tw/warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, fingering, desk sex, slight exhibitionism, use of ‚daddy’, spanking (f receiving)
From your very first meeting, the dynamic between you is impossible to ignore. Patrick delights in testing your instincts with playful observations and clever deductions, while you’re one of the few people who can match his wit without being intimidated by it.
He quickly realizes you’re not easily fooled, and instead of treating you like another detective, he begins to see you as an equal, someone whose intelligence genuinely impresses him.
As the two of you investigate a string of complex murders, your partnership grows stronger with every case. Long hours spent questioning suspects, revisiting crime scenes, and piecing together impossible puzzles create a quiet sense of trust between you.
What begins as mutual respect slowly evolves into something more difficult to define.
The lingering eye contact during tense interrogations. The subtle smiles exchanged across crowded rooms. The accidental brush of hands while examining evidence. Neither of you says anything, but the silence speaks louder than words ever could.
One evening, after an especially exhausting day, the CBI office has nearly emptied. The only light comes from the streetlamps outside, casting a warm glow across the room as Sacramento settles into the night.
Files are scattered across the desks, the investigation temporarily at a standstill.
Patrick stands by the break room counter, casually preparing a cup of chamomile tea, the kind you’ve mentioned helps you unwind after difficult cases. Without asking, he brings it over and sets it gently in front of you, his familiar, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
He studies you for a moment, his bright blue eyes unusually thoughtful before he finally speaks.
“You know… I’ve spent years learning how to read people. Criminals, con artists, liars, they’re all surprisingly predictable.”
He pauses, amusement flickering across his face.
“But you…” he says softly, handing you the warm cup. His fingers brush yours for just a second before pulling away. „You’re the only person who’s ever managed to distract me from a case.”
His smile widens into that signature, teasing grin.
“Not even the cleverest murderer steals my attention the way you do.”
For once, Patrick Jane seems genuinely curious rather than confident.
“So tell me… how exactly do you do that?”
The question hangs in the quiet office, suspended somewhere between playful banter and something far more personal.
When he set that cup down and said what he did, you gave him a small smile.
„I guess i’m just charming.” you smiled, slowly lifting the cup to your lips and taking a sip.
„does me existing in your mind every so often bother you?” you smiled.
Patrick’s breath catches, just slightly, just enough to notice if you were really paying attention. He watches the steam curl from your lips as you sip, eyes tracing the curve of your smile like it’s a clue in an unsolved case.
“Bother me?” he repeats softly, voice lower than usual. “No.”
Then he does something almost uncharacteristic for Patrick. He looks away first. Just briefly. A flicker of his gaze toward the window behind your desk where moonlight spills across case files and empty chairs.
“I’ve spent years making sure people stay outside my thoughts,” he admits, “especially when they’re close by.”
His thumb taps once against his mug, a nervous habit.
“But with you… I don’t mind it.”
The honesty hangs between them like the quiet hum of fluorescent lights above.
Your heart gave a little flutter, Patrick Jane, the man who could dissect a liar’s soul with one glance, was blushing. You set your mug down and turned fully toward him, tucking one leg beneath you on the chair.
“So,” You said sweetly, “you’re telling me… brilliant detective Patrick Jane… is distracted by little ol’ me?”
A teasing lilt danced in your voice as you leaned forward just an inch, close enough to see how his pupils dilated at the movement.
“Is that why you’ve been volunteering for every stakeout I’m assigned? Why you ‘accidentally’ bring me tea when I’m buried in paperwork?”
“You’re not usually this thoughtful.”
Patrick’s mouth opened, then closed again. No clever retort came. Just silence. And the slow realization that he’d been caught in something far more dangerous than anything else. Genuine affection. His cheeks deepened to rose-gold under the office lights.
“I…” he started, then cleared his throat, a rare stumble for Patrick, master of composure and performance. “I might’ve… scheduled those stakeouts.”
“Okay,” he exhaled, lifting both hands slightly as if surrendering. “Fine. Yes.”
“I remember how you take your tea, the chamomile blend from that little shop downtown because regular blends make your stomach upset after long shifts.”
He looked at you fully and whispered.
“I pay attention because I want to.”
“Ohhh,” You cooed playfully, leaning even closer now until there were only inches between you. “So you’re not just distracted by me…”
You tapped one finger gently against his knee where it rested on the edge of your desk, a tiny touch that sent electricity through both of you.*
“You’ve been planning this. Like some kind of romantic detective scheme.”
