Closer fic: Stone in my hand (Fritz/Sharon)
Title: Stone in my hand
Fandom: The Closer
Author: Margot Grissom
Pairing: Fritz/Sharon (mention of Brenda/Fritz and Brenda/Sharon)
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: ~ 2500
Warnings: Rough sex (dub-con if you squint... a lot), minor spoilers up till mid-season 7
Summary: An unexpected visit, an argument, angry!sex. There's not much more to it really.
Disclaimer: This is just the flawed product of a deranged mind. The characters aren't mine. You'd know if they were.
A/N: Birthday fic of wrong for the lovely featherpluckn. Huge thanks go to calicat29 for the beta and general awesomeness.
STONE IN MY HAND
“I know what you're doing,” Fritz says quietly, closing the door to Sharon's office behind him.
She looks up from her paperwork and frowns. He hadn't knocked before entering the room, had not greeted her, simply walked in and decided to say things that don't make a shred of sense and glare at her like she'd just run over his dog. Or cat. She vaguely remembers Chief Johnson saying something about a cat once.
“Do you.” It's not a question. Sharon puts the pen down and adjusts her glasses then slowly folds her hands, tilting her head to the side a little. “Would you care to enlighten me then, Agent Howard, because I have no idea what you're talking about.”
He takes a step forward, crossing his arms over his chest, apparently not pleased about her calm reaction to his surprise visit, although she's not sure what he's expecting from her.
“You're trying to take Brenda away from me.”
Sharon's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Even more startling than that ridiculous accusation is the tone he says it in; a gravelly tone clearly conveying that this isn't some sort of sick joke.
Well, that explains the sudden hostility as of late, she thinks.
“Frankly, I don't know how to respond to something so absurd,” Sharon tells him in her usual precise monotone. “So, if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to work.”
She glances at her wrist watch: twenty past eight. Her team has gone home about two hours ago and she really wants to finish up rather than listen to an obviously deranged Fritz Howard spew nonsense. It occurs to her that it is somewhat ironic that the reason she's still here in the first place is her audit of Major Crimes, which forces her to stay longer just to get her actual work done.
“I do mind.” He takes another step towards her desk, which puts him almost directly in front of it, due to the humble size of Sharon's office. “I should have known that you would not put this much effort into helping Brenda with this lawsuit out of the goodness of your heart.” Somehow he manages to make the last few words sound like an insult.
She purses her lips and lets out a small sigh through her nose. So this seems to be Fritz Howard getting his alpha male on and marking his territory. It's a mystery why he decided to do this now, though. “Have you started drinking again?” Surely that must be the explanation.
His arms drop to his sides and he stares at her incredulously. “What?” His raised voice booms through her office and she's grateful that they're alone, so there's no audience to what is shaping up to be a scene out of a bad soap opera. “Why would you say that?” he demands to know, an angry glint in his eyes as he leans forward, placing both hands on her desk and squaring his shoulders.
Sharon pushes her chair back and stands up slowly, bringing herself to eye level with the man opposite her, whose posture is bordering on threatening.
“Because you're barging in here, acting almost paranoid, and making accusations that are completely unfounded. What am I supposed to think?”
“Are you seriously trying to tell me that your interest in my wife is strictly professional?”
Busted, she thinks, but her poker face is firmly in place and she calmly smooths down her jacket.
He's right; she is interested in how Brenda's lithe body looks underneath those hideous floral skirts and pastel sweater sets. What the Chief's naked form would look like covered in only a thin sheet of sweat, her blonde hair fanned out across Sharon's pillows. She wonders what else that sharp tongue is good at besides getting confessions, how those full lips would feel on her skin, and if Brenda's mouth really tastes like chocolate. How it would be to settle their disagreements between the sheets.
“I have eyes, Captain. I see you flirting with Brenda at every opportunity,” he challenges, leaning in further.
