DISCLAIMER: I do not own Breakout Kings.
Warning: it's a bit smutty. Or something like that. And maybe a bit OOC, but I can't tell.
Here she was, sitting at her desk. Every one of the "Breakout Kings" (she still didn't understand that team name, but she went along with it) was gone—except the one psychologist. She didn't understand why she was attracted to him—maybe he was different than those academy boys; maybe the idea of him trying to better her rather than playing around the idea of being an anxious woman all the time was good for her.
He was just in the other room, somewhere else. But she was lonely, and she couldn't keep her mind off of him. In her dreams, there he was, in the real world, right by her side. There were no cell bars keeping them off each other—all they had was a house they called their own, a family that would be made by sweet emotions going off each other, and a life together. Together, she thought.
It hadn't happened, only their first kiss—and that was a bit of an accident—and other kisses after that. But how she wanted him, then and there. She closed her eyes and counted backwards from ten; her high boots rode against her legs and her heels clicked against the hard ground below. She could do this.
She had never seen this side of her before—but sitting inside of a bubble her entire life had made her frustrated. She wanted out; she wanted more. She opened her eyes and picked up the phone on the desk. She dialed his cell number and heard the tone.
After the first one, her heart started racing.
After the second one, she wasn't sure if she was doing the right thing.
When the third one came, he answered.
"Julianne?" his voice—how she missed it. She wished he could figure out case files with her in the room sometimes, but she understood.
"Could…could I come and…possibly be with you? You know, just in the room?" Her voice was wavering.
"Is everything okay?" Breathe, Julianne, breathe.
"Y-Yes! Everything is fine! Are you in the interrogation room?"
"Yes, the only other room besides the coffee room, which wouldn't be much of a room to study in for an intellect like myself to study this guy." She moved her legs; she was getting anxious and impatient.
She hung up the phone and quickly stood at her desk. She ripped off her scarf and began to walk.
0o0
Lloyd heard the click on the other end and quickly placed the phone on the metal top of the table. She could've just of easily walked into the room and he wouldn't have cared; she knew he was in love with her, and vice versa. He picked up the case file and scanned the information before him.
When their first kiss had happened, it was sort of a rush for him. How he managed to not ravage her in that coffee room before was an abomination, but he saw how she was handling the situation, and in front of others—there was no way she would've made it out of the office alive.
He heard the click of the door; it seemed she wasted no time. He casually rose from the table, his eyes still on the file, and started to speak to her. "Look at this, Julianne, this guy is truly a sociopath, both inside and out. It's amazing how he survived," he looked up from the file and muttered the last word, "childhood."
There she was, standing in tight fitting jeans, with those long—long black boots and with a top that flattered her body so well. Her hair was still in a bun, but he could imagine what those brown locks would look like if they were covering those pale, smooth shoulders of hers. He imagined this day—he hoped he wasn't dreaming.
He cleared his throat. "A-As I was saying, this guy…" Julianne interrupted him by closing the door and shutting the blinds. She stared at the strings in her hands and he stared at her. God, if only she weren't a paranoid woman struggling with anxiety—
"Lloyd," she whispered; he stood there, watching. Her hand clenched the strings and she closed her eyes. "About our first kiss we had," her head turned to him; he froze. Was he in trouble? Had he done something wrong? Frankly, he enjoyed the kiss as much as any man could. She slowly inched her way over to him. God, the clicking heels drove him crazy, almost wanting to rush over to her and take her right there.
And when she was right next to him, she looked at him with fire in her eyes. He could tell.
0o0
Her hand gently touched the hand that had the case file; he instantly let go of it to feel her fingers slide over his skin. It excited him. He wanted to leap out of his skin and take her, have her back against the wall, against the table, against the floor, for God's sake, and just ravage every part of her.
Her fingers tickled his skin, and he wanted to hold that hand for eternity. "Have you thought about it since then?" He didn't know how to answer that question. Was he in trouble? Was there a wrong answer? Had there ever been a wrong answer? "Because it's been on my mind, Lloyd, and…" her fingers started to slowly go from his palm up his arm; her eyes followed her fingers, and his did the same.
He could feel the heat between their bodies grow; was this right? Could this finally—he was dreaming about this moment for so long after all (they had been partners for the past two years, were they ready?) and his fantasy was about to be fulfilled. When her hand reached his shoulder, her head was tilted and she looked into his eyes.
He certainly was ready.
His head inched a little bit back, but he tilted his head with hers. "Don't you dream about it?" she whispered.
"Night and day," he whispered back. Then, her lips tickled against his, wanting him to search every part of her mouth with his tongue. But before he could advance, she pulled away as quickly as she made contact and she bent her head down to look at his chest; the other hand played with his shirt.
It was a tense silence, but soon broken.
0o0
They were on the end of the table. He was resting his body on the edge, she was against his body by sheer will. He was gripping the corner of the table now, with the case file dangerously trickling over the side. She closed her eyes; she started to count backwards from ten. She could feel his breathing on the top of her head (she was a little taller with the boots, but not that much) and hear nothing but their hearts. She gripped the cloth of his shirt and pushed him.
