Work Text:
Pale sunlight pours in through the large windows of Heimerdinger’s office, illuminating the stacks of paperwork Viktor has yet to touch. The man heaves a sigh. Truly the worst part of his job as the dean's assistant is the neverending paperwork. Student papers, grant applications, even Heimerdinger’s professional correspondence all fall under his responsibility. Sometimes he feels less like an assistant and more like a secretary. At least he's alone in the office today, free to work at whatever pace he chooses. Hopefully the piles of paper aren't hiding anything with a hard deadline.
Viktor works for a few hours, quietly progressing through the overstuffed cabinets around him. Suddenly, a knock sounds through the room, startling him. A glance at the calendar on his desk shows that he has an appointment today—earlier than he thought. As he walks toward the door, he mentally runs through the most recent files to cross Heimerdinger’s desk, searching for the cause of this visit. Opening the door reveals Sheriff Grayson’s face, and finally, Viktor remembers what is supposed to happen today.
“This is regarding the explosion?” he asks as he gathers his things. Grayson hums in confirmation. She hasn't moved into the cramped office, preferring instead to wait outside the door. Viktor nods to her as he approaches, pulling out his keyring to lock the door behind him.
The two make their way to Jayce Talis’s apartment in amiable silence. Neither of them are much for small talk, at least not with each other. Any small talk between them was worn threadbare during the first days of their acquaintance. Now, most of their communication consists of pointed nods and short sentences. They make their way through the streets in this manner, Grayson leading the way, until suddenly she stops walking.
“Sheriff?”
Grayson turns, glancing around the street behind him. “Do you have a moment, Viktor?” An innocent question, if it isn’t for the fact that they are deep in the backstreets of the city. Viktor glances around as well. There is nothing of import anywhere near them. He turns back to the enforcer, eyebrows raising in question. “A moment?” he repeats. “What for?”
She looks back at him, something unreadable in her eyes. “I think I need to…stop and think. Take a breather, before we arrive at that kid’s place.” She fixes him a look before continuing. “I’ve had a trying couple of days.”
Viktor tilts his head in sympathy. Both their jobs require dealing with endless bureaucracy, from people with much higher ranks but much lower intelligence. Nevertheless, he much prefers his brand of bureaucracy over hers. Nothing is worse than being held accountable to the council.
Grayson beckons him as she ducks into a nondescript alley. Viktor stands for a moment longer, contemplating his choices, before shrugging and following her behind a stack of boxes. He has an idea where this is going, though he's still surprised she'd initiate it now, here. Sure enough, when he gets close, she herds him back, against the brick walls on either side. He looks around at their dim surroundings. “Here?” he asks, faint amusement coloring his voice. The corner of his mouth lifts.
She shrugs. “As good a place as any.” They both know that any place they both frequent is too full of mutual acquaintances. “No one will know how long we need to get there and back anyway.”
Viktor nods slowly, calculating the risks. The alley is neat, which suggests someone visits frequently, but the buildings surrounding them are quiet. Perhaps if they are quick, and equally as quiet…. Viktor sighs to himself, giving in. “It’s been a while,” he remarks.
“It has,” she agrees. The rumble of her voice sends a slight thrill through him.
He settles against the wall, letting it take his weight. “How do you want me?”
“Like this.” She nudges his feet with hers. “Open a bit wider.” Viktor obeys. The order strikes a fire in him, the warmth simmering low in his abdomen. His grip on his cane tightens in anticipation.
Fingers light upon his shoulder, grazing his chest, ghosting over his cravat before wandering down the front of his vest. Viktor watches silently as Grayson thumbs the buttons holding his uniform together. Her hand reaches the front of his trousers and pauses. They each wait for the other to raise an objection. When no such objection comes, she boldly cups him through his trousers.
A gasp flies out of Viktor's mouth before he can stop himself. His eyes fly up to Grayson’s. There is amusement and heat in that steely gaze of hers. She doesn’t speak, but the silent acknowledgement of his reaction is enough to make him flush and look away. Unfortunately, it’s been a while for him, too.
He hears faint noises from the street—the familiar bustle of burgeoning morning crowds. The sounds wash over him as thick, graceful fingers slip inside his clothes and brush along the crotch of his underwear. The cloth is wet. Viktor feels her stare as fingers play over the outline of him. He can feel his briefs sticking to his contours, the wetness warm between them. She traces him front to back to front, forefinger ghosting over his hole before pressing at his cock. So she wants to tease. He allows the finger a few more passes before his patience gives out.
