Work Text:
Detective work is far more precarious business than anyone realizes.
Surface level details can only carry you so far – when every case is as different as the ridges and bumps of a fingerprint, you have to rely on your own grit and intuition to sniff out the connecting lines of a situation. However, some mysteries are as stubborn as they are shy, refusing to be solved unless casted upon by some divine intervention.
Caitlyn Kiramman knows this all too well.
Caitlyn puts down her pen, hand unconsciously finding the handle of the mug sitting next to her on her desk. Eyes never leaving the text on the pages, she lifts the rim of the mug to her lips. Within these documents – stacked messily on her desk, and pinned across the three boards in her office in a fashion only she can decipher – lies the answer, just waiting to be revealed. She is certain she can pull this off, divine intervention be damned. It’s just–
Something unpleasantly cold touches her mouth, and she recoils. Scowling, she peers into the mug, glaring at the half-finished coffee that has lost its warmth a long time ago. She puts it down again, jotting down a mental note to make another cup once she has finished analyzing this document. Another inconvenience – and Caitlyn will soon find herself at the end of her wits.
She picks up her pen once more, eager to get back to work, when she hears a timid knock on her door.
“Come in,” she calls. Even without looking, she knows that her late night visitor is none other than her secretary, Mrs. Poppins.
Her suspicions are confirmed when her familiar voice rings out, honeyed and soft despite her age. “Miss Kiramman, someone is in the lobby waiting to see you.”
A client at this hour? “Tell them to come back tomorrow,” she says, her words sharper than intended. And then, more to herself than Mrs. Poppins– “Don’t they know that the office is closing?”
With her coffee gone cold, sleep deprivation settling deep inside her bones and her frustration regarding her current case all commingling, Caitlyn can feel her blood coming to a slow boil – evident in every twitch of her eyelid and the rise of her voice every time she speaks.
Silence follows, interrupted only by the sound of her pen scratching against paper. Caitlyn can practically hear the cogs turning in the secretary's head. “I don’t know…It looks urgent. Like she really wanted to speak to you.”
She glances up finally, her eyes landing on Mrs. Poppins. She has her bags slung over her shoulder, coffee cup in hand. She’s getting ready to leave; Mrs. Poppins is always the last to sign out for the night, apart from Caitlyn.
Her eyes flicker to the clock mounted on the wall – 9:08pm. Yet, if the mountains of paperwork on her desk is an accurate indicator, she estimates that she would not be moving from her desk for at least another hour. She sighs – if she is to remain at the office for so long, she may as well take another client.
“Send her in, then.”
Mrs. Poppins nods curtly, her short, white locks bobbing with the movement of her head. Smiling warmly, she turns to leave, peering over her shoulder on her way out.
“Good night to you, Miss Kiramman. Don’t stay too late.”
“Good night.”
Then the door shuts, leaving her alone once more. Caitlyn sighs, reaching under her glasses and massaging the bridge of her nose as she tries to recollect her train of thought. Outside, she can hear the muffled hum of conversation, and subsequently the click of the lightswitch as it shrouds the rest of the office in darkness. It’s just her – endless documents her only company.
Her focus returns to the file in her hands when the air settles again, rereading the sentence she had marked off with her pen when she had been interrupted. The suspect appears to be well-rounded. He works a stable job (surgeon), contributes to community service and charity work every Saturday and Wednesday, and gets along generally well with his neighbors. However, in terms of romantic–
Then, it comes – three knocks against her door. They’re so loud and jarring against the quiet of the night that she flinches, immediately embarrassed at the pang of adrenaline that shoots through her body. She breathes deeply through her nose, marking the last word she had left off at again.
“Come in.” She calls again, hoping that this might be the last time for the night that she will have to utter that phrase.
The door swings open, and her client walks inside, the thud of heavy boots muffled by the plush carpet. Caitlyn swivels in her chair, putting aside the papers in front of her neatly and taking out a fresh, empty file from the cabinet of her desk. “We’ll have to make this quick. We’re closing–”
“Caitlyn?”
