Fic: Just My Luck, Can't Do Without (girl!Bob/Brian, NC-17)
Yesterday, harborshore and mrsquizzical both asked for girl!Bob/Brian and harborshore gave me ‘hold you down/keep you whole’ as a prompt, which gelled really well with an idea I’ve been toying with for my detectives ‘verse. You don’t have to have read that fic to read this one, but this one does contain spoilers for that one.
Like usual when I try to write ficlets, this one is too big for a comment box. Hell, it’s probably too big for several comments boxes. One day I’ll learn to be succinct. Title from The Like’s You Bring Me Down again.
Bob holds up the handcuffs so Brian knows what he’s agreeing to and he closes his eyes for a second, half-hard cock twitching visibly, before he falls backwards onto the bed, hands up above his head and challenging smile in place.
Just My Luck, Can’t Do Without | girl!Bob/Brian | 3600 words | NC-17 | contains: handcuff bondage
Bob doesn’t get the week of sleep she promised herself, but she does get an extra day off and nearly twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep, which is almost as unprecedented.
Then she has to drag her ass to the precinct to write up her report on the Hutton case - which is going to be so much fun that she can hardly wait; her Lieutenant loves it when her detectives go off doing unauthorised undercover work for other divisions.
She’s way less surprised than she should be when she pushes through the double doors and finds Brian, bleary eyed and pale, hunched over his old desk, tap-tapping at the keyboard in his familiar index finger-only style of typing.
Bob swallows down any kind of reaction she has to seeing Brian back where he belongs and marches straight over to the coffee pot in the corner, wincing at the burnt coffee and stale milk smell, and fills two cups.
“Morning,” she says, putting one cup down beside Brian, just out of reach of his elbow when he jumps at her voice, their post-case routine still firmly entrenched in her mind, despite the six months apart.
Brian frowns up at her. His eyes are bloodshot and his stubble is heading into definite beard territory. It’s not as unattractive as it should be. “Bryar? What the hell are you doing here?”
Bob just raises her eyebrows. “Well, since this is my desk,” she says slowly.
“No, I mean.” Brian shakes his head. He looks exhausted. “Dude, you got shot. You should be at home.”
Just for variety’s sake, Bob rolls her eyes instead of raising her eyebrows again. “I didn’t get shot shot and I was at home.” At his blank look, she clarifies, “It’s Monday, Brian.”
“Oh.” Brian rubs at his eyes then the place above his nose where he always gets his tension headaches. “Right.”
Bob wants to suggest that he goes home - and when she says suggest, she means drag him kicking and screaming to his car if that’s what it takes - but she doesn’t actually trust him to drive when he’s this out of it.
Instead, she kicks her chair back from the desk and sits down at her computer. “Drink your coffee,” is all she says, starting on her own report.
Writing is not Bob’s favourite thing - she’d much rather be kicking a perp in the head than writing prose about it afterward - but she gets her report done in record time, printing it off and signing it before dropping it on her lieutenant’s desk.
“Okay if I take Schechter home now?” she asks in a way that’s really telling. She’s taking Brian home whatever the lieutenant has to say about it, but she’s learned that it always helps to ask.
Ballato just grimaces. “Jesus, yes,” she says, “Get him out of my squad room, Bob. He looks like a hobo who’s crawled in off the streets. Remind me never to lend McCracken one of my detectives again.”
Bob smiles. Ballato always says that, but she’s too good a lieutenant not to let her guys grow when they can.
When Bob gets back to the bullpen, Brian’s face down on the desk, eyes closed.
She pokes him in the back of the neck, laughing when flails at her and ends up nearly falling out of his chair. Okay, so it’s petty but she may still have a couple of lingering rage issues to work through.
“C’mon, Schechter,” she says, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him to his feet. “Time to go home.”
Brian tries to pull away, semi-coherent protests spilling from his lips, but Bob digs her fingertips into his upper arm and propels him through the station. No one gives them a second glance; they might not have seen it for a while, but everyone’s used to the way Bob and Brian’s partnership works.
Out in the parking lot, Bob bypasses Brian’s familiar wreck of a car and pushes him into her own, leather seats still new-smelling and the steering wheel not yet moulded to her grip.
Brian blinks at the interior. “New car?” he asks.
