Actions

Work Header

mind, body, and soul

Work Text:

It’s not often Amy finds herself in maddeningly frustrating situations, but when she does it’s almost always entirely because of one Jake Peralta. There was the time she had to redo an entire case report after he spilled orange soda all over the first hard copy, the time she had to explain to Captain McGintley that she was not , in fact, the one who placed a twenty minute call to an adult call hotline from the phone on her desk (thank god for recorded lines, even though in addition to proving her innocence it also proved that Jake spent the vast majority of that call asking whether or not they thought pigeons have  feelings and therefore did not get in trouble). Or the time she spent half an hour of her own time trying to scrub all the powdered sugar out of the vents in her brand new car just to have to shell out two hundred dollars to get it professionally cleaned the next day. Or the time he somehow switched her mostly-full carton of skim milk with expired chocolate milk.

Suffice it to say, Amy’s generally quite confident in automatically blaming Jake for pretty much every inconvenience in her life.

Except this one.

This one being this, here, in her bed. More specifically, that her hands are currently handcuffed to the headboard over her head, pulling her arms straight and taut on either side of her head. Also, that her ankles are tied to the bedposts - loose enough to allow for some movement, some bend in her knees, but still tight enough to prevent her from clamping her legs together completely. And that all of her clothes are gone. Well, the t-shirt she fell asleep in is gone; that was all she was wearing 8 hours ago when she first cuddled up against Jake beneath the blankets. Those are gone, too, though that’s slightly less of a pressing issue.

What’s really pressing - literally - is Jake’s head between her legs. He’s been at this since at least right before she woke up (it was that feeling, that tingling in her toes echoed by the faint coil of tension in the pit of her belly that woke her to begin with), nipping and nuzzling and humming contentedly as he burrows into her folds. This isn’t exactly new - waking up to him, for lack of a better term, going to town on her - but the bondage is something they haven’t experimented with quite as much. They’ve talked about it, sure, and they’ve even employed his neckties once or twice (she hasn’t checked yet, but she’s pretty sure that’s what’s binding her ankles). But they’ve always been tied loose enough for whoever is bound with them for that round to wriggle their hands free should the need arise; the handcuffs, on the other hand…

It’s a little embarrassing just how much they’re working for her.

She releases a breathless moan and feels him grin into her flesh. She flexes her fingers, realizing belatedly that she’d clenched them into fists at some point in her sleep, and then squeaks when she feels one of his long fingers slip first through her folds and then into her to the hilt. “Morning,” he rumbles into her thigh, head lifting slightly to peek up at her. “You good?”

Good. Great. Wonderful. Fantastic. On fire. Every good adjective on the planet, that’s what she is right now, that’s what she longs to tell him, that’s what she intends to tell him when she lifts her head - but upon meeting his gaze she realizes his question is not about what’s happening between her thighs, but rather about the handcuffs holding her hostage. She nods as she swallows thickly, heart hammering and mouth far too dry to allow for any kind of verbal confirmation.

He kisses the inside of her thigh to confirm and then retracts the finger inside her, just to drive it back home with a second finger. Her head falls back to her pillow as he crooks them both upward slightly and begins a shallow pumping motion that has her breathless and moaning in a matter of moments. “I was thinking we could...try something new,” he murmurs just as her abs begin to twitch and contract. “Are you down?”

“D-do I - hnn - have a...choice?” she gasps. She’d meant for it to sound cheeky, challenging, but she’s starting to seriously lose herself in the motions of his fingers so it comes out desperate and just a little bit needy and she’s certain that contributes to at least 3% of the heat in her face.

“Always, babe,” he says softly, slowing his hand down to a crawl, which draws a disapproving half-growl half-moan from the center of her chest. “Just say the word and I’ll go get the keys.”

The word. The word. She wracks her short-circuiting brain quickly, searching, before it comes to her: kumquat. Their word is kumquat. He’s mistaken her breathless attempt at sarcasm as apprehension.

“Wanna try?” he asks as the pads of his fingers faintly, delicately brush just once against that spot on her inner wall. “I think you’ll really like it.”

A higher-pitched moan bursts from her throat all at once and Jake’s hand goes completely still. “Yes,” she pants, “yes, please, I want to try.”

