Fic: The Upside of Shutdown
Title: The Upside of Shutdown
Universe: Special Prosecutions
Word count: 4100
Rating: MA
Summary: Federal workers Bill and Laura are furloughed and having fun.
A/N: Written for fragrantwoods for the occasion of her birthday. Thanks for the timely prompt. :)
October 2013
Bill was fairly certain that when the Chief Judge’s reluctant but necessary edict had come down, announcing that all three of New Jersey’s federal courthouses would be closed as of the third week of the government shutdown due to a lack of funds, it had been intended to apply equally to the court’s judges as well as the court reporters, pretrial services officers, and docket clerks who were all now wondering how they’d be able to support their families. Bill felt for them; he was in the same boat, having been indefinitely furloughed by the Justice Department as a non-essential worker since the first day of the shutdown.
Laura, however, was not so resigned.
“It’ll just take a few minutes,” she’d wheedled, after he shook his head at her suggestion that they run by the courthouse so she could pick up some files she’d forgotten.
“I thought we would stay in bed all day,” he said, pulling her closer. “It’s the first day we both don’t have to go to work. Let’s just enjoy this for a little while longer.”
She squirmed away from him and reached for her glasses from the bedside table. “I didn’t sleep well last night. Nightmares about that antitrust case. I really need to go get the file so I can wrap my head around it.”
He made a disapproving noise. “The main reason the courthouse is closed during the shutdown is that they couldn’t afford to pay the Marshals and Security Officers. It’s not secure, Laura. And you may not even be able to get in, anyway.”
“I have a key,” she said. “And you.” She leaned in and gave him a kiss--a brief kiss that hinted at more. “And if you come with me, I promise to spend at least part of the rest of the day in bed with you.”
He never could say no to her, he mused as he watched her pull on her robe.
On the drive over, Renee Montagne was interviewing people who were affected by the shutdown. After the second set of husband-and-wife federal workers lamented their situation, Bill switched off the radio.
“Hitting a little too close to home?” Laura asked, looking up from her iPhone.
“We’ll be back at work soon,” he said, with more optimism than he actually felt.
“Very soon,” Laura said happily, as he pulled the 240Z off the McCarter Highway and the courthouse came into view. She patted his hand as they waited for the door to the judges’ parking garage beneath the courthouse to open up. The guard wasn’t in his booth, so Laura handed her access card over to Bill to let up the gate. “We’ll be fine, honey. I hate that my staff isn’t getting paid because of those clowns in Congress--”
(Bill’s anger flared. Those same clowns had taken well over a year to give Laura the benefit of a confirmation hearing.)
“--but you and I don’t have much to worry about.” She smiled at him, the same brilliant smile that had rendered him helpless to resist her all those years ago. “Roof over our heads and all that.”
He suspected that she intended to spend her time under that roof as if her chambers was merely relocated. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have things to do, as well -- mundane administrative tasks that he normally pushed off -- but with no new investigations, and no new information, and no new indictments -- well, he’d lost a little motivation. It would be nice if Laura saw the shutdown as an excuse to play hooky for at least a day, instead of a chance to get caught up on the fine points of antitrust law.
They walked through the darkened halls together, looking for signs of life and finding none. Normally bustling with attorneys, litigants, and courthouse staff, the building was eerily quiet. Their footsteps echoed loudly as they made their way to the elevators.
Riding up together still took him back to their early days of working here together, getting off at the fourth floor for Judge Cottle’s chambers after a quick lunch at Ambrosia’s. Later, when they were both at the US Attorney’s Office, they’d tacitly agreed to take the stairs to the second floor instead. And now, after Laura’s promotion, the ride took much longer-- up to the top floor. The light under “8” glowed and the doors opened before Bill had a chance to take advantage of the long ride and the fact that there was probably no one minding the surveillance cameras.
“There’s a new painting in my courtroom, if you want to take a look,” she said. “I’ll just be a minute. I’ll meet you back in here.” She gently pushed him in the direction of the heavy dual mahogany doors, while she got out her access card to disappear behind a much simpler, unlabeled door.
Bill vaguely recalled that Laura had been tasked with commissioning a new artwork following her investiture. Most judges would opt to sit for their own portrait, while a few others would pay homage to a retired or deceased jurist who hadn’t yet been memorialized in oils. As he entered the courtroom and looked to the wall over the jury box, however, he recalled that Laura had chosen neither of these options.
Instead, she’d chosen to have a painting done of the courthouse. He smiled as he drew closer. The landscape was broad enough that small shops on the next block over from the courthouse, including Ambrosia’s with its distinctive green awning, were discernible in the right-hand corner. But there was no doubt that this was a tribute to the structure itself. He leaned closer and read the small gold plaque at the center bottom of the frame: “Beacon of Justice.”
