ᨳ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⌑ ⌇ @ 𝑠𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑞𝑢𝑒 | | | 𝑤𝑤𝑤.ℎ𝑦𝑝𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑠.𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒
WHERE : a case you and dick were working ended up getting a little frisky. the kind which constituted an hr violation. THIS STORY CONTAINS : detective!dick, forensic scientist!reader, booth!dick, bones!reader (heavily inspired by the tv show bones), hookers, sexually frustrated!dick, dick is not a playboy in this, leaning towards the opposite for the plot, a murder, mentions of strangulation, sexual tension ( I think ), pussydrunk!dick, reader has no social awareness, dick does, smut ( mdni ! ), marking, unprotected ( PLEASE BE SAFE THIS IS NOT A REPRESENTATION OF REAL LIFE ) switch!dick, dom!reader, disguised as a science experiment, hair pulling, oral (m), riding, grinding, heavy making out, I’m NOT a medical student, guys, there will be inaccuracies
“Poor girl.”
That’s what DICK GRAYSON muttered to himself, standing above the body of a woman who looked to be in college, blonde, basically covered in glitter. Dirt stained her skin, and mud, her red bralette and panties torn. He turned to an officer securing the crime scene, frowning. “Hey, Rutgers? When’s forensics gonna get here?”
“I’m here.” Your boots against the stone floor weren’t lost on him, the smile tugged at his lips before he even saw you, as you put on covers and ducked under the yellow tape. Your face fell as you saw the girl. “This is the fifth this year.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been counting?”
“At least thirteen prostitutes a year are lost to homicides in Blüdhaven.” You replied, putting on latex gloves, tilting her chin up. “Presence of blood, no sign of wounds in proximity.” You swabbed the blood, placing it in a bag and handing it over to an assistant. “Send it to the lab for testing.” Redness on her neck caught your eye. You raised your camera, clicking a photo. “Thin, uneven bruise on her neck. Consistent with a kind of chain.”
"Tell me, doc," His lips pinched out of sympathy for the girl, "do you ever, you know, feel squeamish when examining bodies?"
Your look was quizzical. Some may call it incredulous. "Examining bodies and crime scenes are my job, in order to bring about justice and closure, if I can't look at a body, I don't know why I'm here." You tilted her head to the right and left. "Small, oval, yellowing bruises surrounding her mouth and jaw, reminiscient of fingerprints. She was grabbed, by the jaw, rate of blooming suggests the force was exerted by a man." You moved further down, checking the tears in the lace. "Mud tracks, tears, particulates in scrape wounds suggest she was dragged, backwards, this was where she was left, likely dead." Further examination of the body led to you pulling a hot pink synthetic fibre from the hairs at her nape. "She was choked by handcuffs."
"The... pink and fuzzy kind?" Dick blinked. That was a new one.
"Do sex handcuffs usually come in different variations?"
"That's not what I— nevermind." He laughed nervously. "But we know cause of death now, right?"
"We do." You looked up. "Strangulation. It's likely that the suspect was one of her regulars, a sexual affair gone wrong."
"You make a solid guess, but leave the detective work to me." He laughed, then gestured at your gloves. "Pretty festive, huh?" The latex was littered with fine red glitter.
You were early into the BHPD's lab the next morning, examining the pictures of the body. You couldn't wrap your mind around a few details. Luckily, Dick was first in the door with coffee. "Morning, doc." He glanced at the photos. "You usually wait until I get here to start the homicide investigation."
"I wanted to get an early start." You glanced to him. "Why would a call girl decide to walk out without a coat or jacket to cover herself?"
"Never took you as one for purity culture." He quipped, handing you a coffee. "As weird as Blüdhaven is."
"I'm not a purist." You shot back indignantly, pinning up more photos. "It's a carnal human need to have intercourse, it helps balance the endorphins in your system, sex is a useful tool to help you achieve optimum efficiency in everyday life."
He smiled to himself, nope, professional discussion. He schooled his expression. "You're saying she was unwillingly led out."
