shout out to the people who think benjamin poindexter would be a sadist/masochist because, 'key, i get it perfectly.

but s3 dex who was such a stalker and got so nervous when julie actually spoke to him?? hear me out on this but this man's a virgin and we are here for it.

warnings: sexual content, virgin!poindexter x fem!OC, stalking

he never had a close female presence after ending therapy, never felt a woman so close after finishing his workday. being a special agent, benjamin poindexter FBI snipper who's still a virgin well into his thirties just because he never had time to think about what he liked to do instead of what he should be.

even in high school, when he first got medicated the right way, the pills took away his youth. he never had any luck. of course some pretty girls and silly boys gazed at his skills in baseball matches, but dex never looked back.

teenage years was him being the weirdo, poking dead birds at break time or listening to some tapes in a corner. his shoes were dirty and worn, the same for his old patched repeated outfits throughout the week. he had no idea what to wear and how to be until he joined the military, forcing himself to look away from that strange sense of mourning over her therapist’s death. after all, she was the one who left him

so, after getting a good job, what next?

he found you.

dex would only look at you from the safety of his own distance, because watching you was part of his new "‘We will stick to the plan: keeping the place clean, a routine that requires discipline". And, since the hotline two years ago, he already knows by heart how you drank your coffee (raw americano with no sugar when you were in a good mood or a cappuccino with a lot of cinnamon when you were angry), what kind of movies made you smile or throw up (he was definitely not going to the cinema to watch some christopher nolan's movie, but to listen to your reaction), the way you felt beautiful with dark-brown clothes on autumn but always with an ivy green eyeshadow on any winter's day and bright lemon patterned sheets hanging on your balcony through all spring and summer (god, he learnt a whole lot of colour names while he was waiting for you, two changing rooms further on); why you prefered yoga to going for a run (you're kinda paranoid about people following you), and he sticked with the habit of stopping to smell your perfume in the sample section of stores.

not one of his favourite scenarios, but the dizziness of watching you changing into your nightgown, in that liminal space between afternoon and evening that belongs to no one, when the blouse, clinging to your body like the hours of the day, slips over your head and he catch a glimpse of your skin. dex lowered his gaze in the same way everyday, following the curve of your back; already licking his lips as you took off your clothes and the reddish lines etched into your soft skin frame the sight of your bare chest. clutching the hands around the peephole in a parasympathetic reflex, feeling the weight of your tits in the palms of his hands --too calloused, too accustomed to taking lives rather than touching them--, cupping along the right side of your ribs, squeezing the soft flesh of your hips until the lamentations of his day would be buried within you. always, flowing into you. having nothing more than his hand to console him in the carseat. some nights, at the same pace as you, thanks to the absence of curtains in your bedrom. he should fix that for you when you were a couple.

You were the first woman he saw naked outside of a poster or a screen. he started to fantasize after knowing you, putting a face in that faceless woman in his dreams, that loved him back and cared about him being alive, so he knew nothing about intimacy. he even may had started watching some videos to educate himself… the trending x content, but the people in there just doesn't appeal to him

because you were all he knew about free time spent and joy. you were the other person he knew completely. his grace, his anchor to this world beyond FBI identification badges, ranks and weapons. maybe, and just maybe, dex could see himself as the person you needed too.

so that you could get to know him, it took him weeks to go through every possible scenario projected onto the ceiling above his bed. when he had the perfect casual encounter, one day before you stepped in. in the midst of an ambush involving the Albanians, left behind as collateral damage on one of the pavements. it couldn’t be. You didn’t know anything about him, nor could you have known, could you?

‘‘we don't attend victims; you’re gonna get us all killed!’ Nadeem said over his shoulder. ‘let the other unit get on with its work! dex!”

the blur of a bloodstained figure, reeking of metal, vanished along with the memory of the colourful girl between stations. dex was already there, with you, having stepped outside the turmoil of his own mind.

'keep your head down and stand behind me.' he said. to. you. 

you even answered him, noodling your head among tremblings.

his bloodstained gear led you in the mist of the storm, above the fire from one car and the bullets. dex didn't even felt the cut on his forehead dampening his hairline, nor his own body. his hands just made a way out, coming across the entrance to an empty building.

he was shaking. 

'stay here’. said, looking into the ground. no more words came out.

‘thank you’. you half cried half smiled of pure relief, touching his arm slightly. 

you touched him. 

that was the first time, along months where you thought he’d think you were a stalker after you’d gone to such lengths to find out his name and which building he worked in, just so you could thank him again for saving your life, along with an invitation to any nearby café. 

