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At first, Tim doesn’t realize Lucy’s following him. He knows she’s there, of course—he’d seen her slowly exit out of the elevator after him, but that’s because they park on the same level. After the bombshell he dropped on her, he didn’t expect her to walk side-by-side with him, and that’s why he bounded out of the elevator quickly, leaving her alone to her many thoughts.
It’s not until they pass her car and he sees from the corner of his eye that she’s still walking behind him that he registers that maybe she’s not entirely done with the conversation.
She’s not exactly trying to catch up with him either, keeping to a slow pace, almost like she’s hesitating. So, when he reaches his truck, he gives her the time to decide between whatever she’s thinking, opening his back door without hurry to gently set his things down, rather than toss it over his shoulder from the front seat like he normally would.
By the time he’s steadily moving to open his front door, Lucy steps towards him with purpose, decision made.
“Tim,” she calls out, closing the distance across the garage quickly. “Tim, wait.”
He turns to her, giving her an inviting, small smile. “Yeah?”
“I...” She bites her lips as she stops a few feet away from him, dangling her bag in front of her. “I was scared for you yesterday. That’s why I jumped.”
“You saved my life,” he repeats. “Thank you.”
“Stop thanking me,” she replies, a small huff escaping her lips. Then, her gaze softens. “I didn’t do it for some kind of praise, Tim. I did it because I couldn’t lose you.”
Tim inhales deeply, the words settling into his bones.
“I don’t know what else to do,” he admits quietly. He’d ruined any relationship between them—not just romantic, but their deep bond, their friendship, their partnership. The words he spoke in the elevator are the only ones he knew the give; he doesn’t think he has the right to anything else.
“You promised to make it up to me,” she reminds him, as if it hadn’t been less than five minutes since their conversation.
“That I did,” he agrees easily. “However and whenever you want.”
“Take me home,” Lucy says, her voice dropping several octaves, and he inhales sharply at the implication.
“Are you sure?” Tim asks, desperately hoping she says yes, but taken aback by how quickly the tone between them has changed. He knows they shared a heated look yesterday, but things between them are still so delicate and—
“Freak in the sheets, right?” she murmurs quietly, stepping towards him with certainty. He lets out a little chuckle at the reference. She’s in his space, her head tilted up towards him in challenge as he stares down into her beautiful eyes, looking for any indication that she might change her mind, or regret this later...but he finds none.
“Okay,” he grants, trying to keep his own excitement down.
Rather pleased with herself, she hops forward, making her way to the other side of his truck, before sliding into the passenger seat. Trying to calm the thrill in his veins—this may not lead to any kind of reconciliation; she might not even go through with it—he steps into the driver’s side, and the door slams shut, enclosing them in a tight space together.
Inside the truck, the air turns thick with tension, but her expression seems more shy than it had previously. “Your place or mine?” he asks. He’s worried that more words will break this spell that they have, but instead, she just shrugs.
“Yours. My place has...”
“Juarez, right,” he remembers. Last thing they need is their co-worker to find them in a precarious position—or any position at all. This might be a one-time thing—he prays it isn’t, but he’s too scared to say anything; it’s Lucy that needs to make that decision, he’s made his position clear, and he’ll take whatever he can get in the meantime. Lucy doesn’t need the workplace gossip pressuring her. And Tim doesn’t need the attention on their relationship.
Or, at least, what he hopes can still be a relationship. Any kind of relationship; he just desperately needs her in his life.
Tim drives to his house in silence, with Lucy staring out the window. He glances over, briefly, occasionally, just to see if maybe she’s getting nervous, or wants to change her mind.
She shows no indication of either of those things.
They pull into the driveway, and she’s out of the car immediately. No words are spoken as he unlocks his door, holding it open for her before he steps inside himself.
Lucy’s on him the second he closes the door, dragging him down by his shirt and pressing their lips together violently. Three weeks of pent-up frustration comes rushing up as their tongues immediately tangle, not wasting any time on a slow re-introduction.
They already know each other intimately, having traced each inch of each other’s skin at some point or another during their relationship. Three weeks—no matter how grueling and slow it had been—could ever have him forgetting. He hooks his good arm around her waist, dipping his head and slanting his lips to kiss her deeper, drawing her in as close as he can.
It’s only the wet nose of an excited dog that finally pulls them apart, just barely. “Not now, Kojo,” he mumbles through a groan against her lips, and she giggles lightly.
