#hoffrez fic

It didn’t really mean anything the way Detective Hoffman had given her the tiniest of subtle winks after their friendly small discussion over where the coffee machine was located, and the little stuffed animal he was going to bring his daughter. (“That’s cute,” Perez chirped to herself. “A single dad.”) Some people were just inclined towards platonic flirtations, if that was even a thing. Perez mulled it over in her head, recalling instances of having her forearm touched by cute baristas or being called “sweetheart” by delivery drivers. Super basic scenarios. It all ultimately meant nothing other than certain people being more affectionate. But that playful wink, edged with the slightest taste of Grecian-Jersey charm, as it were, had her beaming.

Strahm’s fuming and annoyance, all the while showing through with angrily flared lashes, tickled Perez even more, not quite sure what qualms her partner could have this time. (Spoilers: he took issue with everyone and everything. But it was strangely endearing.)

After a silent lull in discussion, Strahm indicating it “wasn’t her call” to submit certain pieces of information to Hoffman, Perez dismissed herself to a coffee break.

“Want anything?” she absentmindedly asked Strahm, assuming he would decline the “piss water”.

“Nah, this place brews piss water. I’ll go to Dunk’n.”

Perez had already wrapped herself halfway out the doorframe, when she felt a solid bulk bump against her nose and muffle her lips. The subsequent topple over startled her, causing a delayed jolt when she realized she had collided and fallen onto someone. Her eyes met with a rounded chin and a heavy chest under blue-gray fabric, but she couldn’t force herself to take in much more.

“Oh my god! Fuck! I’m so sorry!” she gasped apologetically, grasping around blindly.

The larger picture came into view, and the grimacing visage of Detective Hoffman—trying his best to play it all off into a weak grin—presented itself.

Perez quickly started apologizing again, but with a severely more embarrassed intonation, as she had realized her legs were draped to either side of the man. She was straddled over his stomach, cushioned and radiating warmth underneath her.

“Are you okay?!” she finally forced out after the repetitive “I’m sorries”.

“Yeah,” Hoffman winced, trying to lift his head with some struggle.

“The back of your head hit the floor,” Perez more or less mused, like it was a question. She reactively reached her fingers for the back of his skull to inspect for bleeding, absolutely disregarding any professional boundaries there might have been. (She knew she had the intrusive impulse to reach out anytime someone was hurt or in danger—grabbing collars to keep someone from falling, grabbing faces to check for consciousness… It couldn’t be helped.)

Hoffman watched under his heavy-lidded gaze as she gently felt around. His darkened quaff had come loose, straying from a tight side part into two wisps that fell across his more natural middle part. Perez couldn’t help but notice how cutely the mussed hair framed his features.

“I’ve hit my head plenty enough from high school sports, I’m sure,” Hoffman joked, his deep rumble of a voice curling into a honey-sweet chuckle.

Perez tried ignoring how the jostle of his light laughter wobbled his belly underneath her spread thighs. She tried ignoring the pastel, dreamlike image of him sweating and tackling people in a sport like rugby, or football—muscled biceps and quads padded with a flattering layer of chub.

What the fuck?

“Are YOU okay?” Hoffman went on, genuine concern lowering his lids even further at the corners.

“Well yeah, you—” She hadn’t realized one of her hands had started trailing around his chest and down the curve of his stomach. All so plush. “You caught my fall.” She blushed.

“Well, lucky for you, I’m pretty cushioned.” Hoffman chuckled again, the slightest bit of pain cutting through.

Perez’s eyes darted to the left at the statement, not wanting to be seen for her observations being vocalized.

“Mmmhmm, yeah, I’ve, uh… I know…”

“Heh, you been looking, Agent Perez?” Hoffman jabbed harmlessly.

“Maybe,” she muttered in response. “It’s cute.”

In a rare turn of events, a deeply pink blush bloomed over Hoffman’s typically smug face—all unmerited bravado softened with surprise. “Cute?”

Perez hesitated to follow up, allowing the way her thumb had started rubbing against the grain of his hair to speak for her.

“Are you done with the grabass with Barbie out there, Lindsey?” a voice cut through. Clearly Strahm, who was close (but discreet enough) to witness everything in disgusted silence.

“Were you getting coffee?” Hoffman questioned, soft-wet eyes rolling up to meet Perez’s.

“Yeah.”

“Allow me. I’ll grab it for you.”

They helped each other up (finally) just under an awkward hush.

“Cream and sugar?” Hoffman asked, looking down slightly at Perez from his full stance.

“Yes.”

“You got it.” He winked before turning on his heel, moving somewhat slowly.