st_aurafina (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
st_aurafina) wrote2020-02-28 05:26 pm
st_aurafina) wrote2020-02-28 05:26 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Hunting Strategy (Person of Interest, Rated Explicit, Control/Schiffman)
Title: Hunting Strategy
Fandom: Person of Interest
Rating: Explicit
Words: 1059
Characters/Pairings: Control/Schiffman
Warnings/Content: Loyalty, Boss/Employee Relationship, Motel Sex, Cunnilingus
Notes: Written forenemyofperfect for Chocolate Box 2020
This gifset by![[tumblr.com profile]](https://www.tumblr.com/favicon.ico)
asleepinawell is highly relevant: control and schiffmann were the greatest untold love story of person of interest
Summary: Schiffman doesn't want to be the alpha wolf.
Also at the Archive
The current op is dragging, endless tussles with various agencies for jurisdiction, then long periods of waiting to see if their hunches are going to pay out. The entire bullpen is quiet, like a library after dark. One guy has his chin cupped in his palm. Even Schiffman has taken to leaning against a desk while time plays itself out. The moment that the balance shifts the team will leap into action, but for now the only person still moving is Control.
Schiffman watches her shadow move over the floor. Control is like a shark. The moment she stops swimming, the game will be over, probably for all of them.
Then their suspect arrives at the drop site. A shiver goes through the room, and as one, they're on the hunt.
Schiffman works with predators, but she's not one herself, or at least not a solitary one. She saw a documentary once on Discovery about co-operative hunting strategies, and that's how it feels to be in Control's team. They run down an animal larger than all of them combined, then work together to rip out its belly. Schiffman isn't the leader of the pack and she doesn't want to be. Her cooperative hunting strategy is one of loyalty. She's the best beta wolf in Control's pack.
The motel is one of a dozen clones lining the Beltway. Schiffman arrives first and takes a shower, tidies herself up.
"I've only got the sitter for another hour," Control says, as she sheds her jacket at the door.
"Understood," says Schiffman, and takes the jacket without thinking, hangs it on the hook on the back of the door. When she turns around, Control grips her by the throat and pulls her close to kiss her.
Schiffman stays very still in her grip. You don't kiss Control, you get kissed by her, but Schiffman locks her knees, because they're already shaking with want. It's so gratifying to have Control here, to have Control's focus only on her. It's a privilege of rank that Schiffman won't squander with bad impulse control.
Control pulls away, undoes a couple of buttons on her shirt – she's still dressed for work – and pushes Schiffman towards the bed. Schiffman scrambles to the side, leaving room for Control, and while she waits, she counts her breath in and out to keep herself calm. She loves this so much that it makes her head spin, but there's a strict code of behaviour in this situation. If she doesn't stick to the rules, the situations stop happening.
Control watches Schiffman with a thoughtful expression as she sheds her shoes, unzips her skirt and steps out of it. Schiffman knows those faraway eyes are focused on some unfolding crisis somewhere in the world, but still, the gaze makes her shiver and sweat.
Control settles on the bed, allows Schiffman to get comfortable on elbows and knees between her spread legs. Schiffman reminds herself of how much Control sees, how she almost certainly knows how desperately Schiffman craves these meetings. It's okay, she tells herself as Control's thighs press at each side of her head. It's okay to want to do this. Schiffman has earned the right to be here by being loyal. There's not many people alive who get to see Control vulnerable, and Schiffman is one of the few.
Control throws her head back, moans softly as Schiffman touches her lightly then with more pressure. Schiffman loves that sound, and all that it means. Control trusts her this much, allows her to see this much. Her breathing, already ragged, hitches at that thought, and she reminds herself to breathe, to keep centred and focused. What she wants, how much she loves this, none of that matters right now.
What does matter are the things Control likes: gentle, persistent strokes to her clit until she's close to coming, then two fingers inside her and spread as wide as Schiffman can manage. Schiffman is heady with the sounds Control is making, the way her salty taste breaks over Schiffman's tongue. She chances a quick look upwards: Control's eyes are glassy and she stares at the ceiling as her hips undulate, seeking Schiffman's mouth again. Fingers snarl in Schiffman's hair, pushing her down and back to work. It's not an angry action, but it is a reminder of the order in this room.
Control comes with her ankles crossed behind Schiffman's neck, and Schiffman's mouth in constant contact with her clit. Schiffman moans with her, gasping and spluttering for breath in the limited space between Control's legs. Her own clit is throbbing, and from the cold air at her crotch, her pants are wet all the way through now.
When the judders have slowed, and Control has let go of Schiffman's hair, it's Schiffman's turn. She lies in Control's arms, sweaty and desperate, itching all over for release. Control's hands are bigger than Schiffman's, and she's not exactly gentle, but she has laser precision. She works Schiffman's clit the same way she loads and fires a pistol: efficiency of movement and speed. Schiffman arches up against the bed, screams into Control's palm, and fuck, it's so good, it's the reason for being part of the team in the first place. She'd wish for this every day, but the intensity would probably kill her.
She's still slack on the bed when Control disappears into the bathroom, has barely managed to find her t-shirt when Control comes back and starts to dress.
"We're going to have some fallout from today," Control says, as she pulls her hair out of her collar and ties it back into a ponytail. That's the extent that she'll talk about an op outside of the Pentagon. Most motels in DC are bugged.
Schiffman's hands are trembling. She can't quite get the laces on her shoes to stay tied. "Uh-huh," she says, and then winces. "Yes, Ma'am." It's not what she wants to say.
