Chapter Text
+1
Tim heard the call as background noise at first. Domestic. Escalating quickly. Request for a supervisor. He calculated the distance to the scene automatically, the reflex ingrained after years on patrol.
The radio clicked. “7-Lincoln-300, responding.”
An image flashed in his mind without permission at her voice— Sergeant Chen stepping into chaos and owning it. Stripes sharp on her sleeves. Voice steady. Commanding.
He recalculated the distance to the scene. It wasn’t that far away… He could go and see her in action. Watch her take control of a scene. Watch the confidence in every movement, every order. Watch the way everyone fell in line when she spoke. The thought settled low and dangerous.
No. He shouldn’t. She hadn’t requested additional units. Showing up uninvited would send the wrong message— to the other officers on scene, to anyone paying attention. It would look like he didn’t trust her. And he did trust her. Completely.
Tim inhaled slowly, knowing exactly why he shouldn’t. Then he turned the shop left anyway.
Penn glanced over, clearly tracking the shift in direction. “Should I attach us, sir?”
“No,” Tim replied evenly.
A few minutes later, he was pulling over half a block away from the scene. He cut the engine and found her immediately. As he had fantasized, Lucy stood in the center of controlled chaos, posture loose but authoritative. Officers moved when she spoke, not because she barked orders, but because they trusted her. Her directives were crisp. Clean. Precise. God, she was incredible.
Penn followed his line of sight. Saw Lucy reposition a unit with a subtle hand signal. Then Penn looked back at him. “You worried about her or something, Sarge?”
Tim’s head snapped toward him. “Of course not.” Too sharp.
Penn blinked. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Thoughts to yourself, Boot,” Tim said flatly, eyes already back on Lucy. He wasn’t worried. He was mesmerized. There was a difference.
He continued to watch as Lucy tightened the perimeter, keeping her calm like she’d been doing this for years. Tim tracked it all automatically— exits, sight lines, cover. She was doing everything right. Better than right. And it did something to him he absolutely did not need it to do based on the tightening he felt in his pants.
Then something shifted. A flicker of movement that didn’t belong. A glint where there shouldn’t have been one. Tim was out of the shop before the thought finished forming. “Gun!” he shouted, voice cutting through the noise, drawing his weapon. Penn fell in behind him.
Lucy reacted instantly. She pivoted, commands sharp and immediate. Officers moved. The suspect froze. The weapon clattered to the pavement. The scene fell back into control under her command.
“Cuff him, Boot,” Tim ordered as he approached the suspect.
Penn moved in, adrenaline wide in his eyes.
Once the suspect was handcuffed, Lucy exhaled and looked at Tim. A flash of gratitude crossed her face.
He gave her a small nod in return. For half a second it was just the two of them, the noise of the scene fading away.
Then it all came rushing back in. Lucy straightened, the shift to professionalism immediate as she stepped toward him, already moving into briefing mode. “Neighbor called it in—”
Tim lifted a hand, cutting her off gently but firmly. “You don’t have to.”
She paused, confused.
“I’m not here to take over,” he clarified. “We were in the area. Saw the movement.” He glanced around, then looked back at her. “Penn and I are gonna head back out.”
Lucy’s eyes searched his face, assessing whether he meant it or if this was a test.
He held her gaze. Steady. No challenge. No trick.
“Okay. Thanks,” she said, offering him a small, private smile. Then she turned back to the scene, shifting gears. “Penn,” she called. “Can you take Mr. Whitaker to Jan’s shop? He’ll handle transport.”
Penn nodded, guiding the handcuffed suspect toward the waiting officer.
“Let’s go ahead and get statements from the neighbors before anyone clears,” Lucy said, gesturing toward the house across the street. “And get that weapon bagged and logged asap,” she added over her shoulder as she walked away.
The officers moved quickly, falling into the rhythm of her direction.
Tim stepped back a few yards from the main cluster of activity. Close enough to still see everything clearly, but far enough that he wasn’t technically part of it.
He watched as Lucy approached a pair of neighbors and began taking statements, her voice calm and measured as she explained what she needed from them. His breath caught as his gaze settled on her. Stripes prominent on her sleeves, command coming naturally. But it wasn’t just that. It was the way she crouched slightly when she spoke to the shaken neighbors, her voice clearly softening as she steadied them. Empathy. Care. That was what made her a better sergeant than most.
Lucy shifted slightly, turning just enough to give Tim a perfect view of her backside. His gaze dropped before he could stop it. It dragged over her silhouette, tracing the curve of her ass. Her uniform pants seemed to fit like they’d been tailored specifically to distract him. And they were succeeding.