She pulls further away to greet the dog, a large smile gracing her face as she wraps her arms around him. Kojo greets her happily, tail wagging at an impressive rate. “Now, we’ll have to catch up later,” she whispers into his fur. With one large lipsmack between his ears, she rises quickly, sauntering off to the bedroom before Tim can even blink.
Tim’s obsessed with her. There’s no denying that, with or without observing the half-hard bulge in his pants. He follows willingly, as if under a spell.
Lucy’s waiting for him at the door, leaning against the frame with a raised brow.
He leans over her, asking just once more, “Are you sure?”
She pushes off the doorframe, hooking her fingers into his denim jacket. “I've wanted this since yesterday,” she admits. “No matter how mad I am, I need you.”
He responds to that by giving her what she wants, pressing another heated kiss to her lips as he walks her backwards into his bedroom, closing the door shut with his foot behind him.
“I wanted you so bad after we stopped that guy,” she mumbles against his lips as they both work her jacket off, then her shirt. He leans back to admire her bra-covered breasts, just for a moment, because they’re amazing and he misses them. He presses his hand to the side of the lace, his thumb massaging her nipple through the fabric as his mouth works under her jaw. “I got home and I debated calling, but you were in the hospital and I was so hot and I couldn’t wait...”
Fuck.
Is she saying what he thinks she’s saying?
The revelation that she’s still getting off to him, after everything—that their sexual experiences together aren’t tainted by his actions, and he can still bring her to peak—gets even more blood rushing south, and he feels dizzy. He sucks hard against the skin of her neck, before pulling away.
“To me?”
“ Only ever to you,” she confirms, her fingers nudging his cheek, prompting him to look up.
“It’s only you,” he promises her. “Never will be anyone else for me.”
He rejoices at the smile he feels as he kisses her deeply, and she reaches for his shirt. He tries so hard not to wince at her tugging on his injured shoulder, obviously forgetting about the brace, but she catches it anyway.
“Your arm,” she says, pulling back with her lips twisted in a concerned frown.
“I can walk it off,” he responds simply before diving in again. He does not care how much it hurts—if he has an opportunity to spend another night with Lucy Chen, he’s taking it, stab wounds be damned.
She lets out an unsatisfied huff. “I’m not going to pretend like you’re not hurt.”
Tim sighs, then sits on the bed. Slowly, he takes off the brace, and his shirt, while she peers at him carefully. When he winces a little hard, she goes, “Here, let me help,” and climbs on the bed to assist him in the final part of removing the garment.
After tugging the shirt over his head and throwing it across the room, they both realize how close they are. Lucy is on her knees between his legs, both of them sitting in the middle of the bed. The position puts him eye-level with her breasts, and he pushes his face forward to press a soft kiss between them. It’s barely heated, almost chaste, just happy he has a chance to explore her skin again. Her hand clutches the back of his neck, small sigh escaping from her lips. Her other hand delicately traces around the wounds in his shoulder—shallow stabs, piercing muscle, now stitched up but incredibly sore.
Tim pulls back slightly, ignoring her confused expression, and lies down on the bed. “Come here,” he says, beckoning her over to his face with one hand, his other pulling upward at her inner thigh.
She seems to register exactly what she wants, her eyes immediately lighting up with heat. “What’s this?” she asks coyly, slowly lifting herself on her knees.
“Paying you back,” he responds, his voice husky, “in small doses.” Then, after a second of thought, he adds, “In a way that shouldn’t have me moving my arm too much.”
This isn’t exactly the scenario he was picturing when he told her about his pledge to her and her kindness,—he pictured flowers, and leaving takeout at her desk when he knows she’d have been too busy on patrol to even think about dinner, and small messages of encouragement; buying her trust little by little, only hoping for friendship—but he’s sure very glad that this is how it’s playing out. He can think of many ways to make it up to her in this context. If this is how he begs for forgiveness, he’ll be on his knees worshiping her every goddamn day of his life.
Lucy hums, her knees spreading slightly as she kneels astride his stomach. She reaches down, up into her hiked-up skirt, and—
God, what a vision. Lacy bra pushing her tits together enticingly, stomach in full view until it reaches her skirt below the belly-button; hand pulling out panties over her lifting legs. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
Then, she leans down, pressing a quick and dirty kiss to his lips, before pulling back and hiking up his torso. Mindful of his arm’s restrictions, he grabs the back of her thighs, pulling her into place until her skirt is covering his head and she’s settling above his mouth and—
Oh.
How he’s missed this.
He’s missed everything about Lucy, of course. Goddamn everything. But her taste is something he’s craved every day; the thought of never getting that again, when he might have a chance of at least being her friend again, kept him in constant agony. He doesn’t believe in higher powers, but he thanks whoever’s up there let him have this again.
