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Suit and Tie

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You take a drink out of the clear tumbler, trying hard not to wince, your eyes watering as you take a particularly long draw all the while listening half-heartedly to Lisa’s rambling about your own love life.

“She’s a fucking neuro-surgeon, Holly. And she’s hot! I’m just saying that I think…”

“That I should give her a chance, settle down. Blah blah blah. Yeah. I know. You told me about her last week and I also remember me telling you that I wasn’t interested in dating anybody.”

Another drink, also long, but less bitter. It slides down your throat, smooth, and drifts pleasantly up to your head.

Lisa barks out a laugh but it isn’t amused.

“Oh, you want to date someone. Just a particular blonde, smart assed cop of a someone.”

You’d introduced Lisa and Gail and Rachel a month ago at a party you’d thrown at your house. She and Rachel had gotten along, bonding over their love of children and Gail’s fascination with her research.

Lisa and Gail, on the other hand, nearly came to blows after Lisa had threatened to kill her if she so much as looked at Holly the wrong way and shoved at Gail’s shoulder in passing, spilling her half full solo cup down the front of her shirt. You'd nearly gone after your friend but thought better of it after she stumbled away, reminding yourself that Lisa and alcohol rarely mixed with a pleasant evening and that further confronting her would only bring drama to the whole affair.

All in all, you’d avoided disaster by dragging Gail away with a roll of your eyes at your friend’s antics and a smile, taking her hand and leading her upstairs to your bathroom, grabbing a washcloth of out of the hall closet in passing. You'd scrubbed at the stain Lisa’s shove had caused, Gail’s dark scotch now marring the majority of the front of her tight white t-shirt.

A white t-shirt that, with the liquid, became all sorts of see through.

You’d swallowed down the dry lump in your throat, cheeks heating and hands starting to shake and doing anything but meeting her eyes.

A few seconds later, warm hands blanketed yours and even though you were trying to tell yourself not to, you found your eyes locking with hers, your back straightening so you were level with her, just staring at one another, hands resting between you both.

She’d said your name softly and you shook.

A moment, a breath. Her eyes, you’re almost certain, strayed to your lips, and then-

A knock and an obnoxious voice had you both pulling away, your heart lurching and then-

Then nothing.

She’d ended the evening and gone home to find new, regrettably less wet clothing, and whispered a soft kiss on your cheek in her departure and just like the kiss in the coat room at the wedding that now seems so far away, it was as if none of it never happened.

So now here you are at the Penny on a Friday night sitting at a table with your two best friends, your throat burning and humming with whiskey, your leg bouncing up and down as you pathetically wait for your phone to signal the woman who was the topic of conversation.

You’d been hanging out with the ridiculously attractive officer almost non-stop for months and months -even more after the incident, to be honest, the air a little more charged, you think, but otherwise unchanged and now here you were and she had told you she would meet you tonight after she got off of work.

You’d told her you’d also had plans with the two sitting with you. With a sigh and a grumble that had you smiling she’d agreed and now-

Now all you can do is deny Lisa’s accurate accusations and wait for the woman you were so obviously hopeless for.
A vibration in your hand has your eyes widening and fingers fumbling the unlock code on your device and Rachel laughing at your anxiousness. Lisa “I told you so’s” with a scoff and you flip her off without looking at her, a small thrill racing down your spine as you see the officer’s name at the top of the conversation.

‘On my way.’

The words are simple but they pull a small smile from your lips. It grows when you see another message follow the first.

‘And uh I had to do something for work tonight and I don’t really have time to change so you’re not allowed to laugh at me. Tell Lisa I’ll cut her tongue off at the first snicker.’

You’re confused but you laugh and Lisa wrenches the phone out of your hands and you immediately protest, watching as she takes the words in.

She tosses the phone back your way, rolling her eyes and getting up, shaking her empty glass and gesturing to the bar keep from a cross the way for another. She throws words laced with sarcasm over her shoulder as she goes to retrieve her drink.

“Probably filthy from a dumpster dive or a weird body dump. Not only do we get Officer Gail but we get garbage Gail. I’m thrilled.”

You scowl at her retreating back, sort of thankful when you see her begin to chat up the woman behind the bar.

Rachel puts her hand on your shoulder and just peers at for you for a moment, something like sympathy deep in her eyes. You try to smile at her but find your hand bringing the glass up to your mouth once more. A tilt of your head and wrist and the final drop of whiskey slides through your lips and down your throat. You finish the pass with a loud exhale, purposefully avoiding Rachel’s sympathetic gaze. You shake your head and motion to Lisa over the crowd, hoping she’ll get the message about bringing over another drink and sigh in relief when she meets your eyes and registers your request, speaking softly and a little too closely to the bartender.

