Chenford + Accidental confession?
Here there be lite-smut. Read with that warning.
Lucy presses herself against the wall behind her trying to put much space between her body and Tim's as possible. He presses forward against her and she bites back a groan of dual frustration.
She's got plenty to distract her right now. Their lives are quite literally on the line. It's ridiculous that her body is betraying her right now. She doesn't even have an exit strategy to cling to. Originally this little get-together would have been broken up by a raid, but now? They were going to have to ride it out.
Tim is taking his duty as a human shield very seriously and she really wishes he weren't. While one or both of them are more likely to be shot in this situation than any of their usual ones (and that's saying something), it's still probably not all that likely.
She puts a hand on his chest and pushes him back just enough that she can't feel him pressed against her from his jaw to his calves.
"You okay?" he asks lowly, his mouth near her ear.
"Yeah, I just need some space."
He gives it to her, but he feels it's necessary to remind her, "not too much. We already stand out here."
It's true, they do. There are at least three couples in the room who have moved past heavy petting and openly engaged in sex acts. The thing is, Lucy gets it. The drugs flow pretty liberally, they've learned, and the music at these parties is designed to heighten a good time. To stay, they needed to sell the impression that when the 3M made its rounds, they'd partaken. Lucy may not be trolling, but the atmosphere is certainly working on her. It really pisses her off.
Tim, for his part, couldn't be handling this more professionally if he tried. He's always touching her without actually touching her in any way she might take offense to while still looking to others like he's touching her. It's intoxicating. "I need more," she says through gritted teeth.
Pressure. Pleasure. "Yeah."
He huffs a little, his breath hot against her ear, and then repositions himself, dropping to his knees in front of her. To onlookers, it'll look like they're moving on to something more fun. In reality, the hands he's pushed up under her skirt aren't even against her skin. He's stretching the fabric away from her body, creating the space for him to be up under there without crossing any boundaries.
She throws her head back with frustration knowing that it looks like passion. He presses his forehead against her belly. It's fine. He's still not touching anything he shouldn't. Except she's so keyed up that she can feel the heavy weight of his head deep inside her, it's completely sexual and her brain sends her body the message to pull away to melt back into the wall, but instead, she presses against him. She's flushing with mortification when she feels him lose contact with her. She knows he's looking up at her.
She threads her fingers through his hair and encourages him back up. She feels bad, really, he just got down there.
"What's wrong?" the look on his face... god. Why is he being such a good damn guy? "You see something?"
"I need more space."
"If I give you any more space we're going to be really conspicuous." And he sounds so damned apologetic about it. "Tell me what I did. I won't do it again."
She laughs because she doesn't know what else to do. "You didn't do anything."
"So... we're good?"
She sighs. "We're good. But... can we sit?"
He glances down at her feet. Her sneakers have five-inch heels. "Oh. Uh — sure." He looks around. The options are pretty slim, and the only really good ones would put them right next to couples who are taking the theme of the party pretty seriously. She can almost see inspiration strike him when he snags a stool that looks like it goes with the drum kit in the corner and sits on it. "Okay. Sit." He gestures at his lap.
He scoots the stool closer to the wall she's leaning against and then carefully maneuvers one of her legs and then the other until she's mostly straddling him. "Sit."
Oh. Under the circumstances, though, it seems harmless enough. Except for the part where it takes away her ability to put some calming pressure exactly where she finds she needs it. But if she doesn't sit down right now, people are definitely going to start noticing something weird is going on. Her stance is unnatural, not to mention uncomfortable. So she sits.
His knees support her ass and she leans back against the wall. He scoots closer on the stool and she feels the jolt in all the ways she shouldn't. The sound she makes is suspicious even to her own ears.
"Okay," he says leaning forward into her space, selling the new configuration, "what's going on with you?"
"You're not fine," he leaves a space where her name would go if he were allowed to use it and if he felt comfortable using her cover's actual name. But he doesn't actually seem to be that comfortable with it, considering how he's done it only once — when he introduced her to Hajek.
She doesn't feel incredibly secure sitting in his lap like this, and her thighs are tense from holding her position. It makes sense to wrap her legs around him. It's probably what he intended. But the proximity they'll achieve at that point is potentially problematic. He taps the outside of one of her knees and she knows she interpreted his plan correctly. "I shouldn't do that."
"Why the fuck not?" he no longer sounds quite as understanding as he has all along, and she gets it. He'd done literally everything she's asked of him and she's been not at all forthcoming with him. Except... it's embarrassing.
She glares at him but wraps her legs around his waist. The action pulls the stool closer to the wall, and his hips closer to hers. He jostles her a little and all of a sudden the position is a lot more comfortable and a lot less precarious. "Oh, yeah. This is okay."
"Good." He gathers her closer, so he's holding her. "Now what's going on with you."
"I swear to god if you finish that word I'm going to push the panic button right now."
"I'm turned on," she blurts out, because the last thing the need is for the cavalry to charge in and blow the whole thing to hell because she can't get her act together."
"You're..." he shakes his head. "You mean all of this," he gestures at her face and the weirdness that has been her body for a while, "has been because the party that's designed to turn everybody on worked?"
