by B. Cavis
by B. Cavis
None of them can remember when it started, or even justify to themselves why. It wasn’t a day full of emotional catharsis, nor inspiration. No one shouted “Eureka!” at any part of the afternoon, and it was probably in their own best interests that no one was over come with that urge.
There wasn’t alcohol involved (God, during work hours? They’re stupid and hormonal, but not that stupid). None of them were suffering from a head injury, and even Bobby was passing nine out of ten on the sanity checklist that morning.
Everything was blissfully, deceptively normal; the calm before the storm coming upon them before they could prepare for it-- before they were aware of it. Deakins was swept away in it, and Bobby and Alex almost drowned in the downpour.
Might drown still, Alex reflects with a wry twist of her lips.
All she really remembers is that she was wearing her favorite pair of pants. Silk with a side zip. Her blouse was red, and her boobs looked huge in it; it was laundry day and she had been reduced to wearing her white cotton bra and panties.
Bobby looked the same, she guesses. Hair in disarray, omnipresent stubble crawling across his cheeks, suit looking just as designer as the one he wore yesterday did. He looked like a GQ orgasm, but that’s how he looks every day.
Alex’s memory is usually very good, but all she can really remember is what she was wearing. She remembers the way Bobby was biting his tongue that day, cheeks hollowing periodically. She remembers the taste of the fine coffee he bought for her down the street and brought in as a special treat.
She remembers the color Deakins’s cheeks turn when he called them in from the bullpen, the pink tinge on his face and the anger in his dark eyes. She remembers the way he moved, like a large, dangerous cat, and how she crossed her arms over her chest to hide her nipples.
She remembers him coming up behind her, closing the shades, and snarling at the both of them like they were scum upon scum. And she remembers the brush of his hand over her ass on the way back, hard and firm and rough.
All Alex really remembers is that one moment they were getting snarled at for talking to a suspect without his lawyer, and the next minute she’d had her face against the desk blotter, cheek imprinted with the paper, while Bobby moaned next to her, breath warm and slightly bitter against her face.
Deakins had sat in his chair, one hand up Bobby’s ass fingering his prostate, the other resting on Alex’s red ass as she tried to recover from just being thrown down and thoroughly spanked like a woman considerably younger than herself.
Yeah. That’s all she remembers.
It had started a pattern; a tradition of sorts.
So when Deakins growls out “Get in here now,” at them from his office door, making the other officers share that look of “Ooh, somebody’s in trou-ble” that used to make classrooms full of students giggle and faces turn guilty and red, Alex rises quietly and doesn’t take her notebook with her. Goren finishes scribbling an unreadable sentence on a piece of paper, meets her eyes briefly, and takes his place at her side for the long walk to the Principal’s office.
Neither one of them touches each other on the walk. He waits for her to go past him, then closes the door behind. The blinds are already drawn. No one’s thought anything of it-- they’ve seen Alex and Bobby go in there, something with both Carver and Deakins waiting for them, and it’s not at all suspicious that they don’t want people looking in on them while they talk about the high profile cases they seem to stumble into.
The door snicks closed behind them, and no one on the outside hears it lock.
“I should just throw you both out right now,” he starts off in The Voice, and Alex finds her arms across her chest. Besides her, Bobby shoves his hands in his pockets to help hide the start of his erection. The part for being obvious comes later.
But first, the chewing out. Submission without resistance is a tasteless meal, after all.
“Do you have any idea how much trouble you are both in? Huh?” His eyes are tiny and angry, slightly mean. Alex swallows and Bobby shifts, looking everywhere but at him.
“I don’t want to hear it,” he growls out. “I’ve warned the two of you about behavior like this before.”
“Yes,” Bobby agrees, not sounding at all repentant, and Deakins comes out from behind his desk, eyes narrowed, and invades the younger man’s personal space with the horny, role-playing ease that all three of them are wallowing in right now.