You roll your eyes at her actions and turn to say something about Lisa’s ability to flirt with anything and everything but find the back of your friend’s head instead. You say her name, curious about what has suddenly caught her attention. But she doesn’t respond and so your eyes skirt to where her head is turned and find a group of people congregated around the door, moving toward the interior of the bar.

Rachel turns back to you, mouth agape and eyes wide, your name airy upon her lips.

“Holly,” she’s saying, “Holly- did you see?”

Your brow furrows, your eyes now transfixed on the group of what you are now registering as officers from 15 division, curious as to what they were doing, their smiles wide and their words loud but also muffled still among the crowing crowd. They are all aimed at the person in the middle of the large cluster of blue who you can’t see.

“See what, Rach?”

“Gail. Did you see- Holly, did you see Gail walk in?”

Your heart picks up speed, your eyes now really searching, peering and trying to chance a look at her. She must be the one, must be the one they’re focused on.

“No- I- Rachel, what’s the deal?”

But then the crowd begins to clear and it’s when the man you knew only as “fucking Diaz” veered to the left that you see her.
And Rachel’s wide eyes and gaping mouth and urgent words all make so much sense because you’re finding your own features mirroring hers, your mouth so dry that your tongue sticks to the roof of it, words drained from your equally cottoned throat.

A hand, heavy and squeezing hard, is on your shoulder and Lisa’s words are loud and mildly impressed in your ear as her other hand slides your drink down on the table in front of you.

“Jesus Christ, Holly. You never told me she was-“

She pauses and you take that moment to slam the new drink back, taking it in in two large gulps and dropping it back down on the table, the ice rattling in the glass.

“Shut up, Lisa.”

The words are gruff but almost mindless, your eyes focused on Gail. Gail fucking Peck who stood before you, fingers drumming on the bar as she waited for her drink, clad in a fitted navy suit. A fitted navy jacket with three buttons, the first fastened securely. Navy straight legged pants that framed her ass and thighs in the best possible way, bunching slightly at her ankles to give way to polished, dark mahogany, oxford shoes. Under the jacket peeks a like colored vest, a pale pink shirt buttoned to the collar and fasted at the neck with a navy and pink striped tie in a complicated looking knot- an Elderedge- your brain supplies and you are surprised at the knowledge because how your mind’s even functioning at all right now is a damn miracle. It’s all finished off with a pocket square tucked just above her breast, pink and pressed.

And that was just her clothing, her body, and those weren’t the only things that were a little different than what you were used to seeing.

You lick your lips, your heart thudding hard in your chest as you take in the line of her jaw, the slope of her sharp cheek bones. Skate your eyes over the newly, neatly trimmed hair that comes down in a sharp but delicate line in front of her ear, the sides of her head covered by closely clipped hair, short bangs covering her forehead in what you can only call a Pixie cut, cringing at the sound of the words, knowing that she’d hate the term.

But none of that matters because Gail Peck is leaning casually against the bar, hair short, body encased in a suit that seemed to be fucking made for her and oh, Goddammit-

Your head tilts to the side, eyes still locked on her, and it feels too heavy for your body. A groan of disbelief and frustration and, yeah, lust, catches in your throat, your hands grasping hard at the table in front of you, fingers white with the pressure. You want to go over to her, want to see her up close, but you’re afraid- afraid what you might do if you actually get the chance-

“Holy shit, Hols. You know as much as I do that I’m straight but God- if you don’t go after that, I just might reconsider.”
Her words are playful but there is an edge of certainty, of truth, that skates down your spine, hot and quick and unpleasant, and shoots into your legs, causing your body to spring up, out of the chair with a speed you didn’t know you possessed.

You hear Lisa and Rachel bark out laughs behind you and you flip them off without looking back, your still racing heart picking up speed as your eyes lock onto her, your throat tightening as you grow closer still.

And then you’re somehow in front of her and Jesus Christ if you thought she looked good before, well, up close- there were no words for her all pressed and dapper and-

Words draw you out of your revere, your body jumping as you realize that she- the object of your intensive staring- is speaking to you, words friendly and warm.

“-do you think, Hols?”

A pause as you force yourself to stop your staring and focus on her words.


You hum and try not to but feel the blush coloring your cheeks anyway.

You watch as she seems to bite the inside of her cheek to quell a smile, her eyes dancing with what looks like amusement. She has the grace not to say anything, though, simply repeating the words.

“I said, first time wearing a suit. What do you think?”

You pause, willing the words to come out of your throat and into the air between you.

“You look-”, you stop, inwardly cringe at how breathy and flirtatious your tones has somehow become and adjust, clearing your throat, “-you look good. The suit, yeah, but Gail… your hair!”

But then the hint of the smile is gone altogether and is replaced by worry lines around her mouth, around her eyes. You notice your mistake at the look and quickly move to rectify your error, your hand unthinkingly finding its place on her face, cupping her cheek.

