#slater

You've just moved cities for a new, low-profile job with a well-known spy agency, ISIS. It's a change of scenery where you can still use the specialized skills you've honed over the years at your old job. The CIA was a prolific time in your career, but with your divorce newly finalized after a long, messy process, you're ready to uproot your life and start over somewhere.

Finding this job was something of fate in itself. You were drinking your thoughts away in a shabby pub on a mission in Ireland when a man, just as wasted as you, came crashing through the door, spouting off at the mouth about "top secret agent" this, "classified mission" that. Even at your drunkest, you've never compromised yourself in such a way. All's well, though, as it ended with a job offer and a very interesting hook-up.

Try as you may, you can't escape the memories of that first sexual rendezvous after a lengthy legal battle. Your cheeks redden with warmth as you remember the way he bent you over, sliding his hands up your spine as he guided your hips against his waist.

You giggle to yourself as your stomach flips. All this time seeing him in a professional setting feels silly, considering his drunken personality when you first met him. You're certainly not in love, nor are you looking for it. It's just nice to explore without moral compromise.

Working with ISIS is a dream, not to mention getting to step out with Archer to fuck in a supply closet nearly hourly. The scandal of sneaking around only adds to the fun.

Your marriage was just as passionate for years, but with that came an explosiveness that working together at the CIA ultimately killed. No time apart, you smothered each other until it felt like there weren't any feelings to save.

Keeping things light with Archer has been easy, considering if he's not fucking you, then he's definitely off fucking someone else. Often other members of the agency. It is vehemently not love, and you love that.

One day, after months of casual hookups, Archer mentions something about taking you to dinner. An awkward silence falls over the two of you as you lie naked in his bed. "It's not that I don't want to, I just," you search hard for your next words.

"Oh, no. It's fine. I just figured I owed you after, you know, all this." He gestures to your whole body.

"You don't owe me anything, handsome. It's a pretty equal exchange if you ask me." You wink at him, slipping away from his possessive grip so you can get dressed.

"By the way, don't tell Mother I told you, but we've got some CIA agents coming in on Monday. I'm not sure what for. Apparently, none of us are supposed to know." Archer's clearly looking for any way to change the subject after his invite went wrong.

"CIA? Did you happen to get their names?" You ask, with a lump in your throat.

"No, but they can't be much worse than those other two dick heads." Archer settles back against his headboard, covered by nothing but blankets up to his waist. His chiseled body shines in the sunlight like a painting. You almost hesitate to leave, but after that awkward date denial, you want to get far, far away. It's not all his fault, he has no idea about your situation.

"Sounds like fun. I'll see you there, princess." You chuckle, lingering in the doorway.

