Chapter Text
The sun is bleeding orange across the downtown skyline when Tim finally kicks the apartment door shut behind them. August 1st. Day one. The list is taped to the fridge like a goddamn battle plan, and number one is written in Lucy’s neat handwriting in red Sharpie:
1. Floor-to-ceiling window. Sunset. No curtains. No mercy.
They’ve been circling it all day: little glances across the bullpen, her tongue touching her top lip when she caught him staring, his hand brushing the small of her back as they walked out of roll call. By the time they got home, the tension was a living thing.
Lucy toes off her sneakers, peels her socks away, and walks straight to the window wall in the living room (twenty-two stories up, but the glass runs the entire length of the room). She doesn’t look back.
“Clothes off, Bradford.”
Tim’s already moving. Shirt buttons hit the floor like bullets. Belt, pants, boxer briefs (everything gone in under ten seconds). He’s half-hard just from the order in her voice and the way the dying sun paints her silhouette gold through her thin tank top.
Lucy turns, hooks her thumbs under the hem, and drags the fabric up slowly, making sure he sees every inch of skin she’s revealing. No bra. The shorts come next, shimmied down her hips and kicked aside. She’s bare underneath, and the last rays of sunlight catch on the wetness already glistening between her thighs.
“Been thinking about this all day,” she says, voice low. “Every time I sat down in that shop I remembered what we’re doing tonight.”
Tim stalks forward until her back meets the cool glass. The city sprawls beneath them (cars, lights, people who have no idea what’s about to happen twenty-two floors up).
He cages her in with one forearm above her head, the other hand sliding straight between her legs without asking. Two fingers sink into her like she was made for them.
“Christ, you’re soaked.” His voice is gravel. “This from imagining me fucking you where the whole city could watch?”
Lucy’s head thumps back against the window. “Yes.”
He curls his fingers, strokes that spot once, twice, then pulls out and licks them clean while she watches, pupils blown wide.
“Hands on the glass,” he orders.
She obeys instantly, palms flat, forehead resting against the pane. The position arches her back, offers her ass up like a gift. Tim steps in close, lines himself up, and rubs the head of his cock through her folds until she’s rocking back trying to take him.
“Tim—”
“Beg.”
“Please. Please fuck me where everyone can see who I belong to.”
He slams in to the hilt in one brutal thrust.
Lucy cries out, the sound echoing off the glass. He doesn’t give her time to adjust (just pulls back and drives in again, setting a punishing rhythm that has her tits sliding against the window with every stroke. The city lights flicker on below them, a million little windows that could be looking up right now.
Tim’s hand splays across her stomach, holding her in place while he fucks her like he’s trying to leave a permanent imprint. His other hand fists in her hair, turning her head so she has to watch their reflection in the glass (her mouth open, eyes glassy, his jaw clenched with raw hunger).
“Look at you,” he growls against her ear. “Taking my cock like you were fucking born for it. You love this, don’t you? Knowing anyone with a telescope could see me splitting you open.”
Lucy moans, loud and broken. Her palms squeak against the glass as she tries to push back into every thrust.
“Answer me.”
“Yes—God, yes—I love it—”
He reaches down, finds her clit with two rough fingers, and circles hard. “Then come on my cock while the sun sets, baby. Show the whole damn city how pretty you look when you fall apart.”
The orgasm hits her like a freight train. She screams his name, whole body seizing, pussy clamping down so tight Tim has to grit his teeth to keep from following her over. He doesn’t stop (just fucks her through it, dragging it out until she’s shaking and sobbing and trying to curl forward.
Only then does he pull out, spin her around, and drop to his knees.
Lucy’s legs can barely hold her. Tim hooks one of her thighs over his shoulder, spreads her open with his thumbs, and licks into her like a starving man (long, filthy stripes from her entrance to her clit, again and again until she’s coming a second time, fingers scrabbling at his hair, hips jerking against his tongue.
When he finally stands, his mouth is shiny with her and his cock is an angry red against his stomach. He lifts her easily (hands under her thighs, back slamming against the glass again) and slides home in one smooth thrust.
Lucy wraps her legs around his waist, arms around his neck, and holds on as he starts moving again. The angle is deeper this way, brutal. Every stroke nudges her clit against his pelvis and has her seeing stars.
“Look at me,” he demands.
Her eyes flutter open. The sunset is gone; the city glows electric blue and gold behind his shoulder. His face is flushed, fierce, perfect.
“I love you,” he says, punctuating each word with a thrust. “Love you like this—spread open on my cock where the whole world can see you’re mine.”
She comes again on the last word, clenching around him so hard he groans like he’s dying. Tim buries his face in her neck, hips stuttering, and finally lets go (coming deep inside her with long, shuddering pulses that feel endless.
They stay like that for a long minute (her pinned to the window, him still inside her, both breathing like they’ve run a marathon).
Eventually he lowers her gently, keeps an arm around her waist when her knees buckle. Lucy laughs, breathless and wrecked, forehead against his chest.
“Day one,” she whispers, voice hoarse. “Thirty more to go.”
Tim kisses her temple, then her mouth (slow, filthy, tasting both of them). “Hope you’re ready, Chen. Because tomorrow I’m tying you to the bed and you’re not leaving it until the sun comes up again.”
She grins against his lips. “Promises, promises.”
He scoops her up, carries her toward the bedroom, and kicks the door shut behind them.
Outside, the city keeps moving. Inside, August has only just begun.