voice and the feel of her skin all very familiar to him but everything else about this moment so absolutely out-of-the-blue that she seems a stranger.
Hell of a way to wake up, he thinks hazily as she leans over a little more to tug at the end of the strap wound securely around the bedpost, and the side of her breast brushes lightly and warmly against his cheek.
She stops, and then looks down at him, eyes wide and soft clear blue, expression so entirely serene that he isn't sure whether or not he should be nervous. Since when does she respond to his implied disapproval so calmly?
"Can't you tell, Sir? I thought you knew all about this."
He frowns at the gently teasing kiss she drops at his forehead.
"I can tell that you've apparently gone quite mad, if nothing else."
"I have not!" she protests, pulling back, and he feels something happen to his pulse as he gets a good look at her.
Something silky and deep red skims over the slight curves that seem nothing less than perfect just now, and brushes lightly over his legs as she climbs off of him and off of the bed.
"Well, don't leave now," he calls to her, exasperated and faintly worried, tugging futilely at the straps around his wrists, promising himself the rare pleasure of giving her some bright red marks over those pretty, satinsmooth back and shoulders to match her nightgown.
She pulls the window open and lets the curtains fall back into place, and then casts a demure glance over her shoulder. That smile again. This time, his first instinct has nothing to do with her shoulders and back.
"Don't worry," she says lightly. "I'm not going anywhere."
He nods slowly and thoughtfully, uncomfortably aware that he probably looks more than a little silly.
"Ah. While you're here anyway, perhaps you can explain why, exactly, it was necessary to tie me down?"
"Because I didn't want you to be able to get away too soon," she replies, eyes wide and serious. "I have a lot of plans."
He makes a noise of irritation as she starts back towards the bed, that flimsy red thing she's wearing brushing over her knees. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he is glad that the silly thing isn't any shorter – the narrow straps barely holding it up, and the swell of her breasts beneath the thin fabric makes it frivolous enough. Enticing, he might say if he wasn't a wee bit too angry to be enticed.
Any shorter, and the thing would be simply garish. As though red wasn't bad enough.
Red has always been awful on her; she should know that.
"I see," he says after studying her carefully as she sits at the edge of the bed next to him. "And now may I ask why exactly you felt it necessary to abscond with my clothes?"
This earns an impish little smile, and for one absurd second, he could swear that her laugh was a giggle.
"That was just for fun," she informs him before leaning over him and dropping a trail of light kisses over his shoulder. Then she pulls back again, and he holds back a disappointed groan. "I meant to leave them on until you were awake, but I just couldn't wait."
He nearly laughs at her expression, shy and a little embarrassed but eyes still dancing with mischief.
"You couldn't have just woken me up and said you wanted a bit of amusement, could you?" he grumbles.
Her smile becomes a grin.
"I'll remember that for next time."
He takes a long moment to enjoy the idea of her sliding those slim, capable little hands of hers down his chest and underneath the waistband of his boxers to wrap tightly around his length while she whispers against his ear exactly how she wants him to touch her.
"Or you could just stop behaving like a brat and untie me now," he suggests. He can't remember the last time that he's put so much effort into making his words sound like an order, but it's certainly better than sounding like a little boy asking hopefully for a new toy or something sweet.
She swings one leg over his and sits back against his waist in a sharp movement that brings that firm, round bottom of hers into sudden, delicious contact with his arousal, growing rapidly more apparent.
"There's another reason, too, actually," she admits, looking away as he struggles to pay any attention at all to what she's saying instead of entertaining himself with the idea of turning her pretty little backside a bright warm pink with a ruler. "Your mind always seems to be somewhere else." He smirks. Bright girl. "I always wonder if I'm only a rather nice distraction. Sort of entertaining, a nice amusement, you know, but nothing warranting a lot of attention."
"I would hardly call you a mere distraction, my dear," he assures her soothingly. "Although, I must admit that some of the sounds you make are very entertaining."
"You're still not paying attention," she huffs, annoyed, squirming a little bit against him, just to be mean.
He quirks an eyebrow up at her.
"Quite the contrary. This was an excellent way to go about capturing my full attention. Of course," he continues, voice dropping in volume and pitch until it is barely a low murmur that she has to lean closer to hear, "it was also an excellent way to go about earning yourself a very special punishment sometime soon."
These words draw from her a low noise somewhere between a sigh and a purr, and as she shifts against him, cradling his length against her folds, he is almost certain he can feel her grow wetter.
"I thought you were having fun," she murmurs breathelssly against his cheek, moving slowly against him.
"Don't tease," he orders, voice slightly strained as she rocks back and forth slightly, savouring the feel of him hot and hard against her thigh.
"Where's the fun in that?" she asks, breathing noticeably quicker, nevertheless lifting off of him slightly and guiding him into her.
His sigh, somewhere near relief, is cut short when she stops and lifts off of him again, red silky fabric still pooling around them because she's somehow forgotten to take off that silly nightgown. She returns his glare with an angelic, slightly unsteady smile as she establishes a rhythm of short, shallow strokes, not taking him deeply enough inside her to do more than torture both of them.
"God help you if these straps come loose," he mutters, teeth gritted, a faint sheen of sweat glistening in the low light of the room as he tries, futilely, to thrust more deeply into her.
"What would you do?" she asks, voice barely more than a whisper as she leans down to run her tongue lightly over the side of his neck.
"Mmm. I assume you mean, after I had that ridiculous little red scrap on the floor, and you securely tied. Very securely. I like hearing you stammer through an explanation of where those red marks at your wrists came from. Although," he adds with a soft laugh, "not nearly as much as I like the little sounds you make when I pull the straps tight enough to hurt.
