"You know, I've never really liked you, Curtis. You're such a pain in the ass."
She hisses, between popping open buttons and roaming her hands over the taller woman's curves.
"Well, same to you, Willows. But you gotta admit, your ass is all hot for that sort of pain, huh?"
She emphasizes her point by grabbing onto her opposite's firm backside, hard.
"Damn you", Catherine gasps, then swallows whatever else she wants to say in a moan.
They pull, tug, tumble back into the desk. Catherine doesn't bother that she will have bruises tomorrow on the back of her thighs for she knows she'll have a different kind of bruises somewhere else as well. And she likes it.
Strong hands grab onto her legs, digging into the sore spots that have collided with her furniture before lifting her up, sitting her on top of that very table, in between pictures of her daughter, on top of files she's been working through.
Neither of them gives a damn. All they care about is the increasing heat, fuelled by angry passion.
It had started as teasing, a game of who will budge first. Now it turned into a whole new game, one of who will make the other scream first.
Unwilling to give in, unwilling to hold back, they let the situation escalate. The fact that they're at work -blinds down, door locked, nevertheless in earshot of the fellow staff- excites them.
Nimble hands move down to a zipper, inside of pants, into wetness. Sofia moans. Catherine smirks.
Then she is pulled against the detective, whose hands travel down the same path, slip inside of her before she even realizes what's happening.
The game of power quickly spirals into one of passion, need, hunger. They move, stimultaniously, as if they'd done so for the past twenty years.
Closer, ever closer they come, yet neither ready to let go. You go first, Catherine's eyes challenge. I'll stand my ground, Sofia's reply.
On the edge, for longer than any of them has ever experienced, they dance, wait, pant, hold back.
Fingers curl, move faster, harder, against wet flesh. Sensing that they won't last much longer, Sofia moves forward, keeping eye contact until the last breath that separates them, then presses her mouth onto parted, trembling lips.
Tongues meet in a frenzy and that is when they explode, together, not caring that neither really won this battle, as it has long stopped being a competition.
They swallow their moans in a hungry kiss, more out of instinct than a concious move to silence each other.
Their foreheads touch. Eyes lock. Breaths slow.
"I still don't like you" Catherine declares, needing to state her superiority.
"Likewise Willows", the younger woman counters, accepting the words for now.
With gentle deciciveness she buttons up her lover's blouse and pants, then does so with her own clothes.
"Always a pleasure working with you", she smirks, unlocks the door and leaves.