"My team found gunpowder residue on her back, from a gun recently fired before her passing." You passed him the file with the photo. He took a good look.
"The attacker had a gun, attempted a kidnapping, she fought back and was strangled with a pair of sex cuffs." He mused, nodding. "Good work, doc. Any DNA results?"
"The test on the blood should come back with your prime suspect." You replied, stopping to sip your coffee. "We found some disturbed skin under her nails as well. Hopefully it'll turn up with a match."
"Great work." He grinned. "Never knew you were so sex positive."
"We wouldn't have libido if there was no function to it." You answered, staring straight into his eyes. He had an urge to tug his collar. "You seem very reserved about this case, Detective. Are you not sex positive?"
He tripped over his thoughts. "I'm definitely sex positive, don't get me wrong, have it if you want, I just never feel the need or the urge, just... once every few months."
Now your eyebrows were raised. "You struck me as a man with a high sex drive."
"I work homicide and my, y’know, night job. You could assume my drive isn't incredibly high." He shrugged, sipping his coffee and glancing to the board, wrinkling his nose. "I'm not a stripper kind of person."
Your expression when you turned to him made his heart drop into his stomach. You were planning something mischievous, that's what that look meant. He couldn't help but wonder what went through your mind sometimes. "We should go to the strip club. To... interview suspects."
“Sounds like there’s an agenda behind that.” He folded his arms, but you just gave him an innocent look, like you weren’t planning anything. You probably were.
You looked like a cat that got the cream when you both entered the strip club. He’d never seen you so happy to be anywhere but the lab and your own apartment before. “You’re very smiley.” He commented lightly, rolling his shoulders back. There were a lot of girls eyeing him up, while on the laps of rich men wearing suits and flinging around money. Many had rings on their fingers. His nose wrinkled. “Why’re you so happy?”
“Because a strip club is the perfect place to experiment with a man’s innate desire to procreate.” You grinned, talking in his ear. “It’s an experiment. Every one of these girls have a separate hypothesis: that a certain physical aspect of themselves will attract the attention of a man. If their hypothesis is correct, the conclusion is that they receive both validation and money to support their finances. Which is why the most common age for strippers to be is ages 21-24 in Blüdhaven; they’re looking to pay off debts.”
“And?”
“And their youth appeals to a man’s need for validation. Societal standards has made the concept of youth so enviable that it feeds on insecurity.”
“You think I need validation?”
“No,” You said vehemently, “I think you need to release your sexual frustrations.”
He frowned, spluttering over his own words. He had sex. He wasn’t a prude or anything, he just never had time to… y’know. “I’m not— hey, I’m not sexually frustrated.” A hand stroking his other shoulder almost made him jump, turning to see a woman dressed in black lingerie, eyeing him like he was some kind of snack. He swallowed hard.
“Hey, handsome.” She purred, running a finger down his jaw. His eyes were firmly on her face, which did surprise you. His self-restraint was incredible. “Private room for three?” He immediately held up his badge, her smile dropped, so did the demeanour. “You’re BHPD?”
“Detective Richard Grayson, I’m with the BHPD’s forensic scientist, ma’am, can I ask you a couple of questions about your coworker, Sandra Hewitt?”
“Honey?” She asked, brow furrowing slightly. “Thanks her stage name— she’s been missing, is she ok?”
“She’s dead, ma’am.” He guided her to sit as a gasp left her mouth, covering it with her hand.
She was stammering, shaking. “But she— nothing was wrong, she was happy. She was seein’ a guy, talking about marrying him.” That caught both your interests.
“Victims of homicide are most likely to have been killed by someone close to them. A spouse, a partner.” You muttered, she heard it.
“Murder—?”
Dick shot you a look, great going. “I’m going to ask you to focus…” He left a pause for her name.
She swallowed. “Holly. That’s my real name, not my stage name.”
He gave her a reassuring smile, hands in his lap. “Holly. You’re doing great, just… can you give me anything about this guy? A name, description?”