He huffs out a near-silent laugh through his nose and slowly, slowly resumes the motion of his hand between her legs. She can feel him dotting her thighs and the stretch of skin on her lower stomach with kisses, drifting so near to where she desperately craves him but never once touching her there. This isn’t new, either - Jake’s the king of teasing her, he has been since their second time sleeping together (and has only gotten better at it since then) - and that fact is ever-present in the back of her mind even as the sensations of his fingers inside her begin to wipe out the rest of her conscious thoughts. Heat is beginning to prickle in her gut and surge through her veins, her hips are beginning to rock of their own accord to meet his fingers on the in-strokes, her feet are planted flat on the mattress and her knees are bent and bowed inward as far as the ties will allow, and the tell-tale pressure is beginning to build. Delicious, wonderful, perfect, so close -

His fingers slip out of her so suddenly she gasps. She can hear his voice over the blood rushing in her ears but she can’t make any sense of the words he’s speaking; they garble together over her own strangled groan. So close, she was so close, but it’s slipping away; it’s not until she feels the sharp edges of his teeth nipping at the skin over her hip that she comes hurtling back to reality with a gasp. “I said, what’s Goldfinger’s first name?” Jake says more loudly than before

What ?” She chokes.

He bites at her hip again, a little harder than before, and she yelps at the keen sting. “What’s Goldfinger’s first name, Santiago?” he repeats, voice suddenly a shade darker.

Oh. Oh god. He’s quizzing her. “Um, uh - Eric? Aaron? Uh - Auric ! Auric Goldfinger!”

“What was JFK Airport’s original name?”

“Oh God - General something? Anderson? General Anderson?”

“What year did the Titanic sink?”

“Nineteen-twelve!”

“What year did Titanic hit theaters?”

“Um, n-nineteen-ninety-seven!”

Silence, punctuated by the sounds of her panting. And then -

“Nailed it,” he murmurs just before he parts her folds with the tip of his tongue. She mewls as he nuzzles closer, alternating between fluttering his tongue and lapping hard, all centrally focused around her sensitive clit. It doesn’t take long before the pressure is back, greater than before, sending her back arching while drawing her stomach taut save for the involuntary twitches in her hips. That one part of her brain still functioning through the haze of lust notes the faint pain of the handcuffs biting into her wrists.

It’s a great effort to relax her arms; it’s an effort that goes completely for naught when Jake up and sucks her clit so hard she sees stars.

Tipping, she’s tipping, right on the precipice even closer than before, just a little more, just a little more -

“What's a ten-seventy-nine in code?”

Her frustrated exhale comes out as a loud and strangled growl, one that extends into another squeal as he bites down on her hip again. She bucks, trying to escape, but he flings his arm over her hips and holds her fast, biting and sucking what are sure to be vicious -looking bruises into her skin. 10-79, she can see her hand-written notecard in her mind - it’s a warning, a warning for something...dangerous, but only potentially - unconfirmed danger, what is it what is it oh god what is it -

“Bomb threat,” she gasps. “Bomb threat, it means a bomb threat!”

“And a ten-eighty?”

“Explosion!”

“Ten-fifty-seven?”

“Mm...missing person?”

“Ten-fifty-one?”

“Intoxicated person! Jake, please -”

“Eleven-eighty-one?”

“Um - uh...oh god I don’t know, I don’t remember -” He gives her the benefit of tutting first - a few seconds to brace herself - before he bites down hard on her inner thigh. “ Jake !” she squeals, bucking her hips and yanking at the restraints around her wrists desperately, finding herself rendered motionless on that side by his hands under her thigh holding her in place. She can feel him soothing the sting with his tongue but it’s too much, she’s too sensitive, too pent-up and and tense and ready to explode. “Please please please please please…” the word falls from her lips in a rapid and involuntary stream.

“Tell me what an eleven-eighty-one is code for, baby,” he murmurs, sending a thrill jolting straight down her spine at the sound of their rarely-used petname for each other, before latching onto her thigh again, this time on a spot just above the last one with less teeth but no less suction. She’s positive she’s going to be absolutely covered in bruises and love bites before this is all over - the thought sends the heat already bristling in her gut doubling over beneath the force of itself.

