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llyncooljones · 2 years

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no fucking in the office - rowaelin month day eleven.

ao3 || masterlist || rowaelin month ‘22 masterlist

prompt: work rivals au

word count: 6633

trigger warnings: language, smut, nsfw, incredibly smutty. mentions of drugs and alcohol

tag list: @rowaelinscourt @live-the-fangirl-life @rowaelinismyotp @rowanaelin @fireheartwhitethorn4ever @elentiyawhitethorn @autumnbabylon @leiawritesstories @backtobl4ck

the office, early morning.

Glaring at Rowan Whitehorn was Aelin’s favourite thing to do. Something about narrowing her eyes, wrinkling her nose that little bit, and channelling all the hate and anger and dislike and distrust and (just in general) horrible feelings his way, satisfied a deep and yawning hunger inside of her.

So, she did.

Simple as.

She had a need. She had a way to satisfy the said need. She satisfied that need.

And then she did it all over again, at least three more times per day. Depending on her irritability, for how long she saw him, and whether they were close enough for her to glare at him, and for it to actually have an effect on him.

Because otherwise, she was giving herself wrinkles for no good reason, and that was not something she was interested in doing. And she accepted zero criticism on the fact that glaring at Rowan Whitehorn was a good reason. Because it was. And anyone who didn’t think so, was wrong in the most wrong way they could be: wrong according to Aelin.

And the damned thing was that they were both heads of different—and yet similar—media departments at the corporate-dream conglomerate they both worked for. Their jobs were exactly the same, they just handled different aspects.

Aelin Ashryver Galathynius headed up the film, television, and radio departments. She headed the department like no one else ever had, and she did so comfortably. She proofread everything that came across her desk, and she watched all the products she oversaw, she was a fan of everything she processed—because she felt that it was the business.

Rowan Whitehorn headed up the social media, newspaper, and magazine departments. He did his job surprisingly well for a man who had gotten into Harvard on his father’s dime, had joined one of those societies and one of those fraternities, and had got his job by asking his friends ‘whose dad works in media?’ But sadly, he actually was doing a good job, so Aelin couldn’t hate him for being shit and thriving off nepotism, because he was actually bringing in more money from clients than her.

Now, it had become a competition. At the end of each quarter, they added up the stats. Found out who was best, and who would be crowned. Bets were placed, and their bosses never knew. Their first competition had been a year ago.

He had brought in the winning numbers. And she could hardly believe it. She had stayed up hours, during those three months, made more edits, and proofread her documents and proposals more times than she had on her dissertation for university. She had done everything, she had wined and dined her clients, she had met them for drinks, and she had offered the best deals she could. And yet, Rowan Whitehorn was still beating her.

Losing, the first time they had ever competed, killed her spirit. Killed a little bit inside of her, made her wonder a little more often if she wasn’t as good at her job as she thought she was.

A year ago, she had decided that if she couldn’t beat him playing her own game, she would beat him playing his. See if his approach—whatever it was—would help her win. She devised a plan, and set it out perfectly. She cleared her schedule of meetings for a day, on the day that Rowan had prospective clients coming in for a meeting.

She’d bump into them, get to chat with them, ask who they were here to see. Insist she take them to the meeting room, become fast friends, and like magic, she would be invited to sit in on the meeting.

She remembered, distinctly, patting herself on the back for that one.

But after that meeting, everything changed. It happened for the first time, and Aelin wasn’t sure whether she regretted it, or whether she was all too happy it had happened.

It was a toss-up between the two, and she wasn’t which she would rather win.

a year ago, the office

Aelin had to resist the urge to fist bump the air, or whoever next walked by her. She was walking in line with Rowan’s latest client. A mid-size company preparing to launch its new product. They wanted him to take them on, do his thing, and help them succeed. And Aelin had no doubt he would—especially given the recent competition the two had had, which crowned him the better head of department.

She chatted idly to them, smiling, and laughing in all the right places, using fun, anecdotal stories to relate to them, and so that they would relate to her. she tried to include things they seemed to be interested in, made sure they were quickly becoming familiar.

She turned her body slightly, facing the small group more so, and asked innocuously, “I’ve been escorting you to this meeting room, and yet I have no idea who you’re here to see. I am sorry for my lack of manners, but let’s just be glad I remembered myself. Who is it you’re here to see if you can say?”

“Oh, no worries. And yes, we can say. There is nothing scandalous going on here. We’re meeting with Mr Whitehorn. He heads up the department we’re aiming to work with. And, gods, we cannot wait for this meeting. He has such a unique approach. He’s so hands-on and so attentive to our needs as a company, I’ve just truly never met anyone who can tailor a package so expertly. Gods, when we found he was interested in working with us, we all collectively shat our pants. He’s a fucking legend of the industry.” The facial expressions told the story for her, they liked him because he got other people to do his work. These poor people didn’t know.

If these were the services, which he provided each and every one of his clients, then how the fuck was he standing. To be this detailed, this precise, and still be functioning? Fake news. He wasn’t doing it all and then popping into the office with no bags under his eyes.

“Oh, Whitehorn. I know Whitehorn. He’s brilliant, work with him all the time. But I’ve never had the pleasure of watching him in action, particularly. Don’t know why I’ve never sat in on some of his meetings. I truly would love to delve deeper into his style of business. Always learning, always trying to be better. That’s me!” her tone was so incredibly fake; it was beginning to hurt her throat. She hadn’t talked so high-pitched since was a cheerleader in high school.

