I think Dex loves his girlfriend's ass. send tweet
Dex Can't Help Grabbing Your Ass
Dex loves your ass, and this isn’t new information.
You are FBI!Dex’s first proper long-term relationship, and he learns very quickly that he likes the way you look in jeans. He likes the way you look in dresses. He likes the way you look in FBI-event-appropriate outfits that are supposed to be respectable but unfortunately still involve you having a body. He likes when you bend down to pick something up and he has to stare very hard at the wall like he’s a decent man with decent thoughts.
And he’s currently got intrusive thoughts about grabbing your ass.
Last night, he had you on the bed, taking you from behind with his hand spread over the small of your back, dragging you back to him every time you tried to crawl forward, smacking, grasping, and gripping your ass.
He wants to grab them again, but unfortunately, he is at an FBI work party. He is supposed to be Agent Poindexter, well-dressed and well-trained.
He knew inviting you as a +1 was a mistake when you’re standing in front of him, shifting just slightly on your sneakers while you listen to his coworker’s wife say something about the food, and Dex’s brain starts doing that thing where one thought becomes three thoughts becomes one very loud thought with no space between impulse and hand.
She likes it in public sometimes.
His hand drops before he thinks about it and settles over your ass. His whole palm settles over you, possessive enough that your sentence stutters in the middle.
Then his hand squeezes, because apparently one bad decision was not enough. Apparently the horny little goblin in his brain has taken the wheel and driven directly into the edge of a cliff.
You turn your head slightly, eyes wide, mouth parted around a warning smile like, Dex. Dex, don’t.
And because you look flustered and secretly amused and pretty enough to make him stupid, he smacks your ass.
Your whole body jolts, your hand flying to your mouth to cover the laugh that immediately tries to escape, and Dex goes white-hot when he finally fucking realises what he has just done that at a room full of federal agents.
Then Ray materialises beside him. “You good, Dex?”
Dex’s hand leaves you like it has been burned. He’s beet red, neck, ears, face, all of it. He looks like he would rather be back under sniper fire than have Ray looking at him like that.
“I didn’t mean to,” Dex says in a small panic.
Dex swallows. “I mean, I did. I just— not here.”
You’re still standing there, trying so hard not to laugh. You look mortified and delighted all the same.
DDBA!Dex, though? He would do it in the middle of a bar while you were talking to your bartender friend and not feel even a little bad.
He would just come up behind you, palm settling over your ass like a fact of nature, squeeze once, maybe smack if he was in the mood, and if you turned around scandalised, he would blink at you.
“What?” He asked. “You like it.”
Because his logic is simple. He likes it. You like it. Ergo, he gets to have it.
So yeah, because of his impulsive thoughts, FBI!Dex knows better and does it anyway. DDBA!Dex knows better and thinks that is everybody else’s problem.
this is a queued post! I am currently either getting married or on my honeymoon! enjoy! 💕
