#adumbdryer

The station is nearly empty, the bare bones night crew long ago dispersed to their respective zones. Flip and Jimmy were the only ones left in the bullpen so late at night, but the moment you had come through the door looking so sweet in your yellow sundress Jimmy had pushed himself up out of his chair and excused himself to the kitchen, the way his eyes met your proving he knew exactly why you had schlepped all the way downtown after midnight.

Flip grinned when he saw you, the kind of smile that went all the way through him, from the long legs that stretched toward you to the smirk that played at his lips and the half-lidded eyes that widened at the sight of you.

“You didn’t have to come all the way down here, baby. It’s so late already.” he says, pretending to be stern, but you can feel the way his fingers play with the hem of your dress as you come to stand before him. He pushes himself back from his desk and pats his lap, waits for you to take your seat across his firm thighs.

“I didn’t have to.” You say, feeling his lips drag along the column of your neck, feeling that he’s already half hard against your thighs. His arms drape around you, holding you close against him, holding you so tight that you can feel how truly happy he was to see you.  

“Mmm.” he hums, nibbling gently at the spot behind your ear that has your back arching, feeling his tongue run across the aging bruise that already lay there. He strokes your back lovingly, a Flip-typical gesture that has your heart clenching as much as your cunt, and it’s like he knows, because the smirk half hidden by his goatee grows wider.

“Maybe I missed you.” You breathe, feeling his eyes slide down to your lips as you speak. Your fingers skim down the front of his flannel, feeling his muscle bunch and tighten beneath your hands as he tries to impress you, to show you how strong he is, as if you didn’t already know— as if just the sight of his firm chest and broad shoulders didn’t already make you wet. “Maybe I just wanted to see you.”

Flip kisses you, soft, smooth, simple, a preamble to what is inevitably to come.

He shifts you in his lap, soporific, rubbing himself against you. “That why you wore my favourite dress?” he asks, scratching his chin with the backs of his fingers. Your fingers splay across his chest, slipping through the space between his buttons, feeling his bare skin hot as the precincts fiery space heater, and when he shivers, it isn’t from the cold of your fingers.

Flip pushes you to your feet, holding your hand so he can spin you, can watch the way the light yellow cotton lifts and floats around your long legs. “Like sunshine.” he admires, his hands sliding up your thighs as he pulls you back to him, his legs widening to accept you between them.

“How’d I get so lucky?” he says lowly, and you wonder if he’s talking to himself then.

“Keep lookin’ at me like that and you might get lucky twice tonight.” You tease, stepping back from him to push yourself up onto his desk, sitting yourself down right on top of all those papers and files he had just been so focused on, and you think wickedly that the next time he goes to work the pages would bear the marks of your lovemaking.

“Don’t tease me now honey.” he said sternly, turning to face you. “You know I can’t resist when you look at me like that.”

You preen under his gaze and his words, and spread your legs.

Flip follows the movement, soft lips parting as they ache to delve back beneath your dress and chase you to another orgasm, missing the way you tremble and shake beneath him, the way he can always taste how sweet you are when you come for him.

You smile sweetly, so sweetly, and spread your legs wide for him, never having felt as powerful as you do when he sinks to his knees before you. His hands slide up your thighs slowly, your dress rising from the friction of his palms, and when he sees you aren’t wearing any panties his jaw works so tight you worry for his teeth.

He can’t help but lick his lips, tugging at the leg of his jeans in search of some relief to the almost uncomfortable arousal he feels, so turned on that he can barely stand to be this close to you and not be inside of you.

His eyes are dark as obsidian as they meet yours, searching, beseeching, and while you had planned on a lot more teasing and a lot more begging, you take pity on the poor man, beckoning him forward with one curling finger and whispering, “You can touch me, detective.”

He doesn’t wait another moment, kissing the flat of your calves, the sides of your knees, the meat of your thighs. He’s so close he can see your wetness, can smell your arousal, feeling the heat of your core against the lips he licks in anticipation.  

He guides you onto your back, balling up his jacket so you have something soft to lay your head upon, and uses his arm to push aside his phone and his keyboard and the framed photo of you so that you had more space. His thumb brushes across your clit just hard enough to have your back arching and your thighs lifting off the desk, just like they do when he drapes them over his shoulders and licks between your legs, and when he lets his rough fingers drag across your cunt you cant help but let your head fall back as pleasure washes over you.

Flip noses at you softly at first, pressing a series of lazy kisses across your folds, lavishing in the feel of how wet you are against his lips. He wants to work you to your peak slowly, wants to make this last and last and last— but he knows Jimmy can only keep the other detectives busy for so long, so before you even have a chance to catch your breath he ventures deeper.

His face presses against you, the flag of his tongue lapping at the wetness between your folds, the wetness that causes his ego to swell when he knows it was caused by him. His long nose bumps purposefully against your clit, a thick finger reaching to press into you slowly and the gasp you let out feels light and pretty as music.

Your fingers rise from where they had been massaging the back of his neck to card through his hair, fisting into the dark curls as he sets to work, your grip tightening each time he makes your thighs tremble and your cunt clench, until you’re holding him just like he likes, almost enough to make him come right then and there from the mix of pleasure and pain.