And much as she’d like to ignore the fact that she was ageing, high school was a while ago. And she was sorely out of practice. She’d need a chamomile tea after this, and a massive helping of chocolate cake to soothe the aches along her throat.

“Oh! I don’t know why I’m only just thinking of this, but why don’t you sit in on our meeting? We’d love to help you broaden your knowledge, and it’s really no skin off our nose, not to better the business. Mr Whitehorn will be fine with it; he’s always been so accommodating.”

To you, she thought bitterly, and he most certainly will not be fine with it.

Glee shot through Aelin, the thought of pissing off Rowan Whitehorn, making her so giddy she could barely contain her laugh—her cackle most likely. She felt extra witchy at the moment.

“Oh, that’s too kind of you. I would love to sit in, my brains like a sponge, always soaking up knowledge!” her vocabulary was killing her, she felt like a child, speaking so happily. She was happy, yes, but not so happy she would be using words you could only know if you had read the thesaurus for a bedtime story.

She was a little annoyed at herself. That she didn’t trust her natural tone and vocab choices to do the job, that she had to rely on accents and tricks to become accepted. But really, the price was fairly low compared to what others did. At least she wasn’t breaking the law.

The rest of the walk passed in quiet murmurs, and sad jokes that fell a little flat. Aelin blamed them on her moment of self-reflection, realising she wasn’t enjoying whatever this was. But she needed to be perfect, unassuming and cutesy, and innocent when she walked into that meeting room. That meeting room she should not be planning to walk into.

They arrived at the door, and through the glass she could see the man himself, reclining in an office chair, spinning gently with no care. He looked light and fluffy, and she knew that if he were a cake—he’d be baked to perfection.

To catch him off guard, she didn’t knock. Just barged in, rude and brash, and all those brutal other things that made her up, that made her Aelin.

“Rowan. Lovely to see you, I bumped into your clients on the way up to my office. Figured I would escort them, and the lovely people that they are, they invited me to listen in on your meeting today. They’ve already said that you won’t mind, so that’s lovely. Honestly, this is so kind of you.” She took control of the room, of Rowan’s reaction, immediately. If she explains things, he can’t go against them without looking like an idiot, and boom! She’s allowed to sit in on the meeting. Funny how that worked.

“Greta, Alberta, Noa. It is so great to see you all again. I have been looking forward to this meeting for the longest time. I’ve been planning like you would not believe. I have to get it right for you guys, I really hope I’ve managed to fulfil all your dreams with what I’ve done.” Fuck. She could see why people loved him, he was just so good at playing to people’s tastes, interests, strengths and weaknesses. It was as though he had taken lessons on how to.

It was probably taught in that stupid little secret society. Or maybe it just flowed in his blood, as money and brains did.

one hour later.

Aelin didn’t think she had run from a room as she had just run from Rowan’s meeting. She was truly disturbed. Utterly horrified. It made her feel sick. To her fucking stomach. She debated if it was worth it to go retch over a toilet. Make sure she wouldn’t be sick.

She decided not. Her trousers were too nice to be knelt on. Let alone knelt on, on a toilet floor. She shivered, not a chance in hell.

She also decided it wasn’t worth bringing a bin with her because then she would have to empty the bin and carry a bag of puke with her to the bins, many floors down in the basement.

No, she would just pull up her big girl britches, be strong, be brave, and make sure she was not sick. Because that would be even more humiliating.

With her office door locked, the blinds for her windows drawn, and her heels kicked off—left somewhere in her office—she slumped down in her chair and placed her head in her hands. She should have never gone to that meeting. It would have been better for her if she hadn’t, better for her mental health most definitely.

But maybe it would have been bad for her sexual health.

Because being in that meeting had awoken something long-hibernating inside of her. she had read enough romance novels, bought enough sex toys, and seen enough porn to understand what it meant to be wet, what it meant to have kinks. And she knew a lot of kinks. Knew a few of them intimately from previous relationships.

But she couldn’t quite believe she had a competence kink.

But, by the gods, did she. She knew she was into butt stuff, knew she loved a little spanking, some choking, some hair pulling. Rough sex was her idea of fun—but competence was a new one. But a fucking heady one, she felt high after watching Rowan fucking Whitehorn be competent to the extreme in that meeting.

So, fucking high.

The way Rowan had moved around the room, never tripping, never stumbling, never seeming unsure—he moved competently. And Aelin found it hot, found it fucking sexually arousing.

The way he spoke, enunciating perfectly, never mispronouncing, his word choices fabulous in a manner she’d never encountered—he spoke competently.

But then, his voice? Oh, sweet, merciful gods, Aelin had a voice kink as well.

It was deep and delicious, with a foreign accent twinging when he moved certain words through his throat, the way his letters rolled over his tongue, or caught on his teeth, or pushed from his lips. She was gone, gone to fucking heaven, to paradise. But a sexual paradise, of course.

And the way he used his hands, he spoke vibrantly, using gestures and a wide range of motions to emphasise his points, to display the excitement of a deal—he used his hands competently.

But his actual hands? Staring at those hands, made her realise her third new kink of the meeting. A hand kink, she wondered if it were real. Or if she needed to make it up.