A loud thud hit the walls and echoed through the silence. He was now on his back, she standing in front of his body. Her hands were off of him now, his hand still gripping the edge of the table. His knuckles, god, they must've been white by then. He was not expecting the action he was getting that day, he was sure of that. He heard a chair being slid across the floor (she wasn't able to climb onto the table with him taking up most of it) and heard her heels click against that metal. Soon, her knees were sliding on the top and her hands sliding against his legs.
He twitched. He read about pleasure in the books, read how a woman could do so many things to a man's body and create so many endorphins. But he never felt it, never truly knew what it did to the body. And he was loving every moment of it. He was finding it hard to breathe, especially when her hands made it dangerously close to his, well, area. Her hands made it to his shirt and rested them there.
She was blushing; she never knew she had it in her before, but there she was, sitting on top of the man that plagued her dreams and wanting more. "Julianne," he breathed out, "where is this coming from?" He had never seen this side of her before; he never knew this was in her! He would've fallen in love with her right from the start!
She looked in his eyes. "I don't know," she whispered, "but it's helping me, and you, right?"
If this was helping her, god, he wished to help her every day from that moment on. "Right," he whispered back.
0o0
When she rested against his lap, his head made a loud thud. He closed his eyes; it felt fantastic. The breath escaped his lips. She slid against his chest more and leaned down to his face, sneaking a kiss in. He didn't move his head up this time, wanting everything he could get; he just let their tongues move in rhythm.
She moved her lower body again, shifting her weight from left to right, almost—he couldn't think. He could only feel whatever they were creating at the moment, just an intense pleasure with immense electricity fueling their passion. She didn't care if someone were to walk in on their session—they were four hours away, for all they knew, so she didn't expect them back until sundown. She didn't care if he were a convict; no, she wanted to feel everything and more.
She pulled away. He opened his eyes. They were both out of breath, but both staring longingly at the other. "I'm sorry," she apologized. A flicker in his eyes meant he didn't understand. "I must be really bad at this." When she started to lean away, he leaned forward, resting her body on his lap (he knew it was a dangerous place to begin with). Her head rested against his forehead.
He held her in place with his hand; the other hand still gripped the table. "Then let me help you," he'd try his best, with everything he'd learn from books and stories.
She was nervous, he could tell. But she closed her eyes. "Okay," she whispered. The other hand left the table.
0o0
Against the wall, there they were. Their tongues were together again, both reaching out for the other. He was holding her body against the wall with his hands; she was holding onto his neck with her arms, along with her legs wrapped around his waist. She would shift, he would moan; he would rub her back, she would moan. It was a give-and-take situation.
Suddenly, he let a hand trickle up her side; she tried to follow, but it was hard to focus. She took note, though, of how strong he was for holding her up with only one arm and hand. The hand on her side reached under her arm; she felt him rubbing against her skin. She shifted her head in delight and rested it against his shoulder; he continued to kiss the bare skin of her neck.
"What…" she managed to breathe out, but he pressed against that spot harder and she felt her legs twitch, her arms trying to hold onto him tighter, her inability to suppress another moan. He pressed against her harder and her breathing started to race.
He pulled her away from the wall and back to the near table (he didn't know if he was going to make it, with his legs weakening from her sounds). Her back was now against the metal, he above her. Her arms left his body and rested next to her body, either by her side or toward her head. He let his hands grab the sides of the table again and stared into her eyes.
"Julianne," he whispered. "I don't think I can stop," she felt the lower part of his body against hers and his legs moving them more against the table. "I don't want you to regret this, or feel scared, afraid, uncomfortable—is this what you want? If you do not, I will stop right now, but if you do, I won't." She closed her eyes.
"Yes."
0o0
Her boots were the first to go. She pushed them off with her feet, while still holding him with her legs. The heels clicked against the cement ground. She managed to let her hair fall and let the curls sprawl against the metal. Through that, his phone crashed against the metal on the chair.
He did the same; his shoes were gone, along with his socks. Then he leaned down to her face and started ravaging every crook in her mouth, all while their hands explored each part of their bodies. Their shirts flew through the air to the ground, followed by their pants. Soon, in the light of the room, their naked bodies mashed against each others, both playing with the skin that was once underneath a shirt.
He opened his eyes for a brief moment to take all of her beauty in, to see everything. It was his dream, his fantasy—it was all real. Between kisses, he managed to say: "You should let your hair down more often." She was stunning with it down. He closed his eyes; she opened hers. He pushed against her, and she scratched down his chest.
"Only you can see it down," she replied back in loose intervals. He opened his eyes again, catching his breath (she doing the same) and he went back at it again.
0o0
She was thinking about her past life through it all, how she was shelled up in her life after being kicked out of the academy. She reflected on her life with her mother, and she hated it. He was thinking of his life before her, before the Breakout Kings and before this whole month-off deal. He didn't care if he lost his IQ if he chose her; he would take her over everything else.
