Archive of Our Own ^beta

During the meetings in Champ's office, Whiskey was all you could think about. You watched him twirl a pen between his fingers and imagined on what part of your body those fingers would feel the best. You watched the smiles and winks he sent you when he noticed you looking and pictured him giving you those same expressions but from between your legs. Your hands ached to touch him, and if you closed your eyes you could almost conjure up the clean scent of his cologne and the way it tickled your olfactory cortex when he'd nuzzled in close to kiss your neck.

And even though he never explicitly told you so, you had a sneaking suspicion that you weren't alone in feeling the way you did. Whiskey took every opportunity that was offered to brush up close and let his hand linger at the small of your back when he talked to you and sometimes it was you that caught him staring with a slightly dazed expression on his face. 

If anyone else noticed too, they were too polite to comment on it.

Whiskey still came to your office just as often as before - managing to time it so well with when you were patient free that you half suspected that he had some way of spying on you – and his mouth was just as eager against yours as he kissed you. But in addition to making out as if your lives depended on it, his hands now sometimes slipped under the fabric of your scrubs to palm your breasts and if he had you up against a wall he pressed close enough that there was no doubt about his state of arousal.

But as eager as you both were to have each other close again, there also always seemed to be one annoying reason or another that made sure that hurried makeout sessions were all there was time for. It was endlessly frustrating and if you had believed in any sort of higher power you would have questioned what the fuck they were playing at.

Another week rolled by and you were kept busy with work. The agents seemed to have stayed out of the worst kinds of trouble and the decrease in medical emergencies to deal with actually gave you time to focus more on the research side of work.

You were standing at your desk, bent over your microscope to study a tissue sample when there was a knock at the door. You called to whoever was out there to come in and heard the soft whoosh as the door opened.

“Hiya, darlin',” came the honey-smooth voice of Agent Whiskey.

You didn't look up, too engrossed in your work to do more than raise a hand and wave in the general direction of him. You heard him snort but decided to ignore it. Progress on the work in front of you had been escaping you all day and you wanted to make some kind of leeway – even just a small one – before you packed things up for the day. You should have known that Whiskey had other plans.

Apparently unsatisfied with the dismissive greeting you had given him, it was only a few seconds after the door had closed that you felt his hands on your hips as he gently molded himself against your back.

“Should I take offense that whatever's under that microscope holds higher interest to you than I do, sweetheart?” he teased.

“Not when you take into consideration that the reason for the interest is because I'm trying to figure out how to kill it,” you replied, still not looking up but pressing back against him slightly to show you very much appreciated his presence. It made him chuckle and he kissed the back of your neck lightly.

“And how are these homicidal schemes of yours goin'?”

“Unsatisfactorily,” you complained. Whiskey hummed and encouraged you to continue. He had learned that when it came to talking about work, you rarely stopped at just one word. And he was right. You sighed in frustration before immediately starting to go into details about the several unsuccessful trials you had conducted today and the day before. The rant went on for a few minutes and you felt some of the tension seep from your shoulders as you got to vent while Whiskey held you close.

You stopped talking a little later when you felt warm fingers inch their way under your shirt.

“Keep going. I'm listening,” Whiskey assured you with another kiss to your neck. You smiled and switched the slides under the microscope to a different one from yesterday that you hoped would reveal any further insight today.

“You're also distracting me,” you told him as you leaned in to look through the scope again.

“Am I?” The tone of voice was far too innocent for you to believe, for even a second, that it was sincere. And he immediately proved your suspicions right.

“Whiskey...” you said quietly as his fingers dipped under the waistband of your scrubs.

“Want me to stop?” he asked. He smoothed his hand over the soft skin below your belly button. It felt so good and you had longed for his hands on you this way.

“No,” you told him and, as Whiskey's hand slid lower, you spread your legs just a bit more, allowing his hand room to cup you and for one of his fingers to press between your folds.

Wanting to finish up your research as quickly as possible so you could focus on Whiskey instead, you tried to keep working but the way he was languidly stroking your clit was very distracting and very soon whatever millimeter you moved and adjusted the slides under the microscope was all for show. Eventually, you gave up the pretense and stood up to lean your head back against Whiskey's shoulder as he pleasured you.

When the orgasm rippled through your body, Whiskey tightened his arm around your waist to keep you steady as your knees felt like they were about to buckle.

Not wanting to seem greedy, you turned in Whiskey's arms and immediately offered to return the favor. But the cowboy only pressed his lips softly against yours and shook his head.