But, his hands, veins running over the back of it, winding up his forearms in the kind of artwork she would buy. His fingers were thick, his nails manicured—smooth, with rounded edges, and healthy soft skin. A little tattoo on his middle finger, and she was desperate to know what it was.

She was getting wetter, sat in her desk chair, images flashing through her mind of him: competently using those fingers, competently dirty talking her into oblivion. She was so distracted she didn’t hear the jiggle of her door handle, the snick of a key in the lock, the hinges creaking ever so slightly when the door is opened.

She only realised her alone time, her period of self-reflective reflection time, was interrupted when fluorescent light bathed her in its corporate glow and shone holes into her retinas.

“What the fuck was that, Galathynius? I knew you were fucking shady, fucking desperate, fucking competitive, but to the extent that you’ll manipulate my clients into inviting you to our meeting so you could fucking spy on me? So, you could commit some distant relative of corporate fucking espionage? I hadn’t you to be so snake-like. But fucking trust me, I won’t forget!” the voice of Rowan Whitehorn pierced through the office.

She hated herself for thinking it, but she was consumed by the distinct sound of his shouting voice, of its strength and solidity, and how it shot through her nervous system and sent nerve endings haywire just about everywhere in her body.

“That was me being smart about this competition.” She spoke angrily, annoyed beyond sense, her anger was so potent; she was mad to the point of ripping her hair out. she stood from her chair, and rounded her desk to stand in front of Rowan.

“What do you mean? Being smart, you were just fucking spying on me? How is that smart?” disbelief clouded his tone, his anger seemed less though.

“Yes. Smart. Spying was incredibly smart because we were playing different games and competing for the same fucking prize. So, I figured I’d play you at your own game. See if I could beat you with your own tactics.”

“So, you were watching me learn my tricks, to work like me? That correct?”

“Yes. So, that we’d be on an even playing field. So, it would be a fair test or competition.”

“Alright. Tell me, what are my tricks? Examine my body language, tell me how I use words to manipulate my clients and tell me what my PowerPoint colour choices tell you. Come one, if you were watching my techniques so intently, tell me about them.”

Cruel. His words were cruel. There wasn’t a way on this planet that he had any clue she wasn’t paying attention, and yet he had managed to hit the nail on the head, blindfolded, drunk, and a hundred metres away from it.

“Well. You made sure to keep your hands unclenched, and open. Your arms were never crossed, you never slipped into a power pose. Shows you’re open, suggests that you and the client are on the same level, that you want to be there.” She only knew because she had been looking at his hands, so yes, she had analysed his techniques.

Just not the ones in relation to his clients.

“Alright. Very good. Now, my word choices.”

“Don’t talk to me like that. Like I’m your subordinate. I’m not. Don’t treat me like I am.” The venom spewed from between her lips, and she loved the sting of it against her lips, loved, even more, the reaction to it from Rowan.

His head jerked back. He looked a little shocked. A little puzzled.

But then he turned hungry. Got this glint in his eyes that told her he was going to eat her alive. And he would be damned if she didn’t enjoy it. She had never met anyone who could master facial expressions quite so, never met someone who could convey quite such meaning with a quirk of their eyebrows.

She’d also never met anyone who threatened to eat her, communicating via eyebrows twitches and lip movements. She’d never met anyone who made her believe they would, who made her believe they would make sure she enjoyed it.

But now, she felt as though she had known that person for a really long time.

“Alright. Tell me about my word choices. Or, tell me why you can’t.” his smirk hit peak smirk levels at that moment, he had never been more smug or full of himself. She’d also never felt so attracted to him.

“You used… a lot of connectives, to demonstrate the cohesiveness of your idea, and you also did that to show how ideas can flow, and how you want to be a smooth ride for them. Show that you won’t jerk them around, starting and stopping.”

“I used and twice, and not too many others. My points were all rather separate. Since you failed, Aelin, your forfeit is to answer the other question.” He made a face, sympathy mixed with unadulterated joy.

It disturbed her and made her wet. She loved this dominance. And she realised she had begun to be submissive, to his dominance in her office. In her own fucking office, he had dared to come in there, and then he had the nerve to trick her into submissiveness. Oh, he was going to feel her wrath.

“You think it's funny, Whitehorn? To manipulate women with whatever tricks your buddies taught you? That it’s all fun and games, a good old laugh and then not much more. Do you realise, that it can be incredibly damaging? That your games could be triggering. That you could be doing damage. No. You don’t, because you can’t think beyond yourself. Honestly, the fucking nerve of you—doing that to me. Go home and get your rocks off, I don’t ever want to see your face again.” She felt good again, comfortable in her own skin, scales and fucking all. She’d rather have spikes than have someone dig their own in her skin.

“Think that was going to stop me? That your little spiel was going to make me realise my own ill-morality? It hasn’t. It won’t ever, I know how to manipulate people, and I am all too happy to do so. You aren’t going to scare me off, keep trying though. You might make a dent one day, sweetheart.” His voice was sweet like condensed milk, his voice was death to her sexual attraction. (That’s what she told herself, in reality, she needed a new pair of underwear—stat!)

“I could only hope. But thank you for proving my point, that all you are is a pile of misogynistic shit, I had my hopes for you, but it’s no trouble to leave you in my dust when I report you. Probably the first person to do so, huh, you tend to prey on the weaker ones, huh? Can’t handle big bites with those little teeth?”