"We're working!" she objects. "I'm supposed to have my head in the game."
He very deliberately turns his head to the left and even though she knows what she's going to see, she follows his gaze. The woman is giving Hajek's right hand some very enthusiastic head. "Everybody is turned on. That's the point. And the only thing we've got to accomplish for the next few hours is getting through this party without making anybody think we don't belong here."
"This is not a safe situation," she feels obliged to remind him.
"Safe enough," he says. "If we don't blow our cover."
He shifts a little, wrapping his arm around her and using a flat hand on the small of her back as leverage to reposition her in his lap a little. It pulls her pelvis in closer to his. "I'm serious. This isn't helping."
He makes a frustrated noise at the back of his throat. "It's not just you."
"Yeah, but they have an excuse. The drugs are pretty—"
"What's my excuse, then?"
Her head snaps back so fast, so hard that she hits it against the wall behind her. His free hand immediately moves up to check her skull for damage. "You need an excuse?"
"Well, I didn't think I did until I realized how freaked out you were."
"It doesn't bother you that you're turned on?"
"No. But I am trying to respect our working relationship."
"Yeah, well, I'm trying to respect your actual relationship."
"Not a consideration. Anymore."
"You're not worried about respecting your actual relationship?"
"Um, not a consideration anymore?"
She laughs then, relieved and amused and oh so frustrated. "You mean to tell me we've been surrounded by all of this for two weeks and just grinning and bearing it because we were both trying not to put the other one in a tough spot with significant others that no longer exist?"
"Babe," he says, using the endearment he prefers so much more than her cover name, and she immediately knows that the conversation they're having isn't doing a good job of maintaining their cover. There's a question in his eyes and while she's not entirely sure what it is, she's no longer concerned about anything other than making it through this situation.
She tightens the grip her legs have on his hips and the motion pulls him all the way against her and she's instantly sure that he hadn't been exaggerating to make her feel better. He's hard inside the loose-fitting jeans and now he's snugged up against her satin-covered center.
He uses the hand on her lower back and the one behind her head to pull her against him. She drops her head into his neck as he positions her better in his lap. She immediately misses the hard column of his cock and she's sure that when this is over, they're sending her wherever they send cops who can't focus on the job at hand.
"You good to do what needs to be done?" he asks, lips against her ear.
She only nods. She's sure he's not going to take things any further than absolutely necessary, even if her body is screaming for him to take advantage of the situation.
He kisses her then. It's nothing like the tentative, sweet kiss they'd shared in her living room but everything the end of that kiss had promised they'd have between them. She's always known Tim Bradford would have some game, but damn. He does this thing with the tip of his tongue against the tip of hers before tangling his tongue with hers and her clit throbs in response.
"Shit," she pants into his mouth when he pulled back a little, enough to give him the necessary leverage to snug their hips back together. She doesn't mean to roll her hips against him but she can't quite bring herself to care that she's lost all sense of propriety.
He tugs an earlobe with his teeth until it stings enough for her to gasp, then he soothes the sting away with a sucking she can feel like a string tugging inside her from her earlobe to her nipples, to her clit, to her toes. She makes a truly embarrassing and needy sound that makes his jaw clench against hers. "We've got an audience until that dude over there is ready to go again. Won't be long with the 3M."
"Yeah," she pants. "Fine. Just please." Her head falls back against the wall, his hand softening the blow. His stubble scratches at the sensitive skin over her collarbones as he sucks a mark into the skin directly opposite where her real-life tattoo would be. The hand behind her head travels down her shoulder, over the swell of her breast. She arches into his hand. He takes direction well, she learns, when the heat of his hand snakes under the loose hem of her cropped top. His fingers worry the lace over her hard nipple and she wants his mouth on her. Right now she doesn't care who would see.
He's got his act more together, though, and when he applies the heat of his mouth and the pressure of his teeth, it's with the lace and the cotton of her shirt between them. It's not enough and it's not what she really wants, but this is proof positive that she shouldn't be in charge of anything right now. She's glad he knows her well enough to know that no matter what her body is telling him, she's got lines she'll regret crossing.
"Hang on," he says.
She's barely got time to tighten her arms and legs around him before his standing. He presses her bodily into the wall and she can feel all the tightly coiled strength of him. He kisses her again, as his hips drive into hers.
"Fuck," she exhales. "You can't... I'll come from that."
"Either that, or you'll have to fake it."
She can feel his hands between them, he's undoing his pants. No, she realizes as he tugs her flannel shirt loose from where it's been pinned between them. He's pretended to undo his pants. She reaches between them, tugs the skirt and shirt fabric into better places and tries to make it look like she's moving her underwear. Their hands tangle between their legs and she feels the backs of his fingers against the damp, warm satin between her thighs.
He grunts as he kisses her and pushes her hand out of the way. He pushes the fingers of the hand he'd just had between her legs into her mouth and she knows what it'll look like to observers and she rolls with it, but the truth is, the salt on his skin, the unique taste of him is enough for her to fully sell this anyway. He thrusts against her again, it feels real. She's sure it looks real.
