━ the art of observation ( 18+ )
( tim bradford x girl!reader )
SUMMARY: you're struggling to study a specific topic for your P2 training exam. luckily, your TO knows exactly how to teach you- in his own special way, of course. AUTHOR'S NOTE: the feedback on my recent fanfics has been UNREALLLL thank you for the support! i have been having so much fun writing these for you honestly slay for us. i need to be y/n SO BAD in this GUYS PLEASE IM SO SERIOUS. the reader is tim's rookie if you couldn't tell lol. please enjoy and give feedback AHHHH xoxo INCLUDES: dirty talk (HE TALKS YOU THROUGH IT AHH), pet names, unprotected sex (wrap it up chickies), PRAISE PRAISE PRAISE, soft dom!tim, sub!reader, mentions of anxieties (more like stress-of-not-passing-an-exam type of anxiety), desk sex WORDS: 11.2K+
Amidst the peaceful night where the stars twinkle ever so luringly and the wind whispers gently against your window, the chaos within your apartment differs.
Stacks of paper and books are sprawled across your desk and the floor surrounding you- reflecting the mess of your mind and your feelings of stress, frustration, annoyance. The thin white sheets have already begun to threaten you with paper cuts after hours of flicking through the corners of each page.
You’ve contemplated burning these books and papers into your colourful candles that stare at you from across your desk- they, too, are not neat from where they stand. But, you suppose that having them accentuate their flames may entice you to keep studying.
You tried to create a peaceful scene to your otherwise booming stressful emotions. You tried.
In all honesty, you thought that the warm tint of the candles, the soft cushioning of the pillow beneath you and your laptop that currently plays Frank Ocean’s ‘Forrest Gump’ would have been motivating enough to get you through this specific topic of studies.
Sure, while it is quite mesmerising and comforting, the papers and books that scatter across your apartment along with pens, uncapped highlighters and sticky notes with frantic scribbles have deemed themselves overpowering to your once calm environment.
And it certainly does not help you understand what you are staring at right now with twitching eyes and furrowed brows.
Chapter 5: The Art of Observation | Subsection 5.3: Decoding Body Language
Your highlighter bleeds through the page of your P2 training manual as you over highlight.
You whisper the highlighted points, “Nonverbal communication accounts for up to 93% of human interaction…an invaluable skill to master during interrogations, de-escalations, and day-to-day interactions….recognise universal gestures, understanding micro-expressions, and identifying incongruences between verbal and nonverbal communication…practice and situational awareness are key to refining this skill…and remember-” You mumble. The words you speak breathe into your lungs but never quite reach your brain. You blink yourself awake, “reading body language is not just about observing- it’s about understanding the story behind the movement.”
Understanding the story behind the movement.
You curse yourself to the universe above that watches you steer away from your desk, a huff drawing from you as your mind fogs from exhaustion. Fuck, this is supposed to be easy. Why can't you understand this one thing?
Throughout your time training with your TO Tim Bradford, you found yourself getting strung up on one thing: Body Language.
Whether it be because your overthinking leads to self-doubt, or that you overanalyse every movement and try to memorise textbook definitions of cues rather than trusting your instincts or inconsistent interpretations.
And we wouldn’t want to get you started on spotting subtlety in one’s movements rather than an overt cue.
Whatever kind of situation you were put in, which thankfully, wasn’t a lot, you struggled to read someone’s body language and identify who was the real threat.
Releasing a groan, you drop your head down to your desk with a thump, your arms wrapping around you out of comfort and shielding you as you try to ground yourself from the shitty situation you have been placed in.
Physically and emotionally, you’re a mess. Your eyes are strained from how much focus you have pushed them into pursuing amongst the endless words and the screen on your laptop, and you can feel the oils in your hair greasing your roots from the stress your body has struggled to keep up with. Your brain feels fried and your heart patters tirelessly.
You're unsure how long you stay like this for...seconds, minutes, hours? But the moment you hear a knock boom against your wooden door, your thoughts immediately shrivel away as you jump out of your seat.
Who the fuck is knocking at 8pm?
Pausing your music from your laptop and standing up from your seat, you try to ignore the ache in your lower back from the horrible posture you've kept sitting at your desk. You rub at your eyes and pace your feet one in front of the other, dawdling your way to the knock that still rings in your ears from its expectancy.
“I’m coming!” You groan out, your hands just reaching the knob and the twist of metal sends an immediate chill to your overheated skin. Finally, you pull the door away, only to frown in confusion at the sight of the person in front of you.
“Sir?”
And there he stands. You take in his blue-washed denim jeans and the navy jumper that cuddles his body. He smells…really good. His hair is freshly washed, a darker tint cascading throughout his strands of hair, and he’s staring down at you with a frown on his face.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Boot?” Is the first thing he spikes up with, indulging in your physique by looking you up and down and you can’t help but shrink under his inspection. He spots your cream-coloured fluffy slippers, your hair loose and messy, and the matching grey sweatpants and hoodie set that bags away from the framing of your body.
You look at him, then down at yourself, then back up at him, “What’s wrong?” You ask and your head angles to the side.
Tim throws his hands up, “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe that I’m here to pick you up to take us to the bar where everyone is waiting for us, and you’re not even dressed!”
Fuck.
“Fuck,” You find yourself whispering aloud anyway, your eyes shut as you remember the conversations earlier today with your Mid-Wilshire team and friends inviting you to join them at the local bar for a drink.
You remember shaking your head multiple times, saying: “Oh my god, no! That’s the last thing I need before my exam!”
“Oh come on…” Lucy drags on as her and John’s stance next to your sides draws closer, your body warming under peer pressure as they continue to allure you, “We’ll call it ‘preparation drinking’ for you!”
“And Sergeant Grey will be there,” John peeks up, nudging your side, “so you basically have to go.”
You halt in your footsteps as they now stand against you, blocking you from moving anymore. Clearly awaiting your confirmation, the two of them raise their eyebrows with excitement glinting in their eyes.
You sigh, “Guys, no. I’m already stressing enough as it is, and plus, I have no one to take me...remember? Some loser decided to hijack my car and steal my baby away from me.”
“Excuses is all I’m hearing Officer Y/L/N,” Lucy places her hands on her hips, “One: Having a drink or two may actually do more wonders for your relaxation and de-stressing than you realise. And two…” Lucy scans the room over your head and her eyelids squint at her supposed spotted target, “I know someone who can take you.”
There’s no getting out of this, it seems. You give in to your dismay- and Lucy and John’s happiness.
So later that day when you’re riding with your TO in the shop, your mind running a mockery as you try to recite chapters and pages, you’re immediately distracted by Tim clearing his throat as he glances over at you.