"For the last time, it's Duchess. And we don't get to choose our code names!" His spiral makes you laugh as you wave goodbye and head out his bedroom door. His valet, an elderly man called Woodhouse, always meets you at the door to send you off. You smile warmly at him as you make your way to your car.

~~~Monday Morning

"Good morning, Pam," you yawn, stepping off the elevator. She waves a tired hello to you and you make your way toward your office. After a small window of time, Archer knocks at your door, right on schedule. You both slip down the hall and meet up in one of your trusty 'spots.' You've opted for the supply closet yet again.

Archer pulls you inside with him, hungrily grabbing at your breasts and roughly fidgeting with your buttoned-up blouse. You let out a giggle, a bit louder than you mean to, but you quickly quiet back down. He grins at the sight of your breasts pressed firmly against his chest.

"Oh, my God," he breathes into your neck, positioning himself right against you. "I'll never get tired of this." He slips inside of you with ease. A low, breathy moan escapes his lips as he reaches his hilt. From there, he's thrusting into you rhythmically, gripping your hips while you prop yourself against the shelves of dusty cleaning products.

Archer's fingertips dig into your skin as he lifts you off the ground for a better angle. Each delicate moan that escapes your lips is met with a sensual sound of his own or a passionate kiss on your lips to silence you. He places a firm, but gentle hand around your neck as he picks up his pace.

"Harder," you whisper against his broad chest and he's happy to oblige. At this point, you hardly care what can and can't be heard outside the closet. "Harder." And he complies, slamming into you with a force that'd tell a stranger he must hate you.

A knot begins to form in your stomach, growing tighter as you near your orgasm. He's moaning your name into your ear, sending your eyes rolling back every time he opens his mouth. You're doing all you can to keep it together, and just when you finally give, he pulls out and finishes on your chest, careful to keep aim on your exposed skin.

Your blue-eyed hookup helps you clean up and you realize there's yet another awkward silence as he lingers for a little longer than usual in the closet, just looking at you. "Wow," he sighs.

"You weren't too bad yourself, handsome," you wink, playfully tapping his chest with your palm. Once you've both steadied your breathing, he leaves first, scoping out the hallway, careful to give a cough or some sort of signal if someone's around. It's silent. You give it a few minutes and then you step out as well.

"Y/N!" A painfully familiar voice calls your name from the opposite end of the otherwise empty hallway. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Slater?" You knew it, you just wanted to believe it could've been anyone else. "Are you asking what I'm doing or what I'm doing here?"

"Well," he's stumped. "Both, I guess. Did you just fuck Archer in that closet?" He sounds equal parts disturbed and livid.

"I work here now. And that's really none of your business anymore." You cross your arms defensively.

"Trust me, Y/N, you don't want-"

"Stop telling me what I do and don't want. Don't we have a meeting or something?" You stomp off, not allowing his ability to set you off cost you this new job.

Archer and the other agents have already been in the meeting. You're late and if you weren't on Malory's good side, you know she'd have something to say about it. Instead, she just gives you a sharp look, and you take the warning for the golden ticket it is. You take a quiet seat near the group and tune into whatever the other CIA agent is explaining.

It's tedious, tiresome, and boring. Some of the staff are falling asleep while others are zoning out altogether. Archer's distracted and his disruption goes unchecked as he messes around with an Operation game.

Suddenly, the door slings open and Slater angrily crosses the floor. Most of the room falls silent, besides Archer, who is still playing with the toy. Slater reaches his desk and slaps the game out of his hands, causing others around them to gasp in surprise.

"Are you fucking my wife?" Slater yells lividly through gritted teeth, placing one hand on the desk surface to stop himself from swinging at the ISIS agent.

"What?" Archer's surprise quickly turns to amusement. "No, I'm screwing-"

"I'm not your wife anymore, Slater!" You scold from across the way. The room fills with sounds of confused shock, but no one's as wide-eyed as Archer.

"You're married to this douchebag?" Your dark-haired situationship points to Slater.

"Not anymore!" You toss your hands up defensively. "Our divorce is finalized. What Sterling and I do-" you're cut off.

"Sterling?" Slater erupts at the intimate comfortability between you and Archer. Unhinged, Slater grabs the front of Archer's suit and lands a solid punch to the face. His biceps flex intensely under his casual T-shirt as he tightens his grip for another swing.

Now Slater and Archer are in an all-out brawl. The desks of the lecture room are knocked into disarray as the two men toss each other around. Cyril and Ray both try to intervene, but it's pointless. Archer, as usual, takes nothing seriously. He's almost laughing and probably would be if he wasn't ever so slightly losing the fight.

"Enough!" Malory throws a glass of cognac so hard, it slams against the wall right between both men's heads.

"Mother!" Archer looks distressed by her close quarters warning.

"If you two don't stop this childish nonsense this very minute I'll have you both sent wherever the hell I want for treason." Her threat is grand, but it's clear she means it.

"Look, fuck you, but she'll actually do that," Archer speaks with his eyes narrowed at his rival. Slater sighs, glaring at Archer for just a moment more before finally releasing his suit jacket.

"Good," Malory relaxes, somehow already equipped with another freshly poured glass of cognac. She redirects everyone's attention back to the boring speaker from before. "Now, you were saying?"

~~~After Work, at Your House

"That's not what I'm saying!" Slater yells, an all too familiar sound. One you thought you'd gotten rid of.

"Then what are you saying?" You toss your arms up in frustration. "Because from here, it's sounding like you're telling me who I can and can't be with. We aren't married anymore!" That last sentence seems to piss him off, or at least hurt him. He closes his eyes and furrows his brows, trying to find it in himself to calm down. Something he's never tried to do before.

"I know we're not married anymore, but seriously? Him?" He shakes his head. "And why move? Why leave the CIA?"