The spiked heel of one shoe slips and digs into his ass. He hoists her up higher and it's probably one of the best singular sexual experiences of her life, being manhandled by him this way. The next thrust comes with a roll of his hips that pulls on the hood of her clit and gives him something more of a thrill too because she can feel the way his body shudders against her.
His next thrust is more utilitarian. He's trying to be polite, she realizes when his next several are also straight and to the point. It's unbelievable for her. The impact continues to drive her closer and closer to the edge that he doesn't care if she leaps off of. "It's okay," she says against his hot mouth, around his tongue. "Make it feel good."
The sound he makes against her ear sets off a corresponding flood of wetness. She can feel the way she tightens, clutching for something she's not getting. Her hand falls between them, her fingers on her clit, the soaked satin providing no barrier for sensation.
The backs of her fingers are against him when he makes the next roll against her. His presence forces her fingers down and between and she cries out. She can't get her fingers inside herself, but she can do the next best thing. When he thrusts again, makes the satisfying hip roll, he finds her hand turned to cup him, to squeeze him. "Fuck, babe." The words sound real, not practiced, not the next best option to a name he doesn't like.
"Are we faking this or what?"
He pulls back, his eyes boring into hers. "You'd rather fake it?"
Her mouth falls open and he uses the opportunity to thrust his tongue in. It feels filthy, she's sure it looks it. "God," she pants between thrusts, "no."
"Then come, baby."
It takes two more thrusts, a swivel, and her fingers slipping past the edge of the satin, the visceral knowledge of how slick she is, to catapult her over the edge. She comes with shudders and when it's over she finds that her damp hand is against his cheek and his hips are flexing against hers. He's not faking it either.
When she wrenches her gaze away from his, she casts around to find that nobody's even watching them anymore. The couple on the couch has moved on to their own main event.
"You okay for me to put you down?"
"Oh. Uh..." she doesn't know how to tell him that she's not sure her legs are going to hold her. That seems like the most embarrassing thing so far.
"Hang on." He hooks the stool with a foot and pushes it under her ass, lowering her onto it gently. He turns a little, so he can make it look like he's doing up his pants. She can see both their fluids on the denim quite clearly and she feels a renewed flush of arousal.
He untucks the white undershirt he's wearing beneath his flannel and tugs it down in front of his fly. Then he stands there, looking at loose ends. She doesn't think he's suddenly feeling shy. "You wanna sit?"
"If you sit on my lap right now, even without the 3M we're going again."
She can't help but laugh at him. She should have known that this would be easy with him, too. "Okay, fine. Can we go?"
"Maybe." He looks around, and spots Hajek in the corner. "Stay here, stay sharp. I'm gonna go get a hall pass."
"Okay." She waits until he's halfway across the room. "Ask nicely, baby, I need a shower."
He throws a smirk over his shoulder that looks every bit the part they're supposed to be playing. Maybe an extra week undercover won't be so bad, after all.
Chenford + I'm tired of pretending
Because you can't send me this as a prompt and not expect me to be inspired by Tiva.
(First portion of dialogue borrowed from NCIS season 6 episode Cloak)
"We were given a direct order not to engage!" Tim was staring at her, arms crossed over his chest and eyes dark.
"Oh really? As I recall that you were the
first one to throw a punch." She matched his stance, staring up him and ready to defend her actions.
"It was a reflex." She rolled her eyes at his weak excuse.
"Then what the hell happened after? Last thing I remember before the lights went out
was you kimbo-slicing through a room full of guards. Was that a reflex?"
"Yes, it was." She could see the clench of his jaw and the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. " A Gunshot went off. I saw you…" It felt like something had smacked into her chest and suddenly it was hard for her to breath at the realization that he broke protocol because he thought she had been shot.
"I'm tired of pretending." The words she said were quiet as the came out of her mouth but by the look on Tim's face he heard them loud and clear. Worried she had said too much she started to walk away but stopped in her tracks when she heard him whisper.
"So am I." His loud exhale broke through the quiet of the room and she turned around slowly.
"Wh- what?" He ran a hand over his face as his shoulders slumped and she could tell he was tired fighting it.
"I'm tired of pretending too Lucy." She felt hope swell in her chest but tried not to let it show as she stepped closer to him.
"Tim?" His name from her lips gave him courage and she could see the moment he decided to lay it all on the line.
"I'm so damn tired of pretending I don't have feelings for you because I do. And I have for a while now but I knew that I could never do anything about it and hell, you probably don't even feel the same way about m-"
Suddenly he was being pushed against the wall and Lucy was cupping his cheeks in her hands as she pressed her lips to his.
He kissed her back with a fierceness he doesn't think he's kissed anyone with before, the weight of what was finally happening sinking in as he wrapped his arms around her and held her flush against him.
When air became a necessity they pulled back slowly, pressing a light kiss to each others lips before resting their foreheads together, neither wanting to move away.
"I'm so tired of pretending I don't have feelings for you too Tim. And I have for a while." A smile lit up his face as he leaned back in, feeling her smile against his lips.
This was the only good thing to ever come of not following a direct order.