“As much as I would like that, I'm headin' out in just a tic. But tell you what, sugar,” he said, leaning in to press his forehead against yours. “Spend the night at my place tonight and I promise we can pick up where we've left off. Sound okay?”

You nodded and Whiskey smiled.

“Perfect. Now be a good girl for the rest of the day when I'm gone and I'll see you later.”

A soft kiss and then he was out the door. You stood still in the spot where he'd left you for a few more minutes before you snuck back to your room to change into clean underwear before you kept working.

  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At the end of the day, you decided to swing by Harry's cell to say hi and see how he was doing. You hadn't had a chance to go earlier in the week and you usually tried to stop by at least a few times a week just to chat and keep him company for a bit.

Even though Harry shared your passion for reading and never seemed too bothered by being confined to his cell, there was a part of you that didn't want him to start feeling like the prisoner that he actually was.

When you entered the cell, Harry was standing in the far corner of it, carefully painting a butterfly on the padded white walls. It was the latest addition to his collection of about twenty others, spread out across the walls. Harry, it had turned out, was a truly exceptional artist and his attention to detail was incredible. Half the time you were in here, you almost expected the butterflies to actually start flapping their wings and take flight.

You weren't particularly interested in butterflies – or any kind of insect for that matter – but you could appreciate the scientific approach that Harry had to his interest. He knew just about everything there was to know about just about any kind of butterfly there was and you had yet to ask him a question about them that he didn't know the answer to. It was a bit sad that all of these seemingly unimportant details had stuck in his mind when more than half of his own life had been erased.

Harry turned around after putting a final stroke of yellow to the wing he was painting. He was smiling brightly but his face fell just a little when he saw that it was you. However, you knew better than to take it personally.

“They're not back yet. But I'm sure he'll come by as soon as he returns,” you said kindly. You knew he had been hoping for someone else, and couldn't blame him. Harry smiled too, a little embarrassed, and rolled the thin paintbrush between his thumb and index finger. He apologized and moved to his desk to put away his art equipment. The cell smelled faintly of acrylic paint and you looked around and tried to see if there were any other new additions.

“That one,” Harry said, as if reading your mind, and pointed towards a small blue butterfly on the wall next to the one-way mirror. You walked over to it to inspect it, glancing only quickly at the mirror behind which you knew there was an agent sitting. You still weren't allowed to see Harry without supervision.

“Adonis blue,” he told you as you studied the forget-me-not blue wings, framed by a thin white line at their edge. “I've seen them in Buckinghamshire a few times. Haven't caught one yet.”

“It's beautiful,” you told him, complimenting both the painting and the insect it depicted.

“It's only the males that are blue. The females are more of a chocolate brown color,” he explained and you smirked.

“Guys...always with the flash,” you told him and he chuckled.

“Some more than others,” he agreed. Harry pointed to an empty tile next to the Adonis blue. “I'm going to paint her here. She possesses the same white line around her wings but just inside of it are these little orange dots. If you look very closely, there's still a fine dusting of blue mixed in with her brown. Makes her look almost bioluminescent. She's beautiful.”

“Sounds like it,” you said, “You'll have to let me know when she's done.”

Harry smiled brightly, the kind of smile he usually reserved for Tequila.

“Absolutely!” he promised.

He guided you around the room and shared a few more facts about his butterflies. You found yourself so enthralled by what he was saying that you almost forgot you had somewhere to be. When you realized and checked your watch, you were already five minutes late to meeting Whiskey at his place.

You apologized and told Harry that you had to go, asked him if there was anything he needed that you could get for him. He asked for some new pens but told you that other than that he was fine.

He looked like he wanted to say more, though, and you were almost at the door when he gathered the courage.

“Moonshine?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think perhaps it would be possible for me to go outside someday? Tequila tells me that the weather is rather lovely outside and I was hoping I'd maybe catch sight of an American Copper.” He pointed to another butterfly near his desk. There was a hopeful expression on his face and part of you wanted to bring him with you outside right away.

“I'll see what I can do, Harry,” you promised before you left.

  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“No. Absolutely not, Moonshine,” Whiskey told you as you were both sitting on his couch later that evening, his arm wrapped around your shoulders as you talked about your respective days.

“Why not?” you challenged.

“We still have no idea who that man is. We know for sure he's an agent of some sort but still have no clue whom he belongs to. Lettin' him outside is just beggin' for disaster.”

“He's been with us for months!” you said, rolling your eyes. Whiskey was being overly dramatic, in your opinion. He was the only one that hadn't softened towards Harry in the slightest. Whiskey was still as wary about the Brit as he'd been when he first showed up.

“Changes nothin',” Whiskey told you, proving your point. You couldn't help but let out a disbelieving laugh.