Sharon purses her lips and hums, acknowledging his words but not agreeing. He's not completely wrong, of course, but things would have never gotten this uncomfortably intense between the two women, if it weren't for the fact that Brenda quite enjoys Sharon's attention and gives back as good as she gets when it comes to longing glances, invasion of personal space, and oh-so-accidental touches. She's not sure what exactly this thing between them is, and she has refused to try and analyse it for fear of making it mean something, but it certainly isn't one-sided.
“Let me make a few things clear, Agent Howard,” she says in clipped tones, getting rather fed up with both his presence and this conversation. “First, I have eyes too. Your wife is flirting with me but I have the decency not to get between two married people. Secondly, if I were actively pursuing Chief Johnson, we wouldn't be having this ridiculous discussion, instead you'd be already coming home to an empty house.” She watches his mouth drop open at that last bit and feels the faint tingle of malicious satisfaction. He really is scared of losing his wife, she realises, scared of losing Brenda to her, and if it hadn't been for this unexpected and fairly unpleasant visit, she might even feel sorry for him.
He starts to say something but Sharon cuts across him. “Now, if you're done acting like I'm some sort of lesbian super-villain...” With her head held high, she stalks around her desk and him and opens the door, making sure she has exasperation written all over her features as she looks at him and nods towards the outer offices.
He closes the distance between them with two long strides but doesn't walk through the door, decides to tower in front of her instead.
“We're not finished here, Captain.” He's encroaching on her personal space, bowing his head to look directly into her eyes.
“Oh, we most certainly are. That is, unless you want to turn this into a physical altercation.” She lifts her chin defiantly, narrowing her eyes behind her glasses. “But frankly, I don't think you have the balls for that.” Almost flinching at her own words, she wonders, where the hell did that come from?
Sharon can see a tremble run through his tall frame then he takes hold of the door, wrenching it out of her grip and slamming it shut noisily.
“You bitch!” He practically spits those two words, his face turning red and a vein on his forehead throbbing visibly.
Sharon's eyes widen in surprise at his evident rage; she wouldn't have thought he had it in him. But there is something else in his eyes, too. Disbelief, or some desperate need to understand why her. How the wicked witch, the ice queen of FID, can pose a threat to his marriage. What Brenda could possibly see in her. And then the energy suddenly shifts; the air between them almost crackling with a different kind of tension.
She swallows, feeling her nipples harden against the fabric of her bra at the mere thought of resolving this argument with rough, sweaty sex. There certainly seems to be no way to settle this with words, because there's not much else to say if she doesn't want to spill what she feels for Brenda besides admiration and friendship. And the thought of Brenda only makes her pulse go quicker. Brenda, who she can't have, but judging by the flicker of desire in his eyes, she could probably have him. And he's been inside Brenda, so he's the next best thing, really. Licking suddenly dry lips, she wonders how he would feel inside her, how hard he would fuck her. She finds herself leaning in closer without ever making the conscious decision to do so, feeling his hot breath on her face.
Within the blink of an eye, his hands are gripping her upper arms, pulling her flush against him, and their mouths clash. She reaches up, winding her fingers into his hair and scratching his scalp, as she opens her mouth, kissing him hard and sloppy. It's a battle for dominance, tongues pushing and sliding against another, teeth bumping. He tastes like black coffee and something sharp and fresh, like chewing gum or breath mints. She pulls harder at his hair and nips his bottom lip, almost drawing blood. Sharon thinks she can feel the bulge of his beginning erection pressing into her stomach and moans into his mouth. They stumble towards her desk, reaching it more by luck than anything, the back of her thighs digging into the corner of it. He releases her mouth and draws in a harsh breath, spinning her around and pushing her down onto the desk, which sends files and pencils and other things flying but Sharon couldn't care less.
He pushes up her skirt until it's bunched around her waist and roughly shoves a hand between her legs. Sharon bites her lip to keep herself from moaning loudly when he rubs her sex through the thin fabric of her underwear. It's far from skillful but it does the trick; she feels her arousal growing. When his touch leaves her, she looks over her shoulder and watches him makes quick work of opening his fly and getting his cock out, stroking himself to full hardness. He only meets her eyes for a brief moment before looking away and putting a hand between her shoulder blades, pushing her down further so her breasts are pressed against the unforgiving surface of the desk. She smirks at the thought of Fritz already hating himself for what he's about to do and briefly wonders just when she became this vengeful.