Control gives her a warning look, then leaves, closing the motel door behind her.
"I'd die for you." Schiffman says, long after she hears the car engine kick over. She could never say it to Control's face, but she doesn't need to. A pack leader can read the signs.
Fandom: Person of Interest
Rating: Explicit
Words: 1059
Characters/Pairings: Control/Schiffman
Warnings/Content: Loyalty, Boss/Employee Relationship, Motel Sex, Cunnilingus
Notes: Written for
enemyofperfect for Chocolate Box 2020This gifset by
Summary: Schiffman doesn't want to be the alpha wolf.
Also at the Archive
The current op is dragging, endless tussles with various agencies for jurisdiction, then long periods of waiting to see if their hunches are going to pay out. The entire bullpen is quiet, like a library after dark. One guy has his chin cupped in his palm. Even Schiffman has taken to leaning against a desk while time plays itself out. The moment that the balance shifts the team will leap into action, but for now the only person still moving is Control.
Schiffman watches her shadow move over the floor. Control is like a shark. The moment she stops swimming, the game will be over, probably for all of them.
Then their suspect arrives at the drop site. A shiver goes through the room, and as one, they're on the hunt.
Schiffman works with predators, but she's not one herself, or at least not a solitary one. She saw a documentary once on Discovery about co-operative hunting strategies, and that's how it feels to be in Control's team. They run down an animal larger than all of them combined, then work together to rip out its belly. Schiffman isn't the leader of the pack and she doesn't want to be. Her cooperative hunting strategy is one of loyalty. She's the best beta wolf in Control's pack.
The motel is one of a dozen clones lining the Beltway. Schiffman arrives first and takes a shower, tidies herself up.
"I've only got the sitter for another hour," Control says, as she sheds her jacket at the door.
"Understood," says Schiffman, and takes the jacket without thinking, hangs it on the hook on the back of the door. When she turns around, Control grips her by the throat and pulls her close to kiss her.
Schiffman stays very still in her grip. You don't kiss Control, you get kissed by her, but Schiffman locks her knees, because they're already shaking with want. It's so gratifying to have Control here, to have Control's focus only on her. It's a privilege of rank that Schiffman won't squander with bad impulse control.
Control pulls away, undoes a couple of buttons on her shirt – she's still dressed for work – and pushes Schiffman towards the bed. Schiffman scrambles to the side, leaving room for Control, and while she waits, she counts her breath in and out to keep herself calm. She loves this so much that it makes her head spin, but there's a strict code of behaviour in this situation. If she doesn't stick to the rules, the situations stop happening.
Control watches Schiffman with a thoughtful expression as she sheds her shoes, unzips her skirt and steps out of it. Schiffman knows those faraway eyes are focused on some unfolding crisis somewhere in the world, but still, the gaze makes her shiver and sweat.
Control settles on the bed, allows Schiffman to get comfortable on elbows and knees between her spread legs. Schiffman reminds herself of how much Control sees, how she almost certainly knows how desperately Schiffman craves these meetings. It's okay, she tells herself as Control's thighs press at each side of her head. It's okay to want to do this. Schiffman has earned the right to be here by being loyal. There's not many people alive who get to see Control vulnerable, and Schiffman is one of the few.
Control throws her head back, moans softly as Schiffman touches her lightly then with more pressure. Schiffman loves that sound, and all that it means. Control trusts her this much, allows her to see this much. Her breathing, already ragged, hitches at that thought, and she reminds herself to breathe, to keep centred and focused. What she wants, how much she loves this, none of that matters right now.
What does matter are the things Control likes: gentle, persistent strokes to her clit until she's close to coming, then two fingers inside her and spread as wide as Schiffman can manage. Schiffman is heady with the sounds Control is making, the way her salty taste breaks over Schiffman's tongue. She chances a quick look upwards: Control's eyes are glassy and she stares at the ceiling as her hips undulate, seeking Schiffman's mouth again. Fingers snarl in Schiffman's hair, pushing her down and back to work. It's not an angry action, but it is a reminder of the order in this room.
Control comes with her ankles crossed behind Schiffman's neck, and Schiffman's mouth in constant contact with her clit. Schiffman moans with her, gasping and spluttering for breath in the limited space between Control's legs. Her own clit is throbbing, and from the cold air at her crotch, her pants are wet all the way through now.
When the judders have slowed, and Control has let go of Schiffman's hair, it's Schiffman's turn. She lies in Control's arms, sweaty and desperate, itching all over for release. Control's hands are bigger than Schiffman's, and she's not exactly gentle, but she has laser precision. She works Schiffman's clit the same way she loads and fires a pistol: efficiency of movement and speed. Schiffman arches up against the bed, screams into Control's palm, and fuck, it's so good, it's the reason for being part of the team in the first place. She'd wish for this every day, but the intensity would probably kill her.
She's still slack on the bed when Control disappears into the bathroom, has barely managed to find her t-shirt when Control comes back and starts to dress.
"We're going to have some fallout from today," Control says, as she pulls her hair out of her collar and ties it back into a ponytail. That's the extent that she'll talk about an op outside of the Pentagon. Most motels in DC are bugged.
Schiffman's hands are trembling. She can't quite get the laces on her shoes to stay tied. "Uh-huh," she says, and then winces. "Yes, Ma'am." It's not what she wants to say.
Control gives her a warning look, then leaves, closing the motel door behind her.
"I'd die for you." Schiffman says, long after she hears the car engine kick over. She could never say it to Control's face, but she doesn't need to. A pack leader can read the signs.