Tim exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over the back of his neck and forcing his eyes away. He needed to get it together before he went back out on patrol. He focused on his breathing. Reset. Compartmentalized. And as he did, he didn’t notice the first officer approach him. Or the second.
Questions came from somewhere over his shoulder— something about a perimeter placement. Evidence logging. Next steps. Instinct took over before his brain caught up. Tim answered easily, redirecting one officer, clarifying procedure for another. Years of command sliding into place like muscle memory. Not loudly. Not intentionally. Just… naturally.
Across the yard, Lucy was still with the neighbors, unaware of the quiet shift happening behind her. She lifted her radio, issuing an order without looking back. “Mendez, can you—”
Tim winced. He’d just assigned Mendez to assist with evidence collection.
Sure enough, Mendez broke from where he’d been heading and moved toward Lucy, cutting her off before she could finish. They exchanged a few words. Then Lucy’s head turned, her eyes landing on him. The disappointment in her eyes was stinging. Lucy said something brief to Mendez, dismissing him with a nod and a smile. Then she started walking toward Tim.
He straightened slightly, already knowing exactly what was coming.
Lucy’s gaze never left him as she closed the distance. “Sergeant Bradford,” she said, voice even. Professional. “A minute?”
Tim raised his hands slightly, palms out. “Look, Lucy, I—”
“It’s Sergeant Chen, sir.”
The correction landed quietly but firmly. Someone nearby muttered a low “uh-oh”. Officers a few paces away suddenly pretended to be very busy.
Tim nodded. “Right. Sergeant Chen.” He cleared his throat, gesturing vaguely toward the perimeter. “I just— Mendez isn’t great at multitasking, so I figured if he stayed on evidence—”
Lucy didn’t let him finish. “Understood,” she said simply. There was no edge to her tone. No raised voice.
Tim’s mouth closed. That wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting.
Lucy’s gaze held his for a moment longer, then she turned and scanned the scene. She took in the repositioned units, the adjusted perimeters. When her eyes returned to him, her expression was composed. Decided. “I’m going to see if I can be useful somewhere else.”
The words landed louder than if she’d yelled.
Without waiting for his response, Lucy turned and walked away. She lifted her radio, updating Control as she moved— her posture straight, authority unshaken, even as she relinquished her own scene.
Tim stood there, the realization settling heavy in his chest. He’d told her he wasn’t there to take over. He’d meant it. And he’d still done it anyway.
Once he was back at the station, he didn’t go looking for her immediately. He told himself she needed space. That she had every right to be frustrated with him. He knew he should apologize, he just… didn’t want it to feel like he was doing it for himself. So he’d wait, do it later. When it didn’t feel like damage control.
He lasted exactly twelve minutes. Lucy had passed him in the hallway like he wasn’t there. Not a glance. Not a nod. Nothing.
“Lucy,” he called after her.
She didn’t react, just kept walking.
“Sergeant Chen,” he corrected, louder now.
That got her to stop. She turned slowly, expression still cool and unreadable. “Yes, Sergeant Bradford?”
The formality cut hard, worse than anger. Tim held her gaze for a beat then exhaled. “Look, I’m sorry.”
Her expression didn’t change. “For what?”
“For taking over,” he clarified.
Lucy tilted her head slightly, studying him. “You don’t need to apologize. You were senior officer.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It actually is,” she replied calmly. “You showed up. That made it yours. That’s how rank works.”
He frowned. “Lucy—”
“You should’ve just taken over,” she cut in, her voice losing its restraint. “I would’ve expected that. I would’ve respected that.”
“You know I have discretion when it comes to that,” Tim replied.
Lucy scoffed. “Oh, please. You ignored protocol because you didn’t want to, what… upset me and risk not getting laid tonight?”
Tim physically recoiled. “Seriously?” he said. “You actually think that?” He shook his head, glancing around before fixing his gaze back on her. “I was trying not to undermine you.”
Lucy let out a quiet, disbelieving breath. “Right. By saying you weren’t taking over and then doing it anyway?” she shot back.
“I know,” he conceded. “I should’ve just left.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered,” she replied. “You undermined me the moment you stepped out of your shop.”
Tim stared at her. “I saw a gun,” he countered. “What was I supposed to do— ignore it?”
Lucy shook her head. “No. I’m saying you shouldn’t have been there to see it in the first place.” She paused, then looked him up and down, something sharper settling in her expression. She crossed her arms. “Why were you even there?”
Tim searched for something defensible. Something professional. He definitely wasn’t about to tell her he’d come to the scene only to watch her run it. His very hot, in charge, absolutely not-helping-his-self-control sergeant girlfriend. “I, uh…”
She let him fumble through it for a moment, then cut in. “You know what I think happened?”