“I’ll pick you up at 8, Boot, be ready by then.”
It’s 8:05pm.
“Well?” Tim begins, his arms back to being crossed over as he awaits your excuses.
However, your heavy sigh that covers your excuses slips out of your breath as you push the door open a little more. And Tim doesn’t get what you’re doing until his baby blues catch onto your desk- or what open space is left of it to his eyes.
“Sir,” You start, meeting his confused look at the surroundings, “I would love to go, but I really need to study for the exam. I’m struggling with this one concept and I just…” You huff, “I can’t get my head around it. I’m trying- I really am! And I just got so lost on time and-“
Tim frowns, “What concept?”
You stumble upon your words, unable to grasp the perfect way to admit to your TO that you are struggling even though your P2 exam is so short away.
But you can’t, because there isn’t a perfect way of saying this.
So, you drop your gaze to the floorboards and quietly usher, “Body language.”
The moment the words fall off your tongue, you don’t even need to look up to know that he reeks of disappointment- that, and you don’t want Tim to see your utter blush of embarrassment flushing your neck and ears.
His groan is heavy as he raises his right hand from where his arms were crossed to rub his forehead in circular motions with his index and middle finger, “Boot…”
“I know, I know, I’m trying so hard, Sir but it’s just not-“
“This isn’t good enough, and you know that,” Tim cuts you off, his gaze bordering frustration and disbelief- something you hate seeing with him, “We’ve gone over this section in multiple scenarios- how can you still not get it? I thought I taught you better than this.”
You’re a good rookie- you know that. But the overwhelming creatures that lurk the back of your brain stress to you that you really aren’t good enough as they keep pounding the walls you’ve built up against them.
You’re a good rookie. You’re a good rookie.
Your breathing is erratic as you blink back tears before reaching for your last bit of courage to look back up at him.
And it hits Tim like a dynamite to his heart.
His eyes soften as they study down into your cloudy ones and the way you’re just barely holding it together in front of him. Your hands fidget, you’re a mess, you can’t keep still, but you’re staring at him with plead in your pupils.
You’re trying- and he’s your last chance to get this right, to get you over the line, to just get it.
That’s when Tim realises that rather than ridiculing you (because it’s so not like you’ve already ridiculed yourself this whole fucking time), he should step up as your training officer and teach you because it’s only ever been his training techniques that have helped you to where you are now. It’s no use punishing you for something that falls entirely back onto him and his responsibility.
A fail in the P2 exam doesn’t just mean a failure to you as an officer, but an ultimate reflection on Tim’s failure to train you.
His exhale is slow as the tension in his muscles becomes plush to the touch, “Okay, let's work through this.” And immediately, a rush of relief flushes through your face. Tim peeks his head a little more into your apartment as he steps one foot past the door, “May I?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” You mutter, extending your arms out into your home to physically welcome him, “come in. Tea or coffee?”
“Water, please,” Tim murmurs, his eyes flickering amongst the piles of papers and books across your desk the closer he reaches it. A deep knot furrows between his brows as he brings a chair from your dining room over to your white desk, all the while, moving the endless pages of information around to free space.
As he does so, you’ve disappeared into your kitchen, hands trembling slightly as you fill a glass with water. The sound of the faucet running is your only distraction against the thick air that has suddenly arrived just in time with his presence. You don’t know what’s causing the tension, whether that be that, quite frankly, this is the first time a man has entered your feminine home or it’s the weight of knowing you’re about to have a one-on-one session with said man.
You’d be stupid to ignore the facts that Tim Bradford; your TO, means a lot to you.
Of course, you can’t stop the high-school swooning crush you have for him. Come on, who doesn’t? He’s a man of protection and resources. Sure, you’re younger than him, but his masculine qualities and those veiny arms do something palpable to your body.
Most importantly, though, is that he’s someone who has moulded you into who you are and what you know now, and his approval means everything. He’s hard-headed and rough and dominant, but deep down you know that in that cold-stoned heart of his, he’s compassionate and willing to do anything to help you succeed.
Your ovaries can wait. His time and knowledge is valuable- you can’t let him down.
When you return, you find Tim leaning back in his chair, arms crossed as his sharp blue eyes assess the chaos of your desk. You notice that he's placed your laptop and the lit candles on your dining table opposite the open space of your apartment.
He takes the glass with a small nod of thanks, setting it down without drinking.
“Alright,” He starts off, his tone steady but tinged with a kind of quiet authority that makes you straighten your posture instinctively as you sit down on your chair, “Show me what you’ve been working on.”
You clear your throat, quickly glancing his way before pulling your P2 training manual closer and flicking through to the dreaded section of the book. The pages are an embarrassing mess of highlighted passages, margin notes, and sticky tabs that seem more decorative than functional at this point.
“I’m trying to go through the practice questions,” You speak up, pointing to Question 3: Clusters of Behaviour.
Tim huddles closer to examine it, his arm just gently brushing yours and you try to suppress the absolute shock that spreads from his very touch, “Okay- During an interrogation, a suspect exhibits the following behaviours: Avoids eye contact, speaks rapidly, taps their foot repeatedly. How should the officer interpret these actions?” He tilts his head to look at you, “What do you think the answer is?”
You look at him, then down at the question that taunts you, then back at him, “I keep thinking A): These are signs of guilt and should be addressed immediately but I already had a look and it’s B): They indicate stress, which may or may not relate to deception.”
“As it should be,” Tim retorts, moving his body so he’s sitting directly in front of you and away from the manual, “Why did you immediately jump into action without assessing the suspect’s context?”
“I don’t know!” You fling your hands up with a huff, your eyebrows knitting as you also look at him, “Clearly, I’m not trying to. I’ve been memorising all these cues and examples, but when I try to apply them to actual scenarios, I just…blank. It’s like the more I try to focus, the harder it gets.”
Tim studies you for a moment, his gaze unwavering and you can’t help but feel an ounce of intimidation and nervousness under his silent stare.
You’re unsure of how he’s going to react to your admittance, but you shouldn’t expect any less from him. This is who he is- an unopened book with every response he gives you sending anxiety to your bones at whether he’s going to yell at you, smile at you, joke with you, snap at you, grumble, grunt, whatever.
However, to your surprise, he reaches out and flips the manual closed.
“Wha-“
“You’re overthinking it,” he says simply, resting his forearm against the closed manual. “Body language isn’t about memorising lists or definitions. It’s about instinct. Observation. You don’t need to know every term in the book to read someone- you just need to pay attention.”
You blink at him as the confusion in your brain fogs even more, “But…how am I supposed to pass the exam if I don’t know the technical terms?”
Tim smirks and chuckles quietly, allowing his body to relax against your agitated one, “Trust me, Boot. If you can read people in the field, you’ll pass the exam. They’re not testing your ability to recite definitions- they’re testing whether you can use what you’ve learnt.”