He doesn't bother with pushing her underwear down, just pulls it to the side before spreading her with his fingers and entering her in one hard stroke. Sharon groans and jerks her hips into edge of the desk. She's wet but not nearly wet enough for this to not hurt but the pain feels right. This can't feel too good.
A few shallow thrusts then he finds his rhythm, fucking her deep and hard, and Sharon's nails are scratching over the surface of her desk, her breathing coming in harsh pants now, fogging up the polished wood. She can't help wondering if he ever fucks Brenda like this and the thought causes an odd lump to form in her throat, so she concentrates on the feeling of him sliding in and out of her, the friction against her sensitive inner walls just on the right side of painful. He's surprisingly quiet, only the occasional low grunt can be heard over the sound of his fast breaths and the slapping of flesh against flesh.
Sharon tenses when she feels his hand on her hair, stroking it. Somehow this feels more intimate than him simply taking her from behind, as ridiculous as the thought is, and it makes her uncomfortable. But then he winds his fingers into her tresses and yanks her back. She's almost embarrassed at the little yelp that comes over her lips as her head snaps back and her back arches. His other hand grabs her left breast, squeezing it roughly through the layers of clothing. This doesn't feel as wrong as his initial soft touch to her hair, yet it still strikes her as odd. It's as if he has to remind himself of who he's fucking, who he's trying to punish.
It's all too frantic, too raw, it can't last long. Sharon knows this yet is surprised when he releases her and she slumps forward onto the desk. He grabs her hips so hard she knows it'll leave bruises, pulling her towards him to shove a hand between her and the desk, seeking out her clit. The move drives him further into her and changes the angle ever so slightly, and she moans when there's suddenly pressure on a particularly sensitive spot. He circles her clit fast, appearing hell-bent on making her come first but Sharon's not having any of it. She strains closer to the edge of the desk, making it painful for him to continue the movements of his hand and consciously clenches around him, which results in a low groan making it past his lips.
“I bet your wife would have already made me come.” She manages to make it sound cold and detached despite her laboured breathing, and the way he slams into her once the words have left her lips tell her that she has successfully hit a nerve. His thrusts are almost brutal now but also erratic and only a moment later he comes deep inside of her with a choked sound.
His fingers on her clit aren't moving any more, just pressing hard against the swollen bud, but that and the sense of victory is all it takes to push her over the edge.
“I... win,” she mutters between sharp intakes of breath before her orgasm sweeps over her. She screws her eyes shut against the explosion of white behind her lids, and the current of her release feels almost electric, hot and cold at the same time. She spasms and clenches around his softening cock, unable to hold back a small, high-pitched whimper.
When the aftershocks of her orgasm start subsiding, he is already zipping up his pants, stepping away from her. Sharon takes one more shaky breath then pushes herself off the desk. She waits for the disgust with herself and her actions to settle in while she takes off her ruined underwear and pushes her skirt back down, but just it won't come. She can't even feel disgust for him, neither sympathy or pity.
"Captain," he speaks quietly and she almost laughs at his refusal to call her by her given name even when she has his semen trickling down the inside of her thigh. "Could we not..." he trails off but she knows what he's asking of her anyway.
She turns to look at him, unable to stop a nasty sneer from curling up the corners of her mouth. "Your wife is going through a rough patch and she's currently very vulnerable and I will not be the one hurting her further." It's a cruel thing to say and she knows it, yet cannot bring herself to care about his feelings.
He nods once, slowly, then glances away as he tries to straighten his tie with shaky fingers, leaving it even more askew than it'd been before. She watches him turn and leave in stony silence and briefly plays through in her mind how easy it would be to actually do what he'd accused her of earlier; getting between him and the woman he loves. But, true to her word, she's not that kind of person.
Sharon decides, then and there, that she is however the kind of person, who will make sure that Brenda knows, should the chief ever decide to make the first step, Sharon will be there, waiting.