“Sweetheart, you think I don’t know?” his voice was like condensed milk, but even more condensed. She was concerned, even more so. Once more, she was worried he knew. But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t.

“I know you don’t. yeah, daddy’s money couldn’t buy you brain cells, could it? It’s okay though, you wouldn’t be the first person to fail. Don’t be scared of it.” Aelin resisted the powerful urge to rip his teeth from his gums, to pull his hair from his head. She was so beyond mad, beyond annoyed, this was the reason she had gone into corporate, so she could save people from business sharks who were actually clownfish.

“Sweetheart, you spent the entirety of that meeting hanging on my every word. Every time I opened my mouth, you balled your hands into fists. Every, single time. When I took off my suit jacket, you watched my fingers move over my buttons like you were a lion, and they were your gazelles. Trust me, I know.”

Panic. She was spiralling. He was lying. There was a whole lot of stuff going on, and yet none of it could help Aelin. Not one bit.

“You know nothing. You aren’t going to manipulate me. I will not be one of your victims. I won’t. have another go, I won’t fold.” Stay strong, she was begging herself to stay strong. She could not look at how he was biting his lip, how his eyes had darkened. How his sleeves were rolled up, how his veins were throbbing slightly, and pushing at the skin.

It meant he was hot. Aelin did not disagree, he certainly was.

He took a step forwards. Then another. Two more. She scrambled back until she was gripping onto her desk. He continued forward, adjusted the strap of his watch, raked his fingers through his hair, and pulled at his tie where it rested against the hollow of his throat.

All nervous ticks, and yet he made them seem to like shows of confidence. She wanted to kill him, because how very fucking dare he. How very fucking dare he, he couldn’t be a bad fucking person, and yet still be so fucking attractive. The world simply wasn’t allowed to work like that. No, not a chance.

He didn’t stop moving until she was leaning back over the desk, cradled around the front by the angle of his body until his hands gripped the desk beside hers, and he was bending down to whisper in her ear until he was rasping his stubble across the top of her ear. Not a common erogenous zone, but, of course, it just had to be one for her.

And he just had to be able to tell that.

“I know, Aelin, that those goosebumps on your arms aren’t because you’re cold. I know that you weren’t biting your lip to stop yourself from speaking, but for another reason. I know your panties are wet, soaked through. And I know you want me to pull up that skirt of yours.”

Maybe it was okay to back down. If she knew he was able to manipulate, but she was okay with being manipulated, and she was sure he wasn’t actually manipulating her. she was beginning to wonder if he only saved that for subtly changing clients' minds. And it wasn’t as though she didn’t do that, because Aelin did.

Maybe she wouldn’t be a victim, because she wanted this.

Even quieter than before, “Tell me no, Aelin, and I will go.”

And it’s those few words that make her grab his neck, pull his lips down to hers, and whisper into his own ear, quiet like he was, “I want you to fuck me like I won that competition. With all your anger, and all your annoyance.”

He takes it to mean don’t stop, to mean for him to keep talking to her like he has been, so he does. Gods, does he keep talking to her like she deserves it.

“You going to prove my point, or just stand there? I want those fucking panties in my hand, and I want them to be soaked.” Shivers. Gorgeous, beautiful, shivers.

He never moved from his position, still bent over her, still barricading. She worked around him, happy to move around him in this situation. Only too happy to bow to his superiority, as she soaks her panties beyond sense.

With straight arms, she shuffles her skirt up her thighs, baring tanned, soft skin to his feasting eyes, to his hungry-to-bruise fingers. Hurried thumbs yank at the sides of her thong, pulling it jerkily down her thighs, until it dangles off on foot, which she bends awkwardly so she can grab them.

Against her fingers, the fabric was wet. It left a clean, sticky residue on her fingers, and it made a lewd plopping sound when deposited onto Rowan’s oversized palm. He looked down, made a fist, and hummed with satisfaction.

He whispered once more, “Sodden, sweetheart. Such a good girl for getting wet when you’re being shouted at. So, fucking good.”

She moaned, loudly, at his words. She couldn’t contain herself, couldn’t handle the way he spoke those words, the way his accent tossed them around his mouth and spat them out sounding sexier than they ever had before.

“Sweetheart, you need to be quiet, otherwise the others will hear us. I’d love to be able to trust you, but you might become a silly, forgetful little slut during this. And we need to be careful, don’t we?” she moaned again, loudly again. Only affirming his point.

He gripped her chin, pulling her wide eyes to his narrowed ones, and gritted out angrily, “Don’t we, baby?”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, we do.” She couldn’t call him sir, during their first time together, she couldn’t call the other one either. No matter how much she wanted to, she wasn’t going to call her co-worker daddy in the middle of the office, the first time he fucked her.

“Seeing as you’re in agreeance, I’m going to have to gag you, sweetheart. Don’t worry, it won’t be for long, and if you tap my legs, I’ll take it out immediately. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” daddy, she had to stop herself from saying. She nodded quickly, trying to distract herself from the urge, from the need to say it.

With no more preamble, he pried her lips open and inserted the wet ball of her panties into her mouth. She moaned obscenely—but not loudly—as her own taste exploded in her mouth, tasting herself so thoroughly she can barely focus. The idea was heady. The reality was mind-numbingly arousing.