Tim exhaled through his nose. “Enlighten me.”
“You weren’t just in the area,” she said, her tone tightening. “You were there to check up on me.”
Tim shook his head. “No, I wasn’t.”
“Really?” she pressed. “You sure you weren’t there because you didn’t trust me to manage my own scene?”
“What? Of course not. I know you can handle a scene like that.”
“Okay so maybe it’s something else,” she went on, pushing now. “Maybe you wanted to see me mess up— prove to yourself you’re still better than me. Since I outscored you on the sergeant's exam.”
“You can’t be serious.”
She didn’t back down. “And when you realized I did have everything under control,” she continued, her voice picking up heat, “you stepped in anyway. So everyone walked away thinking I didn’t.”
Tim stared at her in disbelief. “You really think I’d do that?”
Lucy held his gaze for a second longer then pulled back. She took a slow breath, visibly reining herself in. “No. But tell me the truth then, Tim,” she said, softer now— but no less pointed. “Why were you even there?”
Tim still didn’t have a clean, professional answer ready. So he held his ground. “Like I said. Penn and I just happened to be nearby.” It wasn’t technically a lie.
Her eyebrow lifted and the look on her face said she didn’t believe that for a second. “Right. Lucky me.” Lucy looked away, pressing her lips together as if weighing whether it was worth continuing. Then she exhaled slowly, shaking her head. When she looked back at him, something in her expression had shifted— harder, but underneath it, something else. “How am I supposed to prove to everyone I can do this,” she asked, quieter now, almost defeated, “when my own boyfriend doesn’t think I can?”
Heat flashed through his chest— not anger, but something close. “What? No. I know you can do this,” he said immediately. “You’re a good sergeant.”
Her eyes didn’t soften. “Then why were you there?”
He didn’t answer.
“Dammit, Tim! This isn’t okay,” she said, her voice sharpening more despite her efforts to keep it level. “You don’t get to treat me differently because I’m your girlfriend.”
“That’s not—”
She stepped closer to him. “You need to treat me like your fellow sergeant. Full stop. Same respect. Same boundaries. Same trust.” Her words were precise. Controlled. Lethal. “I worked hard for these stripes,” she added, quieter but no less fierce. “And I won’t have you undercutting them because you can’t handle it.”
An officer slowed at the far end of the hallway, clearly clocking the tension.
“Lucy,” he said quietly, a warning threaded through her name.
She lifted her chin. “What? Afraid someone might hear your sergeant girlfriend calling you out?”
Something hot coiled low in his gut. Not anger… Desire. A kind of attraction that came from being challenged instead of deferred to.
And suddenly the argument, the pride, the frustration— it all tangled with the fact that she stood there in uniform, stripes gleaming, fire in her eyes. Suddenly, Tim’s restraint was only hanging on a by a thread. He glanced back down the hall. The officer walking past had turned the corner. They were alone.
Before Lucy could register the shift in him, his hand closed around her arm— not rough, but firm— and he steered her backward, pushing open the door to the old Metro office and guiding her inside.
The door shut behind them with a solid click. The heat radiating off him was palpable.
Lucy pushed free from his grip, eyes blazing. “What the hell, Tim?!”
He stepped back into her space, eliminating the distance she had tried to create. “You’re right,” he said, voice low and raw. “I can’t handle you being in charge.”
She scoffed. “I knew it—”
“I can’t handle how fucking hot you are out there,” he cut in. “Giving orders. Everyone listening to you.”
Lucy froze. Her mouth parted slightly, her retort dying on her tongue. She looked up at him, her composure cracking just enough to show a flicker of surprise beneath the professional mask. "What?"
His gaze raked over her, lingering on the silver badge, then moving to the chevrons on her sleeve. “You have no idea what seeing you like this does to me, Sergeant Chen.” Tim crowded her another step, and another, until her back hit the wall. He braced one hand beside her head while the other settled at her waist.
He dipped his head, nuzzling into the curve of her neck. “I wasn’t checking up on you,” he murmured against her skin, his voice rough. “I was checking you out.” He pressed closer, the space between them disappearing. “I couldn’t resist seeing you in action.”
The tension in the room snapped from professional to electric as she felt the hard line of his forming erection against her lower abdomen— an undeniable, urgent thickness that made his desire abundantly clear. "Tim," she breathed as her head fell back against the wall. She tilted her head to the side in a silent, unconscious invitation.
He followed the movement, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the exposed line of her neck. He nipped at the sensitive skin just behind her ear above her tattoo, then soothed the sting with a sweep of his tongue.
Lucy’s hands came up to rest against his chest, as if to stop him. “We can’t,” she said, trying to hold onto control.
“Is that an order?”
