A/N: This story derived from a pondering on the phrase "push my buttons," and then ruminating about the ways in which Cal likes to push Gillian's buttons. Oh, turns of phrase. Don't judge it too harshly, please-writing M isn't really my thing. Obviously.

Also, if there are typos and error- actually, let me rephrase that. There are probably typos and error throughout-but, I don't proofread my stuff, and I HELLA don't proofread my M. So, oh well.

Thanks to Gidget89 (my ever-present sounding board), for encouraging (via CAPSLOCK and AWESOMENESS) this fic. I'm so glad I met you! (Though, if it's awful, it's fully NOT her fault, cause she only got the first half of it).

The light from a Thursday morning sun flooded through Gillian Foster's windows as she zipped up her skirt—she smoothed the fabric over her hips with her hands, turned once to the side and then fluffed her hair in her full-length mirror. She leaned in closely for a better look—she peered at her own reflection and was glad to see that the concealer she purchased recently was doing its job quite well. No one would be able to tell from a distance that she had circles under her eyes—a byproduct of all the long days she'd been putting into her work lately—not to mention the mood swings her business partner had been directing her way.

Gillian sighed as she leaned away from the mirror and went to the closet to grab her purse for the day. Cal had been acting like quite the jerk lately—more so than usual. He was continually at odds with her. Cal had always been one to push people's buttons—but for most of their partnership, he'd left her buttons alone. Most of them, anyway—the important buttons. Sure, he'd flirt with her and tease her and generally irk her in many ways, oftentimes on purpose—but lately it seemed as though nothing was sacred between them. He was being confrontational and mean and pressing all of her buttons seemingly simultaneously.

Gillian shook her head, trying to get the thought out of her head as she picked up her wallet and placed it in her purse. She let out a heavy sigh and slung her purse over her shoulder and was about to head down to the kitchen to make herself a little breakfast before work when a flash of something small and pink on the floor near the edge of her bed caught her eye. The sight of it stopped Gillian in her tracks.

She stood, frozen for a moment, and cocked her head to the side, deep in thought—had she not been so tired perhaps she would have shuddered at the fact that she was even considering it. But she was tired—both literally and figuratively—and it was this state of mental and physical exhaustion that led her to drop her purse back on the bed, smile devilishly and pick the object up and head to the bathroom.

She spent a few moments in there, washing and arranging before she finally emerged. She headed over to the mirror, gave her skirt one final adjustment and took a steadying, exhilarated breath and then headed out the door.


The clicking of her heels down the hallway reverberated in her ears and traveled down into her stomach before bouncing back up into her heart. She was nervous. Of course she was. In her thirty nine years she'd never done anything quite like this before. Her grip tightened on her purse as she neared her destination and she felt her heart rate speed up—a feat she hadn't thought possible.

She hesitated only momentarily, her hand placed precariously on the doorknob—if she were going to turn back, this was her last opportunity. She squeezed her eyes shut, let out a heavy breath and thrust the door open.

Cal Lightman's head shot up from the document he was working on—startled at the interruption, several emotions flickered over his face. Gillian, trained by the greatest lie detection expert in the world, watched as annoyance, happiness and then curiosity flashed on his face. With the arrival of the last emotion, he had no doubt read her face.

He put his pen down on his desk and leaned slightly back in his chair as he looked at her. At her silence, her back pressed up against the door, he raised his eyebrows at her—"Something the matter, love?" He asked, leaning forward on his desk, propping his head on his hand.

Gillian bit her lip and felt the pressure of the door on her back—she didn't answer.

Cal did his best to try to read her—but he couldn't quite place the emotions he saw on her face and the fact frustrated him. He let out a sigh—"Well. Lovely as this visit was, darling, I've got work, yeah?" He picked up his pen and turned his attention back to the case file in front of him.

He was staring at the words in front of him when he heard his door lock. The little sound was loud in the silence of his office, and his head snapped up again to see Gillian standing in front of the door.