He wanted to infiltrate. And he did. She screamed out, trying to suppress any pain that came her way. He could feel her walls crumbling, feeling every part of her walls trying to save her from the pain, but there was no way he was backing out. Sweat dripped off his body, either landing on the table they were on or on top of her, and he shifted gears to make everything comfortable again. She clenched her teeth, but she found it pleasing to the touch. His hands slid down her side, tickling her, and rested on her hips.
Slowly was the name of it first, and she enjoyed everything that came, too. They both didn't know how long it lasted, but soon, something snapped inside him. He didn't know what cracked, but he needed more. Their sounds echoed through the walls and screamed in ecstasy in the empty office. He needed to feel like the dominant one, and hearing her pant and grunt through all the pains she was feeling, he created thunder.
It was painful for her, but she couldn't help but enjoy every bit of it. She grabbed onto the sides of the table and panted, groaned, moaned, loved everything. It was rough, hard, and borderline intense, but his sounds, his pains, his groans, his ecstasy only turned her on more. He was putting all of his strength into her, almost like saying, "Here, if you're too weak, take some of my strength for life."
But instead of saying "thank you", she continued to create music in his ears.
0o0
They still didn't know how long they were going at it. It would change speeds, strength, stop for a minute, then continue—it was long enough. He would grab onto her, moan her name, feel every inch of her bare skin and continuously love it all; she would hold onto him, scratch his back, whisper his name (and holy names), and feel her back scrape against the metal.
The sun started to fall, and it hit a certain angle on the window; a bright light went through both of them. Their bodies shook, their breathing became rapid, sweat encased their bodies. A last pleasure trembling through them, shockwaves coursed through the room, and soon, their bodies became together again. She was panting along with him, he was trying to prop himself up with his arms and hands, but all he could feel was all of his energy shooting through her.
They both kept their eyes closed. All that was heard was their breathing. He released her from his grasp and she let her legs rest against the table. He felt his arms give out and let his elbows try to hold his weight from crushing her. He opened his eyes, looked down at her face, and kissed the swollen lips that were smudged from her sweet makeup (it did taste wonderful, almost like strawberries). When their lips parted, she opened her eyes.
"Are you okay?" he asked her. She was still panting, so she could only nod. For a moment, everything was right; he was free from the shackles and she was somehow his wife. Something made it all perfect. Then, when he wanted to kiss her again, the phone rang. He closed his eyes in disgust and felt the moment disappear.
He looked over the edge and saw the phone vibrating, along with the song playing through the room. He grabbed it, opened it, and heard a voice: "Hey, we caught the son of a bitch," it was Ray, "we'll be back in an hour."
Then a click was heard, followed by her arms wrapping around him. That was it.
0o0
The night came, both staring at different ceilings. Lloyd heard the guards making their rounds as he counted down how many months he still had left (it was still over 100, but he was almost there). When he closed his eyes, he could only see her, walking toward him, her hands crawling up and down his body—
He opened his eyes. He could feel her body against his, her warmth radiating against his warmth, creating an immense explosion of heat between them. From one kiss, to the next, to the next, to the next…he couldn't stop thinking about it. He moved in his bed; the scratches still hadn't quite healed. But they were battle scars; they were his trophy.
She laid in her bed. She couldn't take a shower after work. She couldn't do a lot of things. She rushed home after they left in the van (all she could do was watch him leave, not even with a goodbye kiss) and jumped into bed. A red light illuminated the dark room; time didn't matter. She didn't keep track when she was with him. She didn't time their love. It needed no clock.
She could feel the pain down her legs, probably bruised (and more) throughout her entire body. But she was proud. Not because she finally took the plunge to have sex with someone, but because she took a chance with someone she cared deeply for, and she wouldn't take it back. She closed her eyes.
"119 months. You have to work that much more to be free. You still with us?" she heard Charlie say to him. She didn't catch what he said, or what he did. When he exited the office, she met him in the coffee room. While standing next to each other, he whispered:
"Are you willing to wait that long?"
She opened her eyes. She was willing to wait; he was willing to work for her.
I am so not ready to write smut LOL
WELL HEY THERE COOL CATS! I'm LF, here to give you some FF stories on Breakout Kings! The only couple I ship (so far) is JulesxLloyd. That's it, so if you're expecting other couples in my stories collection, PSH. Out of luck.
CLEARLY, this is my first M-rated story. And I'm pretty proud of it, since I've never-well, we'll leave it at that LOL AT ANY RATE, I kept out the naughty, dirty parts because I still have morals I go by, and euphemisms are just as good...maybe. Well, I think they're just as good. My other stories for this couple will be K-T. This was so tough to write, and I'm not good for this stuff. I thought I'd experiment (and what better way than with this couple). Just so we're all clear on that mumbo-jumbo.
Anyway! Thank you for reading! I hope this was (somewhat) enjoyable.
LF