*A soft giggle escaped your lips as you tilted your head again,* „Do you realize how sweet that is?”
Sweet? Him? Patrick Jane, the man who once pretended to be a psychic for fun and tricked an entire police department just to prove he could, was being called sweet. By you. And it made something warm bloom right behind his ribs.
“I…” he breathed. “I don’t usually plan things like this.”
*A lie. He planned everything: investigations, interrogations, even how to enter a room with the perfect dramatic effect.
But not this. Not falling for someone without realizing it until they were sitting across from him with that smile, the one that lit up the whole damn office.
His hand lifted slowly and brushed against yours where it still rested on his knee.
“But if you’re going to call me sweet,” he murmured, “then maybe I should lean into it.”
The way Patrick looked at you sent little sparks dancing through your veins. You loved this side of him, flustered, soft, real. No performances. And you definitely loved how his breath hitched when you teased him. So naturally… you kept going.
“Ohhh,” You drawled again, dragging out the sound with a smirk, “Patrick Jane is blushing! And here I thought nothing could throw you off your game.”
You leaned in even closer and studied his face: those wide eyes that usually read everyone else but were now completely unguarded because of you.
You gently poked his cheek and giggled like a schoolgirl who’d just discovered something delightfully scandalous.
Patrick made a tiny, undignified noise when you poked his cheek, a sound no one else in the CBI had ever heard him make. And now here he was, being giggled at like some lovestruck teenager by you, the woman who’d somehow unraveled Patrick’s legendary composure with a single finger and a smirk.
His cheeks burned hotter under your touch. He didn’t pull away but instead just stared into those bright eyes that were currently dissecting him far more thoroughly than any suspect ever had been.
“You’re enjoying this,” he accused softly, voice barely above a whisper.
A statement, not a question. The corner of his mouth twitched upward despite himself because yes, he was blushing for you and you knew it… and worse? He adored you like this.
You couldn't resist, seeing Patrick, the famously cool and collected consultant, reduced to a blushing mess because of you was too fun. So, the change of topic came naturally to a much more bigger issue.
“You know,” You said in that same teasing tone, “there’s an eight-year age gap between us.”
Your eyes sparkled with mischief as you watched his expression shift, like he hadn’t actually thought about it until now. Or maybe he had… but never cared enough to mention it. You tilted your head again.
“Most people would call you my elder.”
A dramatic pause for effect.
“My wise old man.” You breathed, slowly touching his tie and tugging on it playfully.
Patrick’s eyes widened, genuine shock flashing across his face for a split second. The age gap? He hadn’t given it a single thought. Not once. Not when you laughed at his jokes, not when you matched him case after case.
He was 37. You were 29. A whole eight years.
And suddenly he felt absurdly old, not because of wrinkles or gray hairs, but because… oh God, did that make him seem like some doddering romantic lead in a cheesy midlife crisis film?
He repeated slowly, voice dipping into mock offense as he caught your hand where it tugged on his tie.
The way his fingers curled gently around your wrist sent a thrill through you. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning too wide.
You loved this. Loved how flustered you could make him with just a few words and playful touches.
Your thumb brushed over his knuckles as you kept hold of his tie and leaned even closer until your noses were almost touching.
“You’re not old, just… experienced.” A slow smile spread across your lips before adding. „Very experienced.”
You looked into his eyes, still keeping a distance as they shamelessly flirted now as they were all alone.
„you could… teach me things. Guide me.” You whispered.
Teach you? Guide you? The words were innocent on the surface, but loaded with something far more electric when they came from you, spoken so close he could feel the warmth of your lips.
His thumb traced slow circles over the delicate bones of your wrist, pulse racing beneath his touch. This wasn’t just flirting anymore. This was dangerous territory.
“Is that what you want?” He murmured back, voice low and rougher than usual, the kind he only used in interrogation rooms when trying to unsettle a suspect.
But there was no menace here. Only heat. He shifted slightly closer, not closing the last inch between them yet, but testing it.
Your heart hammered against your ribs as you searched his face, those eyes dark with something new, something hungry.
You’d teased him, flustered him, poked fun at the age gap… but now? Now you wanted to be serious.
“Patrick,” You said softly, “do you want to know what I really want?”