Her hands tightened against his chest. Then, her grip shifted. Her hands slid up, gripping his collar and pulling his face to hers, forcing his mouth to meet hers in a kiss that was hard and slow, but still controlled in a way the rest of the moment wasn’t. She dictated the pace, her tongue tangling with his in a deliberate dominance that made him groan low in his throat.
His left hand tightened slightly at her waist, anchoring her there as his mouth moved against hers. He matched her intensity before overtaking it. His tongue plunged back into her mouth, tasting her, consuming her, claiming her back.
Lucy moaned into his mouth, her hands flying down to grip his forearms— not to push him away anymore, but to steady herself.
Tim’s left hand began to move, breaking the anchor at her waist. It roved up her side, tracing the curve of her ribcage before sliding back to her hip, then finally to her ass. He grabbed a handful, groping and squeezing with a frantic need that was intoxicating. He pulled her hips flush against his, grinding his bulge against her, letting her feel exactly what she was doing to him. The friction was maddening even through their uniforms.
Lucy fisted a hand in his short hair, pulling his head closer, angling his mouth to take more of him. She let him touch her, let his hands roam freely over her body.
After a long moment, Tim tore his mouth away, resting his forehead against hers. “For the record,” he breathed, “you’re an incredible sergeant.” His voice was low and raw. He slid his hand from the wall, tracing the line of her throat before settling at the back of her neck. His other hand moved upward, brushing over the stiff fabric of her uniform shirt until he reached her chest, hovering right over her racing heart. “So good at it, it makes me lose my mind.” He huffed a quiet laugh. “But I still respect the hell out of you, Chen. Don’t ever question that.”
Lucy didn't speak. She surged up, capturing his mouth with hers again. The kiss was explosive, a desperate clash of lips and teeth and tongues that negated every professional boundary they had ever set. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her, holding him captive as she devoured his mouth.
Tim groaned into the kiss, his hand coming up to frame her face, his thumb stroking the sharp line of her jaw. Then, he pulled back slightly, his hands moving lower with a new, singular purpose. He fumbled with the heavy leather of his duty belt, his fingers usually so precise now clumsy with haste. He unbuckled it, the metal clasp loud in the silence, and stripped it off, dropping it onto the nearby desk with a heavy thud. Then he was on hers— fingers moving even faster, even less precise, driven by a need to get to her. He worked the buckle free, the leather sliding through the loops with a friction that seemed to echo the tension between them. He set it beside his, the two belts becoming one tangled heap of abandoned authority.
Tim’s mouth found Lucy’s again immediately, the kiss more urgent now. Sloppy. Wet. His hands followed as he began unbuttoning her uniform shirt. Muscle memory from years of dressing himself was now turned toward something far less disciplined. Once the shirt was unbuttoned, he pulled her undershirt up, untucking it quickly, his warm hands flattening against the bare skin of her sides.
The contact was electric, making her shiver. Lucy pulled back, the situation catching up with her again. “Wait, Tim—”
He didn’t stop. He was lost in the friction, the heat, the way she tasted. He caught her mouth again, deeper this time, still chasing what he hadn’t been able to shut off since he’d seen her out there in the field.
She reached up, catching his wrists before his hands could wander any further. “Wait,” she said, breath uneven but voice trying for control. “Hold on.”
That finally got his attention. He froze, his chest heaving against hers. His eyes lifted to hers, the sharp blue of his irises swallowed by the black of his pupils, blown wide with lust. He moved a hand to her face, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "What? What's wrong?"
“We’re both still on duty,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the discarded belts on the desk.
Tim glanced in that direction for half a second, then back at her. “And?” he breathed. A slow, knowing smile tugged at his lips. His thumb stroked her cheek, a surprisingly tender gesture after the intensity that had just passed between them.
Lucy let out a small, disbelieving laugh. “And… we should stop,” she said, her voice regaining its professional tone. “We’re both sergeants. We know better.”
Tim lifted a hand slowly, trying to test the limits of her resolve. He brushed his knuckles along the edge of her open uniform shirt, dipping under the hem of her untucked undershirt. When she didn’t respond to his touch, he let out a long, heavy sigh that ruffled her hair. "I guess you’re right," he conceded, though his body language screamed the opposite.
“I am,” she agreed. She took a steadying breath and straightened her shoulders against the wall.
Tim nodded slowly, seeming to finally give in. He stepped to the side and leaned back against the wall beside her, mirroring her posture. His arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his uniform pulling taut across his biceps.
“You know, this is exactly what I was talking about earlier,” Lucy continued, her tone shifting into the familiar cadence of a post-incident debrief. “We have to be able to separate work from… everything else.” She pushed off the wall, hands going to her hips as she started pacing. “We can’t just jump each other every time one of us gets… distracted. What if someone saw you push me in here? What if Grey walked by right now? You think he’d buy that we were discussing patrol coverage?”
