Not Safe for Work
— Pairing: Robert Robertson x Coworker fem!Reader —
* Read Part 2 here *
Description: You send some risqué pictures to Robert before going to an office party together. You both end up leaving early — but not before making good use of a spare empty conference room.
4.0k — 18+ minors DNI — Content: tame sexting/nudes, alcohol, dirty talk (in character, I promise), fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), semi-public
Note: i’ve been obsessed with dispatch recently (need all of them fr) but specifically robert has me banging on my chest like a gorilla, so here’s my small contribution to the robert x reader fanfic community — if anyone is interested in a potential part two, let me know :)
The invite had outlined what you were to wear. Black cocktail attire, straightforward enough. Surely, you could choose between the few options you dug from your closet. But decisiveness had never been your strong suit — and that sounded boring anyway.
Picking up your phone from the nightstand, you begin to send your coworker and for-all-intents-and-purposes-casual-date for the evening a text.
“Hey, need your help”
After a few moments, your phone vibrates.
“Yeah?”
“Help me pick, going between three options”
You stand in front of your floor length mirror, phone in hand with the camera opened, dressed in option number one. Sleek, elegant, and decently modest despite its form fit. You posed slightly, but the image was innocent enough. You hit send.
There was only a slight pause before Robert thumbs-upped the picture, quickly followed by another text.
“Mhm. Are there others?”
A smile made its way across your face at his response, a bit eager. A good sign.
You quickly slip on your second dress. Not much different than the first, your photography skills were going to have to do the work this time.
You turn your camera front-facing, taking a picture from the neck down where you stood, showcasing the dress and how well you fit into it.
A longer pause on his end. Typing bubble pops up. Then disappears. Then reappears.
“Turn around.”
You let out a heady sigh as something lower in your stomach twists with want. You were the one trying to get him flustered, making all this effort when apparently all he needed to do to return the favor was send two fucking words. Your skin was heated, buzzing.
You bring your phone up over your shoulder to capture the back, including the slope of your hips and where the length of the dress sat high on your thighs. You send the picture as he had asked, eyes trained on the screen as you wait for his response. Your phone vibrates again.
“You look beautiful. But try the third on.”
You began chewing on your bottom lip to distract from the giddy feeling in your chest. God, you were so fucked.
The third option had purposefully been saved for last. You slide the dress over your frame, also black. Formal, definitely tight, and definitely short. Truthfully, near too scandalous for a company party.
With your pulse high in your throat, you move to your bed this time, lying down on the sheets causing the dress to ride up significantly. You don’t fix it. Bringing your phone camera up above you to take the picture. Arching your back so that a glimpse of your lace underwear peeks from between your legs and ensuring that the cut of the neckline was deep from that angle. You take a moment to examine your work. Too much? You question, yet you almost don’t care.
You had been around Robert enough over the past few months to realize that, unless you were completely delusional, the feeling was mutual. You got along well, you would even go so far to say you were good friends by now. Casual flirting here and there, nothing too intimate, and nothing you hadn’t seen him do with others at the office.
But it wasn’t just that. Any time he was close, you could feel it. This tension.
From leaning over your computer to assist on a call, to sharing a booth during team bonding at the bar on occasional Friday nights. Or any time he touched you — playful jabs, reassuring gestures, a hand briefly grazing your waist as he moved past in the break room. All innocent enough on paper, but devastating in person.
Before joining SDN, you had chalked up the notion of immediate chemistry upon meeting someone to lustful romantics being full of shit.
But, oh, were you wrong. And it hit like a drug.
Thinking back to all the times you had been this close to sending a text that said, “I really want you to fuck me” during late, drunken hours of the night, this approach was perhaps tasteful in comparison.
So, with bated breath, you hit send.
And…
He doesn’t respond.
Fuck. It’s been well over ten minutes. You immediately begin thinking up an appropriate apology.
“Sorry, I got carried away.”
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
“I don’t want to make things weird between us.”
“I clearly can’t read the fucking room, I —”
*Bzzt*
Your heart stutters as your phone jolts against your palm.