“Shit honey.” he moans, and you can feel the sound reverberate through your body like a blow. His hand nearly spans the width of your hips, pressing just hard enough to keep you from bolting off the desk as he kisses your wet cunt. “You taste so good. I swear I’ve never tasted anything so sweet.”

You gasp at the words and at the intrusion of a second finger, wishing then that there were two of him, so you could feel his lips on your cunt and your mouth at the same time, and by the time he pushes another finger inside of you, you can already feel your peak beginning to build up at the tips of your toes and the back of your neck, a dull vibration ringing through you like the repercussion of a freshly struck bell.

Flip watches you, always likes to watch you. When you’re washing the dishes in nothing but one of his old flannels, with the sleeves rolled up and balled at your elbows, when you’re on your knees beside the tub as you wash the dog, laughing as you’re sprayed with wetness when she tries to shake herself dry. When you’re sleeping beside him, so peaceful, and you look so soft and sweet that he can’t help but touch you, let his fingertips drag across the slopes of your warm cheeks or the curves of your bare shoulders as you nuzzle closer to him.

But his very favourite is to watch you like this— when you’re falling apart, coming undone under his hands, his lips, his cock.

With your eyes pressed closed and your mouth thrown open and your hands fisting in his dark hair, Flip feels like a God—  better than a God, because he isn’t sure a God could touch you like this. He watches your cunt clench beneath his ministrations, your breasts heaving as he moves your thighs over his shoulders like the finest scarf he owns, watches the way redness floods your cheeks so full that it begins to curl down your neck and toward your regretfully covered chest.

“God!” You cry, eyes wide and filled with tears from the pleasure of it all. “I’m so...I need-“

“I got you, honey.” he says, and you believe him.

He’d do anything for you, he always tells you. Anything you want, anything you need. You can see it in his face when he’s working late and you come by the station with fresh coffee and sandwiches for he and Ron and Jimmy. You can hear it, in the steady beat of his heart when you wake in the night and find yourself pulled upon his warm chest, his strong arms wrapped around you almost tight enough to be uncomfortable.

He wants you so bad he considers taking your right then and there, in front of anyone who could walk by, considers hefting you into his arms and carrying you home and not giving a damn about abandoning his post. But you’re right here, right beneath him, and for now it’s enough.

“Flip!” You cry out, so overcome that it’s all you can say, breathing his name over and over like a sigh, like a prayer. “It’s-“ you begin, choking on the pleasure that bubbles through you. You can feel his teeth graze your clit, his beard rubbing against you so intensely that you know you’ll be sore, but Flip will find each mark after, will sooth away the welts with soft, warm kisses. “I can’t Flip. I’m gonna-“

Flip knows you, knows every face you make and every noise that spills from your lips when you come, when he makes you come, and he knows that you’re close. He shifts forward, his hand rising to your throat, pressing just firmly enough to stop the sound that threatens to spring forth as it so often does when he works you like this.

He lifts his gaze to look up at you, and you can see the love and reverence and unfettered desire in his dark eyes, and the way he purses his lips around your clit and begins to squeeze your throat in time with his lips is enough to shatter you, to push you over the edge and into the near blindness of pleasure.  

He holds you through it, his eyes sweeping over you so intently it was as though he was trying to memorise every inch of you, every expression, every face. His tight hand at your throat stops the sound of your orgasm from ripping through the quiet precinct, and though he misses the way you moan, the way you call his name so huskily, as though you suddenly lose your voice when he’s inside of you, he can still savour in the way you shake, in the faces you make. Your brows pull together and your mouth falls open in a soundless shout, like a silent movie star caught in the throes of passion, and your body goes so tight beneath him that it seems like you might snap.

He stops working you that way, but continues to lay soft, open mouthed kisses across your cunt and your quivering thighs, carrying you gently through your orgasm. When the sweep of pleasure finally leaves you, you feel sated, boneless, like you could barely pull yourself off his desk, and you’re glad for the strength of his well-muscled arms as he lifts you up and sets you back on his lap, your weak body making Flip hold you like a ventriloquist with a puppet.

“I brought you coffee and doughnuts.” You say weakly and Flip doesn’t miss the smile in your voice. “I hear that’s what you officers like best.”

“No thanks, sweetness.” he says, chuckling darkly. He lifts you up and sets you back on your feet, offering a hand to keep you steady, and you take it happily, letting his arm fall across you to nestle between your breasts where it belongs. “I already had my dessert.”

You can see his cock pushing angrily against the front of his jeans and frown, hoping your cheeks aren’t too red as you look up at him.

“File room?” You ask, squeezing his arm. You’re more than familiar with the consistently empty room, having spent more hours with your face pressed into the old files or your ass resting against the cool steel of the filing cabinets than you can count.

He clicks his tongue, laying his jacket over your shoulders to hide the imprint his things had made upon your skin. “Not today honey.” he says and you falter, brow twitching in confusion. He smiles, takes your hand, pulls you close.“Who needs a file cabinet when you got a proper bed at home.”