It was a fitting tribute to the place where they’d both spent the entirety of their careers. He peered closely and noted that the artist had painted certain windows dark and others lit from within, contrasting with the dusk settling over the building and its environs. Judge Cottle’s chambers on the fourth floor were, unsurprisingly, lit.
He stepped back to get the effect from counsel’s table. He liked it, he decided. It was more evocative of the purpose of the place than yet another stern-faced robed figure posed in front of shelves of leatherbound Federal Reports. Not that Laura herself wouldn’t make a beautiful portrait, he quickly qualified his thoughts.
His attention turned to the dais, and his heart expanded with pride at thinking of her sitting up there. It wasn’t something he’d ever wanted for himself, but it had been his privilege to support her as best he could on her arduous journey to the imposing desk and rich leather chair at the front of the room. He walked closer to the dais and after a quick look around to ensure that he was still alone, pushed past the bailiff’s swinging half-door and up the several steps behind her desk.
He hadn’t checked out her new courtroom from this angle yet. As he leaned against the green tufted-leather rolling chair, he could understand a little better why she was so motivated to continue throwing herself into her work, even as Bill was finding his own work less engaging than when he’d first started out. At this point his favorite part of his job was mentoring the new recruits and showing them how to get the job done. But this--he eased down into the chair and picked up her gavel--this would give anyone a rush.
And apparently, she thought about him while she was up here. Among the neatly arranged containers of office supplies and stacks of paper, he was surprised to note a framed photograph of himself. He picked it up and examined it; he couldn’t recall having seen it before, but he remembered the day, one of those perfect evenings at Cape May when they’d taken their cocktails and the camera down to the beach to try futilely to capture the peachy purple of the impending sunset, settling instead for flattering portraits in the softening light. He smiled and set down the photograph.
“You’re the only person who I would let get away with sitting in that chair, you know,” Laura’s voice broke in. “Looking good, Adama.”
“Not as good as I did when this picture was taken,” he countered, picking up the small frame once more to make his point. The Bill in the photograph was at least eight years younger, plus had the benefit of being captured in a moment of relaxation. The Bill in the photograph might have been stressed about work, but Bill now had the added burden of stressing about not working. He grimaced as his neck and shoulders tightened at the thought of spending the rest of the year being instructed not to work, knowing what a mess it would be once the federal funds started flowing once more. Neither the streets of Newark nor the back-room dealings of the politicians he prosecuted were suspended for the damn shutdown.
“You’re as gorgeous to me now as when we first got together,” Laura insisted, coming up onto the dais and setting down a hefty stack of redwelds and binders on the desk. “Although I do particularly love that shot of you.” She began massaging his shoulders, her thumbs pressing expertly against knotted muscles. “God, you’re tense.”
“Someone wouldn’t let me sleep in and forget about this whole shutdown fiasco for a couple more hours.”
Her lips brushed against the side of his neck, causing him to shiver. “Sorry, honey.” She pushed the chair so that he swiveled toward her, then lowered herself into his lap. “Maybe I had an ulterior motive.”
He buried his nose in her hair, breathing in her familiar scent. “Mmmm?”
Her fingers toyed with the placket of his button-down. The well-worn plaid shirt was one of her favorites -- she always said it brought out the blue in his eyes. “We’re all alone,” she said.
It took him a few moments to process that. “You can’t be serious,” he said, even as he slid his hand up her thigh to cup her bottom through her slacks.
Apparently, she was; in lieu of answering, she tilted her head up and unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt before bringing her mouth to the newly bared skin. She placed gentle kisses there, working her way up to his neck. An involuntary moan escaped him as she lightly nipped at his earlobe.
Bill performed a quick risk assessment: while the courthouse had seemed empty, and certainly the rest of this floor, the courtroom itself was unlocked. On the plus side, there were definitely no security cameras in the courtroom itself-- only in the hallways and elevators. “Laura,” he said, straining to get the words out past her lips. “This is probably not a great idea.”
She pouted. “Come on. Let me make things up to you for making you come here with me this morning.”
He doubted that this was really about any such amends, and was rather some long-running fantasy of Laura’s, but as she continued kissing his neck, whispering the things she wanted to do, he began to see the merits of her proposition. He shifted slightly beneath her to adjust for the suddenly growing situation in his pants, then moved his hand from her ass to the front of her shirt. She was wearing one of his favorites this morning, as well-- the white wrap shirt that he found incredibly distracting whenever she wore it. He slid his hand beneath the stretchy material and fondled her breast over the smooth satin of her bra. He glanced down and pulled his hand away slightly to confirm his suspicion: she was wearing the peach-colored one today.
Her tongue laved against the line of his jaw, working her way back to his mouth. His thumb swept back and forth over her nipple, causing her to squirm and shift against him. She sighed contentedly, and he took advantage of her blissful distraction to capture her mouth with his own.