His tongue laps her up eagerly, his grip on her back thighs moving to her ass and pulling her closer to his face. He wants to drown in her. He wants to drive his tongue as far up her cunt as he can reach. He wants her thighs to suffocate him as he brings her to an orgasm.
Tim knows he can get her off like this. He’s done it countless times before; he knows she has to be already high-strung, and she definitely seems to be that. Whatever she’d done with her fingers or a toy had not been enough; he can feel how tense she feels, how ready she is to come apart on his tongue.
(He remembers, fondly, one particular evening where he tested exactly how many times he could make her come with just his mouth. The first had been easy, after a day full of dirty teasing. The second had followed the first, still coming down from the first, and he had given it his all. The third had been the hardest, recovering from the intensity of the others, and the over-sensitive flesh had been too much, but after slow licks to stoke her heat slowly, it had finally built up again. It had been the most intense, in the end, bringing tears to Lucy’s eyes as she whimpered in pleasure. A fourth hadn’t been possible without assistance—he’d needed his fingers to get deeper within her core, but it had been an enjoyable experience while it lasted.)
Her hand fists against his hair as she cries out, pulling at the point of pain, and he feels her restraint as she stilts each movement of her hips. He pulls against her ass before dragging her backwards, repeating the movement until she gets the hint—and she does. She rocks against his face earnestly, dragging her clit over the flat of his tongue as he sucked and adjusted the pressure.
Lucy’s movements become more erratic and desperate, with her thighs clenching around his head. It’s a shame he can’t see her face, with the fabric of her skirt covering his eyes; he’s sure she’s stunning, with her back arched, whatever hand not fisting his hair probably feeling herself up, head thrown back in pleasure.
Bringing Lucy to climax is one of his favorite things in the world, just below making her smile, which usually go hand in hand. He loves the sounds she makes, loves how she becomes nearly unintelligible, and loves how she unabashedly chases what she wants. Her fingernails dig into his scalp, forcing his head tighter into her, her thighs holding his face in a vice, as she rocks forcefully against his mouth. He gives her everything she needs and more, coaxing her through it, prolonging her orgasm as much as he can. He wants to keep her going forever if he can.
Eventually, all her holds against him relax, shakily resting above him, but he doesn’t relent. He tears his focus away from her clit, not wanting to overstimulate her too much, dipping his tongue into her core, lapping up all the cum dripping from within her. After she’s had enough time to come down, he drags his upper lip over her clit, testing the waters. She shivers above him, and he grins against her cunt.
But before he can continue, she lifts back up on her knees, settling on his chest. Tim frowns slightly. “I could get another one in,” he offers, pretty sure she’d been about halfway there, but she shakes her head.
“No. I want you inside me,” she says hurriedly, shifting down until she can work at his pants. Not one to ever deny her something that would bring him so much pleasure—he wants nothing more than to sink into her heat again—he eagerly helps her get both of their remaining clothes off and into position.
Then, she’s sitting in between his thighs, her legs on either side of him, her knees propped up. He brings a hand to her cheek, admiring her, staring into her eyes adoringly.
“This isn’t exactly what I pictured when I was coming home with you?” she admits, laughing just slightly as she looks up and down at their intimate position.
He tucks her hair behind her ear. “What did you picture?”
“Kind of wanted you to fuck me face-first into the mattress until the bed broke,” she reveals. “But your arm.”
He knows why she wants that, for two reasons. Hard and fast is—or, at least, had been—their default to fight off high adrenaline. The buzzing energy after an intense situation lingers, and fucking it out had always been the first thing they’d do when they got home. (Sometimes, they couldn’t even make it that far.) The other reason, he knows, is because they’re not together anymore. Taking the intimacy out of their coupling would help the dissociation—enjoying the pleasure of sex, but avoiding the feelings.
Their position, right now, is closer to them making love, than fucking.
“We can reschedule for when my arm heals,” he offers with a slight chuckle, trying to mask his insecurity. He’d also offer to walk it off again, but he knows she wouldn’t agree to it.
“Nah,” Lucy denies. Her hand comes up to line his dick up to her cunt. “I think I prefer this, now that we’re here.”
With that, she sinks onto him, her head falling into his neck. His breath stutters at the feeling of being inside her for the first time in weeks.
It’s the best feeling in the world. Tim doesn’t remember why he’d ever give it up.
And before he can stop himself, before his brain can scream at his heart to listen to reason, he whispers, “I love you.”