"Are you kidding me?" You ask, utterly shocked by the question. "This is why! This tantrum you're throwing as if you haven't been enjoying your own freedoms even before the divorce was finalized!" The truth causes Slater to avert his eyes. It's true, he was living his own bachelor lifestyle quite early on in the process.

"It's just," he takes a deep breath. "Could it be anyone else?"

"You act like I'm in love with the guy." You laugh. "I'm just trying to feel something."

"Oh yeah? Does he know that?"

"Of course he does!" You knit your brows. "Have you met the guy? I'm not exactly at the top of his roster."

"His people said he hasn't strayed outside your little meetings for at least two weeks. That's like a year for him." Slater crosses his arms.

"Two weeks, huh?" You take a seat at your table. Slater sits right across from you. You do the math and realize you've only been working at ISIS for about a month.

"Two weeks. Not even Agent Kane had him down that long."

"Agent Kane? Lana? Do they have that kind of history?" You ask. It's clear to anyone that they've fucked, but you had no idea what their history entailed until Slater filled you in.

"You have no idea what this guy's about, huh?" He asks, smugly.

"I don't. And I don't care. I'm not stepping on any toes and I certainly don't owe you anything." You wrangle any corner of your face that may show discomfort, adamant to not let him know he got into your head. "I think you should go. I have work in the morning."

"Oh, I know. You and I will be working very closely for a while. Just like old times." He sounds sickly sweet as he heads for your door, like you asked. Just before he leaves, he hesitates, almost like he intends to speak, but he doesn't. He doesn't look back at you or anything. He just finally exits and a cold silence follows in his place.