There weren’t any words. Instead, he had sent a single picture of his own.
The image was from the jaw down, leaning casually against his headboard. Clearly in the middle of getting ready himself, his white dress shirt was half unbuttoned at the collar and untucked at the waistband. You could see the faint trail of hair leading down from his navel underneath to where his hand rested low on his stomach. His belt was undone. And the top of his suit pants was strained just enough to show what you had done to him.
You were speechless. And warm, really warm. Your thighs press together where you sat on the edge of the bed, eyes tracing over every detail. Heart racing and nerves ablaze. Suddenly, it was real. Not a question, not an inkling. The proof sat in your hand, hot and heavy, followed by a complimentary shot of adrenaline straight through your veins.
“Noted. Option three then?” You send back.
Teasing. Casual. Cool. As if that exchange didn’t have you completely and utterly wrecked. Like, somewhere along the way, your respect and appreciation for him hadn’t turned into something more depraved. A raw need that you couldn’t keep to yourself anymore.
*Bzzt*
“Good choice.”
*Bzzt*
“Be by to pick you up at eight.”
Your head spins. You were so done for. Then, just when you think you had survived.
Robert saved image to camera roll.
He fucking saved it. Your imagination starts tumbling over itself thinking up scenarios for when that might be used. All of which had your skin tingling as you tugged on the hem of your dress. Suddenly bashful, as if he could see you through the phone screen.
Walking to your vanity, you start applying your makeup in a haze, hiding the flush spread across your skin. Hair followed — pushing pins in each strand to keep yourself together. A metaphor, really. The rest of your routine was a blur. Your focus was instead spent anticipating the night ahead.
* * * * *
He picked you up, punctual as ever. Conversation came easy as you slipped in the passenger seat, despite the exchange just an hour earlier. It was familiar, natural banter. That was the thing about Robert. He was a professional, respectful and controlled — but he was also warm, grounded. A combination that made him magnetic without even trying.
“So, any etiquette I should be made aware of?”
For most circumstances which you hadn’t been acquainted, Robert usually showed you the ropes. And “office party” could mean wildly different things depending on where you were employed.
“Eh, not really.” He said with a shrug, one hand lazily perched on top of the steering wheel as he pulled up to the familiar office building. It looked a bit different after-hours, you thought.
“Maybe stay away from the appetizers — they look better than they taste. And just don’t, like, punch the CEO and I think you’re good.”
His tone was dry, playful as his eyes flicked to yours. You chuckle.
“Shit, well, there goes my party trick.”
A laugh rumbles from his chest as he puts the car in park, getting out of the driver’s seat to come to your side.
During the half-second after opening your door, his gaze flicks over your frame — so quick, almost like it was involuntary — before returning to your face, offering you his hand.
“Guess we’ll have to find you a new one, then.”
You let him pull you up, both of you standing closer than usual. Close enough that his cologne slips under your guard; understated and masculine. You smile at the gesture, adjusting the bottom of your dress with the opposite hand as you stand.
“Thanks.”
He nods gently, turning to walk with you towards the entrance. Cars zip by, headlights streaking your vision. As you cross the street, his hand came to rest on the small of your back. Subtle, protective without being overbearing.
You drag in a long breath of the brisk night air before you enter, trying to remind yourself of the sensation. Cooled, calm.
Inside was buzzing with energy. Superheroes, reformed villains, faculty and staff alike filled the large main floor lounge. Someone’s playlist was fed through the intercom, the beat echoing in your chest. Warm, low lights were haphazardly strung to the walls in an endearing attempt at ambience.
The tension in your shoulders eases up, realizing that the expectations were casual. One could let loose for a little under the pretense that no one talks about it the following Monday. Or, at least, not to their face.
Robert watched you, observing as your gaze flitted around the room recognizing a few familiar faces, most new. His shoulder brushes yours, leaning in to speak.
“Gonna grab us some drinks, any requests?”
His words came out low and gravelly against your skin. You wondered if he knew what it did to you.