Her lips opened eagerly to him, settling into a familiar but no less exciting silent communication. I love you. I want you. He stroked his tongue against hers, then drew her bottom lip between his own and sucked gently. She whimpered and threaded her hands through his hair, holding herself tight against him. He reached further into her shirt and slid his hand under the material of her bra, causing her to gasp when his fingers closed in on the sensitive nipple.
The heat between them was about to ignite. Bill attempted one last appeal to reason. “Why don’t we move this into chambers?” he asked, knowing that they could barricade themselves in her office without fear of being interrupted.
To his surprise, she shook her head. “Been there, done that.”
His eyebrow quirked up. “Here?”
Laura grinned in response. “No one’s around, Bill. And no one has any reason to come in here, anyway.” She leaned back and reached behind her, unhooking her bra and sliding it out from under her shirt.
He let out a long whistle and unbuttoned the remaining buttons of his shirt. “If we get busted by the Marshals, it’s on you to intimidate them into silence.”
She stood up and shimmied out of her pants, her movements determined and deliberate, and Bill took her silence as assent. Laura straddled him and began working on the button of his jeans. “Work with me here, Bill.”
Rather than assist with her removal of his pants, his hands drifted up to her breasts, deliciously unrestrained beneath the stretchy white jersey. He tugged the overlapping panels apart, exposing and framing her luscious flesh.
Vaguely aware of her frustration at a lack of process in getting his jeans down over his hips, he shifted up and off the chair as he brought his mouth to her breast, circling a taut nipple with his tongue before capturing it in his mouth and sucking hard. Her moan of pleasure turned to one of satisfaction as she finally freed his erection from the confines of his pants.
Now it was his turn to moan, as her hand slipped inside his boxers to stroke his hot length. She pulled the material down and away, leaving his member exposed. She rolled her palm over the head, then shifted atop him to grind herself against his hardness.
“Laura,” he groaned at the sensation of damp satin sliding against his cock. He moved his mouth to the opposite breast, giving it the same loving treatment as its twin. He bit lightly at the nub, knowing how it turned her on. One of his hands moved from its station on her ass to the crotch of her panties. He pushed the material aside and gently stroked her pussy, swirling the wetness he found there before slipping his finger inside.
“Need you. Now,” she said.
“Mmm…” he mumbled back inarticulately. If that’s what she wanted, why was she still riding his hand? “You’re still wearing underwear.”
“Tear it off,” she said.
“God, Laura. This is so wrong,” he growled, slipping his hand from her dripping cunt so he could grasp the skimpy material at her hip. The string bikini gave easily, and she pushed the torn panties down off her leg as she shifted above him and sank down on his cock.
“Yesssss,” she hissed, as she began to move. Her knees were wedged between his hips and the thankfully-padded armrests of the leather chair, and Bill found that he had little leverage to move himself. He focused on keeping his feet on the ground and the chair still, as Laura braced her hands on the top of the chair and slid up and down on his cock in long, slow strokes.
She arched her back as she moved, thrusting her breasts into his face. He pushed them together and suckled both nipples at once, making her moan loudly. She quickened the pace, both of them panting, both of them needing more---
SNAP!
“Bill?” Laura said, stilling her movements. “What was that?”
He didn’t have a chance to answer her before he realized that the chair had dropped out beneath them, separated from the swiveling base. He held her close to shield her from hitting the ground as the chair toppled over onto its side, along with both of its former occupants.
“Ohhhh,” wailed Laura. Her face was buried in his chest, and he wasn’t sure if the shudders he could feel emanating from her were from sobs or laughter. Maybe a mixture of both. “I really--” hiccup “-- liked that chair.”
They were no longer joined, but Bill’s hard-on raged despite their total upending. “You okay, sweetheart?”
She was still shaking against him, laughing quietly. “I think so. You?”
“Fine,” he said. “Except that we were in the middle of something.”
She moved to push him onto his back so as to straddle him again, but he caught her wrist and stood up, pulling her to her feet as well. He was vaguely aware that he must look ridiculous, with his jeans around his ankles, open shirt, and jutting cock, but at that moment, the only thing he cared about was taking advantage of this adrenaline rush and bringing them both to completion.
“Bend over,” he said, pushing her gently against the solid mahogany expanse. “You had your chance to drive. Now I’m going to fuck you on your desk. Your Honor.”
She raised an eyebrow, but complied. “Yes, sir. Okay, sir. Anything you say, sir.” She leaned over and propped her upper body up on her elbows. Glancing over her shoulder at him, she giggled as he stepped up flush against her. Her giggles ceased, replaced by a deep moan, when he grasped her hips and sank his cock into her heat.
He bent over her, slipping his hands beneath her breasts so he could fondle them as he moved against her. After the constraints of the swiveling chair, it was a huge rush of freeing sensation to be controlling their pace, the depth and angle of his strokes, even as she bucked against him.
And he had to admit that it was a rush to be doing this here. Now she’d have plenty of naughty thoughts to ruminate on during endless oral arguments. The noises she was making beneath him were decidedly lacking in judicial gravitas. He pinched her nipples and sank his teeth into the juncture of her shoulder and neck, eliciting a loud “God, yes!”