She chokes slightly on a moan as his words and his smile, promising and threatening in equal parts and utterly wicked in both, sends a bolt of heat through her, to where they're just barely joined. He raises one eyebrow in feigned curiosity as her thighs began to tremble slightly against his and she buries her face in his neck.
"Hmm. Something struck you the right way, did it?" he asked with deceptive gentleness, his mouth brushing her ear. "Would you like to hear what I would do with you after I had you bound and helpless?"
She pulls back and nods, cheeks flushed and eyes dark and stormy and so unlike their customary clear, warm summer sky blue.
"Yes, please, Mr. Carpenter."
"It would be difficult to decide. There are so many places to start. So many especially sensitive places that draw those noises from your pretty little mouth. Do you know, those little cries and whimpers always sound as though you're begging, even when I haven't given you permission to speak."
Her squeak of outrage doesn't sound exactly like begging, but he isn't worried; the frantic annoyance in her face only makes this gradual chipping away of her control more fun.
Who says that a sure victory wasn't as satisfying as a genuine struggle? Clearly, someone who has never had the pleasure of this stubborn, maddening little female squirming in his lap, trembling and drenched with need, clinging desperately to self control.
"I think, though, that as fetching as it is, I would have gotten rid of that–" He nods to indicate the scrap of red silk, straps sliding down her shoulder until one pert, duskyrosy nipple peeks out from the low, loose neckline. "–long ago. Take it off."
Obediently, eagerly, she pushes off of him until she is sitting up and reaches for the hem, and with a whisper of silk on silken skin, is exposed to his gaze. Fascinated, his eyes rake up and down her body, lingering on where he is just barely inside her, on the light dusting of fair curls glistening with her arousal. He can almost sense her cheeks flushing brightly, although her expression remains composed as his eyes sweep upwards and fix on her breasts, rising and falling slightly with each breath.
"Better," he comments approvingly. "Although, I would prefer to see you wearing the straps and nothing else. And after tonight's little performance, I think I might forego such nice, soft leather, and use rope instead. After all," he adds on a low chuckle, "you've hardly earned any particular gentleness."
She cringes at the memory of the last time she made him angry enough for that. It's not hard to remember. He doesn't do it often – doesn't like the raw, angry rope burns making her yelp at the lightest touch any more than she does. Accepting that pretty dark-haired technician, Maura's softly purred invitation out for a drink had seemed like a good idea at the time, after a couple weeks of being completely ignored inside of work and out, but the resulting weeks in gauze and ointment had quickly rid her of the notion that she was in any way unattached.
"And now, you'll have to use your imagination a little. After all," he continues, glaring sharply up at her, "there isn't much I can do like this, is there?"
A giggle catches in her throat as his eyes catch and hold hers.
"Why don't you show me what you think I would do?"
Less eagerly, but still obediently, she brings one hand up to her breast, circling the sensitive bead of flesh lightly before squeezing it firmly between her thumb and forefinger.
"Harder, I think," he says with an expression of deep consideration, and as she increases the pressure, he can feel a shudder pass through her.
She bites her lip to hold back a noise, whether of pain or pleasure he isn't sure and suspects that she isn't either.
"Hurts a little, does it?" he asks softly, eyes never leaving her face.
She nods, features strained.
"I think I would make it hurt more. And while I squeezed and twisted one until it was aching and bruised, I would taste and caress the other one. See how close I could bring you without touching you anywhere else."
He is about to continue, but his words melt into a startled groan as she pushes back against him and envelops him in her soft, slick heat with one sudden motion.
"Do you have any idea how entirely cruel that was?" she asks in a voice that would be accusing had she been able to concentrate on anything other than the exquisite sensation as she thrust back down onto him again, hard and fast.
"Every idea, my dear," he says between gasps for breath as his body moves beneath hers, trying to match her strokes. But he knows he can be far crueller. She'll find out.
As he drives deeply into her again, she kisses him fiercely, and he is dimly aware of her eyes squeezing shut as the movement of her body against his becomes faster and less rhythmic, her breasts crushed tightly against his chest and one tangled in his hair and the other gripping his shoulder. His arms are beginning to ache, and he's fairly certain that he'll be bruised around the wrists for days. He'll have quite a time coming up with a plausible explanation that she hasn't already used.
But all of this ceases, very quickly, to matter as she clenches tightly around him, and her almost desperate moan hums against his mouth as her spasms, hot and wet, push him over the edge, and the rest of the world that isn't soft, sweat-streaked skin pressed against him or sweetly scented blonde hair brushing against his cheek ceases to matter.
After a long moment, she raises her head and smiles slightly at him.
"That wasn't so horrible, was it? Even if I had to improvise a little because someone couldn't bear to let anyone else be in charge for a minute..."
He laughs softly.
"Not at all, my dear. Although, I do hope you got around to all of your 'plans', because I can promise you, you won't have another chance. At least," he mutters with as stern a frown as the indignity of his current position will permit as, without untying him, she snuggles closer against his shoulder and smiles cheekily at him, "if you've any idea what's good for you."
End Notes: Whee, rewrite time! I think it's a lot better now. Tried to get rid of the worst of the Epic Run-On Sentences of Doooooooom, and the most awkward bits of phrasing. I think it's better now. Although, I must apologize that I absolutely couldn't resist a little hint of girl-girl flirting. What can I say? Getting with a nice girl did Nancy a world of good along the "turning not-evil" lines; I kind of wish they'd tried the same approach with Wendy.