“Thanks, uh, yeah, I’ll just have what you’re having.” You offer an appreciative smile before he left for the makeshift bar on the opposite side of the room.
The plausibility of you making it through the evening was dwindling fast. The drinks would help. A lie, you knew it too.
Minutes later, Robert had returned close to your side with two glasses of Whiskey; his neat, yours mixed with some coke on ice, how he knew you usually ordered it. You wrap your hands around its chill to ground yourself, watching as he took a sip. He held your stare as you followed suit.
“It’s good. Strong.” You punctuate your remark with a short cough, the burn lingering on the back of your tongue.
Robert clears his throat as he brings the glass back down. “Believe it or not, I didn’t order doubles.”
“Bartender must have a thing for you.” You tease.
“Oh, definitely.” He purred.
Your focus flicks to the bar where Chase was making drinks, rolling his eyes as he handed off another round of whatever the fuck he mixed together and deemed close enough to the original order. Noticing you, he gives a small wink; the trademark gesture of a wingman.
And before you could react, you were whisked away by a friend to the dance floor. You glanced back at Robert who seemed more than content to watch, nodding you ahead.
Shortly after some quick catching up and another drink, you circled back around to him. Cheeks rosy and breath still a little short.
“Having fun?” He asked, amused by the state of you.
“Yeah, need a breather.”
You go for more of your drink to cool down, but the clink of ice against the glass reminds you it was empty.
Robert doesn’t hesitate, lifting his own drink to your mouth instead. Your lips catch the straw as you take a sip. You try not to think too hard about what just happened as his arm comes back down to his side.
“You know,” You move in closer, reaching up to smooth out his collar as an excuse to stay there. “You could come dance too.” You hum as your palm moved down to brace against his chest, tapping your pointer finger against one of his shirt buttons. His eyes flicked down to your hand before looking back up, intrigued.
Never usually this brave, the alcohol was slowly chipping away at both of your restraint. And neither of you were complaining.
“Mm, what happened to taking a breather?” He cocked an eyebrow at you.
You roll your eyes in agreement, smiling. “Wanna come?”
“Yeah, sure.”
You turn to head towards the front entrance, but his hand finds your waist — stopping you, physically and mentally, in your tracks.
“They usually smoke out front. This way.” He punctuated the pivot with a soft squeeze above your hip, nodding towards the hallway.
The party muffles as he leads you both to the other end of the hall into an empty conference room. With a precise click, the heavy door shuts behind you. The bass still faintly thrums under your feet as you move towards the table in the center of the room, taking a seat on the edge. Robert follows behind you comfortably, stopping to stand in front of where you sat. More space between you and him than you wanted, admittedly.
“Better?” He asks, appraising.
“Much.” You let out a sigh in reprieve, “Are you sure we’re allowed in here?”
“Probably not. But the way things are going out there, I’m guessing HR will have bigger issues to worry about.”
You snort, reaching up to adjust the pins in your hair. Compounded by the loud environment, the hairstyle had become suffocating. A pin slips into your fingers, but not the one you were looking for. A minute of searching later and your arms start to feel heavy.
“Need help?” He notices.
You concede. “Ugh. Yeah, maybe.”
He takes a few steps closer, standing between your legs. You settle for holding on to the edge of the table, dangling slightly forward to give him easier access. Despite your helpful posture, he leans in anyway. One of his hands tangles in the hair at the nape of your neck, bracing himself, the other searching for the pin that was bothering you. You could’ve come undone from that alone.
His face moves closer, trying to get a better look. Before registering it, your head tilts to the side in response, baring more of your neck to him. The body’s version of a freudian slip. You feel his breathing stutter in recognition.
“Got it.” He whispers into your neck as the stubborn pin slides loose, clacking softly against the table where he sets it.
Yet, he doesn’t move.
Leaning into you, not quite drunk but plenty tipsy. Enough where inhibitions slipped and reality hit slower and harder at the same time. His face finds the crook of your neck and stays there, breath brushing your skin before he spoke.