Bob concentrates on the rearview mirror, reversing out of her spot, a convenient excuse not to look at Brian. “Yep,” she says shortly. “Wentz blew up the old one.” It’s not like she actually blames Brian for Pete being a walking and talking health and safety hazard, but she did love that car.
Brian laughs, cutting it off quickly when Bob does look at him, just long enough to glare. “I mean, um, shit,” he says, the corners of his mouth still curling up, “Is that why I haven’t seen him around? Did you blow up his balls in revenge?”
Bob can’t help letting herself smile, just a little. “It was tempting,” she admits.
She doesn’t say anything for a few minutes and, for once, neither does Brian. When she glances over at him at the next stop light, she finds him tipped forward in his seat, safety belt the only thing keeping him upright, his stubbled chin resting on his chest.
Bob does not feel affectionate or in any way fond. She’s exasperated at his complete inability to take care of himself to the point that he passes out from exhaustion in other people’s cars and that’s all she feels. Honestly.
She drives them straight to her apartment because she realises with a sharp, twisty sort of feeling that she has no idea if Brian kept on his old apartment while he was away or if he’s had to find somewhere new. She doesn’t even really know the details of what he’s been doing for the last six months and that bothers her even though she wishes it wouldn’t.
“Hey, Schechter,” she snaps, louder than is really kind, “Wake up.”
Brian wakes with such a start that Bob does consider feeling a little bit bad. She decides against it.
“Come on, dude. Out the car.”
Blinking, Brian fumbles with the door handle, dragging himself out onto the sidewalk and leaning against the car tiredly. He stares up at the building for a moment then leans back into the car.
“Bob? This is your building.”
“No shit?” Bob says. She throws her keys at him. “Go on up while I park, okay?”
Brian still looks confused, but he’s really smart, he’ll get it eventually, so she leaves him on the sidewalk while she drives down into her building’s underground parking lot.
***
When Bob gets out of the elevator on her floor, she doesn’t find Brian slumped in her doorway, which is a relief. He’s left her front door on the latch, which she’ll bitch him out for later, but at least means that she isn’t left standing on her own doorstep, since she walks into the apartment and finds him sacked out and snoring in the middle of her bed.
Bob rolls her eyes, sighing more fondly than she’s comfortable admitting. She draws the curtains, shuts the door and leaves him to sleep.
It’s not exactly the way she was expecting things to go when she eventually let him back into her bed, but this is her and Brian; things never go the way anyone expects.
***
It’s late by the time Bob hears Brian moving around in the bedroom. She stays where she is, kicked back on the sofa watching Mythbusters reruns until she hears him go into the bathroom.
She gives him long enough to take a leak then knocks sharply on the door.
Brian opens the door with his shirt off and water running from the ends of his hair down his chest, shaving foam under his nose. She tries to hide her smile at the idea that he’s cleaning up for her.
“Schechter,” she says, leaning against the doorframe while he goes back to the sink and uses her mouthwash - shameless theft, especially with her standing right here. “We need to talk.”
Brian’s expression reflected in the mirror is pure horror. “We do?” he asks slowly.
Bob crosses the room in two steps, turning him around with a hand on his shoulder and pinning him back against the sink with a hand on his hip. His eyes go wide but he doesn’t try to break her grip.
“Okay, this is the kind of talking I can get behind,” he says. When he breathes in, his chest expands to brush hers.
“Shut up,” Bob says, touching his cheekbone where the bruise from his fight with Hutton is purpling up nastily. She presses down firmly with her thumb and Brian hisses, letting his head drop further back. “Brian, you need to take care of yourself.” She's serious and she must sound serious because he actually pauses to consider before he answers her.
“I’m doing my best,” he says. He smiles, more than a little self-depreciating. “But I guess I could be doing it better, huh?”
“Yes,” Bob says firmly and kisses him. She knows this is a bad move, that it’s positive reinforcement to all his bad habits, but goddammit she doesn’t care.
Brian gets with the program immediately, licking his way into her mouth and sliding his hands up her sides. His hands are warm and sure through the thin material of her t-shirt, and he’s not being overly gentle with her or anything but it’s still too... something. Too much or not enough or - . Whatever it is, it makes her skin itch.
She catches his wrists and pushes them back, holds them down against the rim of the sink, taking advantage of the couple of inches she has on him to crowd him backwards.
Brian lets himself be crowded, leaning back and back until the sink gives an ominous creak. He laughs a little at that, but Bob just steps back, tightening her hold on his wrists and using it to pull him out of the bathroom.
