Chapter Text
The next two weeks were torture of the most exquisite kind.
Every time I thought something about him: how his shoulders looked when he hunched over his keyboard, how unfairly attractive the way he sucked on his thumb was, how I wanted to climb into his lap and kiss the concentration off his face, he knew. Instantly. No escape.
And because he knew, I knew that he knew, which… made everything louder.
He started staying closer. Not obviously. Just… drifting. His chair migrated nearer to my desk over the course of several nights. Sometimes he would sit on the edge of my workspace, knees up, eating cake while pretending to read the same file I was reading. His ears would go pink at random moments, and I would realize I’d been thinking about running my fingers through his hair… again.
One night, at 3:14 a.m., the task force had long since gone home. Only the two of us remained under the low blue glow of the monitors.
I thought, deliberately and clearly: I want to touch you.
L went very still. The spoon was halfway to his mouth.
I didn’t look at him. I kept typing.
I thought: I want to know what sounds you make when you’re not in control.
His spoon clinked against the plate. Once. Sharply.
I thought: I want to ride you until–
L exhaled shakily. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Yes,” I said out loud, smiling, “Is it working?”
A long pause.
Then, very quietly: “Yes.”
He was watching me with those wide, dark eyes. His thumb was pressed hard against his lower, like he was trying to physically hold himself together.
I stood up and walked over to him. He didn’t move, just tracked me with his gaze, breath shallow.
When I stopped between his knees, he tilted his head back to look at me. Vulnerable. Curious. Starving.
I thought, soft and clear: Can I kiss you?
He answered out loud, voice rough. “Please.”
The first kiss was slow. Careful. Like he was still analyzing.
But on the second kiss he made a small, desperate sound in the back of his throat and grabbed fistfuls of my shirt, pulling me closer. His overwhelming wave of want that flooded, crashed into me even without words. I felt how badly he’d been holding back.
We didn’t make it to the bedroom.
I pushed him back into his chair. He went willingly, legs spreading so I could climb into his lap. The moment I settled over him, straddling his hips, he groaned, low and broken.
“You’ve been thinking about this,” he whispered against my mouth. It wasn’t a question.
“Every day,” I admitted, rolling my hips slowly against the growing hardness beneath me. “And now you get to hear exactly how much I want you.”
His head fell back against the chair. I kissed down his neck, sucking lightly at the pale skin until he shivered. His pretty hands slid under my shirt, cool palms mapping my back like he was memorizing me.
I thought, right against his mind: I want you inside me.
L whimpered.
I reached between us, opened his pants, and freed his cock, long, pale, already leaking. The happy trail led perfectly down to it. I wrapped my hand around him and stroked once, slowly. He jerked, hips twitching up into my fist.
“Too loud?” I asked, smiling against his throat.
“You have no idea,” he breathed. “Everything you think, it echoes. It’s… overwhelming.”
“Good.”
I shoved my own pants down just enough, positioned myself over him, and sank down in one slow, wet glide.
He’s moan was the prettiest sound I’d ever heard. High and cracked and completely helpless. His hands flew to my hips, gripping hard enough to bruise.
For a moment we just stayed like that, connected, breathing each other in.
Then I started moving.
Slow, deep rolls of my hips. Grinding down on him so he could feel every inch.
His head stayed tipped back, eyes half-lidded, watching me with something close to reverence.
I rode him harder, bracing my hands on his shoulders. The chair creaked beneath us. L’s breath came in short, whimpering gasps.
“I’m — I won’t last —” he warned, voice breaking.
I leaned down and bit his earlobe. “Then don’t. I want to feel you cum inside me.”
He came with a choked cry, hips stuttering up into me as he spilled deep.
The feeling of him pulsing, the raw flood of pleasure that poured from his mind into mine, pushed me over the edge right after him.
I buried my face in his neck and shook through it, thighs trembling around his hips.
For a long time afterward, the only sound was our breathing.
L’s arms wrapped around me tightly, face pressed to my collarbone.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he murmured.
I smiled, stroking his messy hair. “You already knew that. You’ve been hearing it for weeks.”
He let out a soft, embarrassed laugh against my skin.
“Yes,” he admitted. “But I vastly underestimated how good it would feel to finally let you.”
I kissed the top of his head and thought, very gently: We’re just getting started.