You took the sound he made as an acceptance, so he gave you the fifteen minutes he had free from his shift. 

in the café, you two had to wait in an awkward, uncomfortable (for you) silence. 

“what will be?” said the barista.

you looked at him first. it took some effort to look at Poindexter without picturing him in his FBI uniform, and blood streaming down his face.

“an americano” he said. 

“the same for me, please” you grasped. the silence again. “it’s on me, of course.” 

“let me insist, please.” He took out his money before you could reply. 

 you realised a hint of a smile on Agent Poindexter’s face for the first time when you sipped your coffee, though you never knew why. 

months had passed since that first awkward moment, and from your pov? dex was still a weird person. quiet, almost a boring sort of man. Despite you already knew he wouldn’t hesitate to save lives (a euphemism you told yourself to gloss over the full meaning of his work: he killed people. Bad people, but people). you found a couple of your favourite books on his shelf to start having a common topic and, above all, he was always so gentle, and considerate, and sweet towards you, listening to you more than speaking himself when you told dex how squeamish you were about blood, that you licked your lips when it was his turn to make a sound to let you know he was still listening so you’d carry on.

the café’s turned into whole breakfasts-dates, the morning dates evolved into going for a run together along the coast for a few kilometres and, finally, you got to see each other’s flats. his military-style tidiness appealed to you more than his ability, as a man, to keep a space clean surprised you. 

you meant the food was good, talking to dex was kinda comforting, he was tall at the same time as handsome with a hint of tenderness implicit in his demeanour. you had noticed how dex never hides his hands from you, quite the opposite. 

but…

the physical closeness.

that was an issue for him, you could tell. 

when watching some good movie he suggested, in that liminal space between afternoon and evening that belongs to no one, dex would just rest an arm on the back of the sofa, without necessarily touching your shoulders, and that was on the good nights. which means the first time you kiss him his knees nearly buckle, and it's a good thing you're in his flat because dex let out the most pathetic whine he ever heard himself do. then blush, and not be able to look at you in a couple days.

it was only when you managed to get him to drink a little more than usual that he opened his mouth. suddenly, he needed to say how beautiful you were —rather than you kissing him—and hold you tight in his arms to feel the soft flesh of your tits pressed against his chest with every forceful beat, assuring him that it was all real. you did nothing but let dex cross the line that he hadn’t yet crossed, with a puppy smile on your face. 

you happily received the vague, damp kisses along your jawline, without a shred of shame in the pleas he pressed between your skin and his tongue. he licked the vein in your neck where your pulse beats, leaving a happy trail of don’t leave me, don’t leave me, don’t leave, please etched into your skin, leading his nose between the soft spot between your breasts.

in short, he never told you he were a virgin, but you knew. 

the first time you touched dex? his precious, blue glossy eyes, tearing up by just getting on your knees in front of him. 

his chubbed up cock in your hands as you stared at the pearl of precum beading on his blonde bush. your lips parted, eyes glued on the bead of cum as it trickled down the fat muscle of his cock, with a amused smirk your tongue poked out and licked the fluid right from the base to his tip, saline taste spreading on your tongue. the feel of warmth on his tip had his cock giving a rapturous twitch. you had him crying from the beginning. 

"oh, ffuck…! " he whimpered too low for you, closing his eyes as a tear rolled down his temple as he tilted his head back. 

his hand tried to clenched in your hair but grabbed the couch fiercely as you decided to fully take his cock in your mouth, wrapping your lips around him. your cheeks hollowed as you sucked hard around him, your mouth swallowing the first few inches with ease and just that was enough to send him over the edge, panting and sweating. 

“please…” he groaned your name, caressing your face within a strength range.

“don’t you love me?” teasing him was your new favourite thing in the world, using his fear against him in a good way. 

“i do, i do” dex breathed, almost passing out. 

you pulled your hand away from him, making him watch as you spit in your hand. you’re pretty sure it is an ugly sight, but you also know that anything you do cannot be wrong in any way in dex’s eyes. 

so, he watched, and stopped breathing, lowering his gaze as your hand came back to his swollen cock, lifting his hips to you in search for mercy. and then, fuck, he’s fucking gone. amidst a sea of stifled moans, he can no longer resist the wave of pleasure coursing through his veins and you can just feel it, hot but wet and hasty, just like he is. 

but what can you say? agent poindexter was a soft lover