He braces his hand on his cane and jerks his hips forward, ignoring the slight strain in his back. “We don’t have much time,” he murmurs. Get on with it, he doesn’t say. That will appear too eager—even if he knows Grayson is smart enough to see right through him. He grinds forward again, a frisson of pleasure racing up his spine. “Miss Grayson.” He cannot stop the hint of urgency in his tone, the ineffective attempt at an unspoken order. She smiles at him, hums, and finally slips her hand into his underwear.
He has the wherewithal to be embarrassed at how aroused he is, given how little she’s actually touched him. His wetness spreads easily as fingers circle his cock. He knows she wants to remark on it, but Grayson is a polite woman, and previous encounters have convinced her to remain silent. Either way, he has little time to appreciate her discretion before she finds his hole and the back of his head finds the wall.
She starts with one finger, a slow back-and-forth that sets him alight. The stretch is negligible, but the sensation is invigorating, leaving him searching for more. He grinds into her palm to try to get it deeper, but the angle her hand is trapped at makes it impossible. The corners of his mouth jerk down in dissatisfaction. “Wait.” He throws caution to the wind, tucking his cane under his arm and undoing the rest of his trouser buttons before pushing his garments down to mid-thigh. The slight morning breeze chills him, exposing exactly how much wetness he produced. Viktor’s eyes flick to the alley entrance before meeting Grayson’s. He replaces his cane on the ground. “Hurry,” he hisses.
She looks at him for a moment, calculating how much more time they can steal, before she nods. Her other hand braces itself by his head. Another finger slips into him, and Viktor’s head falls back once more at the glorious sensation. Her fingers are so deliciously thick. She reaches deep like this, stimulating seldom-touched nerves as he gives into the urge to hump her hand. They continue like that for a bit. Grayson adds a third finger, Viktor fighting to keep his noises silent. Squelching noises and bitten-off moans fill the alleyway.
At length, Viktor realizes he hasn’t offered anything in return. He should—she is being extremely hospitable. He opens his mouth in time for a well-aimed thrust to scatter his thoughts, and he slaps his hand over his mouth to muffle a small whine. “Do…do you,” he tries through his fingers, before giving up on words and simply gesturing in the direction of her hips. He readjusts his grip on his cane before extending his left hand toward her.
She grabs his wrist. “This is fine,” she says as she places his hand between her legs, over clothing. Her hips set a firm pace against the heel of his palm. Part of him wants to ask if this is really all she wants, but as things are, he can only focus on keeping his arm in place when she lets go.
As soon as she‘s sure he’ll stay, she replaces her hand on the wall. Without warning, the hand in his trousers increases speed. Deprived of something to hide behind, Viktor resorts to biting his lip with savage force.
Her fingers stretch him wide, his walls fluttering as they struggle to close. Her every thrust presses against that spot, forcing faint whines through his nose. Her accuracy is commendable, he thinks deliriously. The hand not clutching his cane for dear life is enveloped by damp warmth. Viktor feels like he’s burning alive.
On one particular thrust, Grayson’s thumb catches perfectly against his cock, and Viktor crumples, doubling up over the sheriff's arm as if shot. His legs shake profusely, the right one giving out entirely. He clutches desperately at the forearm keeping him up as pleasure roars through him. He’s dimly aware of Grayson clutching his forearm in turn, hard enough to leave bruises, rutting against him with an increasing franticness he never sees otherwise. Finally, she seizes around him.
The arm next to his head buckles. In an impressive show of mental faculty, she pushes him up with a shoulder the same moment she topples forward. Viktor collapses thankfully against the wall. He turns his head away well before their faces draw near, creating a thin veneer of privacy with which they can recover separately. Viktor stares faintly in the direction of the street, distantly aware of dust motes dancing in a lone sun ray.
They separate after several minutes. Grayson retreats to the wall opposite. They don’t look at each other.
Viktor waits until he feels he can stand before shakily shoving his cane under his arm. He fumbles at his trousers, double- and triple-checking that the buttons are aligned, smooths down his clothes, replaces his cane. He waits until he no longer hears clothes rustling before he raises his head to meet Grayson’s gaze. He raises his eyebrows in question—ready? Grayson pauses and looks him over before nodding in reply.
He straightens up, giving himself a shake before nodding back at his companion. “We should go, Sheriff,” he says, turning as if nothing has happened. Grayson visibly gathers herself and joins him at the mouth of the alleyway. They share one last look before stepping out into the sun together, leaving their indiscretion behind.
“Tell me about this Jayce Talis,” Viktor says.