It’s a tremendous effort, but she forces herself to pinpoint her focus even as Jake continues his assault on the insides of her thighs. Eleven codes are all vehicle-related, she remembers that much. Vehicle-related. Injuries, maybe? Something about an injury, she can vaguely remember that written on the back of that notecard. Major or minor? Major or - Jake’s exhale comes out as a growl half-muffled by the quivering crease of her thigh and she’s fairly certain her soul ascends from her body for one brief second. Focus, focus . Major or minor, dammit! It’s a toss-up, she’s got no idea, not even a faint clue through the red-hot lust that has turned her brain to complete and utter mush. “Vehicle-related accident, m-major injury,” she stutters.

All movement between her thighs stops at once, and half a heartbeat later he withdraws from her completely. The panic sets in immediately - he’s moving away from her, face an impassive and unreadable mask. With a burst of clarity she remembers her neat handwriting on the back of the 11-81 notecard.

Vehicle-related accident, minor injury

“Wait, wait , minor! Minor, it’s minor !” She practically screams. He pushes up so that his arms are extended completely on either side of her hips, watching her thrash and buck against her restraints. “Please, no, it’s minor, it’s minor, I knew that -”

“Sorry, you got one wrong,” he says calmly, edging backwards off the bed. “Game over.”

“No no no, no please, please , Jake, please I’m so close, I’m so close!” She cries deliriously. “Please!”

He clenches his jaw briefly, muscles jumping attractively, before a calm and confident smirk passes over his face. “I might be willing to ask you a makeup question,” he says mock-thoughtfully. She growls gutturally and her hips lift of their own accord, as if searching desperately for friction. “Is that something you’d be interested in?”

“Yes, oh my god, yes!”

The mattress shifts between her thighs as he pushes up to his knees and shuffles closer, further up her body. Distantly she realizes he’s still wearing his shirt; she lifts her head briefly to find that he’s also in his boxers. The end of the pronounced and straining tent in said boxers bumps against one of her thighs and she hisses at the contact, the tension in her belly momentarily tightening at the familiar feel of him so close to where she wants him. His hands land on either side of her shoulders and he lowers himself down so that his body is hovering mere inches over hers, maintaining steady eye-contact until his head dips down to the left side of her head and his lips ghost over the shell of her ear. “Beg me for it, Santiago,” he murmurs softly in her ear.

The thrill - the wave of blinding, scorching heat - that rushes through her immediately after does so in the form of a violent chill that definitely does not go unnoticed by Jake as he pushes up so that his arms are fully extended and smirks down at her. There was a time when something like this might be embarrassing; now, however, now that she’s practically bursting at the seams with her own desperation, now that she knows exactly what the sound of her begging does to him...

“Please, Jake,” she says, only slightly alarmed in some still-sane part of her brain at just how breathlessly needy she sounds. Immediately, his eyes darken and he drops his head down again, this time to lick and kiss and nip at her throat. “Please, please give me another chance, I can do better, I won’t disappoint you.” She tries to make the last part sound as suggestive as she can. He hums into the dip of her throat and then trails the end of his tongue along the line of her collarbone, the hand not holding his weight above her skimming down her side and sliding around at her hip to briefly, firmly squeeze one of her asscheeks. “Please give me another chance, Jake. I promise I’ll make you proud.”

He pulls back slightly, admiring the mark he’s just finished leaving on the far right side of her collarbone, before he meets her gaze again. “Are you sure you want another question?” He asks with all the bravado that comes with him taking a turn in the dom role. There’s faint, genuine concern in his eyes, though, concern that clearly translates through the lust clouding his gaze; once again, he’s giving her the opportunity to cry kumquat.

“I’m sure,” she says as evenly as she can.

He smiles. “And are you sure you’re gonna answer this one right?” He asks with far more sass than before.

Aside from a brief roll of her eyes, she maintains her innocent and hopeful expression. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“D’you promise?”

“I promise.”

He studies her face a moment longer before leaning down and kissing her forehead, the end of her nose, her lips, and her chin, all in quick succession. “Okay,” he says as he slides back down her body, “here’s your makeup question. Who’s the best sex you’ve ever had?”

A bright, sultry grin splits across her face. “Detective Jake Peralta,” she purrs confidently.

“You’re damn right he is!” he shouts happily as one hand slides beneath her ass to lift her hips just slightly. His open mouth connects with her upper thigh at once; a moment later, he’s thrusting two fingers back inside her and the loudest, longest, most guttural moan she’s ever produced wrenches itself from her chest.