“You like that?” he said, his voice low and rough. His hand slid down her stomach to the juncture of her thighs, stroking between her folds with each thrust and withdrawal of his cock. She cried out when he turned his attention to her swollen bud, capturing it between his thumb and forefinger and rubbing gently.
“I’m so close,” she panted.
“I know,” he said. And he pulled out of her, and stepped back.
Laura let out a keening wail not unlike the one she’d made when she’d realized that they’d broken her chair. “Dammit, Bill!” She stood up slowly, placing a hand at her lower back, and turned around to glare at him.
“This is too fun to be over too soon,” he said, advancing on her. Her eyes darkened as she realized his intent.
“Ooh-kay,” she breathed, as he sat her on the edge of the desk and brought her legs up around his hips.
He eased into her slowly, his eyes trained on hers. The desk was of a perfect height for their purpose, and the position far more comfortable than the chair had been for either of them.
She clutched at his bare ass, urging him to start moving again. But he was biding his time, intent on drawing out the experience even as her heat throbbed around him. “Uhh...give me a second,” he said, and placed kisses along her cheekbones. She began to undulate against him, finally accepting his slower pace. Her hair was beginning to frizz along her hairline and she was glowing with exertion; he’d never seen her more beautiful. As good as taking her from behind had felt for both of them, the position lacked the emotional connection that this one enabled.
She felt it, too. “Love you,” she murmured, lightly scratching her nails along his back beneath his shirt. “So good, love.”
He knew she was sincere, because he could feel her inner muscles twitching and tightening in the tell-tale warning signs of impending orgasm. He slid his hands under her bottom to increase the leverage with each thrust, having abandoned his previously cavalier attitude about taking their time. He was claiming her, marking her on her own turf. He was making love to her; his partner, his mate. She dug her heels against him and cried out as the elusive orgasm finally overtook her.
“Bill!” she cried, holding him close to her body as she trembled and shook. Bill, realizing that they may have just about exhausted their odds of avoiding unwelcome interruptions, lasted just a few more strokes until his pleasure erupted and he emptied himself into her there on the dais.
Laura looked dazed, her hair disheveled. “As good as I hoped for,” she declared, reaching into a desk drawer for a box of tissues. “And I’d hoped for a lot.”
“Deviant,” he clucked, pulling up his pants and tossing her pants to her. Her ripped panties got stuffed into his pocket.
“Mmmm. Do you see my bra anywhere?” she asked, tugging her top back to cover her breasts once more.
He lifted up the toppled chair and saw the satin garment beneath. “A casualty of your fantasy, Laura.” He handed the bra over, then tried to set the chair back up on its base. The central point of the chair stubbornly refused to fit once more on the base.
No wonder; the metal connector was completely bent. When he finally gave up on the chair as a total loss, he looked at Laura, who was dressed once more and looking at the broken chair in wonder.
“I suppose,” she said, frowning, “that I’ll have to buy my own replacement chair.”
One week later
The courthouse already showed more signs of life than it had a week ago, notwithstanding that the sun had yet to rise. The lights were on, the HVAC was whirring its familiar hum.
“Hurry, Bill!” Laura called over her shoulder. But the top part of the chair was far more unwieldy than the base she was carrying.
“We should have done this days ago,” Bill complained. “Or you should have had Billy do it for you. You know he would have.”
Laura ignored him as they reached the cavernous sub-garage. The loading bay and dumpster area wasn’t one where either of them went frequently, although they both had access. Laura held the door for Bill as he carefully maneuvered the broken chair through the doorway.
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
The gruff, cigarette-scratchy voice was unmistakable. Bill saw a flush creep across Laura’s chest and face before turning to confirm what he already knew.
“Hello, Judge,” Laura squeaked.
Bill cleared his throat. “Jack,” he said in greeting. Even after years of being instructed to knock off the formality, it still sounded wrong.
“So what brings you two down here at this hour? Just overjoyed to be back at work?” their former boss asked, looking from Laura to Bill and back again.
Laura laughed nervously. “Just a little cleaning up. But what are you doing down here?”
The elderly judge fished out a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it. “Haven’t you heard? When you’re the oldest judge on the court, they let you have the closest parking spot.” He waved over to where his Caddy was parked.
“That is convenient,” Laura said. “Why are you here so early, though?” Judge Cottle had taken senior status nearly two decades earlier, and with his reduced caseload, really had no reason to be the first person at the courthouse.
Cottle shrugged. “The older I get, the earlier I get up.” He took a long drag on his cigarette. “Well, I’m heading up. Nice seeing you two.”
“You too, Judge,” they said in unison.
He started toward the door, then paused and shuffled in place to face them again. “You know, you really ought to make sure your next courtroom chair’s a little more industrial and a little less decorative, if you’re going to be abusing it like that.”
