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She was standing at the piano, picking aimlessly at the keys, looking weary and disheveled. Her hair was still a wind-tangled mess from the water-front crime scene, jacket flung away, shirt untucked. Absolutely fuckable. Peter licked his lips as he padded up behind her, sneaky even though he could never sneak up on her. His fingers landed lightly on her hip, slipping under the hem of her shirt. She hummed lightly, a pleased-sounding note.
He buried his face in her hair, lips seeking the back of her neck. Hands circled her waist, pulling her back against him. She chuckled and rubbed her ass against him. “Happy to see me?”
“Always.” He finally made his way through the jungle of her hair and nipped at her neck. He worked the catch of her pants, the irritating little metal things and buttons and freaking zipper. He growled a little, bit her neck harder and she answered with a lyrical laugh.
“Don't tear these.” Mercifully taking over, leaving him to unfasten his jeans and pull a condom from his pocket before pushing them down.
“When have I ever torn your pants?” He pushed against her, knocking her forward. She had one knee up on the bench, bracing herself against the top of the piano with one hand. He rolled the condom on and nudged her leg out of the way. “Stop kicking me.”
“Well, if you'd given me time to get my shoes off I'd uuunnnh...” she trailed off as he slid into her.
He leaned over her back and breathed in her ear. “What was that?” He braced one hand next to hers on the piano and groped under her shirt with the other.
“Shut up, Peter.” He laughed breathlessly as he thrust into her, quick and hard. He skimmed his hand down to join hers between her legs, fingers warring for position over her clit. The bench wobbled ominously and he had a brief vision of trying to explain the matching concussions if the damn thing collapsed and they brained themselves against the baby grand. She arched her back and the sweet clench of her around him drove all thought from his head.
He came with her name on his lips, panting hard, leaning against her back. She whimpered in frustration, voice twisted to a whine. “Dammit, Peter...”
He slid out and flung the condom towards where he thought a trash can might be. Turned her, pulling her fingers away from her slick cunt and pushed her to the bench. She flopped back against the piano and the dissonant chord echoed against the walls. He clawed her pants farther down her legs. The chemical taste of the condom quickly lost ground to the salty tang that was the very essence of her. Two fingers curled inside her and he flicked his tongue relentlessly against her clit. She howled his name and shuddered against him as she came.
He leaned against her thigh as they caught their breath, nibbling lightly at the soft skin. When she finally opened her eyes, he grinned up at her flushed face. “Slowpoke.”
She wrinkled her nose and laughed, and the music of it rang though the lab.