“She called him Billy.” She replied quickly, her eyes widening, details piecing together. “He was rich, real rich, gave her expensive sets and diamonds. She went to go see him last week, never came back.”
Dick held up a photo to you the next day, of a good-looking man in his late thirties. “This is William Turner, nicknamed Billy, several welfare checks conducted at his residence. CCTV at the Scarlet Lounge shows him coming regularly and spending time with our vic. They were seen leaving together with, guess what?” He slapped down another photo, “Pink, fuzzy handcuffs.”
You peered at the photos. “You can also see a concealed firearm.”
“Exactly. We have a BOLO out for his car and a warrant for his arrest.” He smirked, smug that the case was solved so quick. “If we’re right, the skin under Sandra’s nails should match with his DNA.”
“Well done, Detective Grayson.” You smiled, sorting through the evidence. “Are you working your night shift today?”
“Unfortunately, yeah, but we can have celebratory wine tomorrow.” He grinned, patting your shoulder. “Great work, doc. At least we can bring justice to one stripper, huh?”
Growing up a trust fund baby meant Dick always had good wine. You were sat, legs crossed, on his couch, both of you sipping his merlot. His lips were rosy from it, laughing at something you said. “Why are you so keen on me getting laid, doc?”
“Because I refuse to believe that you receive no gratification or at least limited pleasure from a sexual encounter.” You shot back with a short laugh, wine almost sloshing over the edge of your glass with the shaking of your hand. He steadied it before your giggling ended up with his rug being stained.
“Hey, I receive gratification, or pleasure, or whatever you call it, in fact, women are pretty pleased with how I handle sex.” Geez. Sounded like overcompensating now that he said it, he wanted to cringe.
You shrugged. “Well, I hypothesise that you exercise self-restraint by focusing entirely on the female’s pleasure, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing—”
“So, what, you want me to… let someone else be the giver?” He asked, scratching the back of his neck. Somehow, a tingle in his stomach told him you were going somewhere. “Am I a science experiment to you, doc?”
“If you’re volunteering.” You replied, setting your glass down. “What if someone took an entirely scientific approach to your pleasure? It might end up being enjoyable.”
“You must be fun in bed.”
“I‘ve been told I’m proficient in bed, and I use my knowledge of nerves and the human body.”
“Alright, then.” He put down his glass of wine. “I’ll… be your test subject.” He half-expected it to not work. Whatever the ‘scientific approach’, as you coined it, was.
He did not expect to be swept into an open-mouthed kiss. Your hand was cupping the side of his neck, thumb pressing into a spot that felt like you were unwinding his body, his own hand holding your thigh helplessly as you shifted yourself to straddle him. Your lips were moving like you owned him, demanding his be pliable, the wine from your tongue flooding his when it pushed past his lips. Your other hand invaded his hair, tugging the hair at the bottom of his scalp, eliciting a soft whine from his throat, swallowed by your mouth.
“That was your lesser occipital nerve,” You murmured, all he could manage was a hum when your lips replaced your thumb, pressing on that spot on his neck that made his hands grip you tighter and his hips bucking upward. “That’s your vagus nerve reacting.” The murmur was sweet in his ear, punctuated by your soft sucking on his skin. His breathing was heavy, eyelashes fluttering, hand coming to cup the back of your head, holding your hip and rolling your cunt down onto his quickly-hardening dick through his trousers.
Maybe you were onto something.
“Fuuuck, doc,” He panted, desperately pulling the buttons of your blouse open as your hand snuck down, sliding over his chest, stomach, squeezing his thigh.
“Sciatic nerve,” You breathed, then shifting your hand up to cup his dick and squeeze, his head falling back against the couch cushions, a deep groan leaving his mouth. “Maybe,” You pressed another kiss to his— his vagus nerve, right, “dual stimulation is the most effective.”
His cheeks were rosy, flushed, you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d considered modelling at all. He was conventionally attractive, after all. Your hands worked open his shirt, took off his badge, buckle, unzipping his trousers and sunk to the floor, on your knees.
