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Brett has you caged in beneath him, holding himself up on his hands so he can get a good look at the pretty, decorative harness he's tied around your torso with soft rope.

He likes the way it looks against your skin as you move, the way parts of it catch the light, and he particularly likes the way it digs in, ever so slightly, when you take deep, shuddering breaths.

The way you are now, in fact, as he stuffs you full of his cock, giving you deep, steady thrusts, making sure you feel every. Single. Inch. Of him as he moves.

Given the way you're moaning for him, wrapping your thighs tight around his hips, back arching off the mattress, he'd say you're feeling it just fine.

Leaning over you, pressing you into the mattress, he picks up his pace.

He's just establishing a nice rhythm, getting you closer and closer to release, if the way your cunt is tightening around him is any indication, when his phone starts ringing.

Considering he has the damn thing on Do Not Disturb, and he has exactly four people set for it to override, one of whom isn't speaking to him and another- being you- is currently beneath him and full of his cock, it's probably an emergency.

You whine as he slows down, leans over to grab his phone from the nightstand. Fucking Sharon. Of all the times she could be calling him...

He tries to tell himself it's either an emergency, or she's finally decided to give him a job at 42.

"Noooo, please don't stop-" you beg all needy and whimpering, making him seriously consider whether he needs to answer his phone. The responsible part of him wins.

Brett lowers himself down onto one forearm, brushes his lips across yours, still giving you shallow little thrusts.

"Can you stay quiet if I take this call?" He asks, voice a low, almost seductive purr.

You nod eagerly, mime zipping your lips shut, even as he gives you a doubtful look.

He figures that you probably can, so long as he doesn't give it to you too hard while on the call; his solution is to roll you over so you’re on top of him, giving you a warning look when you moan again, before he answers the call.

"Hello?"

You have to admit, you're impressed by the fact that he doesn't even sound out of breath. Of course, he keeps his body in peak physical condition; while he carries the signs of his age in his cinnamon sugar curls, in the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, he's still stronger than most men half his age.

Based on the way he nods as the person on the other end – Sharon, you think – is talking, it’s a serious conversation. You don’t care, not when the hand that isn’t holding his phone to his ear is smoothing over your body, up your thigh, over your stomach, tracing the rope expertly woven around your torso, brushing his fingers over your nipples.

You have to fight not to react, force yourself to stay silent as he shifts beneath you, trying to get comfortable, you think. Regardless of the reason, the result is the same; the movement temporarily has him pressed deeper inside you.

As you bite down on your bottom lip, Brett raises his eyebrows at you. You can kind of hear what Sharon’s saying down the line, something about staffing and shuffling the decks and making it work without stepping on toes.

You’ve met the division chief before, once or twice, at social things, because whilst you may be a little younger than Brett, he doesn’t hesitate to show you off. Doesn’t leave you with any doubt that you’re his, and that he has no shame about the age difference.

Sharon’s nice enough, but she doesn’t do a good enough job of hiding her judgement. You still remember the way she’d looked you up and down when you’d first met her, the way she’d said you weren’t what she was expecting.

There’s a part of you that’s pretty sure she just wants to be in your place instead. Not that you can blame her at all, so you always try your hardest to be polite, to be nice, because you don’t want to play into the idea of a younger than her partner woman who gets irrationally jealous.

You know that Brett loves you. Know how hard he worked to get himself to a place where he was comfortable building a relationship again, let alone with someone a little younger.

That doesn’t mean that you aren’t slightly tempted to let an audible moan out as Brett listens to her talk, answers with little mm-hmmand uh-huh sounds as she goes on and on about how she’s managed to fit him into 42, if he wants it, somewhere between a Captain and a Chief role, until there’s a space in one of the other surrounding stations to Edgewater.

You really do try not to be petty, but she’s drawing the conversation out for far too long. It doesn’t help that her son, Bode, annoys the hell out of you, too. He’s hotheaded and disrespectful, and he’s asked you more than once what a pretty thing like you is doing with some boring old guy like Richards?

You and Brett have more in common than people would suspect. You both prefer your quiet hobbies; the company of books, animals and a garden over socialising. Never mind the fact that after his wife had passed, Brett had gone through an entire… journey… of self discovery.

The kind of journey that’s resulted in the pretty rope harness woven around your torso, accentuating your tits. The same tits you cup in your hands, teasing him by playing with them before you plant your hands back on his chest.

Not trusting yourself to ride him properly and stay quiet, you start slowly grinding against him, letting the coarse greying curls at the base of his cock rub against your puffy clit.

It feels good, better than you expected. The pleasure that you get from it is evident in the expression on your face, in the way your eyes briefly drop closed, nose slightly wrinkled, lips parted.