“No, I don’t mean… I didn’t mean that your hair looks bad- sort of the opposite, I- it’s beautiful, Gail. You’re beautiful, really. And I mean- when we're talking about all of it together- well, uh- it's- you're. Uh.”

The words tumble out quickly.

A moment as she registers your words. Her eyes grow wide, her own cheeks suddenly turning pink as well. But she doesn’t pull away, doesn’t balk. If anything she seems to lean into the touch.


The words are short, clipped. Anxious.

“I was- I was kind of worried what you would think. I don’t know why, I-“

Another pause, another opening of your mouth to say something, anything as your eyes lock with hers and neither of you move to change it, eyes-

“-I’m- really- uh. I'm- It's good. That you like it. So. Thanks.”

You swallow as your stomach bottoms out with her words, the look she fixes you with, the one you’re sure she doesn't even realize she's giving you. There's a heavy silence then and you try your best not to flick your eyes over her form once more, try to formulate words with your suddenly short circuiting, blank brain. You're opening your mouth, just to say something to break this tension heavy silence when something bumps your shoulder.

Your body is jarred suddenly, something pushing at you from behind and making your body stagger into the woman who you were currently swallowing your feelings for.

Her face registers the shock.

Her arms go to brace your unsteady body.

And she catches you, she does, but in the midst of it knocks the drink on the bar top in your direction, soaking the front of your shirt and clattering to the ground. It doesn't break but makes a loud noise which only adds to the shock of the wet cold against your chest.

You'd laugh at the irony if you weren't so busy trying to right your body, play down the bright pink In your cheeks.

You're finally finding your balance and trying to force yourself to face her when her voice sounds over your shoulder. It's bitter.

“Hey- watch where you're going, jack-hole. Get any sloppier and I'll have your ass for public drunken-ness.”

She moves her eyes from the offender who you don't even get a chance to look at, and then to you, her eyes softening, her voice changing.

“Oh, Jesus, Hol. Are you okay? God- your shirt.”

She's sighing, grabbing some napkins off the bar top. When she brings them to your chest, your spine goes ramrod straight, and you try not to notice as she ducks her head, as her touch goes from confident to a little less than sure.

“Um- this- it's already soaked through- do you want to- I mean, my apartment's around the corner. I have a shirt that you can borrow. You want to go to my place, change, and come back to get off our faces?”

That makes you smile.

You nod, You try not to notice as your heart thuds painfully where it seems to have lodged in your throat when she takes her coat from where it's draped over her arm and places it over your shoulders, her head ducking. You spare one last look toward the general location your friends had been and notice Rachel giving you a very enthusiastic thumbs up, her other hand pushing against the shoulder of your other friend, Lisa's face a mix of shock and what you're certain has to be something between anger and jealousy.

With a shrug and a glance toward the arm of the woman who is leading you out of the bar, you focus on the steps you take until you're outside, the cool air rushing against your damp skin and causing your companion to pull you closer, to your tremendous delight.

It only takes you a few minutes to walk the couple of blocks to Gail's apartment but it feels like- a hell of a lot longer, your heart pounding in your ears and your blood tingling in your veins and your breath puffing quickly into the frigid air only working to make the walk feel much slower than you're sure it really is.

By the time you're walking up the three floors and through a long, sort of dingy hallway and being let into the apartment, you're frankly pleased you even managed to make it all the way through the frame of the door without collapsing from shear nerves.
But you don't and she walks in front of you and you're once more, staring at her suit clad form and admiring the way that it seems to be tailor fucking made for her and Jesus Christ- all of this now seems so impossible- the whole evening where you're supposed to just be friends and pretend that you don't want to kiss her and loosen that tie around her neck and unbutton that shirt and thread your fingers through that clipped, bleached hair- it seems so ridiculously fucking impossible and you open your mouth to say something- maybe make your excuse to leave and go back to your own house and crawl into your bed and pour the covers over your head and close your eyes and try to drown the image of her so irresistible in front of you-

But she's moving further into the apartment and telling you where the bathroom is and disappearing behind what you know, with a heavy swallow, is her bedroom, so you move the few steps toward the bathroom and let yourself in, closing the door and taking note of its small nature and the distinct smell of after shave and boy.

You find your reflection in the mirror above the counter that holds the sink, turning the faucet on and taking a moment to splash water over your heated cheeks and breathe as deeply as you can, trying to calm its staccato pattern, the thudding of your heart.
After your hands are shaking as little as they can be, given the circumstances, you shed the coat that your host had given you in the bar and begin to really assess the damage the random drunk stranger had done on your shirt.

You're only pulled away from your inspection by the loud ding of your phone.

When you finally find your phone and read the message, you roll your eyes.

Lisa. Saying something about coming back to the bar. Rachel saying something about a bet she made and not to let her down in the message that follows immediately after.

You choose to ignore them.