Tim didn’t answer. He just watched her, his expression unreadable, his eyes tracking her every movement.
“If we’re going to make this work,” she went on, voice calm, measured— the same tone she used briefing officers before a shift— “there have to be boundaries. Clear ones. Professional ones.”
The more she spoke, the more she took control of the situation, the more her posture shifted and her voice took on that commanding, authoritative edge... and the more Tim’s own posture changed. His shoulders straightened. The restrained look in his eyes gave way to something else. Something darker. Hungrier.
The fire she thought she’d put out flickered back to life, fed by the very words she was using to try to douse it.
Her hands moved as she talked, emphasizing points the way they did when she was explaining tactics. “We need to—” She stopped mid-sentence, turning to face him fully as she caught the shift in his expression. The air between them thickened. "Are you even listening to me?" she asked, a hint of exasperation tightening her voice.
“Oh, I’m listening, Sergeant,” he said, the title rolling off his tongue in a way that was anything but professional. He pushed off the wall and moved toward her again, his movements deliberate, predatory. Tim’s gaze dipped briefly to her uniform shirt hanging open around her shoulders, then dragged back up to her face. The space between them vanished as he walked her back, step by step, until the edge of the desk pressed hard into the back of her thighs.
Lucy’s breath hitched. “Sergeant Bradford—”
He cut her off with a kiss, his hand coming up to cup her jaw, holding her there as his mouth claimed hers once again. It wasn't gentle.
His other hand found her waist, fingers digging into her hipbone, pulling her flush against him so she could feel exactly how much he wasn't listening. He’d run out of patience pretending he could keep his distance. Pretending that her lecture about boundaries hadn't just made him want to tear them down more.
Lucy stiffened in surprise, just long enough to hear her own words echo back at her. But she didn’t stop him. Her body betrayed her, melting into his grip. Her hands came up, gripping the front of his shirt as she kissed him back— just as hard, just as desperate.
The kiss deepened as his tongue dominated hers, his teeth scraping her bottom lip, sending jolts of pleasure through her. She could feel the hard ridge of his cock through his uniform pants, pressing insistently against her belly.
Tim broke the kiss to look at her. Her lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glazed. “Please,” he begged.
Lucy let her forehead drop against his chest, listening to the erratic thud of his heart. "We shouldn't," she murmured, though there was far less conviction behind it now. It sounded more like a plea than an order.
“What if we called it a professional courtesy?" Tim proposed.
Lucy huffed softly against him, a mix of amusement and arousal. She tipped her head back, looking up into his darkened eyes. "How on earth can this be considered professional?"
He let out a rough breath, running a hand over the back of his neck like he was trying, and failing, to reset. “Well, I can’t go back out on patrol like this.” He gestured down to the front of his pants, where the fabric was clearly straining.
Lucy’s eyes dropped to the blatant hard outline, then snapped back up to his face. She pressed her lips together, a calculated move to suppress the amusement bubbling in her chest. But the corner of her mouth threatened to betray her, twitching with the urge to smile.
Tim leaned in slightly, voice lower now. “C’mon, I need your help.” He held her gaze, completely serious despite the heat still hanging in the air. “Sergeant to sergeant,” he said, the words carrying a weight of mock formality. “I need you to get me back under control. Otherwise, I have to walk out of here and embarrass both of us.”
Lucy scoffed, the sound sharp and dismissive, though her eyes sparkled with a challenge. “You’re saying you need me to… assist you?” she teased, shifting her weight and sliding her knee forward to press against the inside of his thigh, dangerously close to the problem in question.
It was a playful brush, a promise of friction that made his jaw tighten. “Mmhmm. Think of it as helping a fellow sergeant resolve a… situational impairment,” Tim countered, his voice steady.
Lucy’s lips twitched again. “Is that right?” She shook her head slowly, trying not to smile, trying to maintain the upper hand. She watched him for another second, weighing the risk against the overwhelming temptation. Then she pressed her hands lightly against his chest and pushed, creating just enough space between them to breathe.
Tim rocked back half a step, watching her as she folded her arms across her chest, slipping fully back into that cool, assessing posture again— the one she used when she was on the other side of the interrogation room, deciding whether a suspect’s explanation held up or if they were lying through their teeth. Tim’s eyes tracked the movement of her arms, the way the white fabric of her undershirt pulled tighter across her chest, outlining her curves in a way that was decidedly unhelpful. His eyes flicked back up to hers.
Lucy held his gaze, like she was still holding the line. Or at least trying to. “Sergeant Bradford.” There was something different in her tone this time.