Sure, his words are meant to be reassuring, but the anxiety gnawing at your chest doesn’t quite ease as the frown in your brows never shies away and you’ve now moved to biting your nails as your last coping mechanism.
Sensing your lingering doubt, Tim sighs and shifts in his chair, the corners of his mouth tightening. “Alright,” he says, his voice taking on a firm but patient tone, “If there’s anything you should take from this topic and, most importantly, from me, it’s that observing non-verbal language should be examined in 3 sections: Eyes, body, and breath.” You try your best to snap a picture of what he said into your mind as you pull your fingers away from your face. He resumes, “Ignore the words they speak and how they speak them because you’ll get lost trying to figure out whether they’re lying or tricking you. Their body will give away their answer- it always does. The body never lies. What’s important, however, is that with whatever information their body shows, you need to piece together what they’re trying to say.”
Understanding the story behind the movement.
Tim's head angles to the side, “Does that make a bit of sense?”
Fuck, if only he was here five hours ago helping you would you be under different circumstances than just holding onto your last thread of hope and tears.
“Better than the textbook,” You compliment him, “Focus on eyes, body, and breath. Got it.”
“Good,” He replies and he exhales in relief, "Let’s try something different than reciting lines and lines of words.”
You eye him out of curiosity to his suggestion, however, you nod your head reluctantly and you shuffle a little in your seat, uncertain to what will come next.
“Body language is all about context,” he explains, “Every movement, every gesture- there’s a reason behind it. Let’s see how good your instincts are. I’ll act out a scenario, and you tell me what you see. No overthinking, no second-guessing- just say what comes to mind.”
Your stomach flips at the idea, but again you nod, determined to prove yourself.
With your agreement, Tim continues, “Let’s start with eyes, Boot. The eyes are everything- they’ll tell you where the mind is going before they even say a word. It’s about where they’re looking, how long they hold a gaze, or even if they avoid it completely.”
And then he draws closer, his sharp blue irises locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. For a split moment, his gaze softens, but then he shifts his expression ever so slightly- his brows narrow, his lids lower just a fraction, and his jaw tenses.
“What do you see?” he asks, low but steady.
“Uh…” You fumble, hyperaware of his scrutiny, “You…look like your normal self?”
He rolls his eyes, “Focus, Boot.”
Fuck, how can you with him looking at you so intently?
You swallow, “Okay, you’re focused…angry? But not really angry just…concerned?”
The flicker of approval in Tim’s eyes is unbearable to your racing heart as he slants back a little, “Good job, Boot. Concerned is close. My eyes are narrowing, my jaw is tight- they’re classic signs of someone processing something serious or difficult.”
There’s something about the words ‘good job’ and ‘Boot’ that you rarely hear form in a sentence from Tim’s lips and it has you lingering onto that hot flush of praise and validation that you oh so yearn for.
So you exhale, “Eyes. Where the mind is before words.” You recite, and suddenly the paining knot that’s been deeply rooted within your chest now for days loosens just a bit. Maybe, just maybe, you can actually do this.
A tiny hint of a…smile sparks onto his face as he carries on, “Alright, let’s move on to body. Stand up.” He orders, and you obey- as you always do.
You push your chair back and rise to your feet with Tim following suit. Your bodies are only inches apart and you find yourself shuffling back a little before your hormones make you do something entirely inappropriate like fucking jumping on him.
It’s no use anyway whether you moved back or not, he still towers over you.
But then he does something so…unsexual, yet, it has your focus entirely set on him. He hooks his fingers under the hem of his dark jumper and, in one fluid motion, he pulls it up and over his head, his muscles rippling under the movement. The air feels charged, your eyes immediately zeroing in on his white shirt showcasing his toned chest and bulging biceps that you can’t help but gawk at with the quick beating of your core.
God, you’re so feral for him- this shouldn’t be flustering you the way it is. But with how warm the atmosphere in your apartment has grown, you’re sure now that it isn’t the muted light above you tinting your cheeks a hot red but, perhaps- just perhaps, it’s the man who stands confidently in front of you.
It’s like you’re tunnel visioning right on him and his muscly arms and strong wafts of cologne and that taunting smirk on his lips and…and he’s stepping closer to you.
“Relax,” he says, his voice softer, almost teasingly, really. “You’re stiff as a board, Boot. Loosen up.”
Fuck, guess you really hadn’t noticed how lost in trance you were staring at him that your body completely solidified into the floor; a man’s physique has grounded you and sincerely, you know a crush turned this badly can only mean you are royally fucked.
But then, he places his hands lightly on your shoulders, guiding you to adjust your stance. And the heat of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you swear you see his lips twitch upwards in amusement.
“Better,” he murmurs, stepping back just enough to let you breathe- but certainly not enough to ease the sudden tension crackling between you. “Body language is about more than just posture. It’s the way someone leans in, the tension in their muscles, or how their movements shift when they’re comfortable- or when they want something. Watch me.”
Tim suddenly crosses his arms (you try your best to avoid the way his biceps expand from the movement), his shoulders draw upwards and he taps his foot repeatedly against the floorboards.
You knit your brows together in the hopes that it will make you observe better on him, “Closed off,” You spark up, hesitantly at first but it simmers more into confidence, “You’re defensive. The foot bouncing is…anxiety? Frustration?”
Tim stops the tapping of his foot yet keeps his arms crossed, but the small grin that tints his lips is far more important than anything else, “Not bad. Closed posture often signals defensiveness or discomfort, and the foot movement can show agitation or nervous energy- limbs can be utilised to cope with internalised stress such as fidgeting fingers or shaky knees. Keep in mind still that body language needs context. Frustration and anxiety can look the same, but the environment will tell you which one’s more likely.”
Understanding the story behind the movement.
You stand a bit straighter, pride rushing through your veins, “Okay, body language needs context, but it helps reinforce what the eyes tell?”
“Exactly- that’s it. See? You’re catching on now,” He praises, and you look up in surprise at his words and release a shudder through your bloodstream.
You’re helpless, you’ve fallen, you’re entirely under his embrace as you whisper, “Thank you, Sir.”
God, you’re making a fool of yourself.
Tim smirks, “Don’t thank me yet, we aren’t finished.”
Right, of course, breath.
Tim leans back into your desk, the moonlight that shines through your window from behind him glimmers an everlasting white glow onto his physique- causing a simple yet effective spotlight onto his back. You watch his hands grip tightly onto the edge of the desk causing his muscles to flex and sharpen his veins and his knuckles whiten from the pressure.
You quickly divert your gaze away.