He gave them both a little salute and walked off.
Universe: Special Prosecutions
Word count: 4100
Rating: MA
Summary: Federal workers Bill and Laura are furloughed and having fun.
A/N: Written for fragrantwoods for the occasion of her birthday. Thanks for the timely prompt. :)
October 2013
Bill was fairly certain that when the Chief Judge’s reluctant but necessary edict had come down, announcing that all three of New Jersey’s federal courthouses would be closed as of the third week of the government shutdown due to a lack of funds, it had been intended to apply equally to the court’s judges as well as the court reporters, pretrial services officers, and docket clerks who were all now wondering how they’d be able to support their families. Bill felt for them; he was in the same boat, having been indefinitely furloughed by the Justice Department as a non-essential worker since the first day of the shutdown.
Laura, however, was not so resigned.
“It’ll just take a few minutes,” she’d wheedled, after he shook his head at her suggestion that they run by the courthouse so she could pick up some files she’d forgotten.
“I thought we would stay in bed all day,” he said, pulling her closer. “It’s the first day we both don’t have to go to work. Let’s just enjoy this for a little while longer.”
She squirmed away from him and reached for her glasses from the bedside table. “I didn’t sleep well last night. Nightmares about that antitrust case. I really need to go get the file so I can wrap my head around it.”
He made a disapproving noise. “The main reason the courthouse is closed during the shutdown is that they couldn’t afford to pay the Marshals and Security Officers. It’s not secure, Laura. And you may not even be able to get in, anyway.”
“I have a key,” she said. “And you.” She leaned in and gave him a kiss--a brief kiss that hinted at more. “And if you come with me, I promise to spend at least part of the rest of the day in bed with you.”
He never could say no to her, he mused as he watched her pull on her robe.
On the drive over, Renee Montagne was interviewing people who were affected by the shutdown. After the second set of husband-and-wife federal workers lamented their situation, Bill switched off the radio.
“Hitting a little too close to home?” Laura asked, looking up from her iPhone.
“We’ll be back at work soon,” he said, with more optimism than he actually felt.
“Very soon,” Laura said happily, as he pulled the 240Z off the McCarter Highway and the courthouse came into view. She patted his hand as they waited for the door to the judges’ parking garage beneath the courthouse to open up. The guard wasn’t in his booth, so Laura handed her access card over to Bill to let up the gate. “We’ll be fine, honey. I hate that my staff isn’t getting paid because of those clowns in Congress--”
(Bill’s anger flared. Those same clowns had taken well over a year to give Laura the benefit of a confirmation hearing.)
“--but you and I don’t have much to worry about.” She smiled at him, the same brilliant smile that had rendered him helpless to resist her all those years ago. “Roof over our heads and all that.”
He suspected that she intended to spend her time under that roof as if her chambers was merely relocated. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have things to do, as well -- mundane administrative tasks that he normally pushed off -- but with no new investigations, and no new information, and no new indictments -- well, he’d lost a little motivation. It would be nice if Laura saw the shutdown as an excuse to play hooky for at least a day, instead of a chance to get caught up on the fine points of antitrust law.
They walked through the darkened halls together, looking for signs of life and finding none. Normally bustling with attorneys, litigants, and courthouse staff, the building was eerily quiet. Their footsteps echoed loudly as they made their way to the elevators.
Riding up together still took him back to their early days of working here together, getting off at the fourth floor for Judge Cottle’s chambers after a quick lunch at Ambrosia’s. Later, when they were both at the US Attorney’s Office, they’d tacitly agreed to take the stairs to the second floor instead. And now, after Laura’s promotion, the ride took much longer-- up to the top floor. The light under “8” glowed and the doors opened before Bill had a chance to take advantage of the long ride and the fact that there was probably no one minding the surveillance cameras.
“There’s a new painting in my courtroom, if you want to take a look,” she said. “I’ll just be a minute. I’ll meet you back in here.” She gently pushed him in the direction of the heavy dual mahogany doors, while she got out her access card to disappear behind a much simpler, unlabeled door.
Bill vaguely recalled that Laura had been tasked with commissioning a new artwork following her investiture. Most judges would opt to sit for their own portrait, while a few others would pay homage to a retired or deceased jurist who hadn’t yet been memorialized in oils. As he entered the courtroom and looked to the wall over the jury box, however, he recalled that Laura had chosen neither of these options.
Instead, she’d chosen to have a painting done of the courthouse. He smiled as he drew closer. The landscape was broad enough that small shops on the next block over from the courthouse, including Ambrosia’s with its distinctive green awning, were discernible in the right-hand corner. But there was no doubt that this was a tribute to the structure itself. He leaned closer and read the small gold plaque at the center bottom of the frame: “Beacon of Justice.”
It was a fitting tribute to the place where they’d both spent the entirety of their careers. He peered closely and noted that the artist had painted certain windows dark and others lit from within, contrasting with the dusk settling over the building and its environs. Judge Cottle’s chambers on the fourth floor were, unsurprisingly, lit.