“Oh come on!” you told him. “Would you be able to lie to people like that? For this long?”

Whiskey went thoughtful for a few seconds and then he shrugged.

“...For the right reasons.”

You raised an eyebrow at that confession but Whiskey didn't elaborate and just as you were about to ask, there was a sharp riiing from the kitchen that interrupted you.

“Dessert's done!” Whiskey said – stating the obvious - and jumped from the couch a little too quickly. You stayed on the couch and watched him disappear to the kitchen, pursing your lips a little in confusion.

Whiskey returned a minute or so later with two plates, each with a thick slice of cake balancing on them. He'd told you the name of it earlier but you had forgotten. Some sort of chocolate cake with stout in it, chocolate frosting, and caramel filling. It looked fantastic and smelled even better!

“There you go, sugar,” Whiskey said as he handed you your plate and a small spoon. “It's a new recipe I'm trying out so I hope you like it.”

“I'm one hundred percent certain I will,” waiting for him to sit down before you finally dug in.

  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You had gotten about halfway through dessert and were thoroughly enjoying yourself when Whiskey suddenly turned towards you and took the plate from you, with no warning or explanation.

“Hey!” you protested as Whiskey set the plates down on the coffee table. That cake was just about the best thing you'd ever tasted and you were nowhere near finished with it. Whiskey sat back and ran a hand over his face before looking at you.

“Moonshine, if I have to watch you lick that spoon clean one more time... it'll drive me completely mad.”

You blinked and felt the annoyance over the cake-theft immediately drain away.

“Sorry,” you said, lips twisting into a smile.

“No, you ain't,” Whiskey said, calling your bluff before he leaned in for a kiss. His lips were soft and tasted of caramel as they pressed against yours. You cradled his face in your hands as Whiskey gently eased you back onto the couch.

Picking where you'd left off he'd promised and you felt your whole body tense in anticipation.

Ever the gentleman, Whiskey helped you out of your shirt before you could even ask him to and when he leaned in for another kiss you felt the cool metal of the buttons on his denim shirt against your chest.

When he pulled back you reached forward to grip his shirt and haul him back in but he held up a finger to stop you. Then he dipped that very same finger into the remaining caramel sauce on your plate and before you had quite figured out what he was up to, he brought that caramel-covered finger to your neck and ran it along your collarbone.

“What are you doing?” you asked with a half-laugh as you felt the sticky trail that Whiskey's finger left behind.

“Just humor me, baby,” he grinned before leaning down to kiss the hollow of your throat before letting the tip of his tongue follow the trail across your skin that his finger had just taken. He hummed against you, which sent pleasant shivers through your body, making goosebumps rise on your arms.

He kissed your neck until you were just about ready to start begging for more. Then Whiskey sat back up again, added some more caramel sauce to his finger. This time he dragged it along the curve of your breast. When his mouth once more attempted to erase every trace of sugar on your skin, you couldn’t help but arch into his touch.

“So sweet,” he mumbled appreciatively as he lapped at the line of caramel that he'd just painted along your jugular.

“Well, I have just been caramelized,” you said, stuttering a little on a syllable when Whiskey sucked on a small patch of skin on your neck. Not enough to leave a visible mark but enough to leave a phantom impression of his lips when he pulled back just a fraction to look up at you.

“Bet you taste sweet all over, honey,” he said, stroking a thumb along the apple of your cheek. “Can I taste you?”

Your mouth fell open a little in surprise before you nodded, perhaps a little too eagerly. It was a fantasy you had entertained for quite a few days now. Whiskey smiled before slowly moving down your body.

You felt less than graceful and sexy when he helped you out of your leggings and underwear but once they had been tossed onto the floor and he smoothed his hands up your thighs, there was nothing but lust and hunger in his gaze.

“Scoot up a little, gorgeous,” he said and you shimmied back a little before Whiskey gently pushed your legs apart and made space for himself between them.

He didn't “taste you” right away, opting instead for touching and gently kneading the softness of your thighs while giving them appreciative kisses. Once he felt they had been sufficiently well treated, he leaned down but stopped with his mouth hovering just over where you wanted him the most. His every exhale tickled the sensitive skin and had muscles clenching that you didn't even know you had.

“I'll make it good for you, baby, I promise,” he vowed and reached up to run a knuckle lightly along your folds.

“Whiskey,” you whimpered, gripping the corner of a pillow tight to prevent yourself from reaching down to push his head lower.

“Jack,” he corrected and you repeated his name.

“Say it again,” he whispered, keeping up the teasing touch of his fingers. And you did.