“Breath is the hardest to fake. It’s involuntary and tied to emotion more than anything else. Breathing gives away more than you think. Controlled, even breaths mean someone’s calm. Quick, shallow ones?” He tilts his head and suddenly he’s moving closer to you where only two steps closer would have you colliding with him. His eyes tauntingly stare into yours, “Nervous. Or perhaps…something else?”
...Something else?
At first, you look at him blankly because the underlying words he points out in the explanation are far too relatable to how you feel in this sudden moment.
And then, you immediately curse yourself with a shit in and try to hold your breath.
Yet, it would be too late supposedly- he’s already noticed.
Your face heats as you stammer a line of defence, “I’m…calm.”
“Relax,” he says, his tone equal parts teasing and commanding, “It’s not a bad thing. Just…interesting.”
Interesting? Interesting?
It's one word but with that, your heart’s thump echoes throughout your body, your rib cages shake and the blood swimming in your veins only accelerates with pace and quantity. You force yourself to breathe in…breathe out…but there’s no use to it.
Does that mean he knows? Does that mean he’s caught on? And to the extent of how badly you want him? Surely he knows there’s tension, but does he know you’re not just thinking about kissing him but fucking him too? Does he know?
You shake your head to rid the thoughts- whatever he knows now is all that he’ll get out of you and nothing more. Your TO doesn’t need to know that you see him as something more than just a higher line of authority to you.
However, the air feels charged now, and the warm-tinted lights above you flicker against the overwhelming whirlwind of energy surrounding the room- the candles, too.
The bastard continues as if that moment never happened, “Breath is all about pace, depth, and how someone breathes when they’re worked up, nervous, or completely in the moment.”
You focus intently as he takes a slow, deep breath, his chest rising and falling in a purposeful rhythm. Then, without warning, his breath quickens, shallow and uneven, his shoulders moving with each exhale.
“What do you notice?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper.
You hesitate, your pulse pounding in your ears. “The slow breath...controlled. Like you’re trying to stay calm. But the quick breaths- panic? Or excitement?”
Tim’s expression softens, and for the first time, you catch a hint of something unguarded in his gaze, “Nicely done, Boot. You’ve definitely got it, you just need to stop overthinking and start trusting yourself.”
Your body eases as his words settle over you and the anxiety that once was gnawing at you has long frizzled away; you’re getting better. “Eyes, body, breath,” you repeat, more to yourself than to him. “Got it.”
Tim’s shoulders relax, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “That's it. Now let’s see how well you’ve been paying attention. I want you to read me.”
There’s a pause as you take into his words, and then you frown, “What?”
Your puzzled expression causes him to grin, “You’re going to observe me. Call it like you see it. Eyes, body, breath.”
Your heart skips, “You want me to...analyse you?”
“Exactly,” Tim says with a shrug, settling into the desk more comfortably as he leans back into it. His posture is relaxed, but there’s a spark of mischief in his eyes as he gestures for you to start. “Well? What do you see, Boot?" he prompts, his tone playful but laced with that familiar authority.
You swallow hard, suddenly hyper-aware of every tiny movement he makes and your fingers fidget from your sides. The pressure encapsulates you, you’ve never read anyone this closely before- let alone your own TO.
“Okay, well…” Clearing your throat, you start at his eyes first, studying his baby blues closely, “Your gaze is...steady,” you say, your voice a little shaky at first. “You’re watching me closely but you’re not narrowing your eyes or tensing your jaw. That tells me you’re open but still in control of the situation.”
His lips twitch, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“Your body is…relaxed,” You continue, noting how his posture oozes confidence. “But the way your fingers are tapping against the desk means you’re impatient.” But impatient of what?
Tim arches a brow, his expression unreadable, and you realise you’ve been holding your breath when you look down at his rosy lips, “And your breathing,” Your eyes move down to his chest too, “It’s even. Controlled. You’re not nervous or frustrated- you’re calm.”
There’s a beat of silence as Tim studies you, his face giving away nothing. And then, slowly, a grin spreads across his lips, “Not bad- I’ll give that to you.”
Relief flushes to your cheeks at the same time a little sigh leaves your lips at his approval, your chest swelling with pride. Thank fuck for that, thank fuck you did it, thank fuck you-
“But you missed one thing.”
You halt. Brows furrowing and eyes squinting as you look back at him with your mind replaying the previous scenes continuously, “What…What did I miss?”
Tim’s gaze locks onto yours, and for that split moment of silence, the air buzzes between you two, “My eyes,” he says gently, “They’ve been completely locked on you this whole time.” He tilts his head as his tone drops low, “What do you think that tells you?”
You hesitate. The flames that crackle from the candles of afar produce white noise in a way to ease the tension within you two and you find yourself warming up at his honesty, “It means...you’re focused on me. You’re analysing me as much as I’m analysing you. Maybe even testing me.”
“Exactly,” he commends, “When someone maintains direct eye contact, it can mean a lot of things: confidence, challenge, or, in this case, testing boundaries. But always remember, context matters. Eyes alone don’t tell the full answer.”
Understanding the story behind the movement.
Your breath catches in your throat, and the room suddenly feels much smaller. Tim’s words hang in the air, heavy with a meaning you’re not sure you’re ready to unpack.
But he doesn’t wait for your approval of understanding- you two have gone too far for that now, "You did great but-" He suddenly stands up, “Let me show you how observation is done."
You swallow hard to where you watch him and how slow and calculated his steps are compared to your fast-pumping body. Like a trance, your irises are glued to him and how he begins to circle you.
“If you were smart enough to notice, Boot.” He begins, “You’d realise this whole time I’ve been observing you, from ever since the moment you opened your door and looked at me with begging eyes for help to now, where every look and touch I give you makes you melt.”
You look to your side and stare down into the spurts of fire that dance on your dining table in the hopes of grounding yourself.
“You’re trying too hard to control yourself,” he mentions first, catching onto your force of engagement away from him and you curse yourself in your head. “You and I both know it’s too late for that. Did you know your eyes gave you away first? The way you couldn’t stop looking at my lips whenever I spoke, or how they flutter when I step closer to you with pupils dilated.” He then pauses behind you, his breath just as warm against your ear as the flames that sit mockingly from afar.
Your stomach flips. His breath tickles your neck and you feel the motion of one of his hands gripping the left side of your hip to turn you towards the desk, leaving you trapped between the desk and him. His other hand lifts your right arm’s sleeve up and he hums at the obvious sign on your limb.
“And this?” His fingers ghost over your skin, “The goosebumps. Your body’s way of screaming at me without saying a word. ”
You shudder but, you don't pull away.
Tim approaches closer, his lips brushing your ear, “Do you want me to stop?”
Because undeniably, there is a massive line you two are crossing here between TO and rookie, mentor and learner…man and woman.