He stepped back to get the effect from counsel’s table. He liked it, he decided. It was more evocative of the purpose of the place than yet another stern-faced robed figure posed in front of shelves of leatherbound Federal Reports. Not that Laura herself wouldn’t make a beautiful portrait, he quickly qualified his thoughts.
His attention turned to the dais, and his heart expanded with pride at thinking of her sitting up there. It wasn’t something he’d ever wanted for himself, but it had been his privilege to support her as best he could on her arduous journey to the imposing desk and rich leather chair at the front of the room. He walked closer to the dais and after a quick look around to ensure that he was still alone, pushed past the bailiff’s swinging half-door and up the several steps behind her desk.
He hadn’t checked out her new courtroom from this angle yet. As he leaned against the green tufted-leather rolling chair, he could understand a little better why she was so motivated to continue throwing herself into her work, even as Bill was finding his own work less engaging than when he’d first started out. At this point his favorite part of his job was mentoring the new recruits and showing them how to get the job done. But this--he eased down into the chair and picked up her gavel--this would give anyone a rush.
And apparently, she thought about him while she was up here. Among the neatly arranged containers of office supplies and stacks of paper, he was surprised to note a framed photograph of himself. He picked it up and examined it; he couldn’t recall having seen it before, but he remembered the day, one of those perfect evenings at Cape May when they’d taken their cocktails and the camera down to the beach to try futilely to capture the peachy purple of the impending sunset, settling instead for flattering portraits in the softening light. He smiled and set down the photograph.
“You’re the only person who I would let get away with sitting in that chair, you know,” Laura’s voice broke in. “Looking good, Adama.”
“Not as good as I did when this picture was taken,” he countered, picking up the small frame once more to make his point. The Bill in the photograph was at least eight years younger, plus had the benefit of being captured in a moment of relaxation. The Bill in the photograph might have been stressed about work, but Bill now had the added burden of stressing about not working. He grimaced as his neck and shoulders tightened at the thought of spending the rest of the year being instructed not to work, knowing what a mess it would be once the federal funds started flowing once more. Neither the streets of Newark nor the back-room dealings of the politicians he prosecuted were suspended for the damn shutdown.
“You’re as gorgeous to me now as when we first got together,” Laura insisted, coming up onto the dais and setting down a hefty stack of redwelds and binders on the desk. “Although I do particularly love that shot of you.” She began massaging his shoulders, her thumbs pressing expertly against knotted muscles. “God, you’re tense.”
“Someone wouldn’t let me sleep in and forget about this whole shutdown fiasco for a couple more hours.”
Her lips brushed against the side of his neck, causing him to shiver. “Sorry, honey.” She pushed the chair so that he swiveled toward her, then lowered herself into his lap. “Maybe I had an ulterior motive.”
He buried his nose in her hair, breathing in her familiar scent. “Mmmm?”
Her fingers toyed with the placket of his button-down. The well-worn plaid shirt was one of her favorites -- she always said it brought out the blue in his eyes. “We’re all alone,” she said.
It took him a few moments to process that. “You can’t be serious,” he said, even as he slid his hand up her thigh to cup her bottom through her slacks.
Apparently, she was; in lieu of answering, she tilted her head up and unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt before bringing her mouth to the newly bared skin. She placed gentle kisses there, working her way up to his neck. An involuntary moan escaped him as she lightly nipped at his earlobe.
Bill performed a quick risk assessment: while the courthouse had seemed empty, and certainly the rest of this floor, the courtroom itself was unlocked. On the plus side, there were definitely no security cameras in the courtroom itself-- only in the hallways and elevators. “Laura,” he said, straining to get the words out past her lips. “This is probably not a great idea.”
She pouted. “Come on. Let me make things up to you for making you come here with me this morning.”
He doubted that this was really about any such amends, and was rather some long-running fantasy of Laura’s, but as she continued kissing his neck, whispering the things she wanted to do, he began to see the merits of her proposition. He shifted slightly beneath her to adjust for the suddenly growing situation in his pants, then moved his hand from her ass to the front of her shirt. She was wearing one of his favorites this morning, as well-- the white wrap shirt that he found incredibly distracting whenever she wore it. He slid his hand beneath the stretchy material and fondled her breast over the smooth satin of her bra. He glanced down and pulled his hand away slightly to confirm his suspicion: she was wearing the peach-colored one today.
Her tongue laved against the line of his jaw, working her way back to his mouth. His thumb swept back and forth over her nipple, causing her to squirm and shift against him. She sighed contentedly, and he took advantage of her blissful distraction to capture her mouth with his own.
Her lips opened eagerly to him, settling into a familiar but no less exciting silent communication. I love you. I want you. He stroked his tongue against hers, then drew her bottom lip between his own and sucked gently. She whimpered and threaded her hands through his hair, holding herself tight against him. He reached further into her shirt and slid his hand under the material of her bra, causing her to gasp when his fingers closed in on the sensitive nipple.