He slid a tantalising finger down the centre of her shirt, on its journey he allowed for it to catch on the middle of her bra. Pulled her bra down using it, until he let it go, and let it snap against her shoulders. It stung, and she moaned, but her gag silenced it.

With hurried fingers, he yanked her blouse from the waistband of her skirt. Pulled at the silken ends of her shirt until they were free, and he could yank it up, over her head, and let it fall gently to the floor. Her chest was heaving, up and down so fast, a red flush stemming from her collar bones and slowly fading.

Aelin scrambled to undo the clasp of her bra, yanking at the hooks until it came free, and her breasts were revealed to the cool, air-conditioned air of her office. Her nipples were pink and rosy, peaked and reaching toward Rowan like he was their God like they were his gods.

A quick pinch had her back arching, a second pinch had her wetness slipping down the inside of her thigh. The third pinch had her begging loudly through the gag, not to be heard.

With Aelin distracted, Rowan worked on her skirt, pulling it down over her hips, yanking it brutally when it would move. After too much time, the stinging sensations on her nipples were wearing off, and the skirt was finally around her ankles.

She was naked, entirely bared to Rowan, whilst the door was unlocked, whilst anyone could walk in. And all it did was make Aelin wetter, was make Rowan harder. Make them both more desperate to fuck.

She was amazed, at how in tune they were despite this being their first sexual encounter. It usually took a guy a couple of tries to understand her needs, and none of them had ever been able to do it instinctively before she even realised that she felt that way.

His broad shoulders were posed between her thighs, pushing the supple out, spreading her legs, showcasing her core to him in the truest, illicit way.

He knocked her clit with his nose, sniffed deeply, and exhaled onto her clit, the nerves screaming violently at her, pitch forks and torches at the ready if they didn’t get what they wanted. And they wanted satisfaction.

“We need to hurry, sweetheart, because I have another meeting in twenty, and you have another in half an hour. The good news is, that your little cunt is so good and so pretty that it’s already so wet. So, I don’t need to waste time getting you ready, apparently, it only took me shouting at you to make your pussy hungry for cock.” His tone was cruel, his words we cruel, and yet Aelin was looking at Rowan with some sort of sex-induced admiration because she had never been made to feel this way by anyone else. “You ready for my cock, baby, ready to take it in that greedy pussy of yours. That fucking slutty pussy, so wet already.”

He stood and his height only served to make Aelin rub her legs together, those bunching muscles making her whimper—at the thought of what they could do to her. With a firm grip on her hips, he twisted her over, so her breasts were pressed against the cool material of her desk, and so she had to tilt her head to the side, so she didn’t smash her nose.

With so little effort, she could hardly believe he could do it. She couldn’t deny that it turned her on, that he treated her like a doll, that he was strong enough to do so.

A hand rested on the small of her back, whilst the other delved into the pocket of his slacks, to grab his wallet and extract a condom. He tore the packaging with his teeth, and she hoped he didn’t tear the latex, really hoped.

If she was debating calling this man daddy, she couldn’t have a baby calling him that too.

He rolled it on with practice she was grateful for, and notched himself with confidence, and fucking competence, at her opening. Nudging her clit first, he began to enter Aelin. He stretched her blissfully, stretching what needed to be, rolling against all those hard-to-reach spots with fingers.

Thick fingers trailed up her spine, grabbing the nape of her neck, before sliding to grab her hair in a tight, unmoving fist. With leverage she hadn’t found in anyone else, he pulled her back into a slight curve, her body cooperating in harmony with his will.

With each hard thrust, with every roll of his hips, Aelin was moaning, grunting slightly, or praising the thickness of his cock. She had her hands pressed against the desk, needing so desperately to have an anchor to the real world because her co-worker's dick was surely about to send her into heaven like it was God.

She was definitely praising it like it was the lord like it was a blessing, and a miracle and good, fucking brilliant. “You fuckin’ like that, huh? Having your hair pulled on like your gonna follow, well-behaved like you know this is your place. Didn’t even try to fight me when I put my dick in you. Why would you when you’re already so wet, so needy and desperate for cock that you were dripping down these soft thighs of yours.”

She loved it.

He let go of her hair slowly, lowering her middle down to the desk, continuing to thrust, not feeling sorry about the bruise she would have along her hip bones from the desk at all. When she let her chin rest on the desk, Rowan’s cock unmoving, and so thick inside of her that she might just orgasm like this, he grabbed each wrist and placed them at the small of her back.

The other hand loosened his tie, yanking it from under the starched collar to wrap it three times around her wrist before tying it in a bow so pretty he wanted to picture it. He wanted to take a picture of the unholy stretch of her pussy around the thick, ruddy root of his cock, the little rosebud of her ass. Clenching in time with her pussy around his cock.

Aelin was feeling crazy bent over her desk, every time she attempted to thrust back on his cock, his thick thighs stopped her, every time she tried to rub her thighs together he stood more firmly between them, making sure they spread, every time she tried to grunt, he managed to move backwards and away from the needy bud of her clit without moving inside of her cunt.

Aelin was desperate, she was moaning with every breath she took, she was dripping down his balls as she became needier and needier, she was trying anything to give herself relief. A big palm cradled the back of her head, keeping it in place, whilst his other hand went around her wrists and his tie-bondage.

She knew he was gaining leverage, knew it meant he was about to fuck her until she saw God sixteen times over, and felt higher than she would after two lines of cocaine. He moved his hips back, and the soft scrape of his cock across the walls of her pussy had her mouth splitting open and her makeshift gag falling to the table in front of her.