"Fuck," you huff.

~~~The Next Day, in The Lecture Room

"Psst," Archer garners your attention.

"What?" You whisper and he passes you a note like you're two kids in school. It reads: 'My office, 2 PM.' You stifle the smirk blossoming on your lips. Then, before you have time to blink, the note is snatched from your hand by Slater, playing the role of the bitch teacher. After that, there are suddenly mandatory training exercises being held for certain agents at certain times. You've been lovingly gifted the time slot of 1:50 PM to 2:50 PM with Archer going right after you.

While each agent waits, you spend time at Cheryl's desk with her and Pam. A little gossip to speed things along. Pam doesn't hold back in the slightest, diving right in as soon as you sit down.

"So were you Y/N Slater or...?" Cheryl wrinkles her nose, asking a question far less invasive than Pam's.

"I kept my last name. I didn't know how to navigate that either." You shrug.

"Okay, but this divorce is recent, right?" Pam redirects the conversation.

"Recent for a divorce, sure. But we've been separated for over a year."

"A whole year of working with your ex-husband at the CIA?" The round-faced blonde raises her eyebrows.

"There's a reason I jumped at this opportunity, Pam." You tilt your head forward, widening your eyes at her. A look that says, 'Don't even ask.'

"Mrs. Slater..." Cheryl repeats to herself. "Nope, doesn't have a good ring to it."

"Sure doesn't!" You exclaim, holding up your left hand and wiggling your bare ring finger. Right on cue, Slater approaches you where you sit in front of Cheryl's desk. She and Pam both excuse themselves to eavesdrop from a few feet away.

"Ready for some assistance training Agent Y/L/N?" He asks, a bitterness already biting in his voice.

"Absolutely, Agent Slater." You give a false sense of enthusiasm. "Anything to get you out of here faster."

"Then right this way," he gestures for the elevator. The firing range is on an entirely different level, and something about the usually short lift ride is excruciatingly long today. You stand next to each other uncomfortably for a while before you finally glance over at him. He doesn't look at you, but you get a good look at his chest and crossed arms. His seemingly permanent angry expression etched lightly into his features. "Like what you see?" He asks, smirking smugly.

"Shut up," you snap, facing forward and silently scolding yourself for being so quick to nearly forget why you left him in the first place. Finally, the elevator doors open to the shooting range lobby. It's empty until you and Slater step out of the elevator. After checking your weapons and loading up on ammunition, it's time to start shooting.

You've always been a pretty solid shot. These exercises don't meet your skill. You'd do better to practice with a course, but that's not an option right now. "Two in the head, one in the chest," Slater says, and you don't think twice about what he's talking about. You fire the three bullets you were instructed to fire. This goes on for a while and you begin to think an hour of this might not be so bad.

"Oh, hey. I was thinking, why not make this a group effort and save some time?" Archer, seemingly drunk, appears in the soundproofed doorway of the shooting range.

"Agent Archer, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave." Slater smiles deviously as he shoves him back and slams the door. Once it's locked, he turns his attention to you. You missed the whole ordeal due to the quality of your ear protection. You didn't see or hear Archer's impromptu class suggestion or it's brutal rejection.

"Are we done?" You ask, assuming that's what he's come to tell you when he lifts the earmuff off your head.

"No," he shakes his head. "Your form is a little off." His comment makes you arch your brows.

"No it's not."

"Yes, it is. Here." Slater takes your arms and guides them up to point your gun at the target. With his body pressed against yours, he wraps your hands around the firearm and "shows" you the proper form. It's no different from how you were just standing, and you know that, but that's not the point. The point is, now he's flush against your body and you can feel his heartbeat in the heat radiating off his chest.

"Slater, come on. What are you doing?" You try your best to sound serious, but you fail. He takes the gun from your hand and places it on the counter before slipping off your ear protection and setting it to the side as well. You're still standing with your back to him, and he leans in to whisper.

"Why don't you show me how good your form is?" He slips his hands into your hair, pulling it back gently like a ponytail before suddenly wrapping one hand up and roughly pulling your head back so he can plant a heinous love bite on your neck. You let out a breathy moan as your eyes slip back into your head. This is why it took so long to get away. If it wasn't an argument that had you nearly throwing chairs, then it was this.

"I can't... Or rather, I don't want to."

"You don't owe him anything. He's drunk right now, probably already fucking someone else in a different tiny, filthy closet." His grip on your hair tightens. "Haven't you missed me? Just a little?" The raspy nature of his voice vibrates into his chest that's pressed up against your back. Your skin erupts into chill bumps as his grip loosens and then tightens back up again when he doesn't get an answer fast enough.

"Slater," you pull away, finally. Much to your disappointment. Listen. Regardless of Archer, you know this isn't a good idea." You straighten up your appearance and calm your reddened cheeks. "Training's over," you say as you speed walk out the door.