Tim caught it instantly. “Sergeant Chen.” He moved closer.
Her lips curved slowly. “If I’m going to help you,” she said, her voice lowering slightly, the sharp edge of command slipping into something warmer, more dangerous, “this is strictly professional.”
Tim nodded immediately, the lie passing his lips with ease. “Of course. Strictly professional.”
Lucy moved then, quick and decisive, using her momentum to turn them so the back of his thighs now met the edge of the desk. “Good,” she murmured, looking up at him. “Because I’d hate for anyone to think we were doing something inappropriate.” She nodded toward the desk, cluttered with their discarded gear, then pressed a firm hand to his chest. “Sit.”
Tim did as he was told, moving the heavy duty belts aside to clear space. He sat back on the edge of the desk, the metal groaning under his weight, his legs spreading in anticipation.
Lucy stepped between his knees, the position granting her a height advantage she rarely had. She dragged her hands along his thighs, feeling his muscles beneath the uniform fabric. Her hands then went to the fly of his pants, her fingers deliberately tracing him through the coarse material before finding the tab of his zipper. The sound of the zipper lowering was obscenely loud in the quiet room, the teeth parting with a distinct hiss that seemed to echo against the walls. She hooked her fingers into his waistband and pulled both his pants and boxer briefs down, just enough to free him from the constraint of the uniform.
His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, the head already glistening. Lucy wrapped a hand around the base, her fingers cool against the feverish heat of his skin, and squeezed firmly before dropping to her knees. She flicked her tongue over the slit, tasting the saltiness.
“Fuck, Lucy,” Tim groaned.
“It’s Sergeant Chen, sir,” she corrected. Then she took him into her mouth.
Tim’s head fell back as the sensation overwhelmed him, his hands gripping the edge of the desk. The reminder of her rank and the wet heat of her mouth was a shock to his system, a sudden relief that only fueled the fire burning in his gut.
Lucy took him deep, her lips stretching around him, her tongue flattening against the underside of his shaft. She bobbed her head, establishing a rhythm, her cheeks hollowing with every suck.
"Fuck, Sergeant Chen," Tim hissed, forcing his head back down to look at her. The sight of her— on her knees, the LAPD badge glinting on her chest, and her sergeant stripes stark against the dark fabric as her head moved in his lap— was nearly enough to undo him right there. It was a visual clash of authority and submission that scrambled his brain. He threaded his fingers into her dark hair, guiding her, pushing her down deeper until she choked slightly but didn't pull away.
It wasn't enough though. The pleasure was spiraling fast, but he wanted more than just her mouth. He tightened his grip in her hair and pulled her back. "Stand up," Tim ordered.
Lucy rose, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her chest heaving.
He slid off the desk and crashed his mouth against hers, kissing her with hunger. He could taste himself on her tongue, a salty, musky reminder of what she’d just been doing, and it only fueled the heat raging in his gut. Tim spun them around and pushed her unbuttoned uniform off her shoulders, the fabric sliding down her arms. Before it hit the ground, he was already tugging at her undershirt, pulling it over her head. Then he reached behind her, unclasping her bra quickly.
As the straps slid down and exposed her chest, he broke from her mouth and dipped his head. He captured a nipple in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak while his hand came up to knead the soft flesh of her other breast.
Lucy gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders. "Tim," she breathed, her voice hitching as he grazed her sensitive skin with his teeth.
He didn’t let up. Tim lavished attention on her chest, switching between her breasts, licking and sucking until her skin was flushed and damp. He lost himself in the taste and feel of her, the softness of her body a stark contrast to the hardened lines of their profession.
Lucy’s hand moved to the back of his head, pulling his hair as he devoured her.
Tim suddenly stopped. Leaned back.
The sudden loss of contact made Lucy sway, her chest heaving. She looked up at him, dazed.
Tim didn’t look at her, instead his eyes sweeping over the chaotic state of the office floor. His eyes locked onto the bundle of fabric resting near her feet. He bent down and picked up her uniform shirt, fingers brushing over the fabric like it was fragile— like it wasn’t just a shirt but something sacred, something to be treasured. He didn’t even try to explain. He just held it up, jaw tight, breathing heavy. “I want it back on.”
Lucy blinked, half naked, skin flushed, hair a mess from his hands. “What?”
“The shirt,” he said again. “Put it back on.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You want me to… put my clothes back on?”
“No.” His voice dropped, darker now. “Just the shirt.”
Her gaze sharpened. “What are you—”
He cut her off with his mouth. The kiss was rough, needy, and over too fast. It was just enough to silence her, to make her feel the edge he was teetering on.