He’s not holding back this time, pumping into her furiously as he quickly, forcefully bites and sucks his way back up to the juncture of her thighs. She’s lost all control of her vocal chords, the grunts and groans and gasps skittering from her completely involuntary and so obscene she sounds like the audio of a bad porno. Her crest is coming fast, circling above her, closing in quickly; she’s lost to the force of it, lost to the waves of pleasure rocking her entire body, lost to the sweaty sheets sticking to her skin as she writhes. Jake quickly and expertly works her body into a complete frenzy. Surely, this time, he’ll let her peak. Surely, this time, he’ll give her what she’s absolutely craving.

Except he doesn’t. He withdraws completely again, the heat of his proximity completely vanishing from her flushed and sensitive skin once more. She outright screams in frustration this time, head thrown back and hips bucking against the open air as actual tears prick and spill from the corners of her tightly-clenched shut eyes. Her release is so close she can feel it in the white-hot pinpricks along her legs and the rutting of her hips and the utterly involuntary shuddering in her abs and back; so close she can almost reach it.

But her scream cuts off with a broken, jagged sob as her body collapses backwards into the mattress. Her chest heaves and slowly, the feelings begin to ebb and fade away.

It occurs to her some immeasurable amount of time later that Jake is no longer on the bed with her. She opens her eyes and lifts her head just to find him standing at the foot of the bed, watching her slowly come back to herself. He’s stark naked now, his erection standing almost parallel to the floor; he strokes himself slowly and lazily, pupils blown so wide his eyes look almost black with lust from his distance. “You’re so fucking hot, Santiago,” he mumbles, voice made of gravel. “I love seeing you like this, baby, I love it when you scream my name and beg me for more...so sexy when you’re totally at my mercy. You’re so hot, so goddamn smart, so amazing and beautiful. You’ve been so good for me, Ames, so good. I can’t wait to make you cum.”

A quiet, almost imperceptible whimper escapes the back of her throat.

Judging by the way his breathing visibly quickens, he heard her. “You’'ve done such a good job so far,” he says softly, leaning forward to plant his hands on the bed between her spread legs. “I’m really, really proud of you. Do you have one more round in you? Hm?”

The prospect of another failed climax is almost enough to make her balk and shout kumquat right then and there, but there’s a promise in his gaze - a purpose in his defined movements up her body - so she swallows her apprehension and nods.

“That's what I like to hear,” he whispers, dropping down to his belly, bringing his face even with her apex once again. “Ready?”

She inhales once in an attempt to steady herself. “Uh-huh,” she grunts, fixating her gaze on the ceiling above her.

Two fingertips part her folds, dipping first into her opening up to the first knuckle before sliding up toward her clit. He splits his fingers to start a rubbing motion on either side of the little nub, eliciting a gasp from Amy. “Who was the original karate kid?” he asks in a voice made of the most sinful silk on the planet.

Sparks of pleasure are already flying, threatening to overwhelm her system, but she forces herself to focus. “Ralph - Ralph Maccio,” she gasps.

His fingers move down but before she can miss them too terribly her clit is engulfed in exquisite heat; one quick glance down her body confirms that Jake’s mouth is on her again, his dark eyes glittering and fixated on her face.

Her head falls back to her pillow as a strong wave of desire washes through her.

He pulls back a moment later and she bites down hard on her lower lip to hold in her groan of disappointment. “What’s Fonzie’s full name?” he asks breathlessly before dropping his mouth back down against her.

“Arthur Fonza relli !” The end of the name jumps in pitch as Jake suddenly plunges two fingers back into her. He begins pumping in earnest, up to the hilt, crooking his fingers and occasionally parting them inside her to stretch her while maintaining a steady lapping motion against her clit. The pressure building now is already more than it has been any time before this, all the pent up energy building to near-impossible heights; she’s certain if he fakes her out again she’ll actually rip right through the beam holding her handcuffs in place to choke him with the chain connecting each shackle around her wrists.

He keeps it up for a while, maintaining her level of desire without ebbing; each of her exhales escape as stuttering and uneven moans and squeals while each inhale comes sharply and abrasively. Her body is absolutely on fire, hips bucking and muscles contracting completely outside of her control. Her climax is so close, so close , but just out of reach.

