The Shock of Them

She beats him, and by much more than a hair's breadth. In fact, she beats him by a whole twenty minutes and she knows she did it at a legally acceptable pace. Which makes her wonder what the hell is taking him so long. Because she's twenty minutes early, she does pick the back lock and slide inside, eager to see the place before he comes in.

No one's seen his house. Sam's seen the outside, but she's almost positive the inside isn't for anyone's eyes. So she knows there's an element of vulnerability in what they're doing, in the invitation alone. She's okay with that. She's honoured and a little humbled by it, she thinks as she stops at a little yellow box on the mantel. That doesn't mean she's going to play nice and let him be on top.

Even he can't avoid the little creek in the floor just to the left of the fireplace. Not that it matters; she's known he was there for at least five minutes. She lets him play when his hands settle on her shoulders and then slide down her arms. He's pushing at her shirt eagerly and the speed surprises her a little. Not that she necessarily thinks he's the type to take his time. She's not sure she's ever really considered what kind of a man he is in bed. Her fantasies haven't been consistent enough.

She shivers as she hears the cotton fall to the floor, but doesn't turn around. She won, and she knows he's good for it, so she's willing to let him play until she can take control again. She wonders briefly if the fact that she's willing to give up control because he is comes from years working together and trusting each other. But then his teeth scratch gently at his shoulder and she doesn't care why. She just cares that it is.

His hands slide around to her stomach, playing with her belt. She's already hot and wet and she knows it. The anticipation on the drive alone had her rubbing her thighs together. But she can also be patient. She is patient. Especially when she knows what the endgame is. Because if it was that good against a wall, she can only imagine what it'll be like when she's pushing down on him. She shivers at the thought.

"You want this."

She recognizes he's asking the question. He has a way about him that's gentlemanly and arrogant at the same time, putting her first while sounding like he's putting her second. "Oh yeah."

He brings his mouth into play as his fingers handle her belt, trailing up her shoulder as her head tilts to the side. Her ponytail slides with it and when her jeans are, once again, open, his hand comes up to pull the elastic from the curls. Her hair tumbles down and to the side, cascading over her right shoulder and arm as her breath speeds up. His right hand wraps in the strands as his left splays just below her belly button and his mouth moves up to nibble her ear.

The pleasure thunders in her blood and she pushes her ass back against him. She can feel the bulge in his pants, can feel how much he wants her and revels in the little groan that leaves his mouth as she rubs tantalizingly.

"We're going to start here," he whispers, breath fanning down her neck. "Just like this."

He revels in the feel of her as he slides his hand beneath the band of her panties. He doesn't waste any time here, because he knows he's going to play fair, if for no other reason than to see her naked and moving above him. Unlike her he has fantasized about this. Or, at least, thought about it. She's hot as hell and he's a man who works with her every day. He's seen her strengths and her weaknesses and he has yet to dislike what he sees.

Especially like this, especially when she feels like this. Especially when he can feel her pushing against him. If this is what she'll feel like as she moves over him he's not sure he can wait. But for her, for this, he will and he slides between soaking curls to find her. She jolts forward, her hips bucking and her hands coming up to grip the edge of the mantel. He watches her head tilt forward, thrilled that he can make this composed, stoic woman melt into a quivering pile of very soft flesh.

He doesn't drag it out, doesn't see the point when all he wants is to feel her stiffen, knowing he's thrown her over the edge again.

"Oh, oh, oh!"

Then she's gone and he's grinning against her shoulder, relentless as he strokes her through the entirety of her climax. Finally she sags and he grins, unhooking her bra before spinning her around.

"I'd call that cheating, but," she cups him through his pants, "there is this."

His eyes slide closed despite the view of her bra falling down her arms. "I have a bed."

"Oh good." And she lets her bra drop on top of her shirt. She's half naked in what should be his living room and her absolute confidence makes him twitch uncomfortably against his zipper. "That chair was going to hurt my knees."

He makes a mental note as he raises her eyebrow, because that doesn't actually sound all that terrible – in fact it sounds pretty hot – and instead tugs at her jeans. She lets him slip them over her hips and down her thighs until she can pull her feet from the legs. She kicks them with her shirt and bra, then he's walking backwards. She entertains herself with the buttons of his shirt and she's just spreading his shirt when he tips himself backwards.

She squeaks when he pulls her down with him, splaying her hands on his chest. She's surprised that they're both laughing, so much so that her fingers come up to trace his upturned mouth. "You don't smile enough."