Fandom: The Closer
Author: Margot Grissom
Pairing: Fritz/Sharon (mention of Brenda/Fritz and Brenda/Sharon)
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: ~ 2500
Warnings: Rough sex (dub-con if you squint... a lot), minor spoilers up till mid-season 7
Summary: An unexpected visit, an argument, angry!sex. There's not much more to it really.
Disclaimer: This is just the flawed product of a deranged mind. The characters aren't mine. You'd know if they were.
A/N: Birthday fic of wrong for the lovely featherpluckn. Huge thanks go to calicat29 for the beta and general awesomeness.
STONE IN MY HAND
“I know what you're doing,” Fritz says quietly, closing the door to Sharon's office behind him.
She looks up from her paperwork and frowns. He hadn't knocked before entering the room, had not greeted her, simply walked in and decided to say things that don't make a shred of sense and glare at her like she'd just run over his dog. Or cat. She vaguely remembers Chief Johnson saying something about a cat once.
“Do you.” It's not a question. Sharon puts the pen down and adjusts her glasses then slowly folds her hands, tilting her head to the side a little. “Would you care to enlighten me then, Agent Howard, because I have no idea what you're talking about.”
He takes a step forward, crossing his arms over his chest, apparently not pleased about her calm reaction to his surprise visit, although she's not sure what he's expecting from her.
“You're trying to take Brenda away from me.”
Sharon's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Even more startling than that ridiculous accusation is the tone he says it in; a gravelly tone clearly conveying that this isn't some sort of sick joke.
Well, that explains the sudden hostility as of late, she thinks.
“Frankly, I don't know how to respond to something so absurd,” Sharon tells him in her usual precise monotone. “So, if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to work.”
She glances at her wrist watch: twenty past eight. Her team has gone home about two hours ago and she really wants to finish up rather than listen to an obviously deranged Fritz Howard spew nonsense. It occurs to her that it is somewhat ironic that the reason she's still here in the first place is her audit of Major Crimes, which forces her to stay longer just to get her actual work done.
“I do mind.” He takes another step towards her desk, which puts him almost directly in front of it, due to the humble size of Sharon's office. “I should have known that you would not put this much effort into helping Brenda with this lawsuit out of the goodness of your heart.” Somehow he manages to make the last few words sound like an insult.
She purses her lips and lets out a small sigh through her nose. So this seems to be Fritz Howard getting his alpha male on and marking his territory. It's a mystery why he decided to do this now, though. “Have you started drinking again?” Surely that must be the explanation.
His arms drop to his sides and he stares at her incredulously. “What?” His raised voice booms through her office and she's grateful that they're alone, so there's no audience to what is shaping up to be a scene out of a bad soap opera. “Why would you say that?” he demands to know, an angry glint in his eyes as he leans forward, placing both hands on her desk and squaring his shoulders.
Sharon pushes her chair back and stands up slowly, bringing herself to eye level with the man opposite her, whose posture is bordering on threatening.
“Because you're barging in here, acting almost paranoid, and making accusations that are completely unfounded. What am I supposed to think?”
“Are you seriously trying to tell me that your interest in my wife is strictly professional?”
Busted, she thinks, but her poker face is firmly in place and she calmly smooths down her jacket.
He's right; she is interested in how Brenda's lithe body looks underneath those hideous floral skirts and pastel sweater sets. What the Chief's naked form would look like covered in only a thin sheet of sweat, her blonde hair fanned out across Sharon's pillows. She wonders what else that sharp tongue is good at besides getting confessions, how those full lips would feel on her skin, and if Brenda's mouth really tastes like chocolate. How it would be to settle their disagreements between the sheets.
“I have eyes, Captain. I see you flirting with Brenda at every opportunity,” he challenges, leaning in further.
Sharon purses her lips and hums, acknowledging his words but not agreeing. He's not completely wrong, of course, but things would have never gotten this uncomfortably intense between the two women, if it weren't for the fact that Brenda quite enjoys Sharon's attention and gives back as good as she gets when it comes to longing glances, invasion of personal space, and oh-so-accidental touches. She's not sure what exactly this thing between them is, and she has refused to try and analyse it for fear of making it mean something, but it certainly isn't one-sided.