The heat between them was about to ignite. Bill attempted one last appeal to reason. “Why don’t we move this into chambers?” he asked, knowing that they could barricade themselves in her office without fear of being interrupted.
To his surprise, she shook her head. “Been there, done that.”
His eyebrow quirked up. “Here?”
Laura grinned in response. “No one’s around, Bill. And no one has any reason to come in here, anyway.” She leaned back and reached behind her, unhooking her bra and sliding it out from under her shirt.
He let out a long whistle and unbuttoned the remaining buttons of his shirt. “If we get busted by the Marshals, it’s on you to intimidate them into silence.”
She stood up and shimmied out of her pants, her movements determined and deliberate, and Bill took her silence as assent. Laura straddled him and began working on the button of his jeans. “Work with me here, Bill.”
Rather than assist with her removal of his pants, his hands drifted up to her breasts, deliciously unrestrained beneath the stretchy white jersey. He tugged the overlapping panels apart, exposing and framing her luscious flesh.
Vaguely aware of her frustration at a lack of process in getting his jeans down over his hips, he shifted up and off the chair as he brought his mouth to her breast, circling a taut nipple with his tongue before capturing it in his mouth and sucking hard. Her moan of pleasure turned to one of satisfaction as she finally freed his erection from the confines of his pants.
Now it was his turn to moan, as her hand slipped inside his boxers to stroke his hot length. She pulled the material down and away, leaving his member exposed. She rolled her palm over the head, then shifted atop him to grind herself against his hardness.
“Laura,” he groaned at the sensation of damp satin sliding against his cock. He moved his mouth to the opposite breast, giving it the same loving treatment as its twin. He bit lightly at the nub, knowing how it turned her on. One of his hands moved from its station on her ass to the crotch of her panties. He pushed the material aside and gently stroked her pussy, swirling the wetness he found there before slipping his finger inside.
“Need you. Now,” she said.
“Mmm…” he mumbled back inarticulately. If that’s what she wanted, why was she still riding his hand? “You’re still wearing underwear.”
“Tear it off,” she said.
“God, Laura. This is so wrong,” he growled, slipping his hand from her dripping cunt so he could grasp the skimpy material at her hip. The string bikini gave easily, and she pushed the torn panties down off her leg as she shifted above him and sank down on his cock.
“Yesssss,” she hissed, as she began to move. Her knees were wedged between his hips and the thankfully-padded armrests of the leather chair, and Bill found that he had little leverage to move himself. He focused on keeping his feet on the ground and the chair still, as Laura braced her hands on the top of the chair and slid up and down on his cock in long, slow strokes.
She arched her back as she moved, thrusting her breasts into his face. He pushed them together and suckled both nipples at once, making her moan loudly. She quickened the pace, both of them panting, both of them needing more---
SNAP!
“Bill?” Laura said, stilling her movements. “What was that?”
He didn’t have a chance to answer her before he realized that the chair had dropped out beneath them, separated from the swiveling base. He held her close to shield her from hitting the ground as the chair toppled over onto its side, along with both of its former occupants.
“Ohhhh,” wailed Laura. Her face was buried in his chest, and he wasn’t sure if the shudders he could feel emanating from her were from sobs or laughter. Maybe a mixture of both. “I really--” hiccup “-- liked that chair.”
They were no longer joined, but Bill’s hard-on raged despite their total upending. “You okay, sweetheart?”
She was still shaking against him, laughing quietly. “I think so. You?”
“Fine,” he said. “Except that we were in the middle of something.”
She moved to push him onto his back so as to straddle him again, but he caught her wrist and stood up, pulling her to her feet as well. He was vaguely aware that he must look ridiculous, with his jeans around his ankles, open shirt, and jutting cock, but at that moment, the only thing he cared about was taking advantage of this adrenaline rush and bringing them both to completion.
“Bend over,” he said, pushing her gently against the solid mahogany expanse. “You had your chance to drive. Now I’m going to fuck you on your desk. Your Honor.”
She raised an eyebrow, but complied. “Yes, sir. Okay, sir. Anything you say, sir.” She leaned over and propped her upper body up on her elbows. Glancing over her shoulder at him, she giggled as he stepped up flush against her. Her giggles ceased, replaced by a deep moan, when he grasped her hips and sank his cock into her heat.
He bent over her, slipping his hands beneath her breasts so he could fondle them as he moved against her. After the constraints of the swiveling chair, it was a huge rush of freeing sensation to be controlling their pace, the depth and angle of his strokes, even as she bucked against him.
And he had to admit that it was a rush to be doing this here. Now she’d have plenty of naughty thoughts to ruminate on during endless oral arguments. The noises she was making beneath him were decidedly lacking in judicial gravitas. He pinched her nipples and sank his teeth into the juncture of her shoulder and neck, eliciting a loud “God, yes!”