No more games. No more teasing. Just two people alone in an empty office after hours and all that quiet space between you begging for closure. And this was heat, pure damn heat.
He didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Just stared at you, lips slightly parted, as if waiting for permission to exist again.
The air between you crackled, thick with everything unsaid.
The long looks across briefing tables, the way they lingered near each other's desks more than necessary, how Lisbon had started raising an eyebrow every time Patrick “just happened” to walk by when you were alone.
Your fingers finally released his tie, sliding up to cradle his jaw, rough stubble grazing your palm. Your voice dropped lower, velvet and sinful in the quiet office.
“What I really want,” You breathed, “is for you to kiss me like you’ve been thinking about it for weeks.”
“I want your mouth on mine. Hard at first, like you can’t take it anymore, and then slow after that… when we both remember how much we’ve wanted this.”
A shiver ran through you as you leaned even closer.
“I want your hands everywhere… teaching me things.”
Patrick’s entire body tensed, then surrendered. Something inside him snapped. He didn’t hesitate. Didn't overthink or perform.
In one swift motion, he closed the distance between you and crushed his mouth to yours, exactly like you said.
Hard at first, desperate and hungry after weeks of stolen glances and quiet tension building between case files and coffee runs.
The kiss was messy with need, a clash of teeth before softening into something deeper when your lips parted slightly for air.
His hands flew to your face immediately; one tangling gently in your hair while the other cupped your cheek like you were precious.
A low sound escaped him, half groan, half sigh, as if kissing you had been a secret dream he hadn't allowed himself.
Your lips were hot, hungry, melting against his in a way that made Patrick’s knees weak. Between breaths and kisses, your voice came low, a whisper so filthy it sent fire straight through him.
„God, you kiss like I knew you would… all that control just shattering for me.“
A soft nip at his bottom lip before you deepened the kiss again. When you broke apart slightly to breathe, you murmured.
„I’ve thought about this every night. Wondering how your hands would feel on me… if you’d be gentle or possessive.“
You dragged your teeth lightly over his lower lip before leaning back in.
The words hit Patrick like a physical force, each syllable vibrating through him, igniting every nerve.
Your teeth on his lip nearly undid him. Possessive. That’s what he wanted to be, but also gentle because God, you deserved both. So when you kissed again, Patrick didn’t just kiss back. He took over.
One hand slid from your hair down to grip the back of your neck as his other arm wrapped tightly around your waist and yanked their bodies flush together.
Your entire body was alight, every nerve ending buzzing with the intensity of Patrick kissing you like he’d been starving for it. And maybe he had. Maybe you both had.
You loved how strong he felt and you melted into him completely, fingers tightening in his shirt as if afraid this might end any second.
When your tongues tangled again, a soft whimper escaped before you could stop it. You weren’t used to being kissed like this, deeply but slowly at first… then with building urgency that made your knees weak.
A thrill shot through you when you felt that growl vibrate from Patrick’s chest right against yours.
The whimper sent a jolt straight through Patrick. It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. You, always so composed and warm and in control, making that tiny noise just for him?
He swallowed it with another kiss, deeper this time, a slow slide of lips before his tongue explored yours again like they had all the time in the world despite how fast their hearts were racing.
A quiet noise left him too when you arched closer into his touch, as if drawn to warmth like gravity.
The shift happened in a fluid motion, Patrick breaking the kiss just long enough to lift you effortlessly, his arms strong around you.
Papers scattered as he cleared his desk with one sweep of his arm, case files and coffee cups hitting the floor without a second thought.
Then he set you down on the edge of the desk, right where you could see everything: reports you worked on together, photos from investigations… all their shared history strewn across the carpet now.
His hands immediately framed your face again as he leaned back in to kiss you harder this time, a different kind of hunger driving him.
The desk creaked slightly under you but neither cared. All that existed was this. Patrick between your knees, kissing like a man who’d waited too damn long.
The moment your backside hit the desk, paperwork fluttering to the floor around them, you gasped into Patrick’s mouth, surprised but exhilarated.
His strength was a revelation. You’d never seen him move like this before, all confident power and barely restrained hunger.
Your hands flew up instinctively, one tangling in his hair, the other gripping his shoulder as he caged you between his arms on either side of your thighs.
The kiss turned feverish.