He asked her a silent question—she shook her head and moved to sit in the chair in front of him. He watched with curiosity and a quickening pulse as she sat down and gingerly placed her purse in her lap. She opened it and began to rifle around a bit.

"What's going on Gillian?" He queried—frustration and curiosity warring for dominance within him.

She stopped her action and looked at him for a moment—"Funny, Cal," she said, smiling lightly, "I've been wondering the same thing." She pursed her lips and then returned to her purse.

"What're you looking for in there?" Cal asked, leaning back in his chair.

Gillian pressed her back into the chair, momentarily pausing—"Well, Cal, I've been thinking," She furrowed her brow as her hand brushed against something in her purse, "You really like to push my buttons lately, don't you Cal?" She asked, stilling her movements as she felt an odd sense of calm come across her.

Cal shrugged and smiled a little—"Like's a bit of a strong word, love." He said—he didn't like to push her buttons—especially not the ones that would hurt her. But lately it was as though he couldn't help it. He'd been struggling with his emotions for her for a long time now but recently they'd gone through a sort of transformation and everything he felt for her he felt with a much stronger vehemence.

Gillian smiled at him—"Uh huh. You like to push my buttons." Gillian tapped her foot lightly, an external manifestation of the undercurrent of nervousness she felt within her—"And I was thinking about it last night and the though occurred to me. Why should you be the only one to get a thrill out of it?"

Cal's eyes narrowed slightly and his brow furrowed—he wasn't sure he followed her—"A thrill out of me pushing your buttons?"

Gillian gave a curt nod. "Exactly." With that, she withdrew the item from her purse and set it plainly on Cal's desk.

Cal eyed the item suspiciously, it's bright pink color chief among the attributes he noticed. "What is that?" He asked.

Gillian pressed her lips together—"What's it look like, Cal?" Her tone took on a quality that had a challenge to it.

Cal leaned slightly forward and examined the little device—he saw that it had two buttons and a sort of dial—suddenly, realization struck him and his mouth opened slightly—he blinked once as though his eyes were deceiving him, but the device still sat there, and he couldn't control the stirring in his groin.

"That," Cal said, thankful his voice was still working properly, "looks like a remote control."

Gillian smiled seductively at him—"That's precisely what that is."

Recognition flooded Cal's face and he realized that the reason he hadn't been able to read Gillian's emotions before was that the predominant emotion just happened to be arousal—intense and serious arousal. He'd long since stopped looking for that in Gillian—afraid of both finding it and not finding it, depending on where she happened to be looking.

Cal felt his jeans tighten and he couldn't control the intense wave of desire that spread throughout his body and eventually made its way to his face.

His voice was gravelly when he finally found it. "What's the remote control for, Gillian?"

He watched as a bit of uncertainty crept onto her face, but just as quickly as it arose, she tempered it. Her voice was low and heavy when she responded. "I think you know what it 's for, Cal." Her gaze was hot on his face.

Cal nodded—"I think I do," he smiled at her, "But I want to hear you say it."

Gillian's smile slowly spread across her face as she heard the desire slip into his voice—it was there, unmistakable, and the inhibition she had melted away with the tenor of his voice—with the heat of his request-command.

"Fine," She said, her voice lilting slightly, "It's a remote control, Cal—for a vibrator. That's inside me right now."

How he didn't immediately reach for the remote the minute the words fell from her lips was beyond him—but he knew it had something to do with his deep concern for her—his deep love for her. It was a risk she was taking—it was something that would change their relationship forever—and even the copious amounts of desire coursing through his body all heading to one place couldn't make him rush this. He had to be certain—he had to be certain that she was sure. Her face told him she was. But he wanted her words—he wanted her instructions.

"We've been going round and round for years now, Cal—trying to pretend that we don't want each other in every possible way. And the psychologist in me has realized for months now that your little escapades and insults are actually ways of trying to push me away because you're not sure if you're ready—if we're ready—to take the next step. You don't want to lose me," She said, "I get that. You won't. But it's got to stop—you're pushing all of my goddamned buttons, Cal—except," She said, tilting her head back slightly exposing the column of her neck, "The one I want you to press."