“Let me make a few things clear, Agent Howard,” she says in clipped tones, getting rather fed up with both his presence and this conversation. “First, I have eyes too. Your wife is flirting with me but I have the decency not to get between two married people. Secondly, if I were actively pursuing Chief Johnson, we wouldn't be having this ridiculous discussion, instead you'd be already coming home to an empty house.” She watches his mouth drop open at that last bit and feels the faint tingle of malicious satisfaction. He really is scared of losing his wife, she realises, scared of losing Brenda to her, and if it hadn't been for this unexpected and fairly unpleasant visit, she might even feel sorry for him.
He starts to say something but Sharon cuts across him. “Now, if you're done acting like I'm some sort of lesbian super-villain...” With her head held high, she stalks around her desk and him and opens the door, making sure she has exasperation written all over her features as she looks at him and nods towards the outer offices.
He closes the distance between them with two long strides but doesn't walk through the door, decides to tower in front of her instead.
“We're not finished here, Captain.” He's encroaching on her personal space, bowing his head to look directly into her eyes.
“Oh, we most certainly are. That is, unless you want to turn this into a physical altercation.” She lifts her chin defiantly, narrowing her eyes behind her glasses. “But frankly, I don't think you have the balls for that.” Almost flinching at her own words, she wonders, where the hell did that come from?
Sharon can see a tremble run through his tall frame then he takes hold of the door, wrenching it out of her grip and slamming it shut noisily.
“You bitch!” He practically spits those two words, his face turning red and a vein on his forehead throbbing visibly.
Sharon's eyes widen in surprise at his evident rage; she wouldn't have thought he had it in him. But there is something else in his eyes, too. Disbelief, or some desperate need to understand why her. How the wicked witch, the ice queen of FID, can pose a threat to his marriage. What Brenda could possibly see in her. And then the energy suddenly shifts; the air between them almost crackling with a different kind of tension.
She swallows, feeling her nipples harden against the fabric of her bra at the mere thought of resolving this argument with rough, sweaty sex. There certainly seems to be no way to settle this with words, because there's not much else to say if she doesn't want to spill what she feels for Brenda besides admiration and friendship. And the thought of Brenda only makes her pulse go quicker. Brenda, who she can't have, but judging by the flicker of desire in his eyes, she could probably have him. And he's been inside Brenda, so he's the next best thing, really. Licking suddenly dry lips, she wonders how he would feel inside her, how hard he would fuck her. She finds herself leaning in closer without ever making the conscious decision to do so, feeling his hot breath on her face.
Within the blink of an eye, his hands are gripping her upper arms, pulling her flush against him, and their mouths clash. She reaches up, winding her fingers into his hair and scratching his scalp, as she opens her mouth, kissing him hard and sloppy. It's a battle for dominance, tongues pushing and sliding against another, teeth bumping. He tastes like black coffee and something sharp and fresh, like chewing gum or breath mints. She pulls harder at his hair and nips his bottom lip, almost drawing blood. Sharon thinks she can feel the bulge of his beginning erection pressing into her stomach and moans into his mouth. They stumble towards her desk, reaching it more by luck than anything, the back of her thighs digging into the corner of it. He releases her mouth and draws in a harsh breath, spinning her around and pushing her down onto the desk, which sends files and pencils and other things flying but Sharon couldn't care less.
He pushes up her skirt until it's bunched around her waist and roughly shoves a hand between her legs. Sharon bites her lip to keep herself from moaning loudly when he rubs her sex through the thin fabric of her underwear. It's far from skillful but it does the trick; she feels her arousal growing. When his touch leaves her, she looks over her shoulder and watches him makes quick work of opening his fly and getting his cock out, stroking himself to full hardness. He only meets her eyes for a brief moment before looking away and putting a hand between her shoulder blades, pushing her down further so her breasts are pressed against the unforgiving surface of the desk. She smirks at the thought of Fritz already hating himself for what he's about to do and briefly wonders just when she became this vengeful.
