Work Text:
“You know,” Robin says against his mouth, “there are other places people can—”
She gasps as his clever fingers find their way under the hem of her so-proper grey skirt.
“Can what?” Cormoran asks, watching with hooded eyes as Robin’s face tips back, flushing with pleasure and anticipation.
“Other places people can have sex,” she says, barely hesitating over the words that she used to blush to pronounce to him. His fingers brush her panties, and Cormoran’s pride is bolstered and his cock hardened by how wet she already is, for him, just him—
“Desks are perfectly good places to have sex,” he says, one hand braced atop his own such item of furniture as he leans over Robin. “How dare you malign my desk, after all it’s done for you.”
She frees one hand to yank at his belt buckle, frowning at him even as she begins to work the worn leather from its confines. “Be that as it may,” she says, pausing to gasp under Cormoran’s attentions. “It’s strange to think that a bed would be a novel change of pace.”
“Don’t say that,” he croons to her, yanking the fabric of her skirt up and out of his way even as Robin gets his slacks open. “You’ll hurt the desk’s feelings. I’ve given you some rather good orgasms on this desk.”
Robin rolls her eyes at him, grinning, as she wriggles her skirt up over her hips. “You’re a very strange man, Cormoran Strike.”
He leans in to kiss her again, a messy affair, all tongue and heat. Her hands come up to twist into his hair, undoing any attempt to restrain the curls as she angles his head just so.
Cormoran moans and murmurs into her mouth, “Can I rip these?”
He tugs at her panties to indicate his meaning. Robin shakes her head.
“No, I like these, they’re nice,” she says. “Buy me some more cheap ones, and you can do whatever you like to them.”
His grin turns wolfish, teeth nipping at her jaw. “Promise?”
She shivers and nods as she slides the fabric down her legs. “Of course. Now hurry up with that condom, I’ve got a client meeting later.”
Cormoran throws his head back and laughs even as he’s ripping open the little foil packet. “You’re plenty strange yourself, Robin,” he says, rolling it on in a familiar motion.
Sitting on the edge of his desk, blouse unbuttoned and skirt rucked up to expose her fully, looking half-debauched already, Robin quirks an eyebrow at him. Cormoran smiles at her, easy and warm.
“Aren’t we a pair, then,” she replies, opening her arms to him, and Cormoran goes willingly, standing in the familiar space between her soft thighs.
“Aren’t we just,” he says, low and tender, fingers slipping forward to test her cunt. Finding her dripping wet, he swears, another rush of blood going right to his cock. “Jesus, Robin, fuck.”
She flutters her eyelashes up at him, inches away from his face. “Isn’t that the idea?”
He barks another laugh and lines himself up, sliding home on his second thrust; she’s not wrong, they’ve done this before, many times. He could never call it too many times, though, because there could never be too many times of this— Robin’s voice urging him on, her hands digging into his back, her cunt like a warm velvet vice. The desk puts her at just the right height, no straining at all, and it’s perfect.
“Perfect,” he grunts into her ear, “perfect, you’re perfect—”
“Fuck,” she says, head thrown back, exposing the long pale column of her neck. “Cormoran, like that, like that—”
“Yeah,” he says, angling himself just the way he knows she likes until she’s panting, then doing exactly that, over and over.
She’s biting into the knuckles of the hand she isn’t leaning back on, and he’s holding her steady with his hands on her hips, fingers digging into the give of her.
“Oh god,” she whimpers, then again and again, “oh god, oh god, oh god—”
“Yeah?” he asks, savagely pleased. “Come on, honey, does that feel good?”
“Yes, yes, Cormoran— yes—”
Robin’s thighs begin to tremble, and she’s shaking, from the waves of pleasure as well as the strain of holding herself in place atop the desk.
On his next stroke, Cormoran’s leg slips, just a bit, just enough to slide out of Robin and up the crease of her thigh instead. She takes a deep breath, opens her eyes, and meets his gaze.