With a grimace, you begin to unbutton your shirt, trying to ignore the way it sort of stick to your chest. You finally peel it off and throw it down on the ground, haphazardly grabbing a towel off of the holder above the sink and beginning to pat yourself dry.

It's with a groan that you realize that it's soaked all the way down to your bra.

You blot at your chest and scowl, cursing your luck.

The phone dings again.

Rachel. She has 50 bucks riding on you. Congratulating you on the way that you snagged someone that looks that good in a suit.

You laugh despite yourself, beginning to type out a reply with the other hand, a rye smile upon your face.

And, of course, that's how she finds you. Smirking, typing with one hand, and pawing at your breasts with a towel.
There's a quick knock that barely even registers in your ears, barely gives you time to do anything except turn around, before the door is opening and Gail is barging in with a sweater in her hand, her mouth open and her eyes immediately on you and you, you freeze. Eyes wide that meet other wide eyes, frozen the same way that she's suddenly frozen, mouth agape and sound strangled in her throat.

It's a long moment- a long moment of you- once more assaulted with the way that she looks in that goddamn miracle of a suit and her, it seems, transfixed by the sight of your bra clad breasts and- Goddammit-

She swallows and averts her eyes. Thrusts her arm out and offers you the sweater in her hands.

You take it with a shaking hand, your own eyes going toward the ground.

You don't think you even remember how to swallow when she peels her eyes off of the floor after a moment, eyes (unconsciously, you think) drifting back to your chest.

You swallow. You swallow and take the opportunity to drift your eyes over her ass in those slacks, the jut of her shoulders in that jacket, the graceful slope of her jaw- the sharpness of her cheeks. When you finally, finally find her eyes and lock them with yours, it takes all of the breath from your lungs.

Because she's breathing hard like you are and her cheeks are stained high with blush and God, all you want to do- all you want to do is-

Your phone beeps.

You glance at the message.

Rachel. Again gushing about the endless hotness of the woman in front of you.

It reluctantly draws a laugh out of your lips.


You try to ignore the huskiness of her voice.

“I- uh. Nothing. Just- Rachel.”

You bite your lips, trying to edit the text message as best you can.

“Uh- talking about how- nice. She thinks you look.”

She laughs- it's short and forced a little.


“Yeah. Although-”

You try not to but you can feel the way your eyes sweep her body.

“'-nice' isn't the way I'd describe it.”

You duck your head when her blush deepens. When her voice does the same with her faint “oh?”

You nod, a sly smile now present on your face.

Another long silence permeates the air after that. You search for something to say but it comes up short and she starts to turn, muttering a “well, uh- I'll let you get dressed,” and you're not sure what the feeling is that takes over you but it sinks your heart deep in your stomach and makes your throat clench because it feels a hell of a lot like regret so your eyes shoot up and before you know it, words are spilling out of your mouth and even you are surprised at their sincerity and desperation.

“You don't have to.”

You watch the muscles in her back flex, tension flooding them, watch her hand clench on the door knob.

You would've missed the small “what?” as she turned if not for the absolute silence in the room.

“You don't- have to. Because- uh- I- uh- Rachel's wrong because you don't look nice- you look- God, Gail- I don't think I've ever seen anyone look so gorgeous in my life and I know that I might be, like ruining everything that we've ever built as friends but- but I really hate the idea of you going out of this room when you look the way that you do and I feel the way that I do when I see you- and I feel like we've been here before and I don't want to regret anything, not anymore-”

Five steps.

Five steps, you think, is all it takes for her to make it to you, her stride quick and heavy and steadfast and you open your mouth to say something and bug your eyes but she doesn't pay it any mind, one hand coming up to cup your jaw and the other sinking straight into your hair and pulling you into her, swallowing your harsh gasp and needy moan with her own greedy mouth, tongue slipping over your tongue and vibrating with the rumbled sound of contentment that slips out of your throat and weakens your knees with its candor.

She's kissing you- Gail Peck is fucking kissing you and it takes a moment- takes a moment to register and connect with your brain but when it does- when it does, your own hands come up heavy and clenching and scratching against her shoulders, scraping along her neck, before slipping up and into the soft and short and silky strands of her newly sheared hair and clutching her to you, gasping in a deep breath when you use your grip to your advantage and wrench her head the opposite way of yours, slanting your mouth over hers and locking your lips and tongue and teeth in an even deeper kiss.

And she's pushing against you and sliding a hand down your spine, over the clasp of your bra-

And it's like that- the sudden reminder that you were nearly bare from the waist up- that shocks her from her stupor because she's pulling away and you're also being jolted from your revere and opening your eyes and nearly whimpering because she hasn't stepped away from you at all- her hand once more soft on your cheek, the other on your bare and goose bumped shoulder- and the way she looks, God. Her chest heaving underneath that sinfully fitted suit and tie, lips wet and kiss swollen and eyes- God, her eyes are deep and so blue and-

Your thoughts stop when her thumb absentmindedly drifts over your bottom lip before she speaks.