“You use that tone with me again, Detective Goren, and we are going to have a problem, do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal,” Goren mumbles in the same tone again, and Alex shifts next to them, muttering something under her breath, disrespect evident in her posture and the set of her jaw.
Deakins has Bobby by the belt before either one of them knows what’s going on, and Alex has enough time to open her mouth to protest before he has him thrown face first over the desk, Armani clad ass turned up invitingly. “Get your ass over here, Detective Eames, or I’ll give your punishment to him as well.” He stands back, waiting expectantly, and she swallows hard.
But since partners don’t let their partners stand on their own, she walks, chewing on her bottom lip uncertainly, over to the desk, takes a deep breath, and bends over it along side Bobby. They can feel the heat from each other radiating, warm and partnerly.
She meets his eyes for a moment and wonders when they started trying to deliberately provoke him. He swallows, and she knows that he’s just as shocked at her dark streak as she is at his. She’d always imagined Bobby would need stability-- reassurance and affection in bed.
That he enjoys getting thrown over their boss’s desk and spanked until even his thick skin must be smarting with it, well, that’s something she didn’t quite anticipate being a part of his pathology.
Then again, she thinks as Deakins drags the back of his hand over the both of them, fingers light but firm, whenever she gets him into bed, he likes to be the dominant one. She’s had Bobby a grand total of five times in the past two weeks, their first interlude the result of one too many reservations loosened after a congratulatory glass of We Solved A Case, Aren’t We Smart white wine. They’ve never actually spoken about these little interactions with each other, just as they’ve never brought them up with Deakins. But five times in the past two weeks, he’s taken her apart and put her back together.
He had her call him “Master” last night, and she had done it without a second thought. She and her husband were a bit kinkier than anyone seems to want to give a dead man and a widow credit for.
To turn that control, the keyword to Bobby’s life, over to someone else is something she never thought she’d see him do.
Deakins squeezes her right ass cheek, hissing in pleasure as she lets out a little sound and arches up.
…Then again, she never thought she’d end up doing this either, for more reasons that just her control issues.
“You both have to learn a little respect for authority.” She closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to think, and pushes back at the hand that’s still trailing across her. “You walk around like you think you own this place and everyone in it. Like because you have a high solve rate, you deserve to be the Gods of One Police Plaza.”
The first smack, hard and open palmed, and Bobby is the first one to let out the desperate, needy sound this time.
“You two are not Gods. You are my detectives. You belong to me. And it’s apparently become my job to remind the two of you about that.” He unzips the back of her pants, pushing the linen down to pool around her ankles, and she can feel Bobby’s little moan as his belt is unbuckled and his pants unzipped by another person’s hand. He loves it when she does it with her teeth while keeping her eyes on him-- makes his knees buckle and his hands fist in her hair with a good portion of his strength behind them.
“Yeah, my job…”
He rubs her ass gently, soothing the sting the initial blow. He knows what he’s doing; knows how to spank instead of abuse, how to punish and how to entice. It’ll hurt to sit down when he’s done with them, but every time they feel that hurt, it’ll have a memory attached to it that’ll make them both want to fuck something hard and fast to alleviate the tingle between their legs.
Alex is still a bit sore from her romp with “Master” Bobby last night. She winces a bit when his hand pushes too hard on a sore spot, and he notices. “I haven’t even started,” he growls out, “and you think it’s too much already?” She whimpers quietly, shaking her head, pressing her hot cheek against the cool polished wood of his desk. God, she can’t talk to him during this-- please God don’t make me talk during this, she thinks. She never talks-- they never talks.
This is Deakins’s territory. They’re prey, and prey is silent. She feels his hand grab the top of her panties and pull, pushing them down just enough for him to gain access. He blows out through his teeth.
“You’ve been fucking someone, Detective Eames, and they haven’t been gentle.”
Bobby shifts next to her, and she bites back the urge to smile. Even spread over their boss’s desk, preparing to be spanked for being bad little boys and girls, he’s concerned for her. Did he go too hard, did he push her too far, is he to blame for her pain-- she’ll have to deal with all of these issues later on tonight, when they are far, far away from Deakins and the things they do with him.