“You…smell really good.” Soft. Affectionate. A little too honest.
His lips grazed the side of your neck, causing a noticeable hitch in the back of your throat. Testing, but not giving in just yet. Your thighs tense against each other. Involuntary. Shameful only because of how little it takes.
His hands gently find solid ground on your thighs, pulling back from the slope of your shoulder. Now face to face and mere inches from something neither of you could come back from.
“Can I try something?” He asks lowly, gaze flicking down to your lips momentarily in wait.
“Mhm.” God, yes.
But, he doesn’t lean in.
Instead, you feel his hands, calloused and warm, run down your thighs as you watch him lower down on to his knees.
The act catches you off guard. It makes your stomach flip and heat coil deep as you slightly stance your legs apart on instinct. Grateful for the access, his touch slips just barely under the line of black fabric.
“Still okay?” His eyes find yours, admiring but dark around the rim with want.
“Yes.” Your answer is breathy, earnest.
He exhaled like he’d been holding it the entire evening.
“Lean back on the table.”
You do, bracing your elbows slightly behind you. Below, but somehow still the one in control, he begins to push the hem of your dress further up, his thumbs rubbing slow circles by the laced edge of your underwear. You watched him move closer, taking his time placing soft, hungry kisses up the inside of your thigh. The stubble along his jaw grazed sensitive skin, sending a shiver down your back.
“Lift your hips.”
You follow his direction; it felt automatic, inevitable. He was the only one you could see yourself surrendering to like this. Earned trust and innate desire intertwined to make one hell of an aphrodisiac. His fingers hooked under the lace adorning your hips, pulling them down — almost reverent. Watching your reaction before dropping them gently on the floor.
He swiped his finger through the need evidently pooled between your legs.
“Someone came prepared.” He remarks, only a bit smug and mostly turned on.
You choke at the brief friction. “Been that way since you sent that picture.”
Your admission made something tight and hungry clench in his gut. He pulls his hand away, moving his mouth closer to where you needed him. His nose brushes once against your clit.
“Yeah? Wanna know what I was doing when you sent yours?” He uttered, nipping further up the inside of your thigh before soothing it with his tongue.
You gasp, followed by a strangled hum. He took that as a yes.
“Definitely caught my attention with the first one,”
His kisses turned open-mouthed, greedy. Roaming the outer edge of your heat before pulling back enough to continue his answer.
“Saw the next, knew I was fucked,”
His hands trailed down your legs, keeping them open.
“Was hard before you even sent the last one.” He exhaled roughly — as if just being reminded of it was torturous.
“Then what?”
You wanted to hear him say it.
“I undid my belt, then the waistband,” His voice was low, hypnotic.
“And after I sent my own picture in retaliation,”
He brings his thumb to your clit, tracing slow, measured circles. Taking his time, mouth still agonizingly close. You whine impatiently, but you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
“Started stroking myself through these pants, thinking about how I wanted to do this,”
Cutting himself off, his tongue finally makes contact — flattening against where you ached for him. Swirling and tasting like a man starved simply because nothing else had satisfied.
You moan and your hands tangle through his hair in an act of gratitude. He pauses, letting out a hum against you, making you squirm before he began moving again.
He continues, adding pressure from the tip of his tongue between expansive strokes up your folds. Then, he made sure to pay more attention to your neglected clit. Offering small, deliberate flicks before softly taking it between his lips, sucking, earning another sound of approval from you.
He didn’t rush, savoring every jolt he sent up your spine. Memorizing how to build you up before taking you apart. His hands held onto your inner thighs, squeezing in promise; going to take care of you.
Robert, a proponent of fairness, made sure his mouth eventually found your throbbing center. It tightened desperately, begging for contact.
He pushes into you with his tongue, the act also causing his nose to press up under your now swollen clit, making you shudder. You tug gently on his hair, grinding down onto him like you couldn’t help yourself. His grip tightens, and this time he was the one groaning with need.