“Schechter, come to bed with me,” she says and it’s only half a question.
Brian nods anyway. He kicks his jeans off in the hallway but she doesn’t let go of him until they’re in the bedroom, the door closed behind them, and then it’s only so he can shimmy out of his boxers and she can strip down too.
Brian reaches for her when she’s naked but she steps back, looking for something on top of the nightstand.
“Lie down,” she says when her hands close around familiar cool metal.
She holds up the handcuffs so he knows what he’s agreeing to and he closes his eyes for a second, half-hard cock twitching visibly, before he falls backwards onto the bed, hands up above his head and challenging smile in place.
Bob grins back, a little bit of an edge to it, and climbs up onto the bed. She straddles him, not letting them touch anywhere but the insides of her knees against her hips and leans forward to close the cuff around one of his wrists.
She’d never use her work cuffs for sex with anyone but Brian; they’re not designed for it like bedroom cuffs are, but she trusts Brian knows how to wear them safely.
Brian’s hands are small for a guy’s, his wrists narrow enough that she has to click the cuffs tight to make sure he can’t wriggle free. His breath gets harsher, louder, as she threads the chain between the slats of the headboard and lifts his other hand, snapping the cuff closed around it.
“Do I need a safe word?” Brian asks softly. His eyes are tracing all over her body, almost like he’s trying to find another way to touch her now he can’t use his hands.
Bob shakes her head. This isn’t that kind of game; she just needs to be sure that she knows exactly where he is, at least for tonight. “Just stop is enough,” she promises.
“Okay,” Brian says. He tips his head back against the pillow and says, “So I’m kind of useless like this. What do you - ?”
She shuts him up by gripping his cock. It’s hard and thick in her hand, hot and familiar, and she squeezes tightly, partly to relearn the shape of it, partly to see if she can get him to moan.
She can.
“Fuck, Bryar,” Brian chokes, “Come on.”
It’s tempting to tell him not to talk - Brian’s normally pretty amenable to being told what to do in bed - but she likes hearing his voice.
Instead, she sits back on his thighs, jerking him off with one hand and using two fingers of her other hand to circle her clit. Maybe she’s a little bit evil, but she enjoys the way his expression shifts restlessly between turned on at watching her and frustrated that he can’t touch.
Bob likes that look on his face and she’s hot between her legs, the insides of her thighs getting wet. She hadn’t been planning to bring herself off but touching herself feels so good that it takes her by surprise and, before she knows it, she’s rocking desperately against her fingers, clutching Brian’s cock too hard as she comes.
“Bob,” Brian says, sounding lost.
Bob crawls up the bed, crushes their mouths together. Brian’s hard against her thigh and she wraps her sticky fingers around his wrists just so he can feel it.
Brian twists, the handcuffs rattling gently as he gets his weight onto one hip, trying to find some friction to rub off against.
Bob doesn’t feel like making him wait any longer - well, she kind of does; he does deserve it - and she really wants him inside her, so she breaks the kiss and sits up, leaning over him to search the nightstand for a condom.
Fuck. She must have some somewhere, it’s not like she’s had a lot of use for them lately.
“There’s one in my wallet,” Brian tells her. He turns his head to talk to her and his mouth brushes her breast. Bob’s fingers fumble in the drawer.
Bob wants to make a crack about the condom in Brian’s wallet probably being past its expiration date, but he’s been gone six months, there’s a chance that it’s brand new.
She finally finds the box, half empty like it’s been for half a year, and pulls out a condom. She throws it at his chest even though it’s not like he can put it on for himself with his hands tied up.
Their bodies slide together as she shifts back on top of him. Brian’s mouth is on her nipple now and he bites down with his teeth, just lightly, just enough that she doesn’t move away.
There’s a bruise over her sternum from where Hutton’s bullet hit her vest and it pulses in time with her heartbeat, in time with the pull of Brian’s mouth against her nipple.
“Brian,” she says shakily, because she has a thing about having her nipples played with and Brian fucking knows it, “Don’t you want to fuck me?”
The sound Brian makes is very much an affirmative. Bob grins and sits up, hissing when the cool air hits her spit-damp tit.
The head of Brian’s cock is leaking precome and she rubs her fingers through it just to make Brian groan before she smoothes the condom down.