“I'm sorry,” she's saying softly, “You just- had to stop talking.”

You don't know what to say. You're fairly certain your brain has, like, completely left the building. So, when you start to hear words tumbling out of your own mouth, you brace yourself for whatever it is they might be.

“I won't say another word.”

They're breathy and give you away but- not as cringe-worthy as they could be. You're in the middle of congratulating yourself when you see her eyes flash down to your lips and oh- oh Jesus-

When she kisses you again, it's different. Deeper and slower, her hands drifting up your arms before encircling your waist and pushing against your body. When her hands drift to your ass and grip, you let out a soft moan and slip your tongue into her mouth, smiling slightly when she answers with her own exploratory sound. When she lifts you up places you up on the counter without missing a beat, eyes clenched shut and mouth moving ever deeper, tongue sweeping ever wider, you take the opportunity to grip at the lapels of her jacket and clutch at her tie and wrap your legs around her waist.

And you know- you know- even though you've been denying it for months ever since she tried to kick you out of her own crime scene and you kissed her in a coat closet and since you rushed to check on her when the whole Ford thing happened and all you wanted to do was grab her to you and kiss her and kiss her but you didn't,you should have, but you didn't and this- you know this moment has been what you've both been building up to, you finally admit to yourself, since the first time you met her.
And as her hips begin to rock against yours and her hands grow ever bolder and begin to toy with the straps of your bra (whether she even realizes it, you don't know, you don't know), you thank the universe for all of those stutter starts and hesitations because it has led you here- to Gail fucking Peck in a suit, kissing and panting against you.

You don't know how long you sit there, on the counter, back leaning against the wall behind the vanity and panting into her mouth. You don't know and frankly you don't fucking care- that thought only being interrupted when she gives a loud moan when you roll your hips, desperate for some sort of friction, the noise rumbling into your own mouth. It's then that you really realize just how close you are- her breasts pushed into your nearly bare breasts, hands now drifting up and over your rapidly expanding ribs to tease the underside of your breasts.

That's what pulls you out of your lust fueled revere and suddenly all of this- it's so confusing because you want her- God do you want her- but don't want her to regret anything because you can't fucking control yourself so you take one more long minute to push your lips up into hers and really fucking drink her in before you start to push gently at her tempting shoulders with reluctant palms, uttering her name softly against her lips until she starts to slow.

She pulls away and you find yourself biting your lip to keep a moan out of the air because yeah she's looked ridiculously good all night but now- now she's all hooded, cloudy eyes and hair jutting up and out in a thousand different directions from your pulling fingers and you- you can't help yourself, reaching a hand out toward her cheek and cupping it, skirting your thumb over that kiss swollen bottom in fascination. A moment as your brain does that thing where it stops fucking working-

But your mouth does and you're stuttering a “God, we should talk-”

And the spell is broken and she's clearing her throat and moving a few steps backward until her back is nearly flush with the door and looking at you with wide eyes and then-

Silence. As you both regard each other with shock, your mouth hanging open, your throat dry and unable to force any words up and out into the thick and heady air between you.

Your cheeks tinge when her eyes flick away from your face. It's quick- barely a second- but it causes that warm knot in your stomach unfurl and push further down, the weight of it nearly making your knees buckle as you watch her pupils fix on your chest, her own lip being trapped by a clenching set of teeth.

You open your mouth to speak when her eyes snap to meet yours and words- far stronger and more clear than you expected the, to be- spill out of her mouth.

“I- You wanted to talk. I- okay. I don't usually do that but,- uh- I- Holly. I know this might seem like I just- I'm impulsive, you know that- but- uh this isn't that. I- I've wanted you, I guess? I mean- yes- I've wanted you for a long time- maybe ever since I met you but definitely since you kissed me in that fucking coat closet- but-”

You can't breathe. You can't think. You can't-

She stops to take her own deep breath, dropping her eyes to the floor and heaving a sigh, her shoulders rising up and then down with its strength. And you think that she means to meet your eyes again when she looks up but she gets caught- first on the expanse of your stomach and then- you look down when her pupils seem to dilate in the florescent light of the bathroom- your breasts that are nearly spilling out of the confines of the lace of your bra.

You swallow.

“I- uh- maybe I should I put that shirt on that you brought me? If the talking is going to happen-”

Her eyes flash up to yours. She regards you with a miniscule smile and holds the shirt out to you.

When you blindly reach for the garment and go to pull away, she doesn't let go of it.

“But- you don't have to.”

You stare. You gape. You stare some more.

“That's what I'm trying to say to you. I- Holly- I've wanted to fucking kiss you for months. I should have a couple of weeks ago when Bitch-Tits-”

She brings hers hands up to make air quotes and you have to bite your lips at this ridiculous, dream like situation.