He pulls back again and this time she does moan, though her voice jumps attractively with each inward push of his fingers. “Last question, baby,” he rumbles. “Are you ready?”

She parts her lips, ready to scream yes, but he chooses that precise moment to add a third finger on his next stroke inward. A broken, high-pitched moan bursts from her lips as he pushes in slowly, taking care to push his fingers in and up to rub against her g-spot. Words have left her, all reason has abandoned her as he starts pumping slowly.

“I asked you a question, Santiago.” Another nip of his teeth, this time on the crease of her thigh; it’s lighter than before but thanks to the extreme sensitivity he may as well be gouging her with a thousand needles. She keens and bucks and he clamps his free hand down on her hip, holding her in place. “Are you ready?”

“I-I’m -” her words quickly deteriorate into a sharp cry as he quickly and forcefully shoves his fingers in up to the hilt and holds them there. “I’m ready, I’m ready, oh god , Jake, please -”

“Name the biggest ocean in -”

“Pacific! It’s the Pacific, the Pacific is -”

In an instant his mouth is back on her and all hell breaks loose. All she knows is the sharp edges of his teeth teasing her clit and the rough texture of his tongue soothing and swirling and lapping as he pumps his hand mercilessly into her. White hot, rippling, vexing, overpowering - looming ever-closer, curling in her toes and expanding in her abs and arching in her spine, up up up -

The world around her vanishes, her vision gone completely white. Seconds later it crashes down on her like a tsunami and she’s gone, destroyed . He doesn’t let up despite the fact that her inner muscles are clamping down hard on his fingers; he pushes her through it, shoves her through it, lapping and slurping greedily as the pleasure rocks her entire body right down to her core.

Hours pass (or, at least, what feels like hours pass) before the throes finally release her, allowing her to collapse back into the mattress, panting and sweaty and occasionally twitching with the aftershocks. Still, Jake’s head remains firmly fixated between her thighs; the jolts he sends up her spine with each clever twist and thrust of his tongue are proving to be far too much, far too stimulating to her overworked and overstimulated body. “J-Jake,” she gasps, clenching her thighs as much as she can over his ears. “What - what are you d-doing?”

He lifts his head to look at her more fully but keeps his fingers buried inside her. The entire bottom half of his face is glistening in the soft light of their bedside lamps; amazingly, amazingly , a new and promising coil of heat curls in the pit of her stomach at the sight. “I owe you three,” he says far too nonchalantly for a guy with three fingers steadily thrusting deep inside her.

She moans unconsciously, eyes going wide. “Three?” She repeats.

“I quizzed you three times and you won three rounds, so I owe you three. That was one, right?” He waits until she nods. “Right. So now I owe you two more. That makes three total. Is that okay?”

Her heart is hammering, pounding against her breast so hard she’s not entirely certain that it won’t up and burst right out of her chest. But he’s looking at her like she’s the most amazing thing he’s ever seen and she can already feel the promises of another climax beginning to build, so even though she’s fairly certain the handcuffs have bitten into her skin and the ties around her ankles have chafed her skin raw, she nods.

“Good answer,” he purrs as the hand still holding her hip in place disappears. She feels him shifting, reaching for something at her side; a moment later the relative quiet in the room is interrupted by the unmistakable familiar buzzing sound of her vibrator springing to life.

What ?” She gasps, head springing upright just to catch a glimpse of him readjusting his grip around the silicone toy.

He pauses, the head of the toy mere centimeters away from her center. “What?” he repeats, looking a little taken aback. “You didn’t think I was gonna get all three all by myself, did you? I mean, I know I'm the best you've ever had,” he smirks, “but even I need a break sometimes.”

Right. So. In short, she has no one but herself to blame when he presses the buzzing head against her clit. She has no one but herself to blame when that toy sends her mind into a tailspin, when the vibrations make her entire body shudder, when Jake begins lightly licking and sucking at that one spot above her hip.

She has no one but herself to blame two hours (and four orgasms) later when she comes to spent and sore, no longer cuffed or tied down but instead curled against Jake’s lean and equally spent body, held securely in place by his arms wrapped around her.

And she really, really has no one but herself to blame one short week later when his innocent offer to help her study for meeting his mom by quizzing her on the information in her binder sends a white-hot shot of lust through her system and a serious rush of heat between her thighs.

Because only she would find Jake quizzing her in bed hot .