A line that is shamed upon, unforbidden, unrealistic, unnecessary, and all in all, everything wrong. You know that once this line has been crossed, nothing will ever be the same between you two and the actions that are made tonight could have terrible, horrible, guilty consequences. Would Tim even be able to look you in the eye after this? Would you be able to for him? Would all the progress of a partnership between a kind and curious rookie to her rough and shrewd TO mean everything or nothing at the end of this? Would it all be worth it in the end?
But despite it all, there is no inch in your trembling body that screams yes as an answer to him.
“No,” you whisper.
And that settles it.
Tim turns you around to face him and he's towering over you with how close you are. He's never been this close. Not even when he'd use it as an intimidating tactic to yell at you- but his usual complexion of dominating is softer now...luring...assuring.
With gentle fingers, he reaches up to one of your temples and tucks the loose strands of hair behind your ears, and a tremor releases so strongly that your exhale comes out shaky.
Tim teasingly smirks at your body's reaction, "You tremble every time I touch you, but you never tell me to stop or act upon your actions, which can only mean one thing," He resumes, drawing slow circles into the dip of your waist, "you want me to make the first move...Would I be correct?"
Your blush of embarrassment fills your cheeks at how easily he's read you and how awfully pathetic your body can betray you under his observation. And he's looking back at you with that knowing look that he truly has you wrapped around his finger.
"Yes, Sir," You mumble shamefully, "That would be correct."
"Well, if that's the case," He starts, re-tucking the strand of hair he was working on before cupping the side of your jaw into his warm yet rough hand, "What do you think your body’s telling me right now?"
You squirm. Not because you don't want to answer him, but because you don't know whether he knows just how badly you want him. You don't just want to feel his lustful lips seer into a fiery kiss with yours. God no, your needy and wet core yearn for him.
With a beating heart ringing throughout your ears and your half-lidded eyes locked onto his, you find yourself gathering any source of confidence before replying: “That it really wants to get fucked by you.”
Within those longing seconds of awaiting his answer, you notice how his eyelids widen but then retreat back to a squint with his blues no longer there. Instead, black takes over the space. His lips curl into a salacious smile and he whispers attagirl before bringing you closer to his face with the pull of his hand.
The praise sends a jolt through you, and before you can think, his lips crash into yours with a desirable hunger that ignites every nerve in your body.
It’s not soft nor tentative (not that you would have expected any different from Tim) but you're revelling in how raw, commanding and powerful it is. You’re drowning in it for your greed pushes your breath aside to capture his kiss again. But just as equally, it’s like his very own lips are the only thing keeping your head afloat. They're a gentle saviour to your overwhelming built-up of feelings that could have done more damage than good to yourself if you continued the way you had by trapping them in your already busy mind.
In saying that, while Tim’s hand grips the side of your jaw to angle it back to deepen the kiss with his own personal invitation of his tongue, you can’t help but sigh in ultimate relief at how loudly this act of intimacy fills the weight of every stolen glance and unspoken word that has ever passed between you two. So much so that you feel like your feelings are being…reciprocated.
He’s precise with how he kisses you, and you don’t realise he’s pushing you back from the grip of his hand on your hip until you feel the hard surface of the desk just digging into your backside.
A moan slips from your throat as his hands lightly trace all the way down to cup your ass. He squeezes lightly before hoisting you up so you sit completely on the desk's edge.
Are there some pages scrunched from the sudden friction of movement and are there some papers you’re sitting on right now? Sure, but it’s not like either of you noticed anyway.
His fingers travel under your hoodie, roaming your velvet skin beneath his contrast of rough hands. As you finally pull away from the kiss, your moment to catch your breath is immediately disrupted by Tim lowering his face and placing wet and feather-like kisses on the side of your exposed neck. His stubble tickles your sensitive skin and your body reacts by canting your head back to provide more space for him to explore.
Your voice is breathy as you wrap your arms around his neck, “Tim, are you like this with...all your rookies?”
You can hear a small chuckle leave his throat, but he doesn’t pull away from you, “No, just ones who I know will…” He kisses you, “pass…” Another kiss, “their…” Another one, “exam.” And his tone is teasing with his raspy voice vibrating against you.
You stifle a laugh at the same time you let out a yelp at the sudden pinch against your neck, already knowing without looking that he’s creating a hickey, “Fuck- Sir,” And your hands have their own mind as they move up to his head. They cradle him there, your grip tight but comforting and your nails dig into the roots of his now dry short strands.
There’s no pushing him away as he draws one…two…three hickeys into your now bruised skin. Then, he pulls away to finally meet your low-lidded gaze, your mouth agape in hunger and full-blown lust.
But, he’s just like you. His cologne is now imprinted on your clothes and your eyes wander lower to his lips, then his sharp jawline, to where his chest furiously pounds against his white tee- and you feel yourself dripping wet at the thought of what may lay undernea-
“-You’re way too easy to read, Boot.” His voice cuts off your thoughts and you snap your focus to look back up at him to where a smug smirk rests upon those swollen red lips of his.
Your words are confident despite still flushing pink in your cheeks, “Not trying to be subtle about it.” You murmur, pulling your arms away from him to give him the space he needs to step back slightly. Then, he’s reaching behind his neck and your breath catches as he grabs the collar of his white T-shirt and pulls it over his head in one fluid, practised motion. The movement is so calculated, so commanding, that it leaves you momentarily stunned.
However, what’s most important is that he now stands before you, shirtless. It's such new territory that at first you aren’t too sure how to react- the sight of his bare chest and sculpted shoulders steals every coherent thought from your mind. But, when he moves in closer to you, your body instinctively reaches out and traces the muscles that flex beneath your fingertips' nerves.
You can’t restrain the moan rumbling deep from your core and you draw him into another kiss. This time, however, your hands roam his body- he’s even hotter than the searing air floating throughout your apartment.
Tim’s fingers inch to the hem of your hoodie, tugging it to motion you to take it off which, of course, you oblige. Pulling away, you glance up at him before grabbing the edges of your hoodie and taking it off, now becoming a collection on the floor with Tim’s shirt. Ultimately, this leaves you in nothing but your bra and sweatpants.
Again, new territory means you’re incredibly nervous for what's to come and it doesn’t help that Tim is just…staring at you.
“Do I look okay?” You try to swallow your anxieties as you try to not cover yourself and instead fiddle with your fingers in your lap, “Do you…like what you see?”
The low groan of Tim’s fuck that rasps out of his heavy breath is his first sentence, and then he’s gripping your waist again and he pulls himself closer to you, his eyes discovering every inch of your body for a split second before he trails his baby blues back to meet yours, “Oh, I don’t know, Boot, why don’t you tell me?”