“Jack,” you moaned, pushing your hips forward just slightly.

“Now there's a sound I'll never grow tired of hearin'.”

Then his mouth was on you. You jumped slightly at the first brush of his soft lips against skin that already felt hyper-sensitive. It tickled but immediately felt better when Whiskey added a bit more pressure and parted his lips against you. It was almost like kissing but at the same time, it was very much not. Whiskey's lips moved with slow deliberation against your very center and with each flick of his tongue it was like tectonic plates moved under your skin, pleasure about to make your body erupt or cause a quake if Whiskey kept this up.

His hand found yours to squeeze it and it was only then that you became fully aware of the soft keening sounds that had spilled from your lips. You looked down to find him watching you, an eyebrow raised and lips and tongue not still, but moving slower.

“Keep going,” you assured him, “please.”

Whiskey moaned, pressing his face harder against you and you let out a similar noise as you felt his tongue dip lower from your clit to tease at your entrance.

“Oh, fuck!” you gasped.

Whiskey took the hand still clasped in his and guided it to the top of his head, where you could tangle your fingers in his soft hair instead. You did, trying real hard not to grip too tight as Whiskey did things with his tongue that should be illegal... or at least come with a warning label.

Each thrust of his tongue sent little shockwaves of pleasure running up your spine to your head and face, where they fell from your lips as gasps and moans or made your nose and cheeks tingle. They grew in intensity as Whiskey kept going and you felt your orgasm approaching.

“Jack...Jack stop!”

Whiskey immediately stilled and lifted his head to look at you.

“What's wrong?” he asked, a tiny wrinkle of worry forming between his eyebrows. “Too much? Am I moving too fast? Sugar I'm so-”

“Nono!” you interrupted him. “You're great. It's just...” You took a breath as you tried and figure out how to ask for what you wanted, in a way that didn't sound like it was coming straight from one of your textbooks. “I don't want to come like this. I want us to come together. With you...y'know...”

The worry disappeared, in favor of amusement, and the grin he gave you looked far too charming for someone whose shiny lips and chin had just been buried between your legs.

“I got about a dozen guesses, honey. All equally appealing but if you're after something specific I'm gonna need more details to go on than that.”

You hesitated and he kissed his way up your bare stomach.

“Come on,” he coaxed. “Whatever you're gonna ask for, I doubt it'll shock me...and if it does, I'm willing to at least consider it.”

“It's not something weird!” you protested “I just don't know how to say it in a sexy way.”

That made Whiskey chuckle.

“So say it in a non-sexy way then. Tell me what to do and if your poor choice of words dampens the mood, I'll take full responsibility for gettin' us back to moanin' each other’s names again in no time, baby. I promise.”

Now it was your time to laugh and you relaxed a bit.

“Fine... I want you to sit on the couch and I want...to be on top of you and...and I want to come when you do. Together.”

Whiskey didn't immediately reply. But he took your hand and guided it down to press against the hard bulge in his jeans.

“Now, you tell me, honey, does that feel like you just killed the mood?”

He ground against the palm of your hand to further prove his point and you shook your head.

“No?” you said but it sounded more like a question.

“No,” Whiskey agreed. “Now let me get myself outta these jeans and then we'll have you ride me until we both see stars.”

Whiskey made quick work of ridding himself of his pants and as you tried to sit up further, you heard the soft tear of a condom wrapper.

“Ready whenever you are, sweetcheeks,” Whiskey said a moment later, patting his thigh with one hand as he slowly stroked himself with the other.

If you had been less greedy, you would have been content with just watching the scene in front of you unfold. Whiskey truly was a vision, with his strong thighs spread just wide enough for him to be able to comfortably touch himself. His mouth was open just a little and you could see the lower lip tremble as his hand slid up and down his cock.

But how could you be content with just watching when you had been permitted to touch? On slightly shaky legs, you moved across the couch to straddle him with one knee of each side of his hips, bracketing him in. He let go of his cock and wound his arms tightly around you when you leaned in for a kiss. He held you so close there was barely space to breathe between you.

Then his hand slid down over the small of your back, and the curve of your ass, reaching around your thigh to grip himself again.

“Lower,” he instructed and as you relaxed your thighs and sank down, you felt the head of his cock press against your center. Your eyes widened just a little at the pressure.

“Take your time, honey,” Whiskey said as you let out a gasp when you slowly began pushing him into you. His voice sounded strained but his eyes were warm and kind.

Inch by inch, he slowly filled you up until you were fully seated on his lap again. You felt the stretch of your walls around him and the sensation was unfamiliar but not at all unwelcome.