“You like that?” he said, his voice low and rough. His hand slid down her stomach to the juncture of her thighs, stroking between her folds with each thrust and withdrawal of his cock. She cried out when he turned his attention to her swollen bud, capturing it between his thumb and forefinger and rubbing gently.
“I’m so close,” she panted.
“I know,” he said. And he pulled out of her, and stepped back.
Laura let out a keening wail not unlike the one she’d made when she’d realized that they’d broken her chair. “Dammit, Bill!” She stood up slowly, placing a hand at her lower back, and turned around to glare at him.
“This is too fun to be over too soon,” he said, advancing on her. Her eyes darkened as she realized his intent.
“Ooh-kay,” she breathed, as he sat her on the edge of the desk and brought her legs up around his hips.
He eased into her slowly, his eyes trained on hers. The desk was of a perfect height for their purpose, and the position far more comfortable than the chair had been for either of them.
She clutched at his bare ass, urging him to start moving again. But he was biding his time, intent on drawing out the experience even as her heat throbbed around him. “Uhh...give me a second,” he said, and placed kisses along her cheekbones. She began to undulate against him, finally accepting his slower pace. Her hair was beginning to frizz along her hairline and she was glowing with exertion; he’d never seen her more beautiful. As good as taking her from behind had felt for both of them, the position lacked the emotional connection that this one enabled.
She felt it, too. “Love you,” she murmured, lightly scratching her nails along his back beneath his shirt. “So good, love.”
He knew she was sincere, because he could feel her inner muscles twitching and tightening in the tell-tale warning signs of impending orgasm. He slid his hands under her bottom to increase the leverage with each thrust, having abandoned his previously cavalier attitude about taking their time. He was claiming her, marking her on her own turf. He was making love to her; his partner, his mate. She dug her heels against him and cried out as the elusive orgasm finally overtook her.
“Bill!” she cried, holding him close to her body as she trembled and shook. Bill, realizing that they may have just about exhausted their odds of avoiding unwelcome interruptions, lasted just a few more strokes until his pleasure erupted and he emptied himself into her there on the dais.
Laura looked dazed, her hair disheveled. “As good as I hoped for,” she declared, reaching into a desk drawer for a box of tissues. “And I’d hoped for a lot.”
“Deviant,” he clucked, pulling up his pants and tossing her pants to her. Her ripped panties got stuffed into his pocket.
“Mmmm. Do you see my bra anywhere?” she asked, tugging her top back to cover her breasts once more.
He lifted up the toppled chair and saw the satin garment beneath. “A casualty of your fantasy, Laura.” He handed the bra over, then tried to set the chair back up on its base. The central point of the chair stubbornly refused to fit once more on the base.
No wonder; the metal connector was completely bent. When he finally gave up on the chair as a total loss, he looked at Laura, who was dressed once more and looking at the broken chair in wonder.
“I suppose,” she said, frowning, “that I’ll have to buy my own replacement chair.”
One week later
The courthouse already showed more signs of life than it had a week ago, notwithstanding that the sun had yet to rise. The lights were on, the HVAC was whirring its familiar hum.
“Hurry, Bill!” Laura called over her shoulder. But the top part of the chair was far more unwieldy than the base she was carrying.
“We should have done this days ago,” Bill complained. “Or you should have had Billy do it for you. You know he would have.”
Laura ignored him as they reached the cavernous sub-garage. The loading bay and dumpster area wasn’t one where either of them went frequently, although they both had access. Laura held the door for Bill as he carefully maneuvered the broken chair through the doorway.
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
The gruff, cigarette-scratchy voice was unmistakable. Bill saw a flush creep across Laura’s chest and face before turning to confirm what he already knew.
“Hello, Judge,” Laura squeaked.
Bill cleared his throat. “Jack,” he said in greeting. Even after years of being instructed to knock off the formality, it still sounded wrong.
“So what brings you two down here at this hour? Just overjoyed to be back at work?” their former boss asked, looking from Laura to Bill and back again.
Laura laughed nervously. “Just a little cleaning up. But what are you doing down here?”
The elderly judge fished out a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it. “Haven’t you heard? When you’re the oldest judge on the court, they let you have the closest parking spot.” He waved over to where his Caddy was parked.
“That is convenient,” Laura said. “Why are you here so early, though?” Judge Cottle had taken senior status nearly two decades earlier, and with his reduced caseload, really had no reason to be the first person at the courthouse.
Cottle shrugged. “The older I get, the earlier I get up.” He took a long drag on his cigarette. “Well, I’m heading up. Nice seeing you two.”
“You too, Judge,” they said in unison.
He started toward the door, then paused and shuffled in place to face them again. “You know, you really ought to make sure your next courtroom chair’s a little more industrial and a little less decorative, if you’re going to be abusing it like that.”
He gave them both a little salute and walked off.