“Alright?” he asks, looking a bit more wrecked than Robin was expecting. She licks her lips, knowing that she’s not far from finishing, and knowing the way to get them both there (and in time for their appointments, too).
“From behind?” she asks, and at the light in his eyes, she knows that Cormoran’s more than happy to oblige. She slides her feet to the floor, knees threatening to give out as she turns around, leaning forward onto her elbows, presenting him with a fine view of her ass.
“I’m the luckiest man in the world,” he says, tone verging on worshipful as he slides on hand along the pert curve.
“Could be luckier, if you get along with it,” she says with a little wiggle, and that’s all it takes to convince Cormoran to move behind her, already palming his aching cock.
It takes a moment longer for him to line up properly, but with Robin’s help he slides back into her wet heat, the change in angle making them both groan.
“Fuck,” Cormoran says on a drawn out breath, leaning over Robin’s back.
“Please,” she replies, and he obliges, thrusting back into her hard enough for the sound of their flesh meeting to be the loudest thing in the room. Then he does it again. And again.
Robin goes up on her toes, and with the next thrust his cock hits exactly where she needs it to for the world to go white.
“Like that,” she says, begging without shame for what she wants, what she needs. “Like that, Cormoran, please—”
And he is only too happy to do whatever Robin wants, to fuck her firmly and messily over his desk, head spinning on its own separate axis from the rest of the earth.
Cormoran knows he cannot keep this up for as long as he’d like— which, as a point of fact, might be until London sinks into the sea— so he slides a hand around to where their bodies connect, to rub quick circles just above Robin’s clit so that she spasms and gasps his name, so that her knees shake and she goes loose and pliant from the pleasure.
Her orgasm is a swell that crests, crashing against her shore, wave after wave as Cormoran continues thrusting into her, his fingers losing their rhythm as his hips jerk, snapping faster.
Robin knows what will bring him over the edge, and gives it to him, moaning his name through her own hazy pleasure.
“Cormoran,” he hears her saying, “oh, god, Cormoran—”
And indeed, that’s all it takes for him to finish, spilling into her with a groan. Beneath him, Robin is braced against his desk, and Cormoran tries not to knock her over as he leans forward to support himself as well on the scarred wooden surface.
After a few shared heartbeats of trying to catch an easy breath, Cormoran gently slides out of Robin, holding the condom shut so he doesn’t spill his own cum onto the floor. Cleaning that up in the middle of the afternoon isn’t an experience he’s eager to repeat.
“Good?” he asks as he cleans himself up. Robin is still standing, barely, and he’s enjoying the view of her lower body while he still has it.
Her breathing has not quite evened out yet, but Robin is feeling wonderful, if not also a bit sweaty.
“You know it was,” she says, just to snipe at him a little.
“That’s all you have to say?” he asks, leaning over to press a kiss to her shoulder.
“Why are you always fishing for compliments?” she replies, turning her face so she can kiss him properly, putting heat into it.
“Maybe I just like to hear you say naughty things,” he says, already tugging his slacks back up into place. Robin sighs, pulling the fabric of her skirt back down over her ass. She’s pleasantly sore and doesn’t know what happened to her panties.
“I quite liked the bit where you put your cock into my cunt and gave me an orgasm,” she says in her primmest voice, which is all she can manage before blushing and laughing.
Cormoran is staring at her with a different sort of look, dazed hunger maybe, and Robin files that away for future exploration.
“Say that again,” he demands as Robin re-buttons her blouse.
“I shan’t,” she says, “I have to find my knickers and get to my client meeting.”
“What if I want to keep your knickers?” he asks, teasingly.
“If you keep them,” Robin says, faux-thoughtful, “you’ll just have to live with the knowledge that I’m meeting with clients while totally bare beneath my skirt.”
At this, Cormoran’s ears turn pink, and that’s definitely something that merits further research. In a controlled environment that does not involve actual, paying clients.
“Give them over, please.”
Cormoran deposits the slip of damp fabric in her outstretched palm. Robin leans up to kiss him.
“Thank you,” she says, with a little smile that he kisses right off her mouth.