Her head snaps up so fast, she feels a muscle in her neck pull. That voice – no, that’s impossible.
Yet, in her loose cargos and grease-stained tank top and snug leather jacket, all the confirmation Caitlyn needs of her presence is staring right back at her. It’s Vi.
From where Vi stands just a few feet away from her desk, she towers over her. Caitlyn’s confusion gives way to anger and judgment – honed and hammered into a pointed iron spear after months of grief and heartbreak – and beneath it all, something else that remains too dangerous for her to unravel.
“Why–” She stands, eager to level the playing field. “-are you here?”
A beat passes. Then another. Then– “I figured you might still be at work.”
Her voice is quiet and unsure, as if she wishes she can swallow her words right as they escape her mouth. Caitlyn shakes her head, for once scorning her ability to read into situations. Vi was not sorry – Caitlyn cannot allow herself to think that is true, not after everything she had borne witness to with her own eyes.
She looks Vi up and down, analyzing her with an eye for detail that only a skilled detective can possess. Her posture is stiff and her hands are stuffed into the pockets of her jacket. But the real truth lies within her eyes - they flit from one place to the next, her mind appearing far.
“That does not answer my question.”
Vi takes a deep breath, shifting her body weight from one leg to the other. “I wanted to speak with you.”
Caitlyn scoffs – just who does she think she is?
“Whatever you think you’ve come here to say, Vi–” She begins to pack away her things, starting with her laptop; it’s more of a desperate need to occupy herself with something, rather than having to stand there and watch Vi peer at her like a kicked puppy. “-it’s not going to work. I’m already over it.”
Vi takes another step closer, her voice hardening slightly. Growing louder with conviction. “You know that’s not true.”
“And just who are you to tell me how I feel?” Caitlyn snaps back, shoving a stack of books into her bag. She pushes her chair back and walks over to the other side of her desk to neaten the stack of books she will leave for the night, trying to ignore the tremor in her fingers.
She loathes to admit it, but Vi is right. I’m already over it – yet the words had felt hollow and uncharacteristic, falling flat as soon as they had left her mouth.
Some time when she hadn’t been paying attention, Vi had scooted closer. She is so near now that if Caitlyn wishes, she can reach out and her fingertips will graze the zipper of her jacket.
“Because I feel the same way,” she says finally, her throat bobbing as she swallows. As if it hurts her to confess.
A twisted, sardonic laugh rattles out of Caitlyn’s throat. She’s tired, and she wants to go home and pretend for another night that the love of her life did not walk out of the door without saying a word all those months ago. Pretend that she isn’t trying to make amends now, when Caitlyn was finally beginning to feel like she was healing.
Something solid comes down to rest on her arm, warmth leaking through her dress shirt. She freezes.
“Cait…” That goddamned nickname – the one Vi had only ever used for her during wistful nights when they lay entangled between her sheets.
“ Please. ”
It’s then she feels her heart falter, completely and frustratingly against her will. But Vi continues, seemingly unaware that the walls she had built up around her heart are coming undone brick by brick.
“Let me show you how I feel.”
She seals her spectacles inside its case, resting it gently onto her desk. Every second she dawdles is another she goes without having to look Vi in the eye – until finally, her desk is clear, and she is forced to turn around.
What she finds spilling out of Vi’s gaze completely disarms her. Up close, she can see the heavy bags under her eyes, blue-black like bruises. Her skin looks pale and papery under the moonlight, and her cheekbones are more prominent than she remembers.
She takes a step closer, and Caitlyn’s nose is assaulted by the overpowering scent of grease, sweat and a hint of whiskey so faint that she almost believes she has imagined it. The air between them turns taut, and she fears that if she releases the breath she is holding, they will crash together and splinter into a billion tiny pieces.