At first, you think he’s joking, just playing along from your previous events of learning observation. But then he’s giving you that look, and he’s angling his head as if awaiting your answer and…oh, he wasn’t joking.
You blush furiously and you honestly feel like you could sweat from how hot you feel, but still, you obey and Tim can’t stop the pulse of pressure his hands indent into your waist from excitement and impatience. “Okay, well-” Already being so hyper-fixated on him assists in identifying his body language as you stare into his eyes, “Your pupils are dilated and heavy, which are easy signs of arousal. Your breathing is…erratic- meaning, you’re out of breath but also could mean you’re excited…or nervous. And…your body is close to me. Your hands hold me in place so I can’t leave and you’re leaning into me- you want more.”
He is leaning into you, and he certainly does want more. His forehead now nearly touches yours as he yearns for the touch of your body, “And?”
“…And?” You knit your eyebrows, trying to think about what else of his body language could mean more for his arousal.
Until, you feel his rock hard cock in his jeans pushing right into your covered core.
Your mouth faintly forms an ‘o’ shape at the realisation that your TO is very much so turned on by you. And the blush that was already there has doubled in heat and redness, your chest thumps wildly from it.
“Remember, sweetheart,” He begins teasingly, his fingers rising up from your stomach and around your back to where your bra’s clasps sit, “Put it all together now- eyes, body and breath. Like a puzzle piece, what does it tell you?”
Understanding the story behind the movement.
You slightly choke on your breath as you struggle to form words at how to exactly tell him that he, too, wants to fuck you.
But, that’s it- there is no other way. There are simply no other words that can form a coherent sentence that relates even closely to what his body is begging for you to do.
You find yourself a stuttering and flustered mess, “You do like what you see and that-” You whisper the next words, “-you really, really want to fuck me.”
“That’s it,” he coos, his lips barely grazing your forehead as he undoes your bra one clasp by another, slow but sensual, “Good girl, you're such a quick learner.”
Your breath hitches, his words making your stomach flip and your mouth falls open like jelly. He pulls back just enough to smirk at your reaction and then he’s taking your bra off, leaving your breasts completely bare.
“Yeah,” he breathes, his voice rough, “You like hearing that, don’t you?”
But before you can reply, his lips move down your chest via kisses, only to then attach to your right nipple.
Immediately, you arch into the warm embrace of his mouth, the heat of his touch sending sparks of arousal through every nerve in your body down to your wet pussy. His left hand keeps your other breast occupied while the other traces lazy lines into your back.
You’re so fucking turned on that your hands connect with the one thing closest to them: his jeans.
So, as Tim licks and flicks your nipple with his tongue, your fingers move to unbutton his jeans and pull his zipper down with the utmost haste. Then, as his jeans fall to the ground, you tug down his grey Calvin Kleins’, and you can’t help but moan loudly as just when Tim faintly brushes his teeth against your sensitive bud, he becomes completely bare from entrapment and his cock springs free.
He’s…fuck, he’s massive.
You flutter your eyes as Tim tackles your other nipple, your top teeth gently grazing your swollen bottom lip. And without thinking a second into it, your hands are already reaching out to grasp his cock, one sitting at his thick base and the other resting at his leaking pink tip. There, you move in motion to how the man assaulting your chest circles your breasts and if there is one thing you could wish upon the dazzling moonlight from behind your apartment’s illuminating windows, it would be to keep a forever replaying record of your TO’s groan. It’s husky, low, and quite honestly, the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard.
Your hands continue their rhythm, the one on the base twisting at the same time that your palm does too, making sure to collect all drops of pre-cum and distribute it onto every inch of him.
Tim pulls away, breathless and he lowers his forehead onto your shoulder, groaning again, “Fuck, Boot, feels so good,” He whispers against your smooth skin, kissing the spot his lips rest upon.
You pull back to capture his whole face just for a second and before you even realise it, your subconscious reads him- observes him;
Shut eyes and knitted brows…concentration. Concentrated on the feeling. Messy hair…‘sex’ hair. Breathless and imbalanced breathing…aroused, excited. Pretty eyelashes fluttering. Leaning in…wanting more, always wanting more.
And then, he opens his eyes.
But the emotions still stick around.
There’s a smirk tugging on your lips as the hand that once rested on his base has now lowered a little more to where his balls rest. The smallest touch of your fingers playing with them has pride blossoming throughout your veins at the gasp that escapes him.
You’ve never seen him so vulnerable, so gentle, so…exposed. But, you like it. For someone so hard-headed and constantly wearing a frown so much it’ll probably cause early-aged wrinkles, you savour in this moment where he’s content.
He’s content because of you.
So lost in thought, you don’t notice that you both have directed your eye contact down to watch your hands glide perfectly around him- and Tim’s untying the drawstring’s bow on your sweatpants.
You feel his words more than hear them, his voice gravelly and thick with need as he grunts, “Shit, I’m not gonna last if you keep doing this.”
A sly smile spreads across your lips, your new profound ego boost intoxicating your persona as it breaks through your haze of desire. “What? This?” You tease as one hand reaches lower to trace his perineum and the other, slick with moisture, rubs his frenulum.
His jaw tightens, his knuckles tightening on your pants’ waistband, “Careful,” he warns, his tone dark but laced with that tempting edge that makes your stomach flip.
You analyse him and how his breath has changed its route to quick yet airy inhales and exhales and as much as he tries to look at you, his arousal says otherwise with the way his eyelids flutter.
You hum, “You should be the one that’s careful, Sir- you’re getting close.”
He lifts an eyebrow at you, “Oh, you want to test me?” he growls, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His baby blues are stormy now, locked on yours as his hands tug your pants down your ass and thighs until they fall with gravity to the floor and you're left in nothing but your panties. The cool desk connecting with your skin contrasts with the heat you radiate in this very sudden moment, “Well, let’s see how long you last.”
Before you can respond, his fingers are slipping your underwear down as well, and he’s brushing his index finger against your slick heat.
You gasp, wrapping one hand back on his cock while the other places itself beside you, clutching onto the edge of the desk for stability. His thumb has already found your clit and he wastes no time circling it slowly and deliberately. “Already so wet for me,” he mutters, his voice low and full of satisfaction. His other hand grips your chin and tilts it up, forcing you to look at him. “I want to hear every little sound, understand?”
You nod breathlessly, barely able to form words as one finger slides inside you, curling just right against that plush cushioning of your g-spot.
“Good girl,” he praises, his tone sending a fresh wave of heat through you, "How's that feeling?"