He doesn't bother with pushing her underwear down, just pulls it to the side before spreading her with his fingers and entering her in one hard stroke. Sharon groans and jerks her hips into edge of the desk. She's wet but not nearly wet enough for this to not hurt but the pain feels right. This can't feel too good.
A few shallow thrusts then he finds his rhythm, fucking her deep and hard, and Sharon's nails are scratching over the surface of her desk, her breathing coming in harsh pants now, fogging up the polished wood. She can't help wondering if he ever fucks Brenda like this and the thought causes an odd lump to form in her throat, so she concentrates on the feeling of him sliding in and out of her, the friction against her sensitive inner walls just on the right side of painful. He's surprisingly quiet, only the occasional low grunt can be heard over the sound of his fast breaths and the slapping of flesh against flesh.
Sharon tenses when she feels his hand on her hair, stroking it. Somehow this feels more intimate than him simply taking her from behind, as ridiculous as the thought is, and it makes her uncomfortable. But then he winds his fingers into her tresses and yanks her back. She's almost embarrassed at the little yelp that comes over her lips as her head snaps back and her back arches. His other hand grabs her left breast, squeezing it roughly through the layers of clothing. This doesn't feel as wrong as his initial soft touch to her hair, yet it still strikes her as odd. It's as if he has to remind himself of who he's fucking, who he's trying to punish.
It's all too frantic, too raw, it can't last long. Sharon knows this yet is surprised when he releases her and she slumps forward onto the desk. He grabs her hips so hard she knows it'll leave bruises, pulling her towards him to shove a hand between her and the desk, seeking out her clit. The move drives him further into her and changes the angle ever so slightly, and she moans when there's suddenly pressure on a particularly sensitive spot. He circles her clit fast, appearing hell-bent on making her come first but Sharon's not having any of it. She strains closer to the edge of the desk, making it painful for him to continue the movements of his hand and consciously clenches around him, which results in a low groan making it past his lips.
“I bet your wife would have already made me come.” She manages to make it sound cold and detached despite her laboured breathing, and the way he slams into her once the words have left her lips tell her that she has successfully hit a nerve. His thrusts are almost brutal now but also erratic and only a moment later he comes deep inside of her with a choked sound.
His fingers on her clit aren't moving any more, just pressing hard against the swollen bud, but that and the sense of victory is all it takes to push her over the edge.
“I... win,” she mutters between sharp intakes of breath before her orgasm sweeps over her. She screws her eyes shut against the explosion of white behind her lids, and the current of her release feels almost electric, hot and cold at the same time. She spasms and clenches around his softening cock, unable to hold back a small, high-pitched whimper.
When the aftershocks of her orgasm start subsiding, he is already zipping up his pants, stepping away from her. Sharon takes one more shaky breath then pushes herself off the desk. She waits for the disgust with herself and her actions to settle in while she takes off her ruined underwear and pushes her skirt back down, but just it won't come. She can't even feel disgust for him, neither sympathy or pity.
"Captain," he speaks quietly and she almost laughs at his refusal to call her by her given name even when she has his semen trickling down the inside of her thigh. "Could we not..." he trails off but she knows what he's asking of her anyway.
She turns to look at him, unable to stop a nasty sneer from curling up the corners of her mouth. "Your wife is going through a rough patch and she's currently very vulnerable and I will not be the one hurting her further." It's a cruel thing to say and she knows it, yet cannot bring herself to care about his feelings.
He nods once, slowly, then glances away as he tries to straighten his tie with shaky fingers, leaving it even more askew than it'd been before. She watches him turn and leave in stony silence and briefly plays through in her mind how easy it would be to actually do what he'd accused her of earlier; getting between him and the woman he loves. But, true to her word, she's not that kind of person.
Sharon decides, then and there, that she is however the kind of person, who will make sure that Brenda knows, should the chief ever decide to make the first step, Sharon will be there, waiting.