A/N: I wrote this years ago and posted it on Illusive, along with 'Kismet' which some people might remember, I'm working on that one again and hope to updated it over there and post it here.
Big Bad Wolf
They are the men that your mother warns you about. All mothers warn their daughters about them. The type of men that smile and your insides melt. The type of men that charm your grandmother with polite conversation, while under the table, they have a hand up your dress. You still blush when you think about that Friday night dinner, all the while allowing yourself a smile. They are a damn bad influence to boot.
Big. Bad. Wolf.
With big eyes, the better to see you with. With big hands, the better to touch you with. With big teeth, that you just pray means he'll eat you up. You'll even provide the spoon.
Big bad wolf; charming, bright, dangerous and wicked. Always looking for the next Little Red Riding Hood to fall to their prey. Only this time, a hunter won't come to their rescue. Not that these Little Red Riding Hoods want to be rescued. At least not from this type of wolf.
You sit at your desk, people around you buzzing. Doyle is in a frenzy about yet another deadline everyone knows will be met. He's just once again proving how anal retentive he is, and if you were a psych major, he would be your first study case. Well, after yourself, because you know the moment you start applying fairytales to real people, real life, and still make sense to yourself, it's time to get acquainted with the couch. You stare at your screen, your fingers flying across the keyboard, and it takes all you have in you not to look up and over to where he's sitting, not even bothering to hide the fact that he's checking you out, studying you the way he does, something that always gives him the upper hand when it comes to you.
You feel his eyes on your face; you know if you look up, he'll be smirking your way because he got to you and he loves it. He loves that you have no control over yourself when it comes to him. Even knowing this, even being annoyed at yourself for giving in, and annoyed at him for his power and his smugness, you still can't help it and you look up. There it is, that smile of his, laced with triumph, those brown eyes filled with amusement, satisfaction, and lust.
Always lust.
That's your power. You know he lusts after you. It a small victory, seeing as you lust after him too, but you'll take your winnings, however small they are. You study him yourself, even though he's much harder to read than you'll ever be. He's had his whole life to perfect that poker face of his; you're just a novice.
He's beautiful. It's shallow, but he is, and you know it's one of the reasons you want him. The others are his eyes and his mouth. His eyes are filled with intelligence and wit. His mouth, when not on you, which to be honest, you also happen to like maybe a little too much, is going off with random facts that amuse you. He's cool and collected, but when comfortable with the person, his rambles rival yours or your mother's. You've stared too long, you know by the laugh lines forming around his mouth, a clear sign that he's trying hard not to laugh out loud.
He tilts his head to the side, gesturing to the small copy room. He stands, giving you a challenging look and makes his way to the room, closing the door behind him. You ignore the looks the rest of the staff gives you. They know what's going on with the two of you, they all smirk…well, all but Doyle who's scowling. He won't do anything about it, but he's scowling; when is he not. You get up, not even questioning your actions. You open the door and lock it behind you. He has you backed against said door in seconds, kissing you, that victorious smile playing on his lips once more, and all you want to do is smack him for being…well, him. Instead, you kiss him back, your hand cupping him through his slacks, squeezing him just the way he likes it, just the way you like it because when you do, he groans and whispers your name in a way that sounds close to worship.
He pulls back and your hand drops. He raises a finger to his teasing lips and shushes you. He drops to his knees, raises your skirt, kissing you through your underwear. Your breathing is already shallow and every one of his moves are playful. Meant to drive you crazy with need, which it does, just the way he likes it. You don't even realize when he takes your underwear off. You don't even care about the people outside when his tongue snakes out and touches you. All you do is try to stay standing, try to stay quiet and enjoy the way he touches, the way his tongue licks you, the way his mouth sucks on you, the way his fingers feel as they come in and out of you. You just concentrate on the heat building inside you, the sound he makes against your swollen flesh that makes you twitch as it vibrates through you. You come hard, spots dancing before you and you sigh softly. He rises off his knees and brings one of his fingers to your lips. Your tongue darts out to taste yourself on him, knowing it will get a reaction out of him. His eyes cloud over as he watches you and you raise your head just in time for him to crush his lips over yours.
As he wraps his arms around you, you think back to your fairytale.
Big. Bad. Wolf.
The words work for Logan Huntzberger; you just wonder when you became Little Red Riding Hood. He breaks the kiss and whispers in your ear that you drive him crazy. You smile. You smile that same smug, victorious smile that he always wears. You drive him crazy. He's the Big Bad Wolf, but you're the Little Red Riding Hood who tamed him.