“I want you wearing it,” he explained, voice raspy now. “Your shirt with those stripes. And that badge…” He swallowed. “I want you to remember… every time you wear it… exactly what it does to me.”
Desire flickered across her face— heat mixing with something deeper. Pride. Power. She breathed in, steady, her chin lifting slightly. “What does it do to you?”
“I’m more of a show you kind of guy.” Tim smiled as he kissed her again, softer this time, lingering. Then he draped her uniform shirt around her shoulders and smoothed the fabric down her arms. He didn’t move to button it, just left it hanging open, framing her. He leaned down and kissed the hollow of her throat, his lips brushing the collar. His grip tightened slightly on her sleeves, his thumbs stroking over her sergeant stripes as his mouth trailed down— slow, open-mouthed kisses dragging over her heated skin. The contrast of the rough fabric against his hands and the softness of her body under his lips was maddening.
Lucy made a sound— soft, shaky— a whimper that she couldn't suppress. Her fingers threaded through his hair, holding him to her, her nails scratching against his scalp.
Tim kissed across her sternum, up toward the curve of her breast, never losing contact with the stripes in his hands. He could feel the rank beneath his fingertips, the authority she carried, and it only made him harder. His breath became ragged, his restraint frayed to ribbons, but he continued, savoring the moment.
She arched into him, her body seeking more friction, more heat, and he groaned softly against her skin. And then his eyes caught on her badge. Still clipped to the left side of her open shirt, silver gleaming against navy. It shouldn’t hit him the way it did. It was just a piece of metal, a symbol of the job they did. But it did. It was the juxtaposition— the Sergeant, the authority, the woman he respected beyond measure, standing here wrecked and wanting him.
Tim leaned in without thinking— without hesitating— and pressed his mouth right to the badge. He kissed it, his lips lingering on the cold metal, his hot breath fogging the surface slightly. His tongue traced the outline of the word 'SERGEANT', tasting the metallic tang while staring up at her.
Lucy’s breath hitched as she watched him. A flush crept up her neck as their eyes locked, and she bit her lip hard, struggling to contain how much his mouth on her badge was doing to her. She rolled her hips into his, grinding against his dick.
Tim exhaled sharply against the badge, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth— arrogant, knowing. He could feel exactly how desperate she was, the way her body trembled against his, the way her breath came in shallow pants. He lingered for half a second, then straightened, his eyes still on hers. His gaze dropped to her mouth. He hovered there, just above her lips.
Lucy leaned in to close the distance, but Tim pulled back. A hint of a smile flickered across his mouth as he shook his head. Then it faded, replaced with something darker. “Turn around,” he said, low.
Lucy didn’t argue. She turned, facing the desk, and braced her hands on the metal. Ready. Willing.
Tim positioned himself behind her, kicking her legs apart with his knee, forcing her stance wide. He reached around her waist, his arm banding across her stomach, and undid the clasp of her uniform pants. He yanked them and her panties down in one rough, frantic motion, leaving them pooled around her ankles. He bent her over the desk, the position forcing her chest against the hard surface, her uniform shirt spreading out around her. He didn't wait for her to adjust. He lined himself up with her entrance, the head of his cock nudging against her wet folds. He could feel how ready she was, how wet and hot she was for him, dripping with need.
With a guttural groan, he thrust forward, burying himself inside her. The sensation was overwhelming—tight, wet heat gripping him like a vice. He didn't stop until he was fully seated, his hips flush against her ass, the fabric of his open pants scratching against her bare skin.
Lucy held back a cry as Tim gripped her stripes again and set a punishing rhythm. His hips snapped against her ass with the force of his need. He watched her uniform shirt sway with every thrust. Her badge bounced against the desk, a rhythmic clinking sound that drove him wild.
The sensory overload crashed through him in waves— the authority symbolized by the stripes beneath his palms, the institutional weight of that shield clinking against the desk, all of it wrapped around the woman gasping beneath him. He felt his own control fraying, the familiar tightness coiling low in his gut warning him he wouldn't last, not like this.
Reluctantly, agonizingly, he lifted one hand from her stripes. The loss of that textured contact registered as almost physical pain, his fingers trailing down her spine in a desperate, clumsy arc. He reached around her hip, palm skimming the sweat-slicked curve of her thigh, and found her clit. He rubbed it in tight, rough circles. He knew it was exactly what she needed to get her there, now, before he fell apart completely.
The dual sensation seemed to overwhelm her. Her breath hitched in her throat, coming in short, ragged gasps. “Tim,” she gasped, his name escaping her lips as a plea. “Oh god, Tim—”
His thrusts slowed. His grip tightened on her sleeve. His other hand didn’t stop, rubbing harder, faster. “Who?,” he murmured against her ear.