"Sure I do," he replies, trying to focus while her fingers dance patters between his five bullet scars. He's got more than that, but he knows those are still the most visible. They haven't fully faded, even after two years. He doesn't see them any more. He wonders vaguely if she does.

Then she's leaning in to kiss him slow and dirty and he doesn't give a shit if she sees his scars. Because she's here, on top of him, eager if the tempo of her hips is any indication, so his scars, quite obviously, don't faze her. Then again, she's probably the type that sees them as a testament to his survival. She's the optimistic type of person. He splays one hand over her back as he sits up and she takes her cue, pushing the shirt off his shoulders. She throws it aside and moves her hands to his pants, balancing precariously on her knees. He shuffles off the bed and lifts his hips enough for her to pull them and his boxers down.

He's naked, and she's in her panties and he knows he isn't sure he can believe it. If the little glint in her eyes is any indication she can't either. After so many years with nothing it's a little surreal, but as he feels the damp heat of her panties against him and he knows it's very real. And he wants to take advantage.

She slides her panties down her own legs, then presses her heat against him. He's felt her already, been inside her already, and he's surprised at how the need claws up his stomach. Her eyes are glowing, hot, heavy. Her eyes darted to his one bedside table as she spreads her legs further, pressing wet heat against his length. His head presses back into the pillows and she chuckles lowly before pressing her mouth against his collarbone.

"Condom, G."

He grasps her hand, stretching her against him as he tugs her hand towards the bedside table. Her mouth continues up his neck as she continues the reach, deliberately pressing and stretching now until she pulls open the little drawer. He watches her rip it open with her teeth, and she finds a thrill in the darkening cobalt of his eyes. A flick of her wrist slides the rubber over his length and he tries not to be impressed or irritated by it.

Not that it's difficult because she's wrapped her fingers around him to hold him steady while she slides down. It's a smooth glide, helped along by both her own arousal and her previous climax. She knows what she wants and it's obvious because she starts moving immediately and he has to grip her hips to slow her down. He doesn't want to rush this and he doesn't want to dwell on why. What he does know is that if this is a mistake, he wants to damn well enjoy it.

She releases a whimper that tightens his gut, but he doesn't release her, doesn't allow her to speed up. Instead, he slips a hand inward, circling her, pressing, experimenting. She slows down to feel it, and he's partially surprised she does. But he lets her play, lets himself play and he takes her to the edge twice before nudging her over. He tries to focus on how good she feels as she flutters around him, but he can't take his eyes off of the gentle undulations she manages to continue despite the pleasure she's obviously feeling.

She collapses on top of him for a moment, breathing harshly, her hips stopping. It takes her a minute to catch her breath enough to do anything. Then she's only pushing herself up to breathe in his ear.

"Well, all you had to do was ask."

He chuckles, but this time doesn't stop the quick tempo she sets with her hips. He lets her control this one, if only because he's not sure he has a handle on his anymore. She pushes herself up, balancing herself against his chest while her thighs take all the pressure. She can't feel them, but she knows it has nothing to do with overworked muscles. Her world has already narrowed down to the feeling of him beneath her and the control he's given her.

She doesn't worry about her own pleasure this time, just ensuring he gets his and she starts to squeeze every time she lifts. He actually bucks into her the first time she does it and she grins. The second, he just groans and he starts matching her every thrust with one of his own. She watches him, watches the way his head presses back again and his eyes actually close. Then she's leaning down, pressing her breasts against his chest and her mouth against his.

She's a little surprised when that's enough. He lets out a long, low groan and presses his hand against her lower back, holding her in place as his hips ram into hers with a final strong thrust.

He slides his arm around her lower back before he's even caught his breath, holding her against him. She's not sure what to do about that, because they're co-workers and partners and now, apparently, lovers and she can't help but ask herself how far that's going to go.

She surprises herself though because he fades out quickly and she doesn't move. She could slip away, she's pretty sure she has enough skills for that, despite how lightly he sleeps. Instead, she allows her body to relax and slips into sleep herself.

The next morning she leaves early and they don't talk about it. But he's slept and slept deeply and she's refreshed and relaxed. Still, there's an unstated promise for them not to talk about it.

But there's a heat in his eyes when she finally makes it through the bullpen and she brushes against him deliberately when they head up to Eric's lair for a case. They're not finished. It's painfully obvious and she knows it's just a matter of time before they break again.

For now, she's okay to pretend.


You know, you'd think after a while I'd stop being stupid at double-checking if people want sequels to these things. Yet, I always do. We'll see if I can pull more out of this.