“-accidentally spilled her drink on me. Or when you came to the station and basically told me you were hot for me-”

You eyebrows raise in indignation but you fight the smile even more.

“-I should have done it then. Because I- want you. I stopped letting my mother fix me up on blind dates. I told people I didn't want to be set up- and that's because- I want to- kiss you. And also-”

She swallows and you'd speak but you're gone. You are so fucking gone.

When she speaks next, that warmth in your belly explodes because those eyes are back to drifting over your body and her voice has taken on a low, almost hoarse timber and she's finally allowing her lips to twist into the mischievous smirk that you knew would be trouble the very first time that you saw it directed your way.

“-do this. All of the- things I've been thinking of doing with you. Very not- friendly things, let me tell you.”


Your eyebrow shoots up and you've given up on breathing in anything resembling a steady fashion .

“Yeah. And, Holly- we could stop and talk about all of this if you want but- this is me tell you that I want you and it's all I can now to not- because the way that you look- Jesus, I think I might be a little gay. Because all I want to do is kiss you and touch you- and-”

And that's it. You're tapping out, calling it quits. Hanging up your fucking skates.

The shirt drops between you both with little thought as you step over it and into the woman in front of you , head tilting and arms wrapping around her slender waist underneath that jacket you'd been wanting to rip off her all evening. And you're surging into her and kissing her so hard and licking into her mouth and swallowing her small “oh fuck” and grasping her neck and running your hands down the slope of it before making your way down her shoulders. All the while she's scraping own nails down your arms, bypassing where the lace is barely containing you, to your clenching stomach, her hands stretched out and warm against you.

You can't get close enough- your front plastered to her front, your breasts against hers that you can feel even though the fabric of her shirt and vest and tie-

With a moan, you move one of your hands to the item of clothing in question- the navy and pink tie- and twist it around your forefinger, smiling into her mouth and sighing when the wrench that you give it- pulling her harder, deeper into you- makes a whine tumble out of her mouth and into your own. It's a sound that only furthers your arousal, your hips pushing into hers.
The sound that echos from you when she pushes a thigh up and in-between your legs is one you're not quite sure you've ever heard yourself give but it seems to awaken something in her as you immediately grind down up on it, the hand on the small of her back clenching and scraping where it's found the smooth skin there, the other clenching the tie so hard your fingers are white tipped.

And it's so hot and heavy and heady and it's all you can do to get closer to her, to press your lips ever harder, snake your tongue ever deeper.

You're so hot and sweat is beginning to form upon your brow and your head is swimming with it all- the pleasure and the back and the forth and the way she mutters your name every time your cant forward and bite at her jaw and her neck and then her lips with your desperate teeth.

You hands move to the lapels of her jacket, palms heavy as you break away from her lips to nip across her jaw, to the back of it, and lave the lobe of her ear with your tongue. When you speak, it's out of breath and low.

“ As you can probably see , I'm enthused about what you were saying earlier. But I seem to have a conundrum.”

She tilts her head back against the door and clenches her eyes against the onslaught of your words and your mouth which continues on its path down her neck, turning to nipping and then sucking at the thumping flesh of her pulse as she breathes a ragged “what?” into the air.

“Seeing as how you've been- what was it-wanting me touch to you?”

She lets out a strangled moan as you smile into the skin of her neck.

“And, again, my enthusiasm for that- top notch- I only have one problem.”

You trace a path back where you'd just been, ending only when your lips are a hairs breath from your own. This close, you can see the blown out ink of her pupils, feel the breath she's panting out from the swollen lips you want to spend the rest of your life getting to feel against your own.

“I want to watch you strip out of it but- not- because- Jesus, Gail. You and this fucking suit. You have no idea what it- does to me.”

You expect her to smile. Expect her to make a smart ass remark.

Instead, her head shakes and she shrugs out of her jacket with a speed that would be funny maybe any other time except for now. The vest goes next- three tiny buttons before it flutters to the floor. When she begins to loosen her tie, you shake your own head and slap her hands away. You haven't moved away yet, the proximity of her lips to yours nearly driving you crazy now that you've really tasted them, and it takes some finagling because you can't and won't break eye contact with her because you need to be sure all of this is real and that's she's sure but before long you're letting that scrap of fabric fall away as well.

She's dipping her eyes to your mouth and shaking her head and ghosting her lips over yours before bringing scraping fingers to your back, just underneath the strap of your bra, playing with the clasp.

“Uh- I can always wear it again. Shouldn't let that get in the way of-”

And then you're pressing your lips to hers once more and muttering out a soft “deal” that gets lost to the softness of her mouth and the slipping of her fingers up your spine.

“Holly,” she's whispering, her hips once more churning against your own, “Holly- can I?” And she's playing with the lock of your bra and and all of it- it's too much, it's too much-

But you're nodding and moving your hands to the buttons of her shirt as she's struggling a little and growling out a curse to free your breasts from the confines on the suddenly constricting and tight lace.