At the end of the day, you're back at your place, freshly walking through the door after a stressful day at the office. Who'd have guessed Slater would make an appearance so soon in your journey to figuring out the single life? Who'd have known how absolutely unprepared you were for it?

After a few drinks, at-home vodka cranberries with far too much vodka to cran, you stare at your cellphone. All of you wants to call Slater and cave as quickly as you turned him down earlier. You shake the thought from your mind, scanning through your contacts for Archer. You stare at the number for a moment, recalling his dinner invitation.

You wonder if it was really meant to be a "repayment" of your promiscuous meetings. It felt far too personal, though. So personal, you sit with his number pulled up for another twenty minutes before ultimately hitting the red button, and clearing out all the information. Slater's presence has thrown your entire dynamic through a loop and it's pissing you off. Defiantly, you dial Archer's number.

Your stomach ties in knots as imagine what kind of mental strain this may put on him. To know you don't want anything more than an orgasm to get your mind off of the divorce. Surely he understands, right? It's not like he's the sentimental type.

"Hello?" A voice on the other end of the phone doesn't match the contact dialed. It's a woman and she's clearly wasted.

"Um, Archer?"

"Oh, he's kind of-" The next part of the sentence is clouded with laughter and the scuffling sound of a phone being dropped. Finally the call ends. An intense wave of relief washes over you. Thank God, you think to yourself. The relief is short-lived as you realize you've lost your lover for the night. You consider a trip to the bar, but it feels too desperate. That's when your phone begins to ring.

You stare at the screen. Slater's name flashes on the small device and you roll your eyes, sighing heavily. Already preparing for the mental toll this is about to take on you.

"Hello?" You answer on the last ring.

"Hey," he starts. "I just wanted to call and um, apologize." He sounds agonized by his own words. An ego check he never asked for.

"Apologize? For what?" You ask with a giggle.

"My behavior today was... Less than professional. I shouldn't have put you in a situation like that." It's as if this apology is being forced out of him at gunpoint, but you're appreciative of the effort.

"Thanks, Slater." You roll your eyes, still chucking.

"Are you uh- You alone tonight?" He asks, hesitantly.

"Yes, but not by choice. It seems someone else has made their way to my benefit's bed." You laugh. "I'm having wine and watching that show I like."

"What kind of wine?" Slater asks. You roll your eyes. He's always done this when he wants attention. Just sparking up a conversation about any and everything.

"Oh, you know, the cheap stuff." You shrug. Slater's unmistakable laughter crackles through the line.

"You love cheap thrills," he sighs with a smile. Silence falls over the conversation for just a moment before his voice rings through the phone one more time. "I'll talk to you soon."

"Slater, I-" but you're cut off by the telltale sign of being hung up on. You groan, tossing your phone across the room and letting it softly land on a fainting couch on the other side of the room. You rub your temples, silently venting about the man you've spent all this time trying to escape. Not due to any kind of fear, but simply because you know it's not ever meant to work.

An hour or so passes since you've changed into a sill nightgown and settled in for the night. You even consider digging out your weed stash and rolling a joint in the peace and quiet. You're halfway through the process (didn't have to twist your arm) when there's a knock at the door. Three soft knocks. Instinctively, you dismiss your buzz with sheer willpower. You glance at the clock. It's late, too late for visitors. Gripping the neck of your wine bottle, you stealthily make your way to the door.

Knock, knock, knock. Again. You don't jump, you hardly react at all. Nothing but a blink. Taking your place tactfully, standing right next to the door, you begin to slowly lean in toward the peephole. Just before you catch a glance, you hear a sound outside. A sigh. "Oh, Jesus Christ," you nearly melt with relief.

You open the door, pale in the face. All you could imagine was the CIA taking back their word and sending someone to take you out in the middle of the night in your own home.

"What the hell?" Your ex-husband stands before you with something in his hand.

"God damn it, Slater," you sigh. "What's up?"

"You said you were drinking the cheap stuff, so brought you a bottle of Château Calon-Ségur," he says, eyeballing the bottle in your hand meant to be a weapon. "But I'm now realizing this is the cheap stuff."

"The pay at ISIS isn't too shabby." You shrug. A second of silence passes between you two before you finally step out of the way and invite him inside. He nods a thanks at you and takes a hard look around your home. His eyes narrow at the lack of evidence of ever having a life with him. It's just a staged house of anything that isn't from or about him.

"Nice place you got," he says, stifling any other comments he wants to make.

"Thank you. I figured you'd have something shitty to say." You laugh, raising your eyebrows in surprise at his lack of insult.

"Not a lot of pictures," he tosses.

"I don't have any to hang yet," you arch an eyebrow at him.

"Right," he says, recalling the endless amount of photographs of you two he still has in his attic. "You seem happy. You look," he leans back, shaking his head with a sly smile. "Great."

"Yeah?" You smile politely. You know you look great. You've done nothing but glow since the papers were very first served. It's then that you notice the scent of his cologne. A decade of forgotten feelings comes flooding back, and as aware as you are that it's the wine, you can't help the redness flushing your face. And that's all it takes, just like that, he knows he's in.