Cal's eyes widened—and he indicated the remote on his desk. Gillian nodded.


Cal knew the answer, but he had to ask, just in case—"You're sure."

Gillian's gaze was hot as she looked at him—"I'm sure." The steady tone of her voice, the heat that came off of her in waves was enough—it was all the reassurance he needed.

Cal reached across his desk and Gillian felt an unparalleled rush of excitement as Cal's hand closed around it.

For his part, Cal was incredibly turned on—and completely in shock. God knows he had his share of fantasies about Gillian Foster. In fact, for the past few years, she was the sole tenant of those fantasies—but in those fantasies he had never imagined she'd be so brave—that she would come to him, unbidden, sexy as hell.

He'd been with women who were comfortable with their sensuality before—but even the most brazen of women usually needed a little bit of coaxing and reassuring before they'd let him watch them orgasm in broad daylight. It was the sexiest fucking thing he'd ever seen—in fact, it was sexier than damn near anything he'd ever imagined he and Gillian Foster doing together—and he'd imagined a lot.

Looking for any signs of apprehension on her face, Cal reached his hand out and grasped the remote carefully, as though it were a delicate thing that might break—that might break her—if it were mishandled. As his palm closed around it, his gaze locked with hers, and he didn't see a trace of apprehension or nervousness; all he saw was one thing: incredible desire. And he felt it, too—sweep over him. A sense of exhilaration coursed through him at the feel of the plastic in his hand.

He let the gravity of the situation sink in, and then he positioned his thumb over the power button. He searched her face once more for any doubt—not finding any, he narrowed his eyes, and let the heat he felt slip into his gaze as he stared at her. He lightly caressed the power button on the remote with his thumb, smirking slightly—his eyes traveled down the length of Gillian's body and he watched as her breath hitched in her throat.

"You're incredibly fucking sexy, I'll have you know." He said, his voice heavy and thick.

She smiled at him in response, looking at him through hooded eyes—

The arousal was pulsating through Cal as he pressed the power button, never taking his eyes off Gillian's face. Her eyes widened slightly, and Cal pressed the speed shift button, watching as Gillian shifted in her chair, a heady look coming over her face.

He pressed it one more time after Gillian became acclimated to the newer speed, and he groaned as Gillian closed her eyes, dug her palms into the arms of the chair and leaned her head back slightly. Cal watched as her mouth parted, and her breathing shallowed—

"Jesus Christ." He mumbled, adjusting his jeans, which had long since become constricting, with the hand that was not holding the remote.

Cal leaned back in his chair, and let his eyes travel down Gillian's body—he took in her hardened nipples, and he imagined rolling one between his fingers and the other between his teeth—he longed to feel her flesh under his palm, under his mouth. His eyes lowered to the juncture at her thighs, and he imagined the device inside her—her muscles contracting around it as she shifted in her chair, exploring the way each position made her feel. His gaze wandered down her legs—one of her most significant attributes, before he returned his gaze to her face.

She was looking at him now, her eyes tiny slits, her voice thick with desire, "Like what you see?" She asked.

Cal nodded once—"You've no bloody idea, darling." Despite the fact that watching Gillian receive pleasure would have been arousing and pleasant in any given situation, the manner in which she was doing it—exposed so vulnerably to him—made him that much more turned on. Despite all his actions, Gillian trusted him. She was proving it right now.

Gillian smiled, and Cal clicked the remote once more, increasing the speed. He watched as Gillian jumped slightly, her eyes widened, and her grip on the chair tightened as she felt the sensation sweep over her.

Cal watched as she pressed herself down into the chair once, twice, and then three times. On the third, she let out a most delicious sound—somewhere between a moan and a groan, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

Hearing Gillian's sounds of pleasure ratcheted Cal's arousal up even higher, and he felt his mouth suddenly go dry. Cal watched in amazement as Gillian brought her hand up to her breast—her delicate fingers closed around her nipple through the fabric—and she squeezed one before moving over to her other nipple and repeating the action; The second time she did, she released a long moan, and threw her head back slightly. She squeezed her legs together and pressed down into the chair again, and Cal could tell she was close.