It falls away and you feel the gasp against your shoulder that she's scraping her teeth against before you feel it but it's really fucking hard to focus because you're revealing her- inch by beautiful inch- with every button that comes undone with your slightly shaking fingers.

“Jesus Christ, Gail,” you mutter when the last button is loosened from where it's barely holding itself together, “you're so- God, you're beautiful.”

It's all a blur then you think.

With a last “are you sure?” and a heady nod, you're unbuckling her belt and slipping the zip of her pants and reaching down down down until you're pressing your fingers where she's warm and wet and wanting and God- how is all of this real? How is Gail Peck wet and panting against you?

A long moment as you press her against the wall, breathe into her mouth, twist your tongue against hers. You think she starts to beg when you press your heel against the soft cotton of her underwear and push but you can't be sure because all you can feel, all you can fathom, is the feel of her hot against your hand, the vibrations of every stuttered whine and groan that leaves her mouth and ricochets into your own.

You break it only to bite against her throat and ask her what she wants when she starts to grind down against your hand, desperate for friction, desperate for you to make her come and that thought- God, that thought-

She's panting and screwing her eyes shut and whimpering a little in the back of her throat and chasing your hand and this- this is what it's all supposed to feel like, isn't it? Your heart pounding and blood singing and breath rushing as your body tingles and moves with hers to help her come and come until she can't function anymore.

And you have a plan, you do. It involves teasing her against the door here until she can barely stand and begs you to just fuck her already but she's almost keening and telling you that all she wants is you inside of her and Jesus- fuck the plan. Fuck all of the plans.

Her pants and underwear drop to the floor and you quickly follow, the linoleum cold against your knees.

Her eyes follow you down and you note their width, the way that her mouth hangs open and her nostrils flare. The way that she pants and cants her hips when you lower your mouth to her hipbone, skating your tongue down to the crease of her thigh, just above where she needs you, right before you smile and switch to the other leg , giving it equal treatment.

It's only when she says your name, accompanied by a ground out, “please,” that you relent, thinking to yourself as you take the first swipe of her wetness with your tongue-that you really never thought that you'd hear Gail use the word without any duress. Interesting. You file it away before you make the decision to just turn the nagging voice in your brain off, focusing your attention on her clit with the tip of your tongue and batting at it until she's a whimpering mess, hands clenched in your hair and hips canting in their own steady rhythm against your face.

You change tactics when the rhythm starts to break, ignoring her whine and the tightening of her fingers in your hair as they try to lead you back to where she wants you, and swipe further down, smiling against her as you finally enter her with your tongue, thrusting as hard and as deep as you can.

You push her hips against the wall when she grunts out a shocked “oh” and her knees wobble, threatening to collapse, but you focus your attention on the steady in and out of your tongue inside her- the way that she clenches around your tongue, the way she tastes, the way that she pants your name in time with the movement of your mouth around her- as you work her up and up and up until she's looking down at you like she can't believe all of this is happening with her mouth open and her eyes pleading and that fucking shirt laying open and exposing her lace covered breasts and clenching stomach muscles with every move that you make.

You move your tongue back to her clit when she breaks at a particularly strong thrust, her head lolling back and over as her eyes close and she lets out a stuttered, high pitched moan, her hands getting tighter and tighter as you flick at it before bringing the fingers of your right hand to her entrance, tongue only stopping as you pull away a bit, until you can look up at her face, until you can speak.

“Do you like that?”

But you don't even get the rest of your words out because she's nodding and muttering a sin soaked “God, Holly, yes. So good. So good,” and you're moving your tongue back to her clit and starting to push up and into her-

But the hands in your hair loosen a little only to begin to pull you up and your heart stops a little because oh shit this is too far, this is too much and it's all going to go to hell- and you get up and off of your knees, an apology already forming on your lips-
And then she's kissing you and tasting herself on your tongue and moaning into it and delving deeper and deeper and all you can do is kiss her back, tongue dipping in and sliding against hers and refusing to let her go.

When she opens the door and fixes you with a pointed stare after you she breaks the kiss, you finally start to understand her intent, and with a final look around in the hallway to make sure none of her roommates had decided to come early, she slips her hand in yours with a bite of her lip, and drags you down the hallway, opening the door of her bedroom and pulling you inside.
Your back pushes the door closed and you don't have anytime before she's sealing her mouth over yours and finally pressing those warm hands against your breasts, smiling when a trilling, soft sounds spills out of your lips and delighting in reversal of roles you were currently experiencing. But you don't want her to press you against the door, to touch you (well, not yet, at least), you want to pick up where you left off so you begin to push against her, walking her toward the general direction of the bed, only stopping when her knees meet resistance and she tumbles back. You follow her down, blanketing her body with yours, and you're in the middle of trying to work a leg between her own when you catch a glint of challenge in her eyes.