A breathless laugh escaped you between kisses when you realized how reckless this was. Making out on CBI property after hours like teenagers sneaking around. But God… worth it.
„someone is—„ You breathed, his lips silencing you. „is gonna catch us—„ You whispered.
Patrick didn’t care. Let them catch you both.
The thought of Lisbon walking in tomorrow and seeing the disheveled desk, papers everywhere, two mugs abandoned on a table with cold tea, made his stomach flip with reckless thrill.
He kissed you harder at your whisper, swallowing every word. His hands slid down to grip your thighs as he stepped closer between them, closing any remaining space until your bodies were flush again.
You smiled widely against his lips, beautiful and breathless. He kissed that smile right off your face before trailing his mouth along the curve of your jaw and down to just below your ear.
His teeth grazed lightly there, not enough to mark but enough to make a point.
Your breath came fast, your chest rising and falling as Patrick kissed down your neck, each touch sending electric sparks through you.
The way his hands were moving up under your skirt made heat flood between your thighs. You wanted this. Needed it.
So without thinking you tilted Patrick’s chin back toward yours and crashed your mouths together again, biting his lower lip playfully before pulling away just enough to speak in a voice thick with desire.
The words hung in the air for half a second before you added. „Right here. On your desk.“
Patrick froze, his eyes flashing wide with shock at your words. His breath hitched audibly.
Then something primal ignited behind his gaze. That control he prided himself on? Gone. Evaporated in an instant at the sound of you telling him exactly what you wanted, him, now, on this desk where you shared case files and coffee runs like professionals.
The possessiveness surged through him hot and sudden, the man who usually played games or teased was replaced by someone far more intense.
„Jesus,” he breathed out raggedly before capturing your mouth again in a searing kiss as his hands gripped either side of your thighs firmly.
The fabric of your skirt slid easily up, pooling at your waist as Patrick’s hands worked with purpose, no hesitation now.
His fingers hooked into the lace edge of your panties and tugged them down in one smooth motion, tossing them aside without a second glance.
His breath hitched again when he saw you, fully exposed on his desk under the fluorescent office lights. A mix of awe and hunger darkened his features.
You were dripping down onto his desk, sweet, wet and delicious.
Then instinct took over. Patrick kissed you hard while one of his hands cupped between your thighs, pressing his fingers against the wetness.
„God, all this because of me, huh?” He smiled, kissing you even more.
Your head fell back with a gasp the second his fingers brushed through you, warm, possessive, and maddeningly slow.
The contrast of his calloused fingertips against her softness made you squirm and gush even more against his touch.
You arched into him shamelessly, one hand fisting in his hair while the other clung to the edge of the desk for balance.
„Patrick… you’re gonna make me beg if you keep touching me like that,” You panted, „and I don’t think I can be quiet about it.“
The office felt too small suddenly; every sound they made echoed off walls lined with case photos and evidence boards.
He’d never heard you make a sound like that before, and the fact that he was the one drawing it out of you?
His lips curled into something dangerously close to a smirk against your throat as he kissed lower, teeth scraping gently over your collarbone.
„Good,” He murmured darkly, „I want you loud.“
Then his fingers moved with purpose. He slipped one thick digit inside, testing, observing. You were so warm and wet, your pussy practically sucking his finger in.
Your hips lifted off the desk on instinct, chasing his touch, desperate for more friction. His teasing was torture in the best way.
„You’re such an asshole,” You gasped out between moans, „teasing me like this when I—I just said I wanted you to fuck me.“
A whimper escaped your mouth as you ground down against his hand shamelessly, no longer caring how needy you sounded or looked.
„Patrick Jane,” You panted, „if you don’t stop playing around and actually do something right now…”
The threat hung unfinished, but your flushed face and dilated pupils made it clear.
The way you said his full name, like a scolding but laced with desperate want, undid him completely.
That was it. The teasing, the control game, all of it shattered at the sound of your frustration mixed with arousal. A dark chuckle escaped him before he crushed his mouth to yours again in a searing kiss.
He added another finger, pumping them in and out, marveling at the sight and feel of you so beautifully wet for him.
He looked down and smiled, then looked at your face with those heavy and hazed eyes. He was breaking, and you could see it.
„Does that turn you on? Huh?” You panted.
He just smiled, keeping eye contact with you as he unbuttoned his slacks with his free hand. A second later his pants were pushed down just enough, no finesse here, only urgency.