Tim’s fingers are long and rough as he fucks them into you, hitting all the right spots within you that have you shuddering into a hot and overwhelming bliss. You've left your attention off of his cock as you pull your hand away and place it also on the edge of the desk, selfishly taking into account your own pleasure in this heated moment. He’s just so excellent at this that even your own digits couldn't reach the areas he can and you wish he were here every time you were aroused so he could come back and bless you like this over and over again.
You don't even know how to reply to him but yet you still stutter out incoherently, "Fuck, so good, holy shit."
Your senses hit an overdrive- you don’t know whether to look at his dark irises and that smug smirk you want to kiss off, the hand that's moved from your chin to your waist, his fingers or, really, nothing by shutting your eyes closed. The air is thick and sticky from the arousal filling your apartment, and the only noise that can be heard is your heavy breaths, the occasional moan from you and your pussy squelching from Tim’s teasing fingers.
“Sir-” You start, but what are you even going to say?
Luckily, he knows exactly what you need, “I know, baby, I know,” He coaxes, placing a tender kiss on your lips as he adds a second finger and his other hand diverts its attention from your waist to your aching clit, earning himself another gasp that he collects into his memories, “Doing so well for me, aren’t you?”
Fuck, he's right- you aren’t going to last. Your bundle of nerves have already begun fluttering within your core’s walls and your breath is harder to catch the longer he’s fucking into you.
You pull your lips away from him, finding comfort in the nook between his neck and shoulder as you nibble gently down on his skin and you’re begging, “Please, please, Sir…” but for what? Release? More? Harder? Rougher? Faster?
But, Tim gets it, he really does. Despite never have laying a finger like this on you ever since knowing you, it’s like he knows exactly how to please you.
You’re a kind and gentle person and a good rookie who obeys and listens- that’s a starter. You need to be talked through things, especially from him whether that be helping you with your P2 exam or...well, fingering you (Regardless, he's giving you the satisfaction you need either way). And on the rare occasion when Tim praises your work, there’s a flash of something dark that flutters within your eyes and eyelashes like an addiction, an obsession to have more. It wasn’t hard for your body to tell him that his praise wasn’t just a compliment to you, it was something you’d be going to bed fantasising about.
"Taking my fingers so good, Boot,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear, the rumble of his voice sending another wave of heat through your body. “Wonder what you’ll be like taking my cock.” His veins pump heavily out of exhaustion with each hook movement he gestures from his index and middle finger and his other thumb pushes into your clit with such delicate yet deliberate circular motions.
His words have you gasping and your shaky legs widening which, in return, has the desk rattling even more- but that’s the last of either of your concerns.
“Sir, I’m so close-”
“-Oh, don’t worry, I know,” He taunts because, really, you’re quite obvious about it. But Tim is more revelling in how your warm pussy flutters around him, your sharp breaths coming from your pretty lips and your trembling body that follows.
Then, one of your hands clasps the back of his head and you’re pulling him closer to you, a loud gasp drawing from the deep heavens of your voice with a symphony of oh, oh fuck~ that he knows exactly the moment your orgasm has peaked.
“Breathe through it,” He coaxes, though his voice betrays the tension running through him, his own arousal barely contained as he watches you come undone beneath him. He milks your climax, his fingers slowing down to a faint manoeuvre within you and your clit just being grazed as he places featherlight kisses on your forehead. And yet, you still listen; trying to catch your ever-escaping breath as your body quivers down from your high, “That’s it, sweetheart.”
One, two, three heartbeats echo within your ears as you sit there tirelessly, your eyes that were once shut now fluttering open to meet your TO’s stare- the man who just gave you the most earth-shattering orgasm of your life.
You swallow hard, your breathing slowly returning to a steady rhythm. Tim pulls his fingers out of you, and a pang of emptiness settles in your core. That is, until another wave of arousal tingles through you as your gaze drops to his fingers that glisten with your juices. You exhale a shaky puff of hot air, “Wow, that was-“
“-Was?” Tim cuts you off, his voice rich with authority and a suggestive lilt that he always had whenever you would say something while he was training you in the shop. He tilts his head as his hands travel under your thighs, canting your body so your pussy is fully exposed to the warm glow of the overhead light. The sight of you is iridescent - flushed, radiant, utterly wrecked - and it steals his breath. In this very moment of Tim’s sexual tendencies and the release of bundled-up feelings: you are an angel, “Oh, Boot, I’m not done with you yet.”
His words are all that you need to hear to have your heartbeat spiking back up again, your breath hitching and the wetness between your legs intensifying.
Fuck, that is exactly what you wanted to hear.
There’s a smirk on his face and he widens your legs, stepping closer into your space. He gently pushes you back with one hand resting on the back of your head so you now lay completely flat on the desk. His cock's tip aches red as it just gently rests at your entrance. You squirm as he lets it glide through your folds, gathering your slick and nudging against your throbbing clit before returning to tease your entrance.
“Sir,” You prop yourself up on your elbows as you glare at him, a groan slipping in frustration and your hips instinctively arch towards him, seeking more.
“I got you, Boot,” He murmurs, eyes daring into yours as he drags his cock through your folds once more before pressing the blunt head against your entrance, this time with a little more pressure.
Then slowly, he pushes in.
The small gasp you let out as you feel his tip stretching you forces Tim to recite lines and lines of the Police Handbook in his mind in order to not fucking cum from your pretty noises, and it doesn’t help that you’re staring deep into his dark gaze with heavy eyes, filled with pleasure and need.
He continues to push into you and your mouth falls agape, a soft whimper escaping your lips as he finally bottoms out, his hips completely flush against yours.
There’s stillness, aside from the blood that races throughout your system and both of your chests heaving. And you’re staring at each other with such hunger, desperation, sensualness. In this angle from where you lay, the moonlight’s physique compliments yours as it shines directly onto you, lighting you up like you're some kind of Goddess.
In Tim's eyes, you are.
He doesn’t leave you waiting long- he pulls back just enough before thrusting in to bury inside you. Your head falls back against the desk as your body adjusts to the massive intrusion, a moan rumbling through the both of you. Whether it be your imagination or that you’re actually basking in it from where you lay, you are for sure seeing stars the more he pushes into you. The stretch is exquisite, every inch filling you and igniting a fire that spreads through your entire body.
While at first, his movements are slow, a pace begins to pick up, and it’s to the point where Tim’s locked onto your waist and he’s pounding into you.
His fingernails dig into your flesh, “Keep your eyes on me, sweetheart. I want to see that pretty face,” He breathlessly says, to which you immediately lift yourself up, along with propping back up onto your elbows for support and you melt at the man that stands in front of you.
Of course, you always thought your TO was hot- in a way that was desirable and intimidating in chorus. But right here, right now where his hair is a hot sweaty mess, his pupils are full blown out black, and his muscles are flexing in all the best ways possible as he fucks into you is an absolute sight to see.