But as of right now, she’s not disliking the pain so much.
The hand comes down again, harder than before, and she pushes her fist into her mouth to keep her voice down. The sound of the smack reverberates through the office, and she has the all too rational fear of someone walking in on them while they’re doing this. She’s worked for years to get to where she is today-- years of hard, long, tough-as-the-boys work. The last thing she needs is to lose all of it over a spanking. Over her boss’s hand on her ass and the tingle between her legs.
Deakins dips a hand into the tingle, two fingers skimming her pussy, and comes back wet. “Ah, not gentle, but not enough to keep you from having a good time. Good job, Bobby. I’m impressed. I was wondering why she’s been walking funny recently.”
He wipes her wetness off on Bobby’s boxer shorts-- black cotton today, she knows-- and turns his attention towards the larger, more disobedient of the pair. “I wonder if she’s half as much trouble for you as you are for me. Somehow, I doubt it though.” There’s humor in his voice, light and cheery, and something in Bobby tells him to smile, but he doesn’t. He’s not that stupid when it comes to judging people; smiling at the man who’s about to spank you is a Bad Thing.
“Then again, you seem to like being the bad boy. As long as someone’s there to make you take responsibility for it later, you really seem to like it.” He reaches between the Detective’s legs and gives a few rough tugs to his dick that make both of the people tossed over his desk moan. “Yeah, you fucking love it.”
And Bobby, big bad Bobby, nods helplessly against the wood.
Deakins has the man’s boxers down in a second, a hard smack on either cheek the next. Alex cries out when he starts in on the both of them at the same time, each trying (but not hard) to evade the blows. He catches her on a bright red bite mark and she wails into her arm, pressing her agony into her own flesh to try and hide it. He watches with dissatisfaction.
“You don’t get to muffle yourself,” he warns. “Take your arm away. I hear everything. I own you, and if anyone hears you they’ll just know it even more.”
Her fingers shake as she puts her arm down, and he spanks her again as she wraps them around the edge of the desk for purchase. The cries she makes are low and clear and deliciously desperate.
Bobby is pushing back at him, ass tight and muscles clenched, and Deakins smacks him with all of the muscles of his arm behind it, pushing Bobby forward with a grunt and a groan. His cock presses against the edge of the desk, the sensation bordering on pain, but Deakins reaches underneath him to jerk him off for three quick seconds and then he’s able to readjust.
Alex squeezes her eyes shut tightly, images of her, Bobby, and the Bossman playing over her eyelids mercilessly. Bobby pounding her from behind while Deakins sits impassive in front of her, hand in her hair as he makes her suck his dick. Deakins, sitting at his desk with his hands folded in front of him while she and Bobby crouched underneath, trying not to suffer claustrophobia, and taking turns licking his balls. Bobby in front of her and Deakins behind, moving in and out of her, fingers pressed into her mouth, muscles wrapping her safely in between them, grunting and groaning and making her beg for it.
She has the sudden flash of Deakins making her beg to be his slut, shivers, and wonders when she rediscovered her kinky streak.
He keeps at it, smacking and spanking until they’re whining in only pain, and then goes for a while longer. By the time he pauses, Alex can feel the heat radiating off of her ass and the thick wetness in her pussy. Her breasts feel heavier than normal, nipples tight and hard, and she rubs against the desk like a cat in heat, wishing he had more hands.
Bobby is groaning and trying desperately to draw air as their boss rubs his hands over each abused ass in front of him. Alex watches his slack jaw and needy face with an odd sense of detachment. Is that what I look like, she wonders, and isn’t sure if it’s in her to feel ashamed anymore.
“I love watching you two turn that color,” Deakins reflects, rubbing a bit harder to make them both groan and shift uncomfortably again. “Would do it all the damn time if I had the damn time.” He shrugs. “Ah well. Have to console myself with the little things I suppose.”