Caitlyn hates how pliable she is when Vi reaches up to touch her cheek, hates how her eyes seem to shut on their own accord when Vi leans in. Her touch is almost non-existent at first; she slides her bottom lip across hers and then licks her lips, acquiring just a taste. Caitlyn’s lack of protest seemingly emboldens her – and it is not entirely unwelcome.
Vi slides her thumb across her cheek and towards the dip in her jaw, pressing both of her lips against hers finally and it takes all of her might not to release the heavy sigh lingering in her lungs.
She angles her head, deepening the kiss, as she brings her own hands to rest on top of Vi’s arms. Under the thin leather of her jacket, she can feel her muscles flexing and relaxing, moving with controlled strength. Caitlyn prefers not to confess how heady it makes her feel.
Vi’s tongue flickers against her lips, seeking entrance – but Caitlyn does not relent.
She pulls back, her face hot and flushed despite the chill of the room.
“You did not answer my question earlier.” Caitlyn says too quickly, too breathlessly. In any other scenario, Vi would have probably teased her for it – but not now. There is a solemn set to her lips, and up close, she can see the thundering storm in her eyes. The eyes never lie – quoted from one of her mentors years ago. Time and time again, that piece of advice has never proven itself to be wrong – and she isn’t about to start doubting it now.
Vi leans in, breath tussling with the strands of her hair. “I’ve missed you.” She whispers, pressing a kiss to the shell of her ear. She tilts her head then, leaning into the crook of her neck, tip of her nose pressing against her skin. She inhales deeply, and Caitlyn shudders. “Missed this.”
Somehow, she chokes out a response. “You’re the whole reason we’re in this mess.”
It was true. Three months ago, Caitlyn had come home late to a quiet apartment, her lover and her belongings nowhere to be found. The only mark that she had ever lived there was a simple note – now stained with Caitlyn’s tears – with two words scrawled onto it: ‘I’m leaving.’ Days of distressed, missed phone calls and relentless searching turned into dismay and numbness as Caitlyn buried herself in her work, desperate to fill the hole Vi had left in her heart as she came to terms with the possibility that her lover must’ve simply grown tired of her.
It worked most times, but on those particularly lonely nights where she would come home to an empty apartment, eating reheated leftovers and falling asleep on the couch, she had never ached for anything more than at least closure.
And now that Vi was here, running her fingers along her arms and kissing her on the mouth, she can finally have that. And so, she plays along.
“I’m sorry.” Vi mumbles, big hands snaking around her waist.
Caitlyn reaches up, tangling her fingers through her soft hair and leaning back against the edge of her desk. Vi closes her eyes, shoulders drooping as she melts against her touch.
“I don’t believe you.”
Her hand scours to the back of her head, gathering the hair at the nape of her neck, and she pulls – gently enough not to hurt, but hard enough to grab her attention. Vi groans, and the corners of Caitlyn’s lips twitch upwards into a satisfied smile.
“I didn’t think you would.” She bites out, her teeth gritted against the sensation.
She releases her hold, fingers massaging her scalp – a small mercy, before she swoops in with her killing strike.
Caitlyn leans in first this time. The tenderness and longing of their previous kiss has vanished completely, replaced by a hunger matched only by lovers who had not seen each other for years. She knows Vi can taste the coffee she had earlier on her tongue, bitter and strong; within their shared breaths, Caitlyn confirms that she had taken at least a sip of alcohol before her visit tonight.
Vi presses her body closer, her touch becoming more fervent and greedy. Caitlyn pulls away, but with not nearly enough conviction as she would have liked. She doesn’t want Vi to stop – but she also just cannot forget what transpired.
“Why did you do it?” She says, her voice almost becoming lost in the hot air between them. Why did you make my heart bleed?
For an agonizing minute, Caitlyn almost believes that Vi will not answer. Her kisses trail to her jaw, before her lips find her neck again in the darkness. A sneaky hand comes up to pull her shirt to the side, exposing her shoulder to the cold air of the office.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?”
