AN: Prompt for handcuffs: turned out it needed a sequel... and then I had a follow-up NSFW idea so, MERRY CHRISTMAS!

I

"Oh, fuck me," he cursed, a growl in her ear.

"Are you always this touchy-feely with girls you just met?"

"Are you always so obnoxious?" he retorted.

Honestly, she hadn't even thought he might know the word, but it seemed he had some more surprises stored, after the no spare key announcement, beside swearing.

"If you'd stop groping me," she pointed out trying to side-eye the man in uniform wrapped around her.

"I'm not, I'm trying to get us out!"

"You mean in?" she corrected, finally sending his patience in pieces.

Technically, she was right, they were outside, on the hospital roof, without a coat, in December. And having this much taller, fit, and warm body pressed to her back wasn't as uncomfortable as she might have wanted him to believe. She almost felt like wriggling her butt in spite, just to see his reaction. Still his hand slipped around her waist from time to time, probably to avoid jerking her on the ground anytime he yanked at the handcuffs linking their wrists to the ventilation grate.

It was his fault anyway. His prisoner escaped. Of course his prisoner was also her patient, she reasoned, so a little bit of that horrific current situation was her fault too. They had both underestimated John Murphy and his act, leaving the young pusher time to plot his departure while they were bickering about his release time and transportation arrangements.

He'd taken them by surprise as the elevator doors closed, knocked the officer down and instructed her at gunpoint, then left them chained outside, lifting her white coat, his gun, radio, and both their phones.

Yanking the grate free from the vent conduct proved to be harder than expected, and her wrist was starting to bruise.

"Would you stop for a minute? You're hurting me."

He did stop, panting for the exertion, almost looking contrite. And cute, with his hair mussed by the icy wind and the tip of his nose red. It was completely ineffective anyway, he was exhausted and uncoordinated by now, he must have been thinking about the hell he was going to face for losing the prisoner and his gun once some merciful soul would wander to the roof looking for them. Maybe. They'd tried yelling at the door a hundred feet from them, but no one came before they'd shouted themselves hoarse.

He wobbled when she turned around, blinking rapidly like he couldn't focus. It was freezing cold, their breathing mingling in white puffs between them, her teeth were chattering and there were beads of cold sweat on his forehead.

"Murphy is hardly the criminal," she tried to reassure him, "He probably dumped everything just outside and ran. He's just a kid raised in the wrong neighborhood."

"Even if, it doesn't solve our problem." He hung his head and she felt the jolt of him giving up in her cuffed wrist.

She whimpered involuntarily, sending another dagger his way, and she saw him possibly sag even lower. He checked her bruising wrist, apologizing, but she could see the cuts on his were even worse and took pity on him. She almost hugged him, almost suggested - selfishly - he wrapped her in his arms again, to keep warm, because she was freezing in her scrubs and because she could smell his aftershave still and it was messing with her brain, clearly.

She had no time for anything though, he simply leaned on her, resting his forehead on her shoulder, to her utmost surprise - he kept doing that, surprising her - and it was a reflex to sneak her free arm around him, but when he didn't reciprocate and instead kept leaning on her she panicked. She'd tell anyone else she only panicked after spotting the blood on his collar from the wound on his head but deep within herself she knows alarms started the moment she had to support his much bigger, heavier body, slowly falling on her, and couldn't.

"No no no no no, no please, don't, I can't hold you," she babbled to the fainting officer, "I don't even know your name!" And she found herself sitting on the concrete, back to the ice cold metal of the vent, one arm pinned up above her head, and his whole dead weight between her legs. Cozy.

II

There are worst ways to go than pillowed on soft breasts.

He came to in an empty room and stared at the anonymous ceiling for a while before realizing hell didn't in fact look like a hospital. His head was pounding but everything was dulled and slow and so when she spoke he startled.

"Hi." Well maybe it was hell after all. He must have been blushing because she flashed him an angelic smile that looked so out of place. She was sitting on the bed next to his, wrapped in blankets, with her hair all over the place, occasionally sipping from a steaming cup. "Don't worry, your head is too thick for Murphy to do real damage," she snickered when he touched at his bandage.

He remembered feeling increasingly sick, and cold, and frustrated by the whole ordeal. She'd been yelling at him and at some point her voice had been nothing more than an echo in his ears and he'd felt dizzy, lightheaded. He remembered being nauseous and weak, so when he'd started to go limp he'd tried to lean on something and that something had been her, warm and soft. He remembered her arm around him and her hand in his hair, and the feel of her meaningless words reaching him through her vibrating ribcage. He had thought he'd been dying.

He had thought a lot of blush-worthy things, pillowed on her breast, lying on the ground between her legs, listening to her heartbeat, but there he was, alive and confused, and most of all annoyed that he owed her, the aggravating doctor, of all people!

"What…"

"I had to dislocate my thumb to get free," she answered his unspoken question, "You did scare me a bit on that roof and times called for drastic measures."

