#winterjones

By the time it did sink in, Ben already had him with his back pressed to the wall beside the filing cabinet, one hand cupping his cheek and the other in a firm grip on his arse through his trousers.

“Shit— the cameras,” Jamie managed, flushing beet-red.

Ben just grinned at him. “Blind spot,” he said, nodding his head to the side. “But I’ll stop if you really want me to…”

He was— quite unfairly, if you asked Jamie— trailing his hand down Jamie’s body as he spoke; tracing lightly down Jamie’s neck, his chest, purposely brushing over his nipple through his shirt on the way down further still. Jamie shivered, biting back a groan as Ben’s fingers teased along the line of his belt… and then down.

“I… ahh—” Jamie was breathing hard, his hips twitching into Ben’s touch and his head spinning at the thrill of being touched, here, in the middle of the empty open office. He knew he should tell Ben to stop but he didn’t want to; couldn’t make himself say it. All he could focus on was the heat of Ben’s body on his, the stiff warmth of Ben’s cock pressing firmly against his thigh and the almost painfully light touch of Ben’s fingers stroking teasingly over his own rapidly-filling erection through his suit trousers. “Ben— fuck…”

“I’ve half a mind to get you off right now,” Ben murmured, low and heated. He buried his face in Jamie’s neck, inhaling sharply before sucking a hard kiss into Jamie’s skin just underneath his shirt collar. “Make a right mess of this lovely, sharp suit… What d’you think? Would you come for me? Right here?”

Jamie trembled, his breath coming in shaky half-pants as he tried to keep himself quiet with Ben mouthing at his throat, toying with his cock and sending sparks of need jolting up his spine.

“Yeah,” he heard himself say, all breathy and hoarse. “Yeah, I would.”

His breath caught as Ben squeezed him harder through his trousers, rubbing, tugging, stroking; hips rocking to rut himself idly against Jamie’s thigh. The feel of Ben’s mouth on his neck, teeth nipping and tongue swiping a line of wet heat over his skin before parting Jamie’s lips to press hot and slick into his mouth again; combined with the heady rush of knowing where they were, set Jamie’s arousal skyrocketing almost embarrassingly fast.

He was just starting to realize that he was going to have to make up his mind very, very soon about just how serious he really was on the subject of actually letting Ben make him come in his trousers like this— when the familiar ding! of the lift opening onto their floor nearly gave him a heart attack for the second time that night.

Jamie jerked away, frantically adjusting himself with his cheeks flaming, and then he nearly died on the spot when John Barnaby of all people rounded the corner.

“Winter, were you able to— Jones? What are you doing in… Causton…” Barnaby trailed off, his gaze flicking between Jamie and Ben and back again. Jamie knew perfectly well there was no hiding their air of… dishevelment. “Ah.”

“I happened to be in the area,” Ben said easily. “Thought I’d pop in.”

Jamie could hear the quiet half-smirk in his voice, but couldn’t even think about looking at Ben without blushing harder. Instead, he turned away to rifle hurriedly through the still-open drawer of the filing cabinet, desperately willing his raging erection to flag a little faster before he had to face Barnaby.

“I’ve almost found all the records you wanted, sir,” he said, hoping his mortification wasn’t as obvious in his voice as it felt like.

It probably was.

“Just, er, leave them on my desk, Winter,” he heard Barnaby say. “I’ll have a look tomorrow. Jones. Good to see you, you’ll have to stop in if you’re… in town for long.”

“I will,” Ben said. “Tell Sarah I said hello.”

Jamie, closing his eyes and still resolutely facing the filing cabinet, listened to Barnaby make a vague noise of assent in reply, footsteps heading back towards the lift. The doors dinged cheerily and thumped shut a scant moment later, and Jamie slid the drawer shut and let his forehead hit the cool metal of the cabinet with a low groan.

“This is your fault,” he said, twisting to shoot Ben an accusing look without lifting his head. “I have to work with him tomorrow morning.”

Ben just grinned at him, completely unapologetic, and sauntered over to rest his chin on Jamie’s shoulder.

“C’mon,” Ben said, one hand squeezing Jamie’s hip suggestively and making his still extremely interested cock twitch in his trousers, “you’re driving.”

“You are a terrible influence, Inspector,” Jamie muttered, his lips twisting into an unstoppable grin of his own as he tossed the stack of folders on Barnaby’s desk for the morning and grabbed his jacket to head out.

Ben cocked an eyebrow at him. “Oh, I’m a bad influence?”

“You really are.”

“And whose idea was that quickie on the beach last time, then?”

“…That was different,” Jamie finally said, blushing furiously all over again, and Ben laughed nearly all the way out to the car.