Whiskey had closed his eyes but now he opened them again to look at you.

“I must've been a saint in a previous life, Moonshine. Nothin' else would justify me feelin' what I'm feelin' right now.”

You couldn't help but scoff a little at his antics but your teasing was quickly cut short when Whiskey shifted under you, making you let out a surprised moan.

You gripped the back of the couch and carefully and experimentally lifted yourself up. The sensation of Whiskey's cock slowly sliding out of you again felt a bit like an elevator beginning to descend before you were quite prepared for it. You felt almost a little dizzy for a split second before your body got on board with this new sensation. Then you lowered yourself back down again and this time your jaw went a little slack at the stretch of Whiskey inside you.

Whiskey was watching you like you'd hung both the moon and the stars as you slowly rode him. He made no move to urge you on but when you glanced down you saw that his hands were clenched so tightly into fists that his knuckles had turned white.

“Touch me,” you begged and his hips bucked under you as he hurried to comply. His hands found your hips and his head surged forward so he could kiss your sternum before latching onto a nipple. You tangled your fingers in his hair again and held him close as you experimentally undulated your hips against him in a way that had him keening against your breast. You did it again, with similar results.

Your body soon craved more and you picked up speed with the aid of Whiskey's hands helping to lift you up and pull you back down. You were grateful for the help since pleasure had rendered your thigh muscles much weaker than usual and you felt like you were about two minutes away from collapsing on top of him in a whimpering heap. But you forced yourself to try and hold your orgasm at bay. You had meant it when you'd said that you wanted the two of you to climax together.

And you didn't have to wait for long. Whiskey's grip on you had tightened and you would have been surprised if he was getting any air into his lungs with how shallow he was breathing.

“Jack, I'm...”

“Go ahead, baby. I'm...right with you,” he clipped out. You tightened your muscles and squeezed your thighs just a little closer together. The shift made that last bit of difference that was needed and on the next two thrusts of Whiskey's hips, pleasure speared through you and it only took a few more before you clenched and shuddered around Whiskey as you came. He snapped his hips against you and a few moments later he joined you in climax.

“Oh God,” you breathed shakily, forehead resting against his as you slowly came down from the high.

“Didn't think you were religious, sweetheart,” Whiskey teased, equally breathless.

“Recent events are making me reconsider it,” you replied and he chuckled.

“I'll take that as a compliment.”

“You most definitely should.”

You felt his hand cup the back of your neck.

“C'mere,” he said before pulling you in for another kiss.

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 “How would you like your eggs, darlin’?”

You looked up from the book you were reading at the kitchen table to look over at Whiskey where he was standing by the stove, making breakfast for the both of you.

“Huh?” you asked, having heard him say something but not registering what.

He held up three white eggs in one hand and shook it a little for emphasis as he repeated himself.

“Your eggs. How do you like ‘em cooked?”

You considered the question but quickly realized that you had absolutely no idea, so you just shrugged.

“I don't know. I like them all kinds of ways. You can just cook them however you cook yours.”

Whiskey nodded.

“Sunnyside up, it is!” he said with a happy smile that you couldn't help but mirror. You continued to watch him as he turned his back to you to resume breakfast preparations. Broad shoulders, dressed in a dark gray t-shirt, and he had on a pair of jeans that were surprisingly loose-fitting and threadbare for being Whiskey. His bare feet were tapping along slowly against the floor to a tune that only he could hear. You watched him closely, trying to commit his every move to memory.

“You keep starin' like that and your gaze is gonna burn holes in my shirt, gorgeous,” Whiskey suddenly said, voice laced with amusement.

“Maybe that's the plan?” you countered, making him laugh.

“Well, at least let me finish with the frying pan before you undress me, alright.”

“Alright,” you conceded and turned back to continue reading your book. You only got through about half a page before something else distracted you.

“Hey, by the way...” You said, closing the book and turning to face Whiskey once more. “I think I forgot to tell you but there's this medical conference in Sweden coming up that I've been invited to. I was wondering if maybe you wanted to come with me?”

“In Sweden, huh?” Whiskey asked and you nodded even though he couldn't see you with his back turned. Whatever was currently in the frying pan was sizzling enough that it probably required his attention more than you did.

“Yeah. South of Sweden,” you told him.

“Won't we freeze to death?” he asked but you could hear he was teasing.

“Not if we bring extra shirts and socks,” you threw back.

He picked up the frying pan and scooped what looked like bacon onto two plates before setting it back on the stove. He took the plates and joined you at the already set table, giving your cheek a kiss as he put your plate down in front of you.

“Sounds like fun. Count me in!”