A long, loud, ludicrous, and gaining Rowan’s attention. Moving his hand from the back of her head, thrusting in and out of her cunt at a speed she can’t comprehend, he pulls his index and middle fingers in front of her face. “I can put my thumb there, baby, if you’re more comfortable with that?” his words stuttered slightly, feeling the effects of her warm, wet cunt and the arousal dripping out her pussy.

She wraps her lips around his fingers and lightly bites at them, digging her teeth in harder than necessary. to the extent that his heavy, steady, dizzying thrusts paused, and his hand came cracking down on her ass. she did it again, just to test her theory, and his hand once again slapped against the fleshiest part of her ass and sent pleasure travelling to all areas of her body.

Sent her pussy clenching crazily around his dick, her clit begging for attention.

Even in the form of slaps and spanks.

His thrusts turn frantic, desperate. Each thrust has him gasping out praise for her, calling her his best whore, telling her she’s the best fucking cunt he’s ever felt. Aelin’s eyes are welling up as her orgasm approaches, as the edge comes closer.

Her cunt is squelching and clenching, and she’s gasping for breath. She’s not quite sure of her own name, but as she reaches her peak, as her orgasm spreads along her nerves from head to toe, she sure remembers Rowan’s. Dropping his thick, saliva-coated fingers from her mouth, “Fuck, Rowan, you’re fucking me so good. Don’t stop, don’t stop, oh my gods!” her breathing has never been so heavy, she’d never felt so heady, she can feel her orgasm begin.

And then she shatters, feeling herself in every nerve ending, feeling insane as she comes, moans leaving her mouth, all sorts of praise about the fucking stupendous cock that was fucking her steadily through her orgasm.

Fucking her until his thrusts stuttered until he hit her g-spot so brutally she screamed and felt a smaller, second orgasm spread through her body and send her limp on her desk.

Buried to the very hilt, balls against her thighs, Rowan was coming. Hips juddering and jerking, mouth open, sweat dripping artfully down his temple, caught at the end of his eyebrow.

After his final jerk, he slumped over Aelin. Cradling her in his arms, so intimate for two people, who thirty minutes ago hadn’t ever been stood next to one another.

He stayed, slowly softening inside of her for a while, breathing heavily onto her bare shoulder blades, whilst her own heart thumped, and her own breath was not yet ready to be caught. It was too long, by one-night-stand standards.

But neither seemed to care, both seemed to love the calm, the quiet, the simplicity of life in those post-nut clarity moments. But soon, Aelin knew she would panic over sleeping with Rowan. And unbeknownst to Aelin, Rowan would be stressing out because he’s finally given in, and now she believed he was an asshole manipulator, not just her opposition in healthy competition.

All too soon, Rowan pulled out and slipped the condom off, tying the top and wrapping it in tissues, before dumping it in her bin. Then he was tucking his dick back into his underwear and his slacks, doing up buttons, zips, and belts. Righting his hair and dabbing at his forehead with some tissues to get rid of the sweat there.

All while Aelin was still stuck in her tie-bondage. Rowan was apologetic over it, sorry that he hadn’t been more attentive. But Aelin didn’t mind, it gave her a few moments to cool off, and calm down. Which she most certainly needed.

He was rubbing her wrists as she sat up slowly but dropped them the second he realised what he was doing. Because that wasn’t very Rowan Whitehorn of him. She slowly got dressed, finding her clothing in all the spots it had been discarded.

A throat was cleared, and an apologetic Rowan stood before her, “Sorry. About your panties. Your day is probably going to be really uncomfortable after this, didn’t really think of that.” It was the first time Aelin had seen him look sheepish, and she felt her heart constrict when he gripped his wrists together and tugged.

He truly did look torn up over it, his concern made her feel torn up.

“It’s no worry, I have a couple of spare pairs in my desk drawers anyway, you never know what could happen. A period leak, or kinky, panty-gag sex with your work rival. Ha.”

He walked out of the door like that, and Aelin found that for the first time, she didn’t want to celebrate when she saw his back. She decided she wanted to see it in a mirror as he pounded into her, all those back muscles she didn’t know the names of working to help him, pleasure her.

And decided she would make it happen. No matter what. She would make Rowan Whitehorn fuck her again, and she would figure out if he really was that much of an asshole.

#rowaelinscourt #rowaelinmonth #rowaelin month 2022 #rowaelin month #rowaelin #rowaelin smut #my smut #tog #tog fic #throne of glass fic #throne of glass #my fic #my writing #smut #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #llyncooljones' writing

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llyncooljones · 2 years

Text

as we watch planes takeoff - rowaelin month day one.

ao3 || masterlist || rowaelin month '22 masterlist

prompt: songfic. based on cop car by sam hunt.

word count: 2319

trigger warnings: language, police presence.

tag list: @rowaelinscourt @live-the-fangirl-life @rowaelinismyotp @rowanaelin @fireheartwhitethorn4ever @elentiyawhitethorn @autumnbabylon @leiawritesstories

on the road, just before dusk.

Aelin Ashryver Galathynius knew one thing. She was immediately obsessed and addicted to the feeling of Rowan Whitehorn’s hand on her bare thigh. She loved the thick fingers, the wide knuckles, and the grip they had on her. She loved the faint green and blue of his veins she could spot through the skin of his hand. She also loved the way those veins twined up and around his forearms.