You're on your back seconds later, her mouth once more pushing against your own, and while you're surprised, you're not deterred because as hot as all of this is- because holy shit the thought of Gail Peck dominating you is something you definitely want to re-visit later- you want to touch her and taste her like you were before.

Your mouth detaches from hers, you pull at her shoulders until she's straddling you, her hands braced on your chest and her lips wet, her eyebrow crooked in question. You answer with a crook of your own eyebrow and the slide of your hand down her abdomen, the skin just below her bellybutton, until you're closing your own eyes just as she does the same because there- that's what you've been wanting- to finally feel her wet and hot around your fingers-

It's miniscule but she shifts her hips up just as you slip your fingers down. You let your eyes drift toward where your bodies re-connected, waiting for that slight nod and a bite of her lip before you finally (God, fucking finally) push inside of her with two fingers, delighting in the warmth that immediately engulfs you, makes your own jaw hinge wide open and pull a d gasp from your mouth, brow furrowed as you watch her adjust to you, close her eyes, and then, fucking then, begin to move, rocking her hips up and down, her eyes opening to find yours and regard you with a sort of silent wonder, her own brow slanting down when a she starts to move faster, harder, one of her hands coming up from where it's braced on your chest and moving into her own hair. The groan leaves your mouth unbidden and you can't take it, the other hand that's not moving inside of her moving to the small of her back and pulling her forward, her body bending with the momentum. She meets your open lips with her own, slipping her tongue into your mouth and swirling and flicking with the rhythm her hips have not stopped moving in.

And this- swallowing her broken curses and gasping sounds of fulfillment, it's something you never imagined getting but now that you have- you have a feeling that you're going to be absolutely addicted to this sensation-; to Gail riding your fingers, moving back and forth on them as you thrust up and into her, her growing cries being absorbed by the softness of your own mouth.

She's breaking away from your lips and straightening her spine after a few more heady moments, her hips now moving at a break neck speed, her lips sputtering out a long lines of “yes and Oh God and harder, Holly, please,” and clenching her eyes in her chase for the peak that you know is just beyond her reach.

You grit your teeth, increase your speed, hear her keen, voice her approval.
And then your hand is cupping her cheek and you're saying her name and smoothing your thumb over those kiss swollen lips and waiting until she meets your eyes with hers, what little breath you have leaving your lungs as she looks at you with a wrecked and hazy gaze. You open your mouth to say something but it flies out of your head quickly when she engulfs the digit with her warm mouth, slipping her tongue over the tip. It draws a smile from her lips- the way that you're sure you're looking at her with a stupefied, wonder filled expression- and you love her smile, you do, but you want nothing more than to wipe it off of her face so you answer with the slip of your other thumb over her clit, giving your own smile when she lets your thumb slip out of her mouth, your thumb meeting with every upward thrust.

It doesn't take long after that- a couple more rolls of her hips, another curse filled plea- and then she's clenching around your fingers and almost screaming your name and going boneless on top of you, collapsing on top of you and groaning when, after a moment, you remove your fingers, and, unable to resist teasing her for a final time that evening, let them into your mouth, tongue swirling to catch her arousal as best you can.

But Gail Peck is nothing if not bold.

And- as you find out- a quick fucking study.

The text comes hours after you've fallen into bed, Gail now snoring softly beside you, blissfully bare and worn from the hours of “making up for lost time” you'd experienced. You don't even want to look at it, afraid of waking the woman beside you with the light and being close to slumber yourself.

But you do, you check it, because you're you and you're a medical examiner and it could be an emergency.

But it's not. You roll your eyes. It's Rachel.

'Seeing as you're not answering your phone, I'm just going to go ahead and declare victory. Hope you're having all of the funny, Hols.'

Another text follows soon after. It's a picture of an unhappy Lisa, a fifty dollar bill, and Rachel's drink in the foreground. The text draws a small laugh out of your lips.

'Lisa is pissed. She says it's because she doesn't like to lose. I think it's because you went home with the hot baby butch and turned her instead of her. Anyway, I'll let you off with a warning tonight (you're probably getting up close and personal with proper police procedure anyway) but I'm gonna need details eventually. Stay hydrated. Xoxo'

You shake your head, check the alarm on your phone, and put it on the side table, letting your eyes adjust to the darkness before turning and huddling into the back of her body, your hand wrapping around her waist and closing your eyes.

You'll call her tomorrow, or maybe the next day. For now, you're going to spoon into the back of the woman who came in and obliterated your notion of love and lust and excitement and just be. And maybe think about the image of that same woman in that ridiculously hot outfit that led to all of this, just until you went to sleep.

And talked Gail into putting it back on.

Yeah- that would work just fine to lull you into a peaceful sleep.

Gail Peck, a three piece suit, and the possibility of a future that hopefully involved a hell of a lot more.