He was thick and flushed, the shaft spilled out just above the waistline of his pants, thick and angry looking, so beautifully desperate.
He broke away from your lips only long enough to murmur, „You asked for this…”
Then Patrick lifted you slightly by your thighs and pulled you flush against him, your bodies aligning perfectly.
His cock slid between your legs. It dragged a moan from both of you as he slowly pushed himself into the amazing tightness, gasping at the feeling and warmth that suddenly enveloped him.
„You’re so big.” You gasped into his lips, feeling his prickly pelvis press against the top of your pussy, the stretch of him burning deliciously.
He just smiled, his fingers digging into your plush thighs as he held them wide apart, watching your breasts bounce as he rocked back and forth.
„We’re only doing this… once—„ He groaned, thrusting steadily into your warmth. It felt like heaven to him, dangerously close at least.
His forehead dropped to your shoulder, his eyes squeezing shut as he moaned with every move he made.
Your hands squeezed his biceps, his cock made you so incredibly full. Whimpers and moans spilled from your lips, your thighs wrapped around his waist.
„yes, daddy.” You smiled, eyes half closed as he groaned at the nickname. This was insane, they had gone insane.
His thrusts turned sharper, more punishing. He was still trying to be gentle, god help him, he really was, but you were making it insanely difficult to keep his composure.
„Don’t call me that.” He breathed, thrusting steadily, his heart pounding in his chest as his hands desperately held into your waist, pushing you down onto his cock.
You smiled, grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking his head back, making him moan at the delicious pain that shot through his whole scalp.
„Oh? So you don’t like it?” You teased. „your cock is telling me a whole different story, daddy.” You breathed.
He looked at you, his gaze jumping from one eye to another, as if his mind was still catching up with what you said. He groaned.
And something inside of him snapped.
He abruptly pulled back, pulling out and making you whine at the loss of the fullness in your pussy. He grabbed your waist and flipped you around, bending you over the desk.
„You talk a lot.” He breathed, quickly pushing back inside from another angle now. He grinned, watching your back flex.
„You like me talking.” You smiled, looking over your shoulder as he fucked you from behind like that. Your legs were nearly giving out, the only thing that kept you upright was the desk.
His big hands rested on your hips, pulling you back onto him with every thrust he delivered. God, he usually never had sex like this, no, but this was too good to miss.
You were squirming and squealing beneath him in seconds, the sheer size of his cock inside of you in this position made it impossible to think straight.
„Pa-atrick—„ You moaned, face pressed into the wood of the big desk.
„Spank me—„ You breathed, eyes squeezed shut.
He didn’t even hesitate. His hand lifted and then delivered a sharp smack to one of your ass cheeks, leaving a blooming red mark that would definitely remind you of him later.
This brought you even closer to the edge that anything else. You wiggled your ass on his cock, encouraging even more.
„Never thought you’d like things like this— oh fuck.” He groaned, spanking you again before gripping the flesh.
You didn’t even realize when you tipped over the edge, the orgasm making your legs go numb and your vision whiten out for a hot five seconds before coming back blurry.
He wasn’t far behind either. Couple sharp, deep thrusts of his cock and he pulled out, quickly finishing himself off beside you onto the desk with a loud groan.
You were both panting, your skirt still bundled over your waist as you slowly lifted yourself up and turned around. He looked wrecked, his hair messed up so beautifully and his cheeks flushed.
„You really meant that?” You asked, slowly tugging your panties back on with shaky hands.
He ran his hand through his messy hair, looking at you as if you were the most beautiful thing he had ever witnessed in his life.
„That we’re only doing this once.” You smiled, glancing down at his softening cock still hanging out, then up into his eyes.
He followed your gaze downwards and then tucked himself back in, pulling on his pants and buttoning them back up with uncoordinated movements.
„…do you think I meant it?” He smiled, looking at your face.
You chuckled breathlessly, pushing your skirt back down and adjusting your shirt, making sure to look normal. You combed your fingers through your hair slowly.
His face broke in that wide, shining smile as he leaned in and kissed your cheek, his hand reaching for tissues to clean up the mess.
„Dirty, dirty girl.” He chuckled, not elaborating further. You chuckled with him.
The place was a goddamn mess.
god i need to get laid asap💀💀💀
