Rating: M. M, M, M. M.

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of anything psych. And oh yeah, I'm a shameless hussy.

Summary: Purposeless Lassiet smut. No value to society, no lasting literary merit, and you should probably avoid it to prove you're a better person than I am. No particular timeline, but no one's involved with anyone else. One-shot, by the way, because no one could possibly want more than one chapter of this. [Update: apparently I was wrong about the one-shot-ness. Oops.]

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It was ridiculous.

It was human, maybe—she was a healthy adult female with natural… er, needs—but it was ridiculous.

She was daydreaming about Carlton. Her partner. Her partner, who could only be more off limits if he were married, because he was her partner.

Which seemed to be too damn bad, since the daydreams raged on.

And they weren't nice daydreams, at least not in the conventional sense of 'nice.'

But oh yeah, they were niiiiice. In the unconventional sense of 'flat-out lascivious.' Wanton, even.

Initially they invaded her head at night while she was trying to go to sleep, but after a time, they began to torment her during the day as well.

He was just so damned attractive, in ways he probably couldn't even begin to grasp. Those eyes, dear God, those every-shade-of-blue eyes. The hair, the lean build, the way he looked in his suits, the way he looked when he was blazing mad, the way he looked after his first cup of coffee, the way he looked when he was smiling at her after a private joke or a job well done—or simply while they were having a pleasant lunch alone somewhere. And he smelled good, and she loved his hands, graceful but strong and no doubt so very warm, because she knew he was warm. Despite his reputation, there was nothing cold about him. He gave off sparks sometimes.

But the wanting… it was killing her.

So far, the highlights of what she had imagined (some of them more than once):

1) molesting him in the Crown Vic, not necessarily while the vehicle was parked

2) putting down all the blinds in the conference room and stripping off one article of clothing at a time until he gave in and took her right on the table

3) grabbing his butt in Observation and enticing him to take her up against the wall

4) inviting him over for dinner and serving it naked

5) inviting him over for dinner, knocking him out, getting him naked and then waking him so she could eat said dinner off his lean nude body, with whipped cream a mandatory menu item

6) telling him she needed a ceiling light bulb replaced and thanking him by doing wicked things to him while he was on the ladder and a certain part of his anatomy was at eye-level, and then he could thank her by doing wicked things when he came down off the ladder

7) calling him to claim she'd fallen in the tub, and having him 'rescue' her conveniently nude soapy body, and yes, at some point he would fall in the tub with her, because duh

8) hiring a mugger to rob him of all his clothing outside her doorstep and cover him with chocolate, leaving her to 'rescue' him by taking him inside to remove the chocolate with her tongue

9) kidnapping him back to his own condo and plying him with liquor and talk of Glocks until he showed her his… if you know what I mean, and I think you do

10) walking out of the station with him one night and turning to say simply, "Do me."

As the months wore on and the fantasies grew in number and complexity, she found herself leaning toward #10. Though #8 had great appeal. So did its corollary, which was showing up at his door covered in chocolate herself.

She was going insane, no doubt about it.

She imagined passing his desk on her way to the filing cabinet and Carlton pulling her down to sit in his lap. She imagined him sliding his hand up her skirt—she wore skirts a lot lately just in case—while he kissed her senseless, and it always seemed to be late at night with no one around (because she really wasn't an exhibitionist).

She imagined having trouble with the copier and that he would come up behind her to "help," sliding his arms around her waist because of course that was the best way to provide assistance, and if somehow her blouse got unbuttoned in the process, while somehow his zipper got caught in her belt so that there was nothing for it but that his pants should come off, well, workplace accidents are so common, really. If not, no reason they couldn't be arranged.

She imagined simply lying in bed with him, under him, his incredibly blue gaze locked to hers while they moved together…

And one day, after several months of nearly 24/7 lust, she went berserk.

. . . .

. . .

They were in the conference room, and had been for hours, poring over files for a complicated case involving both money laundering and extortion.

Juliet watched Carlton making notations in the file; watched how he ran a hand through his black and silver hair restlessly—hair she wanted desperately to touch—and watched his shoulders and chest as they rose and fell with each breath he took.

"Would you just stop it!" she burst out.

Carlton looked up sharply. "What?"

"Just stop," she pleaded. "You're driving me mad!"

"O'Hara," he said with a touch of anger, "what the hell are you talking about?"

She got to her feet, pacing around the table, frustrated and outraged. "You have no idea... you have no idea what you're doing to me."

Now he was definitely angry. "No, and if we're about to play that game where you say if I don't know what's wrong then you're not going to tell me, I'll—"

"Oh," she cut him off, "I know you don't know what's wrong, and I am so going to tell you." She stalked around the table and leaned in close where he sat.

His eyes were a curious half-angry, half-intrigued shade of blue, dark and light and hypnotic all at once, and he leaned back a little as if to escape her ire. And he was so unbelievably kissable; it pissed her off even more.

"You," she said, poking him in the chest. "You."

He scowled. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you don't know what you do to me just sitting there. Yeah, because you have to be so hot. You have to have those eyes, my God, those eyes I could just fall into. The hands, the chest hair—you just sit there like it's all nothing to you. How dare you?" She stalked away again, aware of how very wide and startled "those eyes" were now. "You don't have any idea how many fantasies I've had about you. I can't even watch you walk by my desk without wanting to rip your clothes off. It's making me crazy!"