Wanting to make you earn it, he pulls back and opts for more teasing and sloppy kisses against where you shamelessly dripped for him. And, fuck, something had to give.
You move forward, holding the sides of his face as you gently bring his gaze up to yours. Somehow, he looked even hotter. Hair mussed and composure slipping into a more primal, focused control. Dark, blown pupils saying more than words ever could. With a hand under his chin, you urge him back up and to your mouth. Smoothly he follows, meeting his lips with yours.
Messy. Perfect.
You grant him entrance as his tongue traced the seam of your lips, tasting yourself as he moved deeper. The kiss was searing — the kind that comes from months of pent up tension and second guessing. His teeth lightly tug on your bottom lip as his hands roamed over your hips, pulling you closer. You could feel him, taut against his pants and pressing into you. An act that was as much self serving as it was a confession.
But, right now, it was not about him.
He wanted you. Not for what you offered in return, but for the simple fact that you made his chest tighten and head swirl. Because you slipped in his thoughts day in and day out. Because every second spent with you was more than worth it, filthy or innocent. Nothing owed, everything given for the sake of making you understand, and possibly himself too, that it was always you.
His dominant hand glides up your thigh towards your core again, drawing out the suspense as he planted his mouth across your neck — tender bites overwritten by rough kisses.
His middle and ring fingers line up to your entrance, waiting. Without wasting a second, you rut yourself onto them — and that was more than enough proof for him to continue. He sunk in slow, stretching you out deliciously.
“Fuck — ah,” A tremble in your legs followed as he presses deeper, curling up into you. He watched, enrapt, as your head lolls forward, revealing he’d found the spot he was looking for.
“That it?” He asked, lips pulled into a small smirk.
“Mhm,” You respond, the noise halfway between a whimper and a moan.
He makes sure each drive of his fingers lands there. Precise and devastating. You tighten around him, signaling you were close. But he decides to keep you there, just to see how you would react.
Mind and body on the edge of surrender — you don’t know why, but you couldn’t let yourself go just yet. Like he had to be the one to say it. Like you needed proof it was all real.
His thumb comes up to your clit, swiping back and forth. Pressing just enough to ground you between each relentless thrust of his other hand into that spot that made your vision blur.
“Don’t hold back, want to feel it.”
He breathes out the command while placing a quick, gentle peck against your temple. Having no right to be as sweet as it was given the current context.
With one last nip to your throat, the taut coil he had patiently built began to snap. And you start to come. Hard.
The sensation was overwhelming, pleasure near reaching ecstasy. His name followed by a string of moans poured from your throat — the sound of it, raw and earnest, only sprawled him on further. Your core clenched around his fingers incessantly while he pressed as deep as you could take him.
Your thighs involuntarily jerk closed around his forearm. But he doesn’t stop — fully intent on helping you ride it out as you quickly learned how long an orgasm could actually be. His breathing was heavy as he watched, focused. Feeling the rhythm of your core eventually slow around his fingers, muscles lax and blissed out.
Before overstimulating bordered on painful, he gently pulled his fingers from you. Slick heat dripped down off the lip of the table followed by a shiver down your back at the loss of sensation.
The comedown made everything seem fuzzy around the edges. Completely spent, you look to Robert, still using him as your tether to reality.
And he takes it all in, basking in the state of you. Noting your inhales as they turned into exhales and how your bottom lip was blushed from where his teeth had been.
Gently, he helped you to your feet. You reach out, bracing your hands against his lower abdomen, knees wobbling momentarily as he helped bring the hem of your dress back over your bottom half. Unrushed, he moved to the table to clean up the mess he had made.
Finally, you watch as he bends to the floor, picking up your lace underwear discarded from earlier and tucking them safely into his suit pocket. A shared secret that made your cheeks burn.
“Come on, let’s get you out of here.”
Supporting you against his frame, he led you both to the back exit — away from what was sure to end in a lot of questions neither one of you felt like answering at the moment. His thumb brushed carefully back and forth over the small of your back as you walked, like you were something sacred.
Something he planned to keep.