Only then he noticed her bandaged wrist and cringed. Apparently, that amused her because she chuckled and left her bed to come sit on his, leaving blankets and cup behind.

"It's ok, I popped it right back, it'll be sore for a couple of days, nothing more," she said. Then, like she knew how to ease his discomfort - or that he felt any at all - she added: "They were already looking for us, it was a matter of time, anyway." She flickered her hand dismissively. "Your partner, Jaha, caught Murphy as he was running from the ER entrance." Thelonious had been gone five minutes, taking the car around the building to meet them at the door and drive the scumbag downtown. "He's also charged with assault now," she informed him with a giddy glint in her eyes.

Good. But did he still have a job after this?

She laughed. He wished he hadn't hit his head because it resonated in his skull like a box of needles dropped to the floor, but it earned him the sweetest of smiles. Until she noticed he was staring at her breast and it became a sly one.

"You're a boob man, aren't you?" she teased him unabashedly and he pursed his lips feeling his ears aflame.

Before either of them could say anything else, the door opened and a nurse called her - Dr Griffin, he mentally noted - for some sort of emergency, but before she left she ruffled his hair gently and winked.

Was he a boob man? Every man was probably a boob man, he concluded seconds before falling asleep again and dream about her heartbeat.

III

It took them three weeks and a day to fall into bed. Before that they had fallen against a wall and on his sofa, in two separate occasions.

He'd showed up at the hospital three times the week after the roof incident and she'd failed to find it annoying. Especially after she'd told him she had a teenage daughter from a previous marriage and it hadn't put him off like it had eventually happened anytime she'd tried to date after the divorce.

Admittedly, she hadn't expected their first time to happen, it just... had. Raw and uncoordinated, clothes hastily put aside, teeth and nails scraping flesh and fabric, the uncomfortable sensation of the wall, hard behind her back, erased by a rush of pleasure that hit her harder and faster than she could have ever imagined.

But that had been before she'd even told him about Clarke. They'd straightened their clothes and come out of the hospital's third floor supply closet thinking they had just sated their roof incident residual tension and that would have been it.

And then it had happened again. But that time they'd planned it, albeit not very carefully; it had only got slightly sideways when they couldn't make it to his bedroom before she was up in his arms and he was removing her panties. The sofa had just been closer.

So that was improvement, she thought as she came back from her bliss, panting heavily, his body crushing her to the mattress. She held him in her arms for a few minutes, till their breaths normalized and he went soft still inside her, his head on her heart, her hands in his hair.

He shifted off of her then, grunting, but kept his nose buried in her breasts and sighed contentedly as she chuckled, petting his hair and kissing his brow.

"You are a boob man."

"Am I?" he enquired lazily nuzzling the side of her breast, teasing her, "I suppose I am, but I like your ass too," he concluded squeezing her buttock playfully.

She laughed, but it turned to a moan when he moved up a bit to nibble at her exposed throat.

"I like your neck," he admitted, "And your... what's the name?" he asked flicking his tongue on the hollow of her collarbone.

"My clavicle? You like my collarbone?" she mocked him.

He nodded distractedly, kissing his way down her chest, fondling her breast, enthusiastically nibbling and teasing her nipples one at a time, making her squirm and sigh and claw at his back, helplessly pinned under his weight; then, resting his nose in between to look up at her serious, he confessed into her skin: "I really am a boob man."

She bit her lip disguising her amusement, and simply combed his hair back, thinking he looked way too innocent for what he was currently doing. He moved lower, trailing wet kisses on her stomach and announcing he didn't mind her navel either, which earned him a soft snort and a warning when he finally nuzzled at the ticklish spot between her hipbone and the inside of her leg.

"Kane?"

He shifted down the bed to get better access, caressing her legs, up to her thighs and around to cup her butt and angle her hips. Then he flashed her a devious grin. She was still so tender from the last orgasm the first flick of his tongue sent a jolt through her spine and she whimpered, closing her eyes and opening her mouth in surprise.

"This might be my favorite part, though," he whispered against her soft mound. He flicked his tongue again, and again, and she couldn't repress a groan. That encouraged him, apparently, because he got to eagerly kiss and lap and torture her, her back arching off the bed and her hands twisting the sheets and pulling on his hair. He smiled against her when she very nearly cried in the pillow and he took hold of her hands, linking their fingers and pinning them to the mattress beside her. "Next time I'll handcuff you," he threatened playfully.

She broke off in giggles that turned to moans again when he resumed his work between her legs, and just a few more strokes of his tongue sent her over the edge for the second time, a more gentle wave of bliss washing over her, leaving her panting and spent in his arms when he climbed up the bed again to rest his ear over her heart, placing soft kisses on the swell of her breast.

"Remember a spare key," she mumbled sleepy, threading her fingers in his hair.

"I thought maybe next time we could go for dinner and a movie, or grab a coffee," he suggested.

She feigned not picking up on the hesitation and smiled sweetly, eyes closed. "Are you asking me on a date?"

"I'll bring handcuffs," he replied, "just in case."