She just fucking loved his arms, his wrists, his hands, his fingers.

She especially loved all those things he could do with his fingers. To her very own body.

But here they were, his fingers gripping her thigh which was closest to the centre console, the windows down and her hair flicking this way and that in the wind, his sunglasses pulled down over those pretty, pretty eyes of his as they drove toward the sunset.

A giddy giggle escaped her, finger flying up to her face to catch it, simultaneously pulling the strands that have crisscrossed over her face away. She couldn’t believe it, couldn’t quite contain herself. She reigned in the urge to let out a ‘whoop’, whilst tossing her hair around in the wind.

The sun was a blazing ball, cocooned by the tarmac, the trees, and the clouds, and the glow of the just-emerging moon. Her mind jumped from thing to thing, her skin hypersensitive, her senses over-aware of where Rowan was sitting.

Where he was sat, looking far too relaxed, far too cool, driving with one hand on the wheel.

Because, of course, his other arm was bent at an awkward angle to keep his hand on her thigh. A low, thudding base drifted through the car, her fingers tapped against one another in time, whilst Rowan’s did so against the steering wheel.

As they veered left, she slid her sunglasses to the top of her head, twisting her body so she could face Rowan, so she could see where they were turning into. Along barbed-wire-topped, metal chain link fences sat many impossible-to-ignore ‘NO TRESPASSING’ signs, but they navigated past them and into the field without a pause.

“I can feel your excitement from here, Ace. You look gorgeous with that mischief in your eyes.” His voice was deep, washing over her in waves that sent shivers down her spine, and heat through her core.

“Don’t you sweet talk me, Whitehorn. Don’t you dare. I am breaking the law so that we can wish upon planes taking off. I am risking the very foundation of my relationship with my parents to do this, so don’t. You. Dare.” The last few words fell out on a snarl, her eyes narrowed dramatically while her lips twitched playfully.

She jumped, nearly from her fucking skin, when a fingertip slid down her jawline, before dragging down the soft, pliable flesh of her neck. “What’s that crazy head’a yours thinking about now, honey? It better be about how damn good I look in this shirt–it is, after all, the one you love so much.”

A dazzling smile filled her field of vision, all braces-straightened teeth and slightly cracked teenaged lips. A flash of minty breath passed over her before she releases a breathy sigh, followed by a breathless, “Do tell me, kind sir, why is it that you’re wearing the shirt, I simply cannot stop wonderin’?” The southern twang she’d always felt was too strong, was in fact far too weak, when compared to the full-bodied accent Rowan had, complete a vocabulary of phrases no one had heard since cowboys in the ‘50s.

“For all the right reasons, don’t worry that head, miss Galathynius.” She loved the teasing in his voice, loved it so.

The rumble of Rowan’s ancient truck had quietened, only the chirping of crickets, and the bird song to keep them company. Her eyes darted from window to window, trying to take in as much as she could.

Parked in an abandoned field, now owned by the airport next to it, they were alone. The air in the cab of the truck was calm, the two of them sat still, just taking it all in. The views and the sounds; the realities and the risks of what they were doing.

Aelin had always wanted to come here, she had begged and pleaded as a child, as a preteen (she was so desperate that even as an awkward preteen she wanted to be here) to be brought here. But she had always been turned down. Always been denied the absolute pleasure she knew she would find here.

But here she and Rowan were, on their fifteenth date in three months, breaking the law already. She had some inkling that this date would end up being the one to set the precedent for their entire relationship and some. She let her head rock back to lean against the leather, whilst still looking at the joyous person who was her boyfriend.

It felt crazy to say, that she, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, had a fucking boyfriend. But godsdamn, did she have the best one. The kind of boyfriend who would risk jail time for her, who would risk everything just to fulfil a wish she’s had since she was five.

Dusk had rolled in quickly, the colours of the clouds changing constantly. She relished watching the colours stroll on by, enraptured by the sheer power the sun could capture, the light walking across the impossible expanse of sky she’d looked up at every day.

“Excited?” questioned Rowan, his thumb stroking across her thigh, his eyes drifting from feature to feature as he took in the image of her.

“So. I really can’t express to you how much this means to me, that you’re here with me. I really never thought I’d find someone who would want to wish upon a plane taking off with me.”

With soft lips, he planted a kiss on her cheek. Both their eyes fluttered closed as they basked in the emotions they were feeling, the feelings they didn’t quite understand.

The ambience was broken when Rowan swung his door open, closing it gently so that the locking mechanism barely made a sound. She thanks him for it with a small smile, a subtle one. He knows that slamming doors send panic through her veins, knows that raised voices and smashing glasses put goose bumps on her arms.

He just knows her.

Entirely. Completely.

Her heart beat like the bass of a song she’d dance to at a party, and her head thumped like she was drunk. But it was all eclipsed when her door opened, and she was lifted with–both shocking and apt– ease into the arms of the only man she’s ever trusted.

A hand grasped her own, the connection sending her to another planet, whilst another snuck around her middle to unbuckle her seatbelt in the smoothest show of chivalry she’d ever seen. And Aelin had watched her fair share of movies.

“C’mon,” he whispered, wrapping her legs around his waist, and hoisting her up. He shut her door with a booted foot and made his easy way around to the bed. With her newfound height, she could make out pillows and blankets lining the unforgiving metal and plastic of the bed.