Keeping her hand tight around the base, Bob lines them up sinks down, taking it slow, enjoying the stretch. Fuck, but it’s been too long.
Brian’s cock is thick, not too long but long enough that it nudges her deep inside, firing sparks behind her eyes.
“Oh fuck,” she breathes and grinds down.
Brian swears and braces his feet on the bed, fucking up into her with his eyes squeezed shut and a flush spreading from his hairline to the middle of his chest.
Bob leans forward and curls her hands around his elbows, pressing him down into the mattress. His body’s rippling beneath her, sweaty and giving off heat, somehow making Bob feel like he’s touching her even with his hands still cuffed to the headboard.
Right now, naked and fucked open, rocking towards her second orgasm, Bob can admit to herself just how much she’s missed him, and yeah, okay, that she maybe, kind of, she loves him.
“Bob,” Brian mutters, head tossing on the pillow, dark hair falling into his eyes, “Bob. Shit, sorry, I’m going to come.”
She kisses him, fucking her tongue into his mouth, and swallowing down his shout when he shakes beneath her and jerks, coming, inside her.
Her body is throbbing, keyed up for an orgasm that’s still just out of her reach. She wonders if he’s too sensitive for her to keep fucking herself on his cock, but he’s already twitching so she figures the answer is yes.
Stiff and unsatisfied, she climbs off him, closing her eyes at the feel of them separating. Bracing herself on the bed with one hand, she drags the other hand down her body, heading between her legs.
“Bob.” When she looks up, Brian’s eyes are open and he’s watching her. “Hey. Let me go, yeah?”
Hazy, she wavers for a second, before remember the key on top of the nightstand. “Shit,” she says and reaches for it.
Her hands tremble as she unfastens the cuffs. There are pale pink lines around his wrists, nothing that’ll bruise, but she still kisses the marks, parting her lips hot and wet against his inner wrist just to hear his breath catch.
“Jesus,” Brian breathes and then he’s pulling his hands out of her grip, sliding them down her back, cupping her ass while they kiss.
He squeezes hard, pulling at her ass and she can’t work out what he wants her to do for a minute until he touches the back of her thighs, encouraging them apart and then she gets it, letting her thighs fall open over his hips and rubbing her aching clit against his softening cock.
It’s good, any friction is good, but it’s not enough and she drops her head against his shoulder, trying not to beg.
Brian kisses her temple, which she would bitch at him for in any other situation and then pushes at her shoulder until she rolls onto her back.
“Dude, if you wanted me to eat you out, you could have just sat on my face,” he says, grinning, which, actually, is a really fucking hot idea and she wishes she’d thought of it when she still had him tied up.
As it is, she has to settle for opening her legs when he lies down between them and the soft/hard presses of his tongue, pushing into her cunt.
She makes a sound that isn’t English and should be embarrassing, but isn’t because she’s too busy fisting her hands into the comforter so she doesn’t grab his hair, pushing her hips up for more.
Brian laughs against her, the vibrations making her moan, and swirls his tongue inside her before licking his way out and up over her clit. Her stomach’s tightening, something red and hazy at the edges of her vision. If she ever actually gets to have this orgasm, she’s pretty sure it’s going to blow the top of her head off.
“Schechter,” she groans, “I will shoot you if you don’t get me off.”
He laughs again - fuck, he’s got to know what that does to her - and then he sucks on her clit, hard, fingers sinking into her cunt, curling inside her and she practically fucking levitates off the bed, swearing as she comes.
His fingers are stroking her stomach when she collapses back against the bed and the relief of her orgasm makes her clumsy, makes her fumble her hands down to reach for him, pull him up for kisses that are too gentle, no kind of punishment at all for all the shit he’s put her through lately.
Maybe it doesn’t matter though, maybe he’s gotten the message, because, “Hey, Bryar?” Brian whispers in her ear when she’s just starting to drift off to sleep.
Bob mutters something and drags her eyes open. “What?” she asks blearily.
Brian’s face is soft, watching her. “So you know how I am with declarations of affection and all that shit,” he says haltingly, like he’d really rather be saying anything else at all, “But you should know that you don’t need to tie me up to get me to stay.” He rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly. “Assuming you want me to stay.”
Bob just stares at him. Of course she wants him to stay, fucking hell if he doesn’t know that then they really do have problems. She doesn’t say that though, she just punches him in the arm. Hard.
“Idiot,” she says.