“The inner thigh is one of the most sensitive parts of the body, bar the groin,” You informed like he wasn’t painfully hard, sliding down his boxers with careful hands. His cock was embarrassingly attentive for you, his hips twitching when your finger traced a vein in admiration. “Impressive length, Grayson. And girth.”
He laughed between shallow breaths. “Dick, sweetheart.”
“I know what I’m touching.”
“Yeah, no, I meant call me that. My name.”
“Right.” You nodded, licking his tip, he swore loudly, “Dick.” Your mouth closed around the head of his cock, then you lifted off and licked up his length, up the vein you traced, fisting his base while your saliva slicked his tip.
He was unusually vocal. More than you were expecting, trying not to push your head down, all the while eliciting whimpers and praise. From the angle you were at, you could see the expanse of his body, his broad shoulders, well-built arms, chest, and abdominal region. He was well groomed, shaved, powerful legs that you could examine clearly from between them.
Huh.
He was so close. You could tell, from the pitchy quality of his voice and how he had his hand pushed into his hair, red from his neck to his cheeks. “Yeah, doc, baby, just like that, fuck—!” He came in your mouth, which you did drink up happily, it tasted somewhat salty.
An amazing taste, actually.
It never occurred to either of you that HR would frown heavily upon two assigned partners having sex with each other as a science experiment. It had to violate about ten department rules, but… what management didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, right?
Dick tore his gaze from the ceiling to look at you. You, on your knees, blouse half open, lacy bra staring him in his face, back up to your lips, where you scooped some of his come off your chin with your index, putting it in your mouth, licking it clean.
His mouth dropped open. He could have come from that alone. You weren’t willing to give him a break, though, cause you were already pulling your trousers down, and your mismatched panties. On brand for you, somehow. “Should I… get you ready?” He asked, biting his lip in anticipation and concern.
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m ready.” You replied quickly, which had him raising an eyebrow. “I know my body.” That would mean… you got turned on from the making out and sucking him off. Wow. Hard not to get an ego boost from that—
Fuuuck, you weren’t willing to sinking down onto him, warm, slick pussy enveloping him and making his head spin one more time. His choked moan made you smile, even though you let out a deep sigh from your mouth at him filling you, his mouth covering yours, coaxing a soft whine from your lips and a sloppy kiss. “What’s the — mmh — choice behind this position — shit — doc?” He asked, cupping your cheek, keeping his mouth on yours so he didn’t let out more embarrassingly loud noises as you started to move up and down his cock.
“Optimum,” Kiss, “pleasure for both parties involved,” You breathed as his hands took over, rocking you in tandem with your breaths against his lips. Your hands took the liberty to trace his body, the hard and the soft ridges, the swell of his pectoral muscles and the strength of his thighs. “Your body.”
“What about it, sweetheart?” He moaned, a little incoherent from the feel of your cunt.
“It’s magnificent.” You kissed his neck, making his jaw go slack as you, again, teased the vagus nerve, where a small red bruise was forming. “Like a marble statue.” That was an ego boost for sure. He, however, focused on taking off your bra, pressing his face between your tits, kissing your slightly damp skin, thumb pressing on your clit as he sped up your rocking, his mouth meeting yours once more. You took his bottom lip between your teeth, tugging, your pussy fluttering around him.
Yeah, that did it.
He was coming hard, filling you up, his head falling to your shoulder, flicking at your clit one more time to push you over the edge, which it did, you moaned, your hand in his hair as he kissed your shoulder, nails raking down his back, leaving red trails. They fucking should.
After the waves coursing through one body to another subsided, he took in a deep breath, trying to make up for the air he lost when you were taking apart his carefully cultivated self-restraint. “Are you alright?” You asked, never taking your eyes off him. He couldn’t help his laugh.
“You were onto something, sweetheart.” He kissed up your neck. “Cause m’not done.”
© srenique, all rights reserved. do not repost, copy, translate, or take inspiration from this work without permission. do not feed into ai.