The fire in her heart crackled and spat as she thought back to all the late nights they had spent talking to each other, sharing their hopes and dreams, cuddled together like puzzle pieces. She’d never felt that sort of dedication, that absolute joy and happiness to be with her before.

The thrill of Rowan listening to her and putting effort into making her dreams come true filled her heart more than she could have ever imagined.

Before she could even think another thought beyond the overwhelming gratitude, she was placed on the lowered tailgate and his arms were tensing to pull himself up onto it. An awkward shuffle full of laughter and stomach stitches and collapsing into one another later, they snuggled into the back of the truck bed, heads leaning against pillows, limbs tangled together like messy strings of fate.

Like all the messy strings of fate that have managed to tangle Rowan and Aelin together.

It seemed like hours had passed, as they whispered to one another, lazy pointer fingers gesturing vaguely at the sky as they watched the planes flitting around the world. They shout out the animals they could see in the cotton candy clouds.

And when the planes take off, she mumbles wishes under her breath.

And Rowan was close enough to her that he hears them, but he pretended not to; tries to forget them, because he knows that the blonde beauty in his arms believed vehemently that a wish known by another person, was a wish that does not come true.

It’s her tenth wish of the same thing (and the tenth plane she’s wished on) when they were suddenly bathed in sensation. Blue and red lights splattered across her vision in a cruel show of power, whilst she placed her hands against her ears in a feeble attempt to block out the sirens that threatened to deafen her entirely.

The loud music she listened to when her parents fought had already done half the job for them.

With a spark in his eyes, her boyfriend turned to her, the very second, she turned to him, and mouthed the word ‘run’.

With hurried limbs, and hearts that were beating too fast (not because of the cop cars, obviously because of each other) they scrambled to be free of the height of the truck bed. In her Converse and his tired boots, they swung their arms forward and back, forward, and back, until they were panting and nearing the edge of the field.

With minds only half functioning, they were heading to the far corner of the field. The far corner of the field had no exit point. The bushes were only taller, and the barbed wire was only more menacing when you could see those spikes up close.

“Orynth Police Department, place your hands against the fence. Facing the fence!” An out-of-breath officer shouted, he was portly and yet still the quickest officer on the outdated force.

Aelin had to hand it to the man.

She truly did.

“Now kids, I have to ask, why did you run? My colleagues haven’t found any evidence of crimes beyond the obvious trespassing. I’m not quite understanding why.” The man was still catching his breath, hands grappling with his belt to find his handcuffs.

Aelin was quickly losing whatever admiration she’d had for the officer.

An indifferent shoulder raise moved its way through her body, whilst her mouth couldn’t seem to behave. “Figured running for it would make a good story, get me a little street cred, give me a wild story to tell the grandkids, but whaddya know? All it's gettin’ me is arrested. Mighty crazy, that is.”

the corner of the field, eleven o’clock.

Cool metal met warm flesh as he handcuffed Rowan’s arms behind his back, reading his rights to him as the officer radioed to his fellow officers that he had the situation under control. That the romantic teens were not in fact armed.

“Now, officer, why don’t we discuss this? Is this whole ‘arresting us’ thing really necessary? I mean, can’t you just slap us on the wrist, write a warning, and send us merrily on our way? Wouldn’t that be easier? Less paperwork for you could get home to your wife quicker.”

A chuckle left Rowan, disbelief that this crazy wild child girl was his girlfriend. Trust Aelin to try and sweet-talk an obviously seasoned police officer into letting them go.

With one hand around one arm of each of them, they were marched back to Rowan’s truck, and then further. An officer took Aelin around to the opposite side of the largest police car and pushed her into the backseat. Rowan restrained a growl at the rough handling, but before he could a hand was on top of his head, and he too was shoved into the backseat.

The second they were alone, laughter burst forth, bathing the car in the careless joy of teenage menaces. Despite their clean records, neither he nor Aelin were strangers to breaking the law.

Police officers filled the two front seats, and tried to quieten them down, but ultimately gave up. The innocence of him and Aelin just relishing in each other’s presence in the same backseat of the same cop car was enough to relax them some.

He threw jokes around at her, whilst she made fake passes at the officers and asked them if they had a light. They were light and easy despite the very real ramifications of their actions, and the crimes they could be tried for committing.

But caught in the moment, young and falling in love in the back of a cop car, neither could bring themselves to care.

Rowan wasn’t worried, as he watched Aelin’s nose twitch with an itch she could not scratch (and he laughed too hard at his own jokes he made about the situation). He couldn’t tear his eyes from the blonde of her eyelashes and the way he could pick them out in the dusky lighting. He was never going to be distracted again, as he watched Aelin exist, as she smiled, laughed, frowned, and sweet-talked her way into a telling-off from a middle-aged officer.

He was falling in love with her, deeply and irrevocably, and yet he was pretending this was the first he had heard it. That this was the beginning, when in fact that beginning was far too many years ago for him to remember exactly. Just a feeling of sudden warmth and belonging that he always felt when Aelin was nearby.

He wasn’t worried.

He was falling in love.

#rowaelinscourt #rowaelin month #rowaelin month 2022 #aelin galathynius #rowaelin #throne of glass #tog #tog fic #my fic #my writing #llyncooljones' writing #rowan whitethorn

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