Brian doesn’t even bother to rub at the place she hit. Asshole. His face breaks into a grin, wider than she’s seen in a really long time. “Yeah,” he says, sounding almost giddy with it, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
/End
Like usual when I try to write ficlets, this one is too big for a comment box. Hell, it’s probably too big for several comments boxes. One day I’ll learn to be succinct. Title from The Like’s You Bring Me Down again.
Bob holds up the handcuffs so Brian knows what he’s agreeing to and he closes his eyes for a second, half-hard cock twitching visibly, before he falls backwards onto the bed, hands up above his head and challenging smile in place.
Just My Luck, Can’t Do Without | girl!Bob/Brian | 3600 words | NC-17 | contains: handcuff bondage
Bob doesn’t get the week of sleep she promised herself, but she does get an extra day off and nearly twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep, which is almost as unprecedented.
Then she has to drag her ass to the precinct to write up her report on the Hutton case - which is going to be so much fun that she can hardly wait; her Lieutenant loves it when her detectives go off doing unauthorised undercover work for other divisions.
She’s way less surprised than she should be when she pushes through the double doors and finds Brian, bleary eyed and pale, hunched over his old desk, tap-tapping at the keyboard in his familiar index finger-only style of typing.
Bob swallows down any kind of reaction she has to seeing Brian back where he belongs and marches straight over to the coffee pot in the corner, wincing at the burnt coffee and stale milk smell, and fills two cups.
“Morning,” she says, putting one cup down beside Brian, just out of reach of his elbow when he jumps at her voice, their post-case routine still firmly entrenched in her mind, despite the six months apart.
Brian frowns up at her. His eyes are bloodshot and his stubble is heading into definite beard territory. It’s not as unattractive as it should be. “Bryar? What the hell are you doing here?”
Bob just raises her eyebrows. “Well, since this is my desk,” she says slowly.
“No, I mean.” Brian shakes his head. He looks exhausted. “Dude, you got shot. You should be at home.”
Just for variety’s sake, Bob rolls her eyes instead of raising her eyebrows again. “I didn’t get shot shot and I was at home.” At his blank look, she clarifies, “It’s Monday, Brian.”
“Oh.” Brian rubs at his eyes then the place above his nose where he always gets his tension headaches. “Right.”
Bob wants to suggest that he goes home - and when she says suggest, she means drag him kicking and screaming to his car if that’s what it takes - but she doesn’t actually trust him to drive when he’s this out of it.
Instead, she kicks her chair back from the desk and sits down at her computer. “Drink your coffee,” is all she says, starting on her own report.
Writing is not Bob’s favourite thing - she’d much rather be kicking a perp in the head than writing prose about it afterward - but she gets her report done in record time, printing it off and signing it before dropping it on her lieutenant’s desk.
“Okay if I take Schechter home now?” she asks in a way that’s really telling. She’s taking Brian home whatever the lieutenant has to say about it, but she’s learned that it always helps to ask.
Ballato just grimaces. “Jesus, yes,” she says, “Get him out of my squad room, Bob. He looks like a hobo who’s crawled in off the streets. Remind me never to lend McCracken one of my detectives again.”
Bob smiles. Ballato always says that, but she’s too good a lieutenant not to let her guys grow when they can.
When Bob gets back to the bullpen, Brian’s face down on the desk, eyes closed.
She pokes him in the back of the neck, laughing when flails at her and ends up nearly falling out of his chair. Okay, so it’s petty but she may still have a couple of lingering rage issues to work through.
“C’mon, Schechter,” she says, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him to his feet. “Time to go home.”
Brian tries to pull away, semi-coherent protests spilling from his lips, but Bob digs her fingertips into his upper arm and propels him through the station. No one gives them a second glance; they might not have seen it for a while, but everyone’s used to the way Bob and Brian’s partnership works.
Out in the parking lot, Bob bypasses Brian’s familiar wreck of a car and pushes him into her own, leather seats still new-smelling and the steering wheel not yet moulded to her grip.
Brian blinks at the interior. “New car?” he asks.
Bob concentrates on the rearview mirror, reversing out of her spot, a convenient excuse not to look at Brian. “Yep,” she says shortly. “Wentz blew up the old one.” It’s not like she actually blames Brian for Pete being a walking and talking health and safety hazard, but she did love that car.