She begins to fear the worst, an unsettling chill growing at the pit of her stomach. Perhaps she had left because she had found love with someone else, only returning when she had gotten tired of them. She had always had throes of beautiful women fawning over her; getting a girlfriend – or many – would never be much of an issue for Vi. She tenses at the nasty thought, grabbing her shoulders and looking right into those eyes that had always gazed at her with love.
“ Vi– ”
“I don’t deserve this.”
“What?”
Vi angles her head, kissing the inside of Caitlyn’s wrist so tenderly that it almost brings tears to her eyes.
“This,” she whispers, taking her hand into hers and planting kisses along each knuckle. “I don’t deserve this.”
To that, Caitlyn feels her heart finally tear into two. She grasps Vi’s jaw gently with her other hand, trying to capture her attention. She looks up, her gaze connecting with hers, and in them Caitlyn can see the shine of tears. Her own vision is blurry, unshed tears clogging her throat and making it stupidly difficult to suck a full breath in.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She whispers, her voice breaking.
But Vi had never been quite open about how she felt, had she? It had always been about Caitlyn – how she felt, what had been bothering her, what had been the freshest gripe in her career. And although Vi was always warm, Caitlyn could truly never pry her way into her heart, no matter how hard she tried.
Her face contorts, her tears finally spilling onto her cheeks. “Didn’t know how. I’m sorry.”
“No,” Caitlyn shakes her head quickly, the pieces of the puzzle finally clicking into place. “ I’m sorry. I failed you.”
Vi says nothing, refocusing her attention on kissing the length of her forearm, then her shoulder, then the sliver of skin exposed from the undone buttons at the top of her shirt. Caitlyn lets her relish in her scent, knowing that for her, the feeling of granting pleasure is just as satisfying as being gifted it.
Vi’s lips trail down the middle of her chest now, her shirt half open as her hands thumb at her breasts through her bra. She sighs, her head tilting backward as her hair spills over her desk. The pleasure is enough to distract from the pain, at least for now. But Caitlyn knows it won’t last – it never does. She tries to breathe through her nose in order to regain just a sliver of her senses, if only to carry on with their conversation.
Caitlyn slips her hands towards the front of Vi’s tank top, fingers tracing the hard outline of her muscles until they come to rest on the buckle of her belt.
“Just so you know,” She says finally, her voice hardening. Under her touch, Vi stiffens. “I forgive you.” But you hurt me – but Vi already knows that.
“Do you…?” Her voice is cautious, her eyes shining with barely concealed hope.
Caitlyn nods curtly, wiping away the tear streaks staining her cheeks.
When Caitlyn makes no move to pull away, Vi wastes no time in sealing her lips over hers again. She can feel the bulge of something firm pressing against her leg when Vi pulls her closer. She groans, her stomach fluttering as wetness pools between her thighs. Like flint to stone, Vi’s touch becomes rougher, unconsciously needing to compensate for Caitlyn’s burning desire.
Her hand slips into her bra and palms her breast again, and Caitlyn – eyes shut tightly and barely unable to focus on anything other than the feeling of the rough pads of Vi’s fingers on her nipple – undoes the belt and zipper of her pants with surprising ease. It is a waltz both of them have danced before, one Caitlyn has missed all too much. And from the way Vi is kissing her back, she can tell she misses it too.
She reaches inside her boxers, moaning when her fingers close around the solid girth of Vi’s cock. Wordlessly, she pulls back, positioning herself so that she can lie down on her desk comfortably. Vi lets her, resting both hands on either side of her head. She wraps her legs around Vi’s body, pulling her impossibly closer as their lips meet for one single precious moment, before Caitlyn pulls away again, her eyes searching for Vi’s in the shallow darkness.
In this new angle, Vi’s eyes are shining, looking down at Caitlyn with such reverence she almost does not feel worthy. She brushes the hair out of her face, marveling at the countless freckles littered across her face like constellations. She is as handsome as ever.
