Work Text:
No more coppers
***
It's happening again. He's watching her, and she would sacrifice two weeks holiday, her favourite pair of jeans and those ridiculous shoes she bought for her last date to know exactly what he's thinking.
She knows what she's thinking, and it's not good. Testosterone poisoning, she tells herself. Any straight woman would be gagging for it, spending all day with this lot. Michael was too cute, Christian too married, and Josh? Too fucking damaged.
Which left Lawson. Which she needs to do. Leave him well alone.
But … he looks so good in uniform. Out of uniform, he was just another guy on the course: smart, older than most, nice smile. In uniform, he pulled on his command and it made him more direct, all business. And then he'd look at you with those eyes, that steady regard, and her knickers would combust. Poof. Up in flames.
But she had a rule about this sort of thing. She had sworn she would never date another copper – in fact, she swore it every damn time she ended up in bed with one. Fucking a guy from Traffic or Homicide or Bomb Squad was incestuous enough, but Tactical Response? Her friends had choked when she said she'd applied – they were standoffish, Perry had warned, and Jillian had just raised her eyebrows and muttered about the boys club. Danger freaks, she'd heard, and adrenaline junkies, and legends in their own lunchtime, and didn't that just prove the rest of the force knew shit about TR. .Yes, the team was tighter than most, but that kept them alive - communication and teamwork and pure trust. Downside? Absolutely no room for relationships bullshit.
Sure, she hadn't been able to resist big, bad Brendan Joshua, with his scar and his hulking body and his resentful gaze that said “I don't like you, but I'd sure like to fuck you”. Josh put the casual in casual fuck, but they'd still managed to upset the balance for a while, and … the way that had ended? Proof and pudding.
Now, Lawson Blake probably didn't even think the word fuck … not as a verb, anyway. He would lay you back, strip you slowly, lick his way down your body 'til you were just writhing for him, desperate and dripping. Then it would be slow, and good, and loving, even if it was just for one night, you know? Guys like that, they were more dangerous than the other kind, because they made you want things you had no business wanting, like romantic gestures and keys to the door and the big C word.
And she had to keep reminding herself that she had already had her one night. It had been pretty fucking amazing, really, and that's why she hadn't called him after. Only room for one uniform in her relationships, and she wasn't going there, ever again.
Not ever, Shannon thought as Lawson lined up the beers and she was forced to sit down opposite him, feet brushing under the table.
Not ever, she tells herself when Stella steals her seat and she ends up next to him, legs entwined and bodies flush and fingers linked under the tabletop.
Not ever, she vows, even as her hands are tearing at his shirt and his fingers are moving through her slick folds and his body is pressing her up against the door of the ladies loo. She's past thinking, though, because it turns out she was wrong, and he does know how to fuck, and she's gonna come soon and please don't let her scream because the whole team is right outside and fuck the lot of them because this is worth breaking the rules for.
Later, she realises that she can't blame it on the uniform, or too much beer, or even the way he can charm her with the faintest quirk of his lips. Fact is, cop or not, senior officer or not, Lawson Blake is hot, and he's nice, and he's pretty good boyfriend material.
She looks in the mirror as she fixes her lipstick and knows where she'll end up tonight, probably tomorrow night too. No more coppers, huh.
She's so fucked.