Brian laughs, cutting it off quickly when Bob does look at him, just long enough to glare. “I mean, um, shit,” he says, the corners of his mouth still curling up, “Is that why I haven’t seen him around? Did you blow up his balls in revenge?”
Bob can’t help letting herself smile, just a little. “It was tempting,” she admits.
She doesn’t say anything for a few minutes and, for once, neither does Brian. When she glances over at him at the next stop light, she finds him tipped forward in his seat, safety belt the only thing keeping him upright, his stubbled chin resting on his chest.
Bob does not feel affectionate or in any way fond. She’s exasperated at his complete inability to take care of himself to the point that he passes out from exhaustion in other people’s cars and that’s all she feels. Honestly.
She drives them straight to her apartment because she realises with a sharp, twisty sort of feeling that she has no idea if Brian kept on his old apartment while he was away or if he’s had to find somewhere new. She doesn’t even really know the details of what he’s been doing for the last six months and that bothers her even though she wishes it wouldn’t.
“Hey, Schechter,” she snaps, louder than is really kind, “Wake up.”
Brian wakes with such a start that Bob does consider feeling a little bit bad. She decides against it.
“Come on, dude. Out the car.”
Blinking, Brian fumbles with the door handle, dragging himself out onto the sidewalk and leaning against the car tiredly. He stares up at the building for a moment then leans back into the car.
“Bob? This is your building.”
“No shit?” Bob says. She throws her keys at him. “Go on up while I park, okay?”
Brian still looks confused, but he’s really smart, he’ll get it eventually, so she leaves him on the sidewalk while she drives down into her building’s underground parking lot.
***
When Bob gets out of the elevator on her floor, she doesn’t find Brian slumped in her doorway, which is a relief. He’s left her front door on the latch, which she’ll bitch him out for later, but at least means that she isn’t left standing on her own doorstep, since she walks into the apartment and finds him sacked out and snoring in the middle of her bed.
Bob rolls her eyes, sighing more fondly than she’s comfortable admitting. She draws the curtains, shuts the door and leaves him to sleep.
It’s not exactly the way she was expecting things to go when she eventually let him back into her bed, but this is her and Brian; things never go the way anyone expects.
***
It’s late by the time Bob hears Brian moving around in the bedroom. She stays where she is, kicked back on the sofa watching Mythbusters reruns until she hears him go into the bathroom.
She gives him long enough to take a leak then knocks sharply on the door.
Brian opens the door with his shirt off and water running from the ends of his hair down his chest, shaving foam under his nose. She tries to hide her smile at the idea that he’s cleaning up for her.
“Schechter,” she says, leaning against the doorframe while he goes back to the sink and uses her mouthwash - shameless theft, especially with her standing right here. “We need to talk.”
Brian’s expression reflected in the mirror is pure horror. “We do?” he asks slowly.
Bob crosses the room in two steps, turning him around with a hand on his shoulder and pinning him back against the sink with a hand on his hip. His eyes go wide but he doesn’t try to break her grip.
“Okay, this is the kind of talking I can get behind,” he says. When he breathes in, his chest expands to brush hers.
“Shut up,” Bob says, touching his cheekbone where the bruise from his fight with Hutton is purpling up nastily. She presses down firmly with her thumb and Brian hisses, letting his head drop further back. “Brian, you need to take care of yourself.” She's serious and she must sound serious because he actually pauses to consider before he answers her.
“I’m doing my best,” he says. He smiles, more than a little self-depreciating. “But I guess I could be doing it better, huh?”
“Yes,” Bob says firmly and kisses him. She knows this is a bad move, that it’s positive reinforcement to all his bad habits, but goddammit she doesn’t care.
Brian gets with the program immediately, licking his way into her mouth and sliding his hands up her sides. His hands are warm and sure through the thin material of her t-shirt, and he’s not being overly gentle with her or anything but it’s still too... something. Too much or not enough or - . Whatever it is, it makes her skin itch.
She catches his wrists and pushes them back, holds them down against the rim of the sink, taking advantage of the couple of inches she has on him to crowd him backwards.
Brian lets himself be crowded, leaning back and back until the sink gives an ominous creak. He laughs a little at that, but Bob just steps back, tightening her hold on his wrists and using it to pull him out of the bathroom.
“Schechter, come to bed with me,” she says and it’s only half a question.