“Vi,” she says, the feeling of the tip of her cock remaining stark in her mind, “Don’t ever think, even for a second, that you don’t deserve this.” That you don’t deserve me.
She reaches over, taking her hands into hers and sliding them under her skirt to rest against her legs. Her hands begin to move, fingers tracing her thighs until they reach their target. In a swift motion, she pulls down her panties, suddenly so delicate and fragile under Vi’s desperate touch. Caitlyn swallows as she watches her grab hold of her cock, positioning herself so that her tip is lined up with her entrance. She feels the tip graze her clit under her skirt, and she sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth.
“You ready?”
“Yes– God!”
Caitlyn shuts her eyes tightly, time slowing to a crawl as she takes her dick inch by inch. Vi leans over, and she wraps her arms around her shoulders – a steady anchor against the forceful tides of pleasure coursing through her entire body. Through the haze of her gratification, she can feel Vi bury her face into her neck, her hair tickling Caitlyn’s skin.
Her thrusts are slow and rough, savoring and prolonging the moment as she fucks her sweetly. Caitlyn suddenly feels stupid for ever doubting her loyalty, for not recognizing how she had felt before she left.
Vi leans back just enough so that she can see Caitlyn’s face, laser focused on every hitch of her breath. Simply knowing that her every reaction is being monitored sends her mind skewing in all different directions at once, and she squeezes her legs tighter around Vi.
She reaches up, cupping her cheek tenderly. “You're doing so good.”
Her hips stutter before she picks up her pace ever so slightly, and Caitlyn feels her own arousal intermingling with her sweat, leaking between her thighs and without a doubt staining her desk. In any other circumstance, she might’ve been appalled, but right now the only thing she cares to focus on is the feeling of Vi inside of her.
“Vi…” She opens her eyes, only to see Vi already staring back at her, eyes wide with wonder. “I need more.”
Wordlessly, she obeys. Without stopping, she angles her hips and presses her cheek against hers so that their body is flush, and within the next thrust, the ridges of her cock graze her clit with just the right amount of pleasure. Caitlyn gasps at the newfound sensation, her hands clutching at anything around her as she seeks for purchase. A few pens, some papers, a book – they all clatter to the floor.
Vi thrusts into her even faster, all her previous tenderness suddenly vanishing. In a split second Caitlyn realizes that she cannot hold it off any longer. She reaches her peak, her back arching off the desk, nails scratching against the back of Vi’s jacket as she seeks for purchase. A loud echoing cry rips out of her throat – and she has never been more grateful to be alone in her office.
When Caitlyn finally finishes riding her high, Vi leans away, pulling out so gently she barely feels it. She remains silent as they catch their breaths, but in her eyes she finds a discrete question – one Caitlyn is all too eager to answer.
“I love you.” She says, her feelings blooming and unfurling like a bud belonging to a blossom tree. Cradling the newborn flower close to her heart, she continues–“I’ve never stopped loving you, and I don’t think I ever will.”
Vi laughs, a sound as sweet as the tinkling of chimes. “I love you too.”
Caitlyn does not know who leans in first this time – only registering the sweetness and chastity of the kiss that follows. A punctuation mark – marking the end of a chapter that they can both leave behind together. Caitlyn knows that this is far from over, but that hardly seems to matter in the grand scheme of things.
“Let me take you home,” Vi mumbles against her lips. Her voice is gruff and her eyes remain shut as her forehead rests against Caitlyn’s, but her shoulders no longer sag. Her face looks brighter, and there is a noticeable vigor restored in her movements.
Home. Caitlyn glances back at the impatient, forgotten paperwork on her desk, suddenly unimportant after everything that had just happened. She gets up, performing the last of her duties in order to close the office. At the back of her mind, it suddenly dawns on her that Vi is her home, and nothing will ever really change that.