Lucy squeezed her eyes shut. "Sergeant Bradford," she whispered, her voice trembling.
He snapped his hips, driving into her faster.
Lucy’s entire body tensed, her walls clamping down around him. "I'm gonna—" Her orgasm ripped through her, her body shaking uncontrollably.
The feeling of her pulsing around him was too much. Tim abandoned the rhythm, abandoning control entirely. He thrusted deep, one final time, burying himself as far inside her as he could go. He came hard, his vision blurring as he spilled himself inside her, his body shuddering with the force of his release.
They collapsed onto the desk. Tim pinned Lucy there, his chest heaving against her back, sweat slicking their uniforms where they pressed together. They stayed like that for a moment, both of them gasping for air. Tim rested his forehead against her back, pressing a kiss to her spine through her shirt. His hand lingered on her stripes, slowly tracing the outline of the chevrons. Finally, with a heavy exhale, he forced himself to step back.
Lucy pushed herself up from the desk. Her legs felt like jelly, trembling with the aftershocks of the orgasm that had torn through her moments ago. She straightened, a wince crossing her features as her muscles protested the abuse. She ran a hand through her hair, which was a tangled mess falling around her face, and turned to look at him. A lazy, satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth, her eyes dark and glazed. "If that’s what I do to you as your fellow sergeant," she said, her voice husky and low, rough from the screaming she had had to suppress, "I wonder what I did to you as your subordinate."
Tim huffed a short breath, shaking his head as he hauled his pants back up. The heavy fabric settled over his hips and he buttoned them quickly, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “You know exactly what you did to me back then,” he said.
Lucy simply smiled.
He reached down to retrieve his duty belt and placed it back on his hips. Tim adjusted his shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles as best he could.
Lucy managed to get her clothes back on too, but her hair seemed to be a lost cause. Tim’s hands had been ruthless, tangling the dark strands into a bird's nest that defied any quick fix. She reached for the elastic, pulling it free and letting the braid fall loose. Working quickly, she unraveled it, then gathered the mass of hair at the nape of her neck. It was a disaster— frizzy, knotted— but she twisted it back into something that resembled a bun, securing it tight. A few stray wisps escaped immediately, framing her face, refusing to be tamed.
She turned to Tim, smoothing down the front of her shirt one last time, checking herself over. She felt exposed, raw— like there was a neon sign flashing above her head about what had just happened. “How do I look?”
Tim took in the flush on her cheeks that hadn't quite faded, the swollen look of her lips, and the way her uniform shirt looked slightly rumpled despite her efforts. A low, appreciative chuckle rumbled in his chest. "You look," he paused, a glint of wickedness in his eyes, "like a Sergeant who just got thoroughly fucked."
“Tim!” she snapped, though there was no real heat in it, only playfulness. “I can’t believe you talked me into this.”
“I don’t remember talking you into anything…”
Lucy laughed, rolling her eyes at him. “You’re lucky I like you.”
Tim stepped closer to her and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “No, you love me.”
She smiled at him. “I do,” she admitted, softer. Then she gave him a small push. “C’mon. We need to get back out there.”
Their radios crackled and Grey’s voice cut through, authoritative and brisk. “All units, begin end of watch. Finish what you’re doing and head in.”
Tim chuckled again. “Well,” he said lightly, tilting his head, “looks like our shift is over.”
Lucy’s eyes narrowed, already catching on. “Tim—”
He stepped back in, just enough to close the space she’d created, his voice dropping. “Orders are orders,” he added, a grin pulling at his mouth. “We’ve been told to finish what we’re doing,” he said suggestively.
“Pretty sure we both already finished,” she countered, though her pulse quickened at the hunger still burning in his eyes.
“But a hard working sergeant like you deserves to finish multiple times,” he suggested, his gaze dropping to her lips. He reached for her hand, his fingers lacing with hers, then tugged her closer until their bodies brushed. He kissed her slowly, the rough calluses of his palm sliding up her jaw to cradle her face.
"You're ridiculous," she breathed against his mouth, but her fingers had already curled into his uniform shirt, pulling him nearer.
Tim hummed softly in agreement, deepening the kiss.
Then their radios crackled again. “Sergeant Bradford, see me in my office.”
Tim went still at Grey’s voice.
Lucy pulled back to look up at him, eyes wide.
Reality snapped back into place all at once. He dropped his hand from her face. He forced himself to move, reaching for his radio before the silence stretched too long. “Copy,” he said, voice steady on instinct alone. “Be there in ten.”
He sighed, looking down at Lucy— at Sergeant Chen still pressed up against him. Yeah. Day shift had finally broken his restraint. Finally got the better of him. But it had totally been worth it.