Brian nods anyway. He kicks his jeans off in the hallway but she doesn’t let go of him until they’re in the bedroom, the door closed behind them, and then it’s only so he can shimmy out of his boxers and she can strip down too.
Brian reaches for her when she’s naked but she steps back, looking for something on top of the nightstand.
“Lie down,” she says when her hands close around familiar cool metal.
She holds up the handcuffs so he knows what he’s agreeing to and he closes his eyes for a second, half-hard cock twitching visibly, before he falls backwards onto the bed, hands up above his head and challenging smile in place.
Bob grins back, a little bit of an edge to it, and climbs up onto the bed. She straddles him, not letting them touch anywhere but the insides of her knees against her hips and leans forward to close the cuff around one of his wrists.
She’d never use her work cuffs for sex with anyone but Brian; they’re not designed for it like bedroom cuffs are, but she trusts Brian knows how to wear them safely.
Brian’s hands are small for a guy’s, his wrists narrow enough that she has to click the cuffs tight to make sure he can’t wriggle free. His breath gets harsher, louder, as she threads the chain between the slats of the headboard and lifts his other hand, snapping the cuff closed around it.
“Do I need a safe word?” Brian asks softly. His eyes are tracing all over her body, almost like he’s trying to find another way to touch her now he can’t use his hands.
Bob shakes her head. This isn’t that kind of game; she just needs to be sure that she knows exactly where he is, at least for tonight. “Just stop is enough,” she promises.
“Okay,” Brian says. He tips his head back against the pillow and says, “So I’m kind of useless like this. What do you - ?”
She shuts him up by gripping his cock. It’s hard and thick in her hand, hot and familiar, and she squeezes tightly, partly to relearn the shape of it, partly to see if she can get him to moan.
She can.
“Fuck, Bryar,” Brian chokes, “Come on.”
It’s tempting to tell him not to talk - Brian’s normally pretty amenable to being told what to do in bed - but she likes hearing his voice.
Instead, she sits back on his thighs, jerking him off with one hand and using two fingers of her other hand to circle her clit. Maybe she’s a little bit evil, but she enjoys the way his expression shifts restlessly between turned on at watching her and frustrated that he can’t touch.
Bob likes that look on his face and she’s hot between her legs, the insides of her thighs getting wet. She hadn’t been planning to bring herself off but touching herself feels so good that it takes her by surprise and, before she knows it, she’s rocking desperately against her fingers, clutching Brian’s cock too hard as she comes.
“Bob,” Brian says, sounding lost.
Bob crawls up the bed, crushes their mouths together. Brian’s hard against her thigh and she wraps her sticky fingers around his wrists just so he can feel it.
Brian twists, the handcuffs rattling gently as he gets his weight onto one hip, trying to find some friction to rub off against.
Bob doesn’t feel like making him wait any longer - well, she kind of does; he does deserve it - and she really wants him inside her, so she breaks the kiss and sits up, leaning over him to search the nightstand for a condom.
Fuck. She must have some somewhere, it’s not like she’s had a lot of use for them lately.
“There’s one in my wallet,” Brian tells her. He turns his head to talk to her and his mouth brushes her breast. Bob’s fingers fumble in the drawer.
Bob wants to make a crack about the condom in Brian’s wallet probably being past its expiration date, but he’s been gone six months, there’s a chance that it’s brand new.
She finally finds the box, half empty like it’s been for half a year, and pulls out a condom. She throws it at his chest even though it’s not like he can put it on for himself with his hands tied up.
Their bodies slide together as she shifts back on top of him. Brian’s mouth is on her nipple now and he bites down with his teeth, just lightly, just enough that she doesn’t move away.
There’s a bruise over her sternum from where Hutton’s bullet hit her vest and it pulses in time with her heartbeat, in time with the pull of Brian’s mouth against her nipple.
“Brian,” she says shakily, because she has a thing about having her nipples played with and Brian fucking knows it, “Don’t you want to fuck me?”
The sound Brian makes is very much an affirmative. Bob grins and sits up, hissing when the cool air hits her spit-damp tit.
The head of Brian’s cock is leaking precome and she rubs her fingers through it just to make Brian groan before she smoothes the condom down.
Keeping her hand tight around the base, Bob lines them up sinks down, taking it slow, enjoying the stretch. Fuck, but it’s been too long.
Brian’s cock is thick, not too long but long enough that it nudges her deep inside, firing sparks behind her eyes.