Slater crosses the living room and takes a place on the couch next to you. "What's all this?" He asks, gesturing to your half-rolled joint. "I thought pot was illegal around here," he chuckles, finishing the joint and lighting it.

"It's decriminalized, but I still usually step outside before lighting it."

"Whoops," he responds flatly, bringing the joint to his lips as he lies back on the couch, sinking into the soft cushions. You pass the joint back and forth until you're both in a haze, surrounded by lingering clouds of smoke. The TV plays a Western, and though you're both staring at the screen, it feels like you're focused on each other. Each stealing eye glances at the other.

"Wine?" You ask, breaking the comfortable silence. He nods and you disappear to grab another glass. In the kitchen, you can feel the moment of his hands running through your hair, pulling it back, and whispering in your ear the other day. Chills run up your spine. Quickly, you return to your ex in the living room. He's sitting up a bit straighter now. After pouring him a glass, you join him on the couch.

He'd be a piss-poor agent if he didn't notice how much closer you sat to him upon your return. He can't help himself. "You know, your little friend with benefits was getting pretty friendly with some escorts in a casino tonight." You roll your eyes.

"My God, Slater. Are you just stalking everybody now?" You laugh, shifting a bit away from him. "Besides, I already know. He was supposed to come over tonight, but he seemed a little busy." Slater's eyebrows narrow.

"So sorry you had to settle for me," he smirks.

"I didn't. You just showed up." You eyeball him as you sip your wine. "And that begs the question; What do you think would've happened if you showed up while I was reaping the benefits?"

"Ugh," Slater shakes his head. "I don't want to think about it." He's laughing, but the boiling in his blood is as present as ever when he thinks about you with that secret agent idiot. His "casual" grip on the back cushions of the couch ignites his knuckles white. "God, do you live to get a rise out of me?"

"What do you mean? I didn't even invite you here." You look around the room as if to look for who might've invited him, sending the message that there is, in fact, no one. He invited himself.

"Y/N, look. I know the divorce is finalized. I understand I don't really have a leg to stand on."

"Oh, god. No, please stop."

"Will you just hear me out?"

"I really don't want to." You look at him, eyebrows turned up. "That sounds like some really heavy stuff and I'm really high." Slater sighs with defeat.

"Fair enough."

"Why'd you come over tonight?" You ask, curious and figuring it can't hurt seeing as he already made things tense.

"Ya' know, I don't really know."

"Really? No cheesy monologue about missing me?" You laugh. He used to try too hard. Always phoning it in. No substance.

"Oh, please." His eyes narrow. "Like you haven't been thinking of my hands in your hair all evening." His bold statement causes you to nearly choke on your sip of wine. Slater's chuckling at you, looking pleased with himself.

"You're insufferable," you scoff and his giggle erupts into laughter.

"You're so much easier to read off the clock." Slater leans forward and toys with his glass for a moment before downing its contents in one swallow. The tension between you is palpable as you refill his glass, not once spilling a drop and maintaining eye contact the entire time.

You hardly realize how close you are to him when you return the glass to his hand. Your palm flattens against his broad, solid chest. You've unintentionally pushed the two of you into a lounging position where you lie on top of him, staring down into his eyes as they scan your face.

You want to tear his clothes off and climb him like a tree, but you're preoccupied by the possible repercussions. You ball up your fist on his chest and release a frustrated sigh before creating a gap between you once again. You're sitting up, but Slater is still lying down, looking confused.

"Whoa, what happened?" He holds his empty arms out like he doesn't understand how you got away.

"I don't want to be shitty to you, but," you swallow the awkwardness down. "I don't want to create a dialogue that isn't there."

"What the fuck are you talkin' about?"

"I'm not interested in fixing things, Slater."

"Fixing things? Y/N, sweetheart, we had a good run." He sits up. "But I'm not trying to marry you again. I hardly like you."

"Bitch."

"But if you're gonna be sleeping around anyways, you might as well give me a call sometime."

"Jesus Christ. I'm not just handing it out like a prayer pamphlet," you say, crossing your arms.

"Never said you were," he arches his brows, annoyed that his own words aren't landing correctly.

"You very much implied it."

"Of course, you're gonna do this. You always do this." He begins to shift like he's planning to stand and leave. You can't tell if that's what you want or not.

"Do what? You just came over and told me if I'm gonna be a whore, I might as well include you in my whoring."

"No one called you a whore, Y/N!" He runs a hand through his pushed-back hair and groans with impatience. Finally, he stands and so do you. "Look, I'll just let you get back to smoking pot and drinking while your Mama's boy boyfriend has sex with a bunch of hookers."

"What the fuck is your problem?" You raise your voice. "And that's not what they're called anymore. They're sex workers." He rubs his temples.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, Y/N."

"Oh, fuck you. You're the reason this is so hard to navigate. You made that divorce as difficult as possible at every turn!" You shove a finger into his chest.

