there's probably already a name for this but it's a trope i coined for a very specific type of dynamic that im consistently obsessed with. give me two people who grew up together and played together and were each other's best friend and then Something Happened and now everything's fucked up but they're still friends. or they want to be at least. you look so different now and everything is so much more complicated now than when we played in your backyard but literally who else knows me better than you. who else could i ever call my best friend
Lmao I fully had a Moment TM when playing za tonight where all that was on the screen was a plain ol shot of corbeau sitting in his office chair and let me tell you, the THOUGHT OF OZ LOOMING OVER HIM, one hand pinning Beau to the back of the chair by his shoulder while the other is busy absolutely taking him apart slammed into me like a truck and I'm just sitting there like
Your fingers were twisted into the hair at the base of Corbeau's skull, scratching his scalp lightly. One goodbye kiss had turned into two, which turned into Corbeau's back against the wall next to the elevator. You leaned into him, trading soft, unhurried kisses like you were passing secrets back and forth. The scent of his aftershave from the morning still lingered, and it was intoxicating - drawing you in and holding you there practically against your will.
Corbeau's hands had made their way under your skirt, and they were warm over your ass as he traced the curve of it. His fingers drew gentle patterns, feeling the texture of your tights almost absentmindedly. Embers smoldered low in your belly, but they stayed subdued, not yet sparking into hungry, needy heat. Corbeau hummed against your lips, his hands squeezing gently and pulling your body even tighter against his.
"Are you sure you have to go?" he murmured. You could feel him starting to grow hard in his slacks, and you knew if you didn't put an end to this soon, he'd end up being late for his next meeting.
"Yes," you said, but you didn't make any effort to move away from him yet. "You have work to do."
A few more kisses passed between your lips. Your hands slid down the slope of his shoulders and back up again.
"I don't want to do my work," Corbeau grumbled. One of his hands moved lower, fingers just barely brushing between your thighs. A small spark ignited there, and you gripped his hair again.
"I know," you replied. You started leaving slow, soft kisses along the line of his collar, thinking that if you could just get away from his dizzying lips, you could convince yourself to leave. "But if you manage to get out early... I'll wait for you at home in that black thing you like."
Corbeau groaned, low and gravelly, and his grip on your ass tightened again. He pushed a knee between yours, grinding you against his thigh. The pressure made your knees weak, and you wrapped your arms more tightly around his shoulders.
"Leave these on too," he said, tugging on your tights and letting them snap back against your skin. "I want to rip them off of you."
"You'll owe me a new pair," you hummed, your lips being drawn back to his as if they had a mind of their own.
"I'll buy you a pair for every day of the year, if that's what you want," Corbeau said. You hummed against his lips again, rolling your hips lightly against his thigh. His fingers went back to their delicate patterns, dancing lightly and sending shivers up your spine.
"Will you fuck me like you're kissing me now?" you asked, and then you pressed your lips against his again, soft and lingering. "Slow and gentle, like you love me?"
"I do love you," Corbeau said immediately, and he continued to kiss you like your lips were his most delicate, precious commodity.
"I know," you smiled, leaning your forehead against his. "I love you too."
Corbeau gave you one more kiss, just a little firmer than the rest had been, as he smoothed your skirt back down. Then he leaned up from the wall, his hands on your hips to hold you steady as you stepped back. He pressed the button for the elevator behind him, then he put both hands on your waist, turning you and guiding you back toward the door.
Your arms hung lazily over his shoulders now, and his eyes were warm as they held yours and your noses bumped. You heard a familiar ding, and his lips pressed to yours again. He didn't break the kiss as he stepped forward, pushing you back into the open elevator.
"I'll see you later," he whispered, kissing you one last time before he stepped back and out of your hold. Immediately, you missed the warmth of his body against yours.
"Bye," you whispered back, holding his gaze. He backed out of the elevator just as the doors closed. It cut off your eye contact, leaving you missing him and counting the minutes until he got home.
laughing at the mental image of Corbeau, Grisham, and a glasses-wearing OC sharing the same bed and resulting bedside table, fumbling in the morning for their glasses only to grab the wrong pair.
Also for your consideration: corbeau absolutely blue screening when his partner puts their fingers in his mouth. Could be the first time could be the 500th time doesnt matter, its like a reset button for his overworked brain
gamechangershow
vaporwave
kianamaiart
dailybridgerton