“Oh fuck,” she breathes and grinds down.
Brian swears and braces his feet on the bed, fucking up into her with his eyes squeezed shut and a flush spreading from his hairline to the middle of his chest.
Bob leans forward and curls her hands around his elbows, pressing him down into the mattress. His body’s rippling beneath her, sweaty and giving off heat, somehow making Bob feel like he’s touching her even with his hands still cuffed to the headboard.
Right now, naked and fucked open, rocking towards her second orgasm, Bob can admit to herself just how much she’s missed him, and yeah, okay, that she maybe, kind of, she loves him.
“Bob,” Brian mutters, head tossing on the pillow, dark hair falling into his eyes, “Bob. Shit, sorry, I’m going to come.”
She kisses him, fucking her tongue into his mouth, and swallowing down his shout when he shakes beneath her and jerks, coming, inside her.
Her body is throbbing, keyed up for an orgasm that’s still just out of her reach. She wonders if he’s too sensitive for her to keep fucking herself on his cock, but he’s already twitching so she figures the answer is yes.
Stiff and unsatisfied, she climbs off him, closing her eyes at the feel of them separating. Bracing herself on the bed with one hand, she drags the other hand down her body, heading between her legs.
“Bob.” When she looks up, Brian’s eyes are open and he’s watching her. “Hey. Let me go, yeah?”
Hazy, she wavers for a second, before remember the key on top of the nightstand. “Shit,” she says and reaches for it.
Her hands tremble as she unfastens the cuffs. There are pale pink lines around his wrists, nothing that’ll bruise, but she still kisses the marks, parting her lips hot and wet against his inner wrist just to hear his breath catch.
“Jesus,” Brian breathes and then he’s pulling his hands out of her grip, sliding them down her back, cupping her ass while they kiss.
He squeezes hard, pulling at her ass and she can’t work out what he wants her to do for a minute until he touches the back of her thighs, encouraging them apart and then she gets it, letting her thighs fall open over his hips and rubbing her aching clit against his softening cock.
It’s good, any friction is good, but it’s not enough and she drops her head against his shoulder, trying not to beg.
Brian kisses her temple, which she would bitch at him for in any other situation and then pushes at her shoulder until she rolls onto her back.
“Dude, if you wanted me to eat you out, you could have just sat on my face,” he says, grinning, which, actually, is a really fucking hot idea and she wishes she’d thought of it when she still had him tied up.
As it is, she has to settle for opening her legs when he lies down between them and the soft/hard presses of his tongue, pushing into her cunt.
She makes a sound that isn’t English and should be embarrassing, but isn’t because she’s too busy fisting her hands into the comforter so she doesn’t grab his hair, pushing her hips up for more.
Brian laughs against her, the vibrations making her moan, and swirls his tongue inside her before licking his way out and up over her clit. Her stomach’s tightening, something red and hazy at the edges of her vision. If she ever actually gets to have this orgasm, she’s pretty sure it’s going to blow the top of her head off.
“Schechter,” she groans, “I will shoot you if you don’t get me off.”
He laughs again - fuck, he’s got to know what that does to her - and then he sucks on her clit, hard, fingers sinking into her cunt, curling inside her and she practically fucking levitates off the bed, swearing as she comes.
His fingers are stroking her stomach when she collapses back against the bed and the relief of her orgasm makes her clumsy, makes her fumble her hands down to reach for him, pull him up for kisses that are too gentle, no kind of punishment at all for all the shit he’s put her through lately.
Maybe it doesn’t matter though, maybe he’s gotten the message, because, “Hey, Bryar?” Brian whispers in her ear when she’s just starting to drift off to sleep.
Bob mutters something and drags her eyes open. “What?” she asks blearily.
Brian’s face is soft, watching her. “So you know how I am with declarations of affection and all that shit,” he says haltingly, like he’d really rather be saying anything else at all, “But you should know that you don’t need to tie me up to get me to stay.” He rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly. “Assuming you want me to stay.”
Bob just stares at him. Of course she wants him to stay, fucking hell if he doesn’t know that then they really do have problems. She doesn’t say that though, she just punches him in the arm. Hard.
“Idiot,” she says.
Brian doesn’t even bother to rub at the place she hit. Asshole. His face breaks into a grin, wider than she’s seen in a really long time. “Yeah,” he says, sounding almost giddy with it, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
/End