All the while as you keep up this slow grinding, you lightly drag your nails across and over his chest. Over the light sprinkle of hair that dusts his pectorals. Down his abs, which honestly, you think are obscene with how defined they are.

Running your nails back up, you watch in satisfaction as his eyes briefly drop closed; Brett loves when you use your nails on his chest, his shoulders, his back.

It’s probably cruel of you to do while he’s on an important phone call, but you start moving properly, lifting yourself up an inch or so and then back down, slow, so there’s no lewd sound effects that the phone mic will pick up.

“Yeah,” he says in response to whatever Sharon’s saying, voice just a little ragged as he continues, “that sounds great.”

Narrowing his hazel eyes at you, he smoothly rolls his hips up, making you gasp; his free hand moves to cover your mouth, muffling the filthy moan that escapes you.

“Is now a bad time?” Sharon’s voice is vaguely audible through the speaker; a jolt of satisfaction rushes through you when you realise she may have heard you.

“What? No, now’s a good time, but we can always go over the details on Monday.” Voice even, Brett keeps rolling his hips, steadily fucking up into you, keeping his hand gently resting over your mouth.

Most of your little moans and mewls are muffled into his palm, quiet as he finishes his conversation. You have no idea whether Sharon has caught onto the fact that something’s up, but you also don’t care, are beyond caring.

He hangs up, tosses the phone aside, releases your mouth so he can hear your filthy moan as he rolls you again, pins you beneath him.

“I thought you were going to behave,” he purrs, plants an open mouthed kiss to your throat.

“You told me I needed to stay quiet, not to behave.” You counter, eyes sparkling with mischief as he shakes his head.

Luckily, he isn’t actually irritated with you, loves you too much to care that you disobeyed him… this time.

“Mm, well.” He braces one hand beside your head.

You can’t help but giggle a little, half embarrassed and half because you can just picture him blushing under interrogation. Brett smirks, not actually annoyed, hikes your thigh up around his waist and drawing high pitched moans out of you, grunting softly as he starts to move.

“You’re not the one that has to have a very awkward conversation on Monday.”

"what're you doing here?" he asks, a little sharp, and you sense his annoyed tone.

"craig asked for help with something," you answer nonchalantly, "more importantly, where are you going?"

andrew glances at you. "none of your business."

you knew he wouldn't give you a real answer. "that shirt... it's very..." you try to find the words, "lavender."

"i know what color it is."

"right. i just wasn't aware you owned anything that's not grey or black."

he sighs, turning to sip his coffee. "was there something you needed?"

"no, just," you pause, eyeing him from head to toe, "you look nice."

andrew's eyebrow twitches.

andrew's disinterest or annoyance with you is no secret. you're one of the few people who pushes his buttons and he honestly doesn't know why he puts up with you.

you're one of craig's friends who has become close to the rest of the codys, and you particularly like to spend time commenting on things andrew does.

"you're supposed to rinse the sponge once you're finished." "i know. i'm not done." "ok, i'm just saying... the sponge could use a bit of rinsing."

"andrew, can you stop staring? god it's like you're drilling a hole on my head." "...maybe i am." "well knock it off." "you're annoying."

"he's going on a date." you hear deran say as he passes by.

"really, man?" andrew huffs, he doesn't want to make a big deal about it.

"oh." oh. you nod, feeling a twinge in your chest.

andrew sips his coffee and subtly glances at you, wondering why you're not making a snarky comment about it.

you fidget with your bag. "well, have fun then."

and then you leave to go find craig by the pool.

andrew frowns, something from your reaction not sitting right with him.

andrew's back by nine.

you're still at the house, ended up staying for dinner because craig ordered enough food to feed an army and it felt wasteful to leave. part of you is relieved he's back early, but you're still a little on edge.

"yo." craig nods his head at andrew, throwing him a can of beer.

he catches it easily, plopping down on the couch next to you.

and you can still smell his damn cologne.

"how was the date?" you can't help but ask, and then regret it immediately after.

"fine."

of course. not a drop of detail. you exhale quietly and eat your pizza.

andrew's gaze moves from the tv to you, wondering about your unusual silence. you'd normally bother him about everything, so technically you should be bothering him about this. you should be asking him a million questions by now.

was she your type? what did she wear? where did you guys go? was she nice? did she comment on the lavender shirt? was she funny? did you kiss her? did you...

and of course andrew doesn't know these questions are running in your head right now. you just don't want to ask. you can't. you don't want to know the answer to them. because deep down you're scared of the answer. you'd rather not know.

feeling that painful twinge in your chest again, you bite your lip and push yourself off the couch.

