A/N: I wrote this a couple of weeks ago for a friend. Enjoy!
"Touch me." He whispers gruffly to her in the semi-darkness. Light from the capitol building spills in through the office window, casting a dim glow over them. Usually she loves the half-shadows it casts over his office after the sun sets, but tonight she fears it will get them caught.
"Someone might see us," She whispers back, glancing nervously over her shoulder at the door. It is open just enough so that any curious person who might happen to be passing by would have an excellent view of what they're doing. And what a view they would have. Gillian is crouched on the floor in front of Cal who sits completely naked on a chair in the corner of his office, his cock half hard as he waits in anticipation for her hands on him.
"Nobody's around, luv." He murmurs. Still, she hesitates for a moment – and takes one last nervous look at the door – before wrapping her hand around him and moving it slowly up and down his shaft.
"Yeah," He breathes, eyes closing and head falling against the back of the chair as her mouth joins her hand. Her tongue swirls around the sensitive tip of him and she can feel him thread his fingers into her hair and tense underneath her, trying not to buck into her mouth.
His hand curls around the back of her neck, fingertips slipping across her skin and she feels an anticipatory warmth growing in her abdomen at the thought of all the other things those fingers have done and will do again – hopefully very, very soon.
"Gill," He groans, carefully lifting up her head with a hand on her chin. She releases him from her mouth and looks up at him with eyes that glimmer, reflecting the light streaming though the window.
He stands and takes her hand, helping her up and twirling her around, looking for the zipper on her dress. When he doesn't find it where he's expecting to he frowns and grasps her hips, pulling her to him and nipping the back of her neck. The combination of Cal's mouth on the back of her sensitive neck and the feeling of him against her backside make Gillian shiver.
"How do I get this off you, luv?" He asks; voice a low, almost feral growl.
"It's here…" She makes a point of rubbing her body against his as she turns in his arms, guiding him to the zipper on the side of her dress.
"Tricky," he mutters. He makes quick work of the zipper and continues to slide the dress slowly down her body, purposely ghosting over her breasts and hips as he does so. The fabric ripples and pools delicately at her feet and she steps gingerly out of the dress, slipping her shoes off as well. From there Cal is suddenly in front of her and she gasps in surprise as he takes her into his arms and lifts her up, causing her to reflexively wrap her legs around his waist.
"Where are we going?" She asks, throwing her arms around his neck and clinging to him when he starts walking.
"Desk," he answers, voice curt with the effort of carrying her. But in spite of the fact that his back will probably make him regret it later, he only sets her down for a moment to carelessly sweep everything but his computer off his desk – sending crucial financial documents and week's worth of paperwork and research fluttering haplessly to the floor – before hoisting her up again and setting her down on the surface he just cleared.
The desk is a bit taller than he had anticipated and for a moment Cal fears that his plan – hasty as it is – might not work, but then Gillian shifts a little to find her balance and he is relieved to find that everything still lines up, though he does have to lean up slightly in order to kiss her properly.
While his tongue explores her mouth, his fingers tease her clit through the fabric of her underwear. Gillian moans and suddenly Cal is acutely aware of how painfully hard he is, but he's not sure that she's ready for him yet. He tests her by slipping a finger into her panties, circling her entrance slowly. She wriggles and groans, bucking her hips towards him, searching for more contact. Cal finally breaks their kiss and starts to lick and suckle at the pulse point on her neck as he appeases her by sliding, not one, but two fingers into her, finding her more ready than he had anticipated. Gillian welcomes the friction, thrusting herself against his hand.
Cal moves up and away from her neck to her shoulder and takes the straps of her bra firmly in his teeth, sliding them as far down her arms as he can. His free hand moves around to her back and fiddles with the clasps, but he quickly finds that it's impossible to unhook them with just one hand. As much as he hates to deprive her of the contact, Cal really has no choice but to remove his fingers from her in order to remove her bra. Gillian groans in frustration, still unsatisfied even when Cal takes a hardened nipple into his mouth, scraping his teeth against it in a way that is both deliciously pleasant and painful at the same time. In protest of Cal removing and ceasing the wonderful and long-awaited movements of his hand, Gillian shimmies her way out of her underwear and grinds herself against his cock, teasing him with her wetness and grinning smugly when he bucks his hips.
"Bloody hell," he gasps. At this point he thinks that he's almost shaking with the effort it takes to control himself; he's been thinking about her, about this, all day (he even dreamed of her last night.) and he doesn't think he can wait any longer. "Gill, do you need me to…"
She looks at him in confusion, and he makes a vague and vulgar gesture to indicate what he's talking about.
"Oh," she nods in realization, "No, I'm good."
Then, without further ado, Cal pushes her back on the desk, climbs over her and thrusts eagerly but rather unceremoniously into her.
"Fuck, Gill," He gasps the words more than says them, his breath is hot and fast against her skin as he starts moving. Underneath them the desk creaks and groans as its durability is put to the test by their combined weight and rapid pace, but neither of them really notices. Gillian pulls Cal's mouth down to hers and they share a breath before kissing, slow and languid in contract to their frenzied thrusting.
Behind him Gillian can just catch the edge of the capitol's domed roof and she is willing to venture that nothing like this ever happens over there. Most of the people working over there are probably stuffy old white men whose accomplishments are hindered by the merciless world of politics, but give them an unjustified sense of entitlement anyway, just like at the pentagon. This job, she thinks, biting her lip and moaning, is so much more fun, so much more exciting.
She can sense that Cal is already close to climax – she can see in his face just the thinnest tendrils of him starting to unravel – so she winds her legs around him again, heels digging into his ass as she draws him deeper into her, seeking her own release. He grunts and angles himself so that he hits just there on the last thrust before he comes undone with a groan. His heat explodes and spreads through her, blowing her just barely over the edge. Her eyes flutter closed, and when she opens them again she is once again aware of exactly where they are – though she doesn't quite remember forgetting in the first place. Cal has collapsed against her, head resting in the crook of her shoulder, and she can feel his eyelashes flutter against the delicate skin of her neck. He's sort of crushing her, but she doesn't quite have the heart to move him off her – not just yet. So they lay there for a while, until their breathing is no longer ragged and Cal sits up of his own accord.
"Shit," He swears suddenly, eyeing something on the ground to the left of the desk.
"What?" Gillian asks, sitting up quickly in alarm.
"The computer," Cal says, pointing to where his computer fell… and broke into at least three separate pieces. "Must've knocked it off the desk while we were…"
"Yeah…" In the back of her mind she knows that they'll have to get a new one and she feels a little guilty that their… escapades have suddenly become yet another expense that they can't afford, but they can worry about that later.