Three thick, dry fingers push into her, and Alex breathes out throw her nose, whining a little at the fill. Bobby gets one, carefully rimming him before pushing forward, and he thrusts back at it for more even as she rocks back and forth to try and get movement. “You two think you deserve to come now? I don’t think so. I’m not all that sure you both understand what you did wrong.”
Alex groans, fingers going white-knuckled and tight on the desk. Her ass burns, her pussy aches, and she can feel her partner and lover breathing heavily against her face. “Well, what about it?” Deakins asks. “Do you understand? Do you comprehend?”
Bobby gets another finger, pushing past that hard, strict muscle. His mouth opens in a silent scream, eyes wide, and Deakins’s fingers start doing that little “c’mere” movement, searching for her spot. She purrs happily, content with what she’s doing right now, and blinks at her partner in satisfied submission. Fuck it, she thinks. I’m going to get to come.
“Wanted to do this to the two of you for God knows how long,” Deakins grumbles. “Am going to fuck you until you’re both begging me to stop and never stop in the same damn breath.” He finds her G-Spot, hits it dead on, and she starts babbling, begging, needing even more. Bobby finally loosens enough for Deakins to get to his prostate, and Bobby’s hand pounds the desk in pleasure as he’s melted from the inside out.
“Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah…” she hears him saying, the first words out of either one of them since they first came in, and it breaks her own floodgates down easily.
“I wanna come,” she whines, “God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! We’ll never do it again, ever, ever, ever..” She can feel herself tightening, the muscles that need to pull, pulling. She’s almost there. God, she’s almost there, and he has to let her come he just has to. “Pleeeeeeassee!”
Bobby grunts and pushes back harder. “Fuck me, come on, come on, fuck me…” She glares at him through her fuzzy bubble of pleasure. Is he trying to one up her? Bring it on, baby, she thinks defiantly, laughing internally at the pet name for him. I can out beg you any day of the week.
“Fuck me, anywhere, just do it…” She cries out, gasping and breathy. “I need it so bad, give it to me, please… Oh God please give it to me, I need it, I need you, I need you!”
And she must have said something right because Deakins growls darkly, and then she feels that familiar buzz inside of her, like her orgasm is an electrified, hot wired car running inside her, running down her veins, boiling her up, spilling her down to pool on the road and the carpet and hey, maybe Lewis has a new car she can look at…
Alex opens her eyes to see the satisfied, grinning mouth of her lover as he plays with the speed dial for the vibrator he somehow managed to get inside her while she slept. Her electrified, hotwired orgasm. Cat burglar fingers, she thinks mildly, looking at him with something akin to pride.
“That was one hell of a wake up call,” she offers cheerfully, and Bobby shrugs.
“You were moaning in your sleep. I figured a little help would be just what you needed.” He pulls the vibrator out, licking it clean and tossing it in the nightstand. One of them will take care of it later. “You were calling out for Deakins,” he says quietly, and she flushes.
“Which I would feel a lot worse about, if I didn’t wake up sometimes with the word choked down in my throat,” he continues lightly, and she stops.
Well I’ll be damned.
She curls back under the covers, waiting for him to join her, and when he’s within reach, she wraps herself around him gently. His breathing is even and slow, but his pulse is beating a mile a minute. She listens to his heartbeat with a small smile, knowing he’s watching her the whole time.
He’s always watching her.
“I want him,” she says quietly. “I want him and I want you.”
He nods, stroking her hair with the tips of his fingers, playing the softness of the strands over his brain to try and find something fitting to compare it to. Velvet? Satin? Water?
She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and presses even closer to him. “So yeah, that’s basically where I am right now.”
“You want him and me.”
He strokes her a bit longer, thinking hard and deep. Silk? Oil? Skin lotion?
“I’ll get him for you,” he says, and when she takes her head away from his chest and stare at him, there is no doubt in his mind. “Your hair is as soft as baby powder on skin. I’ll get him for you.”
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