He barely even registers that he’s said it until she freezes and her eyes widen slightly. Her mouth opens a little, like she's in shock. He knows it’s too soon to have said the words again. It’s not that she doesn’t know it—she’s bound to know he still loves her, just like he knows she still loves him, no matter how much he’s hurt her.
But tonight wasn’t supposed to be about that.
He’s crossed a major boundary, one where she’s meant to indicate what she’s ready for, and he’s not supposed to push or pressure.
And then, before he can truly read the expression on her face, she dips her head down and buries her nose into the crook of his neck. Tim isn't sure if he should apologize, or just pretend like it didn't happen. He knows she hides when she's uncomfortable—usually because he's stupid enough to let his feelings show—and he knows that soon enough, they're not going to be able to hide away from the obvious conversation.
But before he can make a decision on what to do next, Lucy mumbles into his skin, “Say it again.”
That, in turn, causes him to freeze. He thinks his brain freezes at those three little words, and then suddenly, his body takes control and he grazes his lips against the place where her jaw meets her neck and whispers, “I love you.”
She groans lightly as she begins to rock against him again. It's slow, sensual, and he can't help but repeatedly murmur against her skin like a chant, or a prayer. “Beautiful,” he says against her neck. “Beautiful,” he moans against her sternum. “Beautiful,” he cries against her breast.
It's like the floodgates of his feelings have opened up. He finally has permission to tell her something that he thinks every time he sees her light up a room, to once again say those three little words. Something that's been waiting to burst from him for so long, ever since he’d forced himself to walk away from her; but especially bubbling over she’d save his sorry life just yesterday and—
It hits him, very suddenly, that Lucy has never been uncomfortable with his feelings. The way she hides herself hasn't been to hide away from him—Well, it is, but not in the way he thought. It’s all she’s really wanted from him all along; for him to allow himself vulnerability, to tell her what she’s really thinking. To not shy away from his feelings, to not run away when he’s scared.
He pulls away, stopping both of their movements. “Do you trust me?”
There's no hesitation when she answers, “Always.”
Tim grins. He slips her off him and picks her up and she yelps in shock. He carries her across the loft and into the bathroom,—ignoring the pain in his arm—where he sets her on the counter.
“So, we went from a comfortable bed to a hard counter,” Lucy deadpans.
He raises an eyebrow. Instead of answering, he moves her from sitting on the counter to facing the mirror, her back against his chest.
“Oh,” she whimpers, her mouth forming a small 'o'. Her head leans back against his shoulder as he grazes his lips along her neck, his hand coming up to grope her breast. “I think I understand your idea.”
She eyes him appreciatively in the mirror, her butt wiggling back against his cock. Then, she frowns slightly. “Your arm?” she asks, eyeing it with concern.
He shrugs lightly. “Just hold still, use the counter for support,” he answers. “I’ll get by using only one arm for the heavy lifting.”
His idea requires a softer touch, regardless.
Tim bends down slightly, slowly pressing kisses down, his hands following along. He settles on his knees, at her hip bone, right on the side where she had nearly taken a bullet. The injury from just over a month ago is still showing, now just a faded scar that’s nearly disappeared. He presses his lips to it.
“Beautiful,” he utters against her skin. He glances up at Lucy, who’s eyeing him warily, unsure of where he’s going with this.
He traces upwards, twisting his body slightly to reach his lips just below her ribs, pressing it against the tattoo she’d been branded with, but has since reclaimed. “A survivor,” he whispers.
Tim takes his time, tracing against each of Lucy’s scars, and the places he knows she’d been injured, repeating the same words over and over. He wants her to know how much he cherishes every part of her. She seems to catch onto his act, tears welling slightly in her eyes, staring down at him every time he tears his gaze away from her perfect skin.
When he finishes his journey across her body, he presses up behind her, looking into her eyes through the mirror as his hand ghosts down her front.
“I want you to see what I see,” he tells her as he slips two fingers into her and she closes her eyes in pleasure, crying out. His tongue swipes her ear before he whispers, “You are everything.”
Her eyes snap open and his thumb applies a little extra pressure on her clit. He kisses her earlobe, pulling it gently into his mouth, never breaking eye contact. He splays a hand across her belly to hold her against him as his fingers curl against the bundle of nerves inside of her.
For her, she keeps one hand firmly gripped to the counter, while her other one finds itself on top of his on her belly. Her head falls back onto his shoulder as he swirls his thumb around her clit just as his fingers twist. “Look at the mirror,” he tells her. “I want you to see yourself as you come undone.”
