A/N: A series of five drabbles originally written for the drabblefix comm on LiveJournal.
In Need of Assistance
Grell is flippant when she hands him her paperwork, pages clipped neatly together, handwritten notations in perfectly even, looped cursive.
"Sentimental and wretched," she comments, before he has a chance to speak. "Deathly boring. Honestly Will, I nearly dozed."
William takes the transcribed cinematic record with a frown, flips through the first few pages, noting with surprise that it is, in fact, properly annotated according to regulation.
"I've little care for your opinion on the matter," he says, briskly adjusting his glasses. He looks at her. "And please address me properly during business hours."
She spits sarcastic titles-
"Mr. Spears."
They're alone in the filing room.
This should be his first warning.
"Will—" she clears her throat, corrects herself and continues in a mockingly austere tone—"Mr. Spears, don't you think it's time for a break?"
Her insouciance towards matters at hand is glaring, but William's used to it, after all. He sighs, rifles through folders and dog-eared, yellowed files, ledgers faded and centuries old. He doesn't want to admit that he's stalling, isn't telling her to just get out.
"Come now," Grell says. Her hand finds the small of his back. "You're tense."
A second warning, at that.
Honestly.
"Sutcliff," he growls, his irritation a direct contrast to the arousal swelling, inexplicably, in his trousers, "Please, be serious."
"I'm always serious," she responds, as her hand slides up to his shoulder blades, fingers pressing against the tense muscles there.
"A knot," she mutters. Her grin is sharp enough to cut through any unaffected pretension William desperately tries to harbor.
William's hand goes for his glasses, pushes them, shakily, back up his nose.
"We're all alone," she purrs, and her glare is positively devilish. "I've locked the door—"
"Of course you have," William says, breathless. "You licentious tart."
"And what's this?" Grell says, her hand finding the ridge of his cock through his trousers. "So unseemly, Mr. Spears."
"Your perversity is intoxicating," he says. "Sinful," and he pulls her closer. "A curse."
"Keep talking like that," she says, quietly. He sucks in a breath, and what a nice little victory, she thinks.
"So what did it today?" she asks, coquettishly. "Is it my perfume? My feminine wiles? My touch?" She strokes along his length, her touch still hotthrough layers of linen, leather gloves.
"I'm not working overtime today," he says. He tries to sound firm. "I'm leaving."
"You're going to walk around like this? And you say I'm uncouth."
Grell squeezes and William thrusts against her hand, wincing at discomfiture of discord and the shameful thrill of coming undone.
"Let me help," Grell whispers. "Darling."
William murmurs a hushed surrender through gritted teeth before he brushes his lips against Grell's open mouth, that soft heat licked wet and wanting. Grell's laugh is minacious as she undoes William's trousers, and as she sinks to her knees William encounters a particularly urgent and pertinent afterthought-
"Sutcliff-" William starts, his free hand in her hair- "Do mind your teeth."