She stopped by the door, breathing hard and filled with... she couldn't even describe it. Anger, frustration, lust, with lust first on the list and anger a close second and need, well, need was above anger, but in fourth place there was more lust and another dose of frustration in slot #5.

Carlton stood up, staring at her. "O'Hara."

"Oh, shut up," she snapped. "Just stop being the way you are. Shut it off. Stop the pheromones already. I can't take it anymore."

He strode toward her and for a moment she thought he was going to yell, but he reached past her for the doorknob and she thought oh God he's going to leave and why shouldn't he, since I'm clearly insane.

But… he locked the door.

Then he flicked the blinds closed, and while those facts were slowly registering, he cupped her face in his warm hands and kissed her.

Juliet's personal fire immediately roared up around her. In an instant, she was kissing him back, discovering his wonderfully sensuous mouth and tongue and heat, and she wrapped her arms around him hard and tight because she wanted to be glued to him, and that hadn't even been on the list. Ooh, edible glue... mmmm yeah baby...

Carlton's hands moved to her back, to her ass, under her skirt, yanking her closer to his body and pressing her to the wall as the kiss became deeper and hungrier.

One of her legs wrapped around his thigh and yet there was still room between them for one of his wondrously evil long-fingered warm hands to slide down the front of her skirt, and the minute he touched her she was three-quarters gone. And he abso-freaking-lutely knew it.

"That's it," he growled, "no foreplay this time." He tugged her skirt up and unzipped his pants and without any further ceremony, Juliet finally got done.

And done very damned well, thank you.

It was a struggle not to express herself as loudly as she wanted; she remained dimly aware of the thinness of the wall and glass between them and the rest of the station and she sent fervent thanks to whoever had used the room before them and put all the other blinds down; now if everyone would just steer clear of the room, not knock, not call, not page not oh God yes yes yes could you feel any better harder more deeper yes yes yes YES she gripped his shoulders and threw her head back and he suckled her neck and growled out his passion as their ungentle union went on... and on... and on... and not nearly long enough.

This wasn't exactly on her list; the up-against-the wall-fantasy had been #3, in the Observation room; the meeting room incident was supposed to take place on the table. Still, she could adapt, because he felt even better around her, inside her, than any of her imaginings; it was far more glorious than she'd imagined to be melded to his lean hard body and to nuzzle his jaw and the base of his warm throat where the dark curls of chest hair were peeking out of his shirt—a shirt she would rip open if she had the strength—and when it was over she was trembling from head to toe, clinging to him weakly, trying to find air.

From his own breathing, it sounded as if he were in the same state. He held her, supporting her in part by keeping her pressed to the wall with his body, and murmured sweet unintelligible words against her hair.

"Much better," she whispered.

"You're welcome." He was amused. "Next time, all the foreplay you want."

Juliet kissed him, still out of breath. "Tonight. My place. Or yours, I don't care."

"You don't want to go off and think about it awhile?" (That would be Insecure!Carlton talking.)

She licked his lower lip tantalizingly. "Honey, I have a list to work through. I'll think about it after that."

Carlton relaxed, stroking her hair back gently. "Tell me more about this list."

"You'll find out as we go," she assured him. "Do you like chocolate?"

His eyes grew wide again, but this time she detected the arousal in the blue. "Syrup?"

"Body paint," she whispered, "but that's item #8."

He let out a sigh and pushed against her lower body, clearly still revved up as much as she was. "I have a list too, you know."

Juliet trailed her tongue along the warm skin of his throat, undulating against him. "We'll take turns."

"This could take awhile, then."

Suddenly she realized what he'd said. "Wait, you have a list?" She pulled back enough to stare at him.

He blushed. "Of course."

"How long?"

"Is what?" He was smirking, and in truth she could only guess, until they fully disentangled and she could see for herself.

Juliet laughed. "You mean for months I've been struggling not to jump your bones because I thought you'd resist me, but you wouldn't have resisted me?"

"O'Hara," he said firmly, "exactly how long did it take for me to unzip my pants just now?"

She gave him a feline grin. "Next time, you'll be a little faster."

Another smirk. "That's the only thing I'll do faster."

How promising. "Can we relocate someplace more private?"

He kissed her slowly. "Evidence Room's probably empty."

Juliet undulated meaningfully against him, and those incredible blue eyes darkened again with new desire.

"Or we could go home," he suggested instead.

"Let's do that."

They separated reluctantly and made themselves presentable, and as they gathered up the files and papers from their case, he asked, "How many items are on your list?"

"Ten main ones, but there are quite a few corollaries and a sublist of three exceptionally wicked and completely improbable scenarios."

Carlton blushed, but was clearly titillated.

"How many on yours?" she asked, unlocking the door and opening the blinds.

"Seven hundred and twenty-six," he said matter-of-factly.

Juliet whirled and stared at him, mouth open.

He was smiling—still a hint of a blush, too. "Like I said, this is going to take awhile."

She hoped he would catch her if she passed out. "You're taking me home right now," she said flatly. "And just so you know, I expect you to use the siren."

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