“Fuck,” she whispers.
He removes his fingers from inside of her, which causes her to whimper. His tongue swipes from her ear to down her neck, sucking at her pulse point as he positions himself.
He pushes into her slowly, making sure she's still looking into the mirror. Her hands clench painfully into whatever she's gripping on—one of which happens to be his arm around her body; luckily, his good arm—and she's gasping out brokenly as he bites down gently on her neck.
“I love you,” he cries out as he fills her. She feels so good—he doesn’t think it’s just how long they’ve been apart, yet sex with her is more powerful than ever. “So fucking beautiful.”
He pulls out nearly all the way before pushing into her again, suddenly and forcefully, and she moans as she falls against the counter in front of her. Lucy clings onto the edge for dear life, and he wonders briefly if it's possible to leave handprints in ceramic. He pulls her back up, leaning her head against his shoulder again, positioning her head to look into the mirror.
“Do you see it?” Tim asks her. “Do you see how beautiful you are?”
“Just fuck me,” she demands breathily.
He stills. “Not until I hear you admit it.”
“Admit what?”
He presses soft kisses against her cheek and jaw. He pauses, breathing heavily into her hair, before turning back to the mirror and locking eyes with her. “You're beautiful.”
Lucy tries rolling her hips against him, but he holds her still.
“Say it,” he orders into her ear. “I want to hear you say it.”
“I'm beautiful,” she whispers.
“Again.”
“Dammit, Tim,” she moans. He thinks she might be glaring at him, but he's too busy kissing every piece of her skin to see it. “Just move.”
“You are—the most beautiful—woman I know—inside and out,” he confesses between kisses to her neck. He pumps into her without realizing, his body taking control. His next words come out as heavy grunts between thrusts: “I want—you to see—how special—you are. Why—I love you— so fucking much.”
He fucks up into her slowly, staring at her in the mirror as her eyes droop. He can tell she's trying to keep her eyes open, so she can fulfill his request. He slips a finger down, tracing circles around her clit as he presses down on her belly. She’s moaning freely now, her body leaning forward into the counter before he’s pulling her back up.
“Let go,” he urges, lips pressed into her ear. “I got you.”
With that, she trembles in his arms, crying out louder. He holds her steady as her legs jiggle and her hands lose their grip on the counter, keeping his pace on her clit strong, hips jutting into hers as he fucks her through her release. He’s not satisfied until she’s coming down from her orgasm, putty in his arms, and then he finally moves a hand to the counter for balance and lets himself go.
The white-hot heat quickly grows in his groin, spreading across his body in waves. One, two, three more pumps and his teeth meet her neck, groaning into her skin as he comes inside her. He catches her watching him in the mirror, and it’s the hottest fucking thing—seeing her heated gaze, mouth popped open, as her cunt clenches around his cock pounding into her, soaking in every spurt he has to offer.
Tim half-slumps against her, doing his best to keep upright with his hold on the counter. “Fuck, Lucy,” he whispers against her neck.
“Yeah,” she sighs pleasantly, her head lulling back against him, closing her eyes. She brings a hand to reach to the back of his head, stroking his scalp as she wears a little content smile.
He stands there, breathing heavily, kissing whatever bit of skin on the back of her neck that he can reach as his cock wetly slides out of her.
Lucy turns around, her arms wrapping around his neck as she presses her lips against his earnestly. For a moment, they just bask in it, his leg slipping between hers, before he feels the sticky wetness slipping down her thighs.
Pulling back, he pops open a drawer, grabbing a fresh handcloth from inside. He reaches past Lucy to turn on the faucet of the sink, wetting the rag lightly. Understanding, she tries to tug it out of his grasp.
“Let me,” he requests.
She blinks up at him before nodding slightly. “Thanks.”
Then, he kneels before her.
Gently, Tim wipes their joint fluids away from her skin, pressing a kiss to the skin of her inner thigh, just because he can. He glances up at her, staring back down at him, like he’s some puzzle she’s trying to figure out.
“I meant what I said,” he tells her. “The rest of my life. Every day. Every minute. Every second.”
Lucy hesitates. “Tim...”
“I know,” he says sadly, pulling the cloth away from her as he finishes. He rises back to his feet. “I know you’re not ready for that. Maybe never. But I just need you to know. I’ll be here if you ever are.”
The sad doe eyes morph into something more sweet, one that makes his heart pang with hope. She gives him a shy smile.
“I think you owe me an adult conversation first, Bradford.”