"alright, i'm taking off."

"what?" craig whines, "dude it's not even 10."

"yeah i got an early thing tomorrow." you lie. "see you guys."

you grab your bag and walk away, not even saying andrew specifically goodbye like you typically would.

andrew watches you leave. something's definitely wrong. he can feel it in his chest, in his head. he needs to get to the bottom of it.

he gets up from the couch and follows you out.

you're about to walk out of the gates when you hear andrew calling over you.

"what're you doing?"

"..leaving? duh." you cross your arms.

"i mean, why are you walking? where's your car?"

"oh," you lower your arms, "i sold it."

"you sold it?" andrew's brows raise.

you sigh, "yeah, i needed the extra money."

"jesus..." andrew sighs too. "come on."

"what?"

"what do you mean, what? i'm driving you home."

your face scrunches. "it's fine, i'll just walk--"

andrew calls your name sternly. "get in the car."

not up for debate. got it. you grit your teeth and walk towards his truck, climbing in. "...thanks."

andrew just glances at you before starting the engine.

the ride is quiet. your plan to walk home while sulking went sideways so now you have to hide the stinging feeling until you're home.

you already know what this is. you think you've actually been hiding the fact that you have feelings for andrew quite well and for quite some time. you dodge it with snide comments, slightly making fun of him to make sure he won't notice.

but you can't do it right now. you can't hide your sullen face. and andrew sees it clear as day.

"so, uh," he clears his throat, "what's wrong with you today?"

he gets right on it.

"what?"

he glances at you again. "you're all quiet."

"...i'm just tired."

"no, that wouldn't stop you normally." you roll your eyes at his comment. "you'd be making fun of my purple shirt and asking a thousand questions about my date and then some."

right. the date.

"so what's wrong?" he asks again.

"nothing is wrong, andrew." you sigh. "maybe i think you actually look good in that shirt. maybe i'm just not curious about your date that much. i did ask how it went, right? there. i asked."

"you don't want to know if she was rude to the waitress? where she's from? what she does for a living? how i met her?"

your jaw clenches and you close your eyes for a second. "no, no, no, and no. believe it or not, i don't care that much about you."

that lands a lot more meaner than you intended. it's actually not at all what you want to say. you want to tell him how much you do care and how much you want him and how he deserves the best in the world. but how can you tell him that?

andrew goes quiet.

"i'm sorry," you apologize. "i didn't mean that."

"so what do you mean?" he asks, pulling over to the front of your house.

"nothing. it's nothing." you repeat. "thanks for the ride."

you immediately open the door when andrew shifts the gear to park and the door unlocks automatically, but andrew's faster to reach over and grab the handle, shutting it close and locking it again.

"andrew--" you gasp when you turn around.

he's so close. you can smell his cologne again and feel his breath on your skin.

"tell me." he almost begs.

you feel that tightness in your chest again, and your gaze drops down to his lips.

and then out of adrenaline, emotions running high, you mentally scream fuck it and kiss him.

andrew's taken aback. he goes rigid.

he wasn't expecting this, you can tell. and after a few seconds of you basically kissing a wall, you pull away, unable to look him in the eye, unlock the door manually and leave without a word.

you can't believe you did that.

why would you do that?

you rush to your door, but again, andrew's fast. he's climbing out of his car and racing to you. your hands shake as you fumble for your keys, and then you feel his hand wrap around yours.

"fuck. fuck. fuck." you curse out, trying to calm your nerves.

andrew turns you around to face him, cupping your face and searching deep into your eyes. he wipes the tears away.

and then he kisses you this time. he pecks you once. twice. three times. until your arms start reaching up for him too.

hours after, you're lying in your bed next to andrew, bodies tangled as you both catch your breaths. he pulls you into his arms, foreheads touching.

"something's on your mind." he states.

you really can't escape him. "not sure you want to know this one."

"try me."

you bite your lip before looking at him and asking; "did you.. sleep with her?"

andrew softens. he shakes his head. "no. left right after i finished eating. then i went for a walk."

you won't admit you feel glad hearing that.

then andrew pulls you in even closer, whispering by your ear. "kept thinking of you."

you look up at him, eyes sparkling with hope. "yeah?"

"yeah." he mutters, leaving kisses on your neck. "been thinking of you for a long time. but you keep making fun of me. thought you hated me."

"sorry," you sigh, "defense mechanism. for what it's worth... i thought you hated me too."

andrew pauses and looks at you, making sure you're looking right at him when he says: "i don't hate you. i can never hate you."

you smile at that.

"who knew andrew cody is such a sap?"