Cal groaned, and his voice was nearly hoarse as he spoke, "That's it darling, play with your nipples for me,"

The sound of his voice appeared to turn Gillian on more, and she did as Cal said, opening her eyes and watching him watch her.

Cal considered standing up so she could see the obvious effect she was having on him; but, he knew she could read faces just as well as he could, and he knew the desire he felt was all over his face.

Watching her fingers roll her nipple, Cal squeezed his eyes shut—"God, Gillian. I want to see you come."

A slight whimper escaped her lips, and her breath caught in her throat—

Cal pressed the remote once more, taking the vibrator to its fifth and final speed. Gillian's eyes widened, and a steady humming noise emanated from somewhere in the back of her throat—she pulled on her nipples, and pressed into the chair harder and with more of a rhythm.

Cal smiled as he watched her, "That's it, darling—come for me, Gillian, come for me—I want to hear it." Cal said, never taking his eyes off of her.

A sheen of perspiration dotted her brow, and it seemed as though Cal's voice urged her on—within moments, a shudder coursed through her body, coupled with a sharp intake of breath—before the shudders came one on top of the other, and her hands returned to the chair—her fingers digging into the arms, her knuckles turning white as one of the sexiest sounds he'd ever heard escaped Gillian's lips and fluttered right to Cal's ears—

It was his own name—long and drawn out into a moan—"Cal," followed quickly by a sharp and guttural "fuck!" as he clicked the 'pulse' button on the remote—

Cal watched as Gillian rode her orgasm out—he could tell when she'd finished, by her sharp intake of breath at the pulsing—he clicked the power button, and stared at her, leaned back into her chair, looking at him from tired eyes.

"Was it good?" Cal asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Gillian nodded lazily—"Very good." She said.

Cal turned his head to the side, "You said my name." He observed.

She nodded again, "That I did." She laughed lightly, "And not for the first time, might I add."

"Oh?" He cocked his eyebrow, before he placed the remote back onto the desk. Standing up, he crossed to the front of his desk.

Gillian, noticing his movement, looked at him—she arched her eyebrow as she took in his obvious state of arousal, "Oh?" She queried—

"That was the sexiest thing I've ever seen, Gillian." He said, reaching his hand out. She took it, and he pulled her up—her smile returned, almost shy—"Ever." He emphasized.

He brushed the back of his palm against her cheek, and then he lowered his mouth to hers—feeling the softness of her lips beneath his, he slipped his tongue into her mouth, and twined his fingers through her hair. She kissed him back, and he felt his heart tighten with a happiness he hadn't felt in a very, very long time.

Suddenly, he pulled her back by the hair—not rough enough to hurt, but rough enough to play on his hunch—he watched her pupils dilate, "Oh, really?" He asked, as she inhaled sharply—"Well, then. Back to my place, yeah?" He said, as he pressed his erection into her abdomen, his grip still tight in her hair—"I can't wait to find out what else turns you on," He said, his voice heavy and dark.

Gillian nodded, and headed for the door—Cal opened it, placing his hand on her lower back, he made to guide her through it—stopping her momentarily, he leaned in to her ear—his hand traveled down her back, smoothing over her body until he reached the hem of her dress—he smoothed his hand up her inner thigh, slipped his hand beneath her underwear, and his finger found her clit—he stroked it a few times, enjoying the way the heat radiated from her. His breath was hot as he spoke, and his tone sent a shiver down her spine, "This," He said, moving his finger against her clit again, "Is going to be my favorite of your buttons, darling—my very favorite," he said, pressing firmly on the nub, "And I'll press it whenever I want," he said, pressing one more time before he slid his hand out of her underwear, and nudged her through the door.

Gillian smiled at him, a sexy smile that sent his blood rushing—"Finally."