"Because years ago, when I was fucking stupid, I didn't want to lose you!" The confession is too heavy. Too sweet. Too real. You hate it.

"Lower your God damn eye brows when you're talking to me." You push away the sentimental nonsense and Slater notices right away.

"I don't love you anymore, Y/N. We're both over it."

"Then why the hell did Archer make you so angry? You beat him up in front of his own mother."

"I don't know. Still a little protective, I guess." He begins to cool down. After a criminally short moment of silence, Slater sighs and rolls his eyes before closing the gap between you and crashing his lips into yours.

Everything in you screams fucking finally! But instead, you wrap your arms around him and deepen the kiss. He starts to lead you to your bedroom, but once he realizes he has no idea where it is, he picks you up, wrapping your legs around him. It's an easy stroll to the couch where he drops you onto the cushions and makes quick work of removing your nightgown.

You glow beneath him. His eyes study your exposed form like he couldn't see until he saw you. One hand grips at the curves of your waist, and the other squeezes your breast through your bra. A breathy moan slips from your lips like a sigh. All feelings aside, it's as if your flesh missed each other.

Slater's breathing is heavy as he drinks in the image of you beneath him. All those years together, but neither of you has felt like this since the very beginning. Back when it was just harmless fun in an empty office at work.

You tug his shirt up and over his head before resuming the sloppy kiss. After unfastening his belt, you begin to unhook your bra, but his hands stop you. You erupt into chill bumps as his fingers trail up your back and effortlessly flick the clasps undone. It's one part the alcohol and one part the history, but you're nearly breathless with anticipation.

"God damn," he huffs.

"I know, right?" You smirk. He shakes his head with a chuckle, burying his face in your neck and biting down softly, but firmly. You gasp as his teeth drag over your skin. He strokes himself a few times, looming over you with sparkling, dark eyes. His free hand pushes a stray piece of hair back from his face. You wait with bated breath as he slowly pushes himself against your sensitive clit.

"I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss this," Slater sighs before slowly sliding into you. You release a low, sultry moan as he grinds himself against you. He pulls your legs up so that they're hooked up over his shoulders, giving him all the angles he needs to thrust himself entirely into you. His movements are rhythmic and steady as he savors every inch of you he can reach.

"Oh, my God!" You gasp, earning a pussy-throbbing smirk from the man inside you.

"Don't get the cops called again," he chuckles, still thrusting. He's speaking about a time during your marriage when he fucked you so well that your moans and screams not only woke but concerned the neighbors.

"Fuck you," you huff, speaking between the slamming of your pelvises against each other.

"It's what you needed," he winks, picking up his pace. He's broad, strong, and well-endowed. It's hard to compare anyone to the feeling of being with him. It's like fucking a really sexy brick wall.

After an eternity of him slamming into you, legs tossed over his shoulders like a ragdoll, he pulls out. You gasp at the sudden absence. "Why don't you show me that ass, sweetheart?" He says, his voice is taunting and dominant. You do exactly as he says, turning over and arching your back to put on a bit of a show. Nothing he's never seen before, but you'd hardly be able to tell by his reaction.

Slater grips both your hips with his open palms, hooking his fingertips into your soft flesh as he pulls you back against him with each thrust. He tosses his head back in ecstasy. "Oh, fuck," he sighs with heavy breaths. You wrap your arms around the throw pillows, hoping for some sort of leverage against the harsh bucking. He raises a hand and playfully slaps your ass, earning a light squeal of excitement from you.

Just when you don't think you can process anything else, he slides a hand up your spine and wraps it in your hair. With each desperate slam into you, he pulls tighter. At some point, he releases your hips and your hair is the only handle for leverage he has, using it to pull your body to meet his as he thrusts as far as possible inside you. It just happens to be pretty goddamn far.

"Have your fun, Y/N," he huffs, voice raspier than usual. "Fuck whoever you want. I don't care." The sound of him sliding in and out of you has evolved to loud, wet echoes. "You're always gonna be mine." He picks up his pace yet again, slowly losing his rhythm as his flesh slaps against yours.

You can't argue. You know he's not wrong. Sure, neither of you cares so much for the marriage aspect, but you know you'll be right back in this situation a million more times before you're ever truly done. For the last time, you're working toward another orgasm when he quickens his thrusts and with one final slam against you, he withdraws and finishes on your displayed ass.

Breathless, Slater slinks backward into the couch and you collapse where you are, flattening out on the other end of the couch. You flinch as he cleans you up, leaving you with a playful smack.

"God damn, Slater," you sigh, eyes still threatening to roll backward.

"Better than your Mama's boy?" He asks between breaths.

"I don't know. I think I need to run a few experiments first." You grin, flushed in the face.

"Fuck you."

*****

Author's Note:

I wrote this entire story based on one glance at that GIF and I can't even remember what episode that is or what's actually happening there.