He grins at the way you observe him, “That’s right, baby, taking me so well,” He inches in closer to draw his lips into yours.
The kiss is everything of a mess; tongues fighting for dominance, teeth clattering, hot breaths engulfing one another, but, it’s everything right too. This new angle has him fucking you deeper and the stretch has you moaning into his mouth.
“You make me feel- fuck-” You choke out at a hard thrust, “amazing.” And sincerely, you don’t want this to end.
Tim groans, sweat beading his forehead, “Do you even know what you’re doing to me?” He fucks you hard again, “How much I…want you?”
Your heart flutters, an overwhelming dose of praise hitting you and you think about how he’s probably praised you the most today out of all the other days you soldiered through being tormented as his rookie. No other day you have had with him has or will ever compare to right now- sexually, romantically and morally. From moments where he’d spend the whole day glaring and yelling at you like you were an absolute waste of time to…now, where he’s confessing not just his desire for your body, but for you.
At first, you’re taken aback by it, eyes widening in utter surprise. But then you rake your gaze up his eyes, down to his body, then back up to his breath and…yeah he isn’t quite hiding it.
“I…” You collect your breath, “I think I may have an idea.”
He chuckles breathlessly, making sure to really bury himself into you for your smartass mouth, “Fuck, of course, you do, I’ve taught you well.”
But the banter falls just as quickly as your smile when you feel the coil in your core tightening. And it’s like he sees it too and so he slows his movements, pulling out almost entirely before leaning down to peck you. Then, he whispers against your lips, “Turn over for me.”
The command sends a fresh wave of heat vibrating through you, and without hesitation, you obey. You allow him to reluctantly pull out and you shakily step off the desk (completely ignoring the mess of scrunch-up and ripped papers) before standing and turning away from him, bracing your hands against the desk.
Tim’s calloused hands slide down your back, over the curve of your ass, then one hand moves to your mid-back and the other to the back of your head and again, he’s ever so slowly pushing you down. Finally, you’re face down on the desk and before you can say anything about how he’s never been so soft on you before and that maybe this should teach him to be more easy-going on you while training you, he’s sinking his cock back into his home.
He doesn’t hold back this time. His thrusts are steady and unrelenting, each one drawing a mix of moans and cries from you. He manhandles your arms to rest behind your back and he’s clutching onto your wrists with one hand.
“You’re so beautiful like this. Every little sound you make- it’s all for me, isn’t it?” And then, if it couldn’t get any better than his flourish of praise reddening your already blushed cheeks, his other hand snakes around to your front, his fingers finding your clit again and rubbing slow, torturous circles that only add to the intensity.
With the extra stimulation to your bundle of nerves, that ever-growing bubble forms once again and your breath hitches, “Oh my God, Sir, please, I need to- ah-”
“What is it, sweetheart?” You can hear him hum, his stare burning through your head, constantly pounding into you at a pace that even you can’t handle. He knows what you need, of course he does- but, he’s a tease and won’t let you go that easily.
Your legs start to shake, your body trembling with the force of the pleasure building inside you. Your smart mouth has withered away under his dominance as you blush in embarrassment and stutter out, “Cum! Fuck’s sake, Tim, I need to cum.” Only to shyly add, “Please, Sir- you’re driving me crazy.”
Tim stifles a laugh at your sudden outburst before tightening his grip on your wrists, “Of course, baby, let go. I want to feel you cum around my cock.” But he isn’t far off from you either, feeling the tightening in his balls.
It’s at this moment that he, as well, wishes you two could stay like this- hot, aroused. And with this position, you both have the moon brightening onto your scene, shining on you two as if you were one, if you were...together, connected.
Tim applies just the perfect amount of pressure to your clit that it pushes you over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you with a force that leaves you crying out his name, your walls fluttering around him as your vision tunnels and blurs.
Tim doesn’t let up, his thrusts slowing but growing deeper as he chases his own release, his breathing ragged and strained. Your whimper of overstimulation is swallowed by his low groan, the sound vibrating through your already spent body. With one last thrust, he leans over you, his strong arms bracing the desk on either side of you and he stills. His hips press flush against you as his hot threads of cum spill inside you, his grip on your body grounding him as he rides out the waves of pleasure.
The room falls silent.
Except, this time, there’s a sense of satisfaction lingering in the air- your breaths sync into a rhythmic cadence as they slowly return to normal, the goosebumps aren’t from tension anymore but from the coolness of the room, and your heart is stable, balanced, content.
Tim is still leaning over you, and you can hear the moment his breathing steadies because he plants a kiss on the back of your neck and murmurs, “You okay?” His voice is silk to your ears but filled with genuine concern as his hand traces up your back, brushing strands of hair from your face and tucking them gently behind your ear.
You hum in response, “More than okay,” you whisper, your voice laced with exhaustion and exhilaration.
Tim chuckles, low and warm, before he stands back up and pulls out of you carefully, earning a little whimper from your sensitive body. He shushes you soothingly, his hands running down your back and over your hips, grounding you. “I’ve got you, Boot,” he coaxes, and you believe him.
Before you can fully process it, he’s guiding you to sit in the desk chair that had been abandoned oh so long ago. He presses a kiss to your temple, “I’ll be right back.”
You nod, your eyelids heavy as you sink into the cushioning chair.
Your mind is a blur, but thankfully, it isn’t because of stress for the P2 exam, or that stupid topic on Body Language. If anything, your body’s still buzzing, your mind blissfully blank from being thoroughly fucked.
When Tim returns with a damp, warm cloth, you watch him kneel in front of you. “I think I may have found my new favourite learning technique,” You whisper, a small smirk tugging at your lips as you watch him clean you up with the utmost care.
He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head, “Good thing you won’t be a rookie for long, then. Otherwise, I might have to come up with a few more creative teaching methods."
“…I’ll think of things to learn.”
He pauses, his attention turning fully to you, his eyes softening in a way that feels foreign on his usually hardened face, “Biased or not, Boot, you will pass the exam. I know it.”
The humour once slipping hoarsely from your mouth grows quiet as your cheeks flush with affection and his words of kindness, “Thank you.” You murmur just as you gently exhale.
He smiles, then leans in to kiss your forehead, “Always.”
The weight of his gaze settles on you, and it’s not just lust anymore- it’s something deeper, something unspoken. It makes your heart flutter in a way that’s almost more overwhelming than the physical intensity you just shared.
Once he finishes cleaning you, you invite him down to your couch. He obliges, pulling you into his chest. His fingers trace lazy patterns along your arm, lulling you into a peaceful haze.
You dare to look up at the clock ticking above.
9:47pm.
“Think we’re still late for the bar meet-up?”
