white collar pwp elizabeth/diana on a desk
Title: How to Fuck The Boss's Wife and Keep Your Job: A Guide
Pairing/rating/fandom: White Collar, Elizabeth/Diana, NCvery17
Summary: [But given the chance, who wouldn't do this with their boss's wife? On her boss's desk, no less.]
Notes: gyzym beta'd and shamelessly encouraged this.
Warnings: Slightly spoilery for S1 finale. Infidelity, lesbians, general irreverence.
"This really isn't how-" Diana starts.
"Shut up," Mrs. Burke interrupts, and finishes dragging Diana's shirt off so she can get at her mouth and kiss her quiet.
Diana kisses like she knows exactly how fired she could get for this. But given the chance, who wouldn't do this with their boss's wife? On her boss's desk, no less. She can see her own signature on one of the forms under Mrs. Burke's thigh where her skirt's all hitched up. Diana's fingers itch to push it up more, but she's not sure what exactly she can get away with, here. She breaks off from the kiss panting.
"Mrs. Burke?"
Without warning, Mrs. Burke slaps her. Not hard, but really not the sort of thing she expected. Hurt, she tries again. "Mrs-" another slap. "...Elizabeth?" she tries, only about 90% sure that that's actually her name. They haven't really talked a lot before this, to be honest. But it must be right, because Elizabeth rewards her with a gentler kiss, then another one on the cheek where she hit her.
"You regularly go around hitting FBI agents?" Diana asks when they break apart again.
"Yes," Elizabeth laughs, and reaches back to unhook Diana's bra and strip it down off her in one smooth motion. (This is one of the reasons Diana loves women: no fumbling.) Diana shivers, and wonders if Mrs. Burke-- Elizabeth, that is-- remembers that the walls are glass, that there are security cameras everywhere, that there is absolutely no way for Peter Burke to not find out that someone's banged his wife on his own desk.
When Elizabeth ducks her head to scrape her teeth over Diana's nipple, though, Diana forgets about the glass walls and the cameras, just throws her head back and moans, loud and low. Elizabeth laughs at her again, and Diana's seriously beginning to suspect that this is not a new thing, that she has maybe done this before, made her husband's interns and inferiors moan like that. Diana's not a jealous woman, but that thought does send a hot little stab of fury through her gut, and in revenge she grabs two fistfuls of Elizabeth's hair, drags her back up for another kiss, this one much meaner, harder. But Elizabeth, damn the woman, takes back the control so easily Diana almost doesn't notice, almost doesn't register when she breaks away panting again, this time because Elizabeth's pushing her to her knees.
Diana is not scared of Elizabeth Burke. She's not. The woman is five foot two with no combat training. She's a glorified caterer. She should not be able to get a trained FBI agent on to the ground this easily. But, okay, somewhere in the back of Diana's mind she acknowledges that she must be a little intimidated, because when she takes the hint, nuzzles in between Elizabeth's thighs and reaches up to hike up that skirt a little more, her hands are definitely shaking a bit. Maybe more than a bit. Maybe enough that Elizabeth won't let her try to continue. She just hooks one leg around Diana's back, the heel digging right into the pressure point, and it makes Diana arch, makes her forget her fear and shame and just shove her face forward so she's mouthing, oh god, she's mouthing her boss's wife's panties and her boss's wife is definitely ridiculously wet already.
"Hands on the desk," Elizabeth tells her, low and imperious, and Diana doesn't dare question it at this point. She does, however, recognize a loophole when she's given one, and she hasn't been told to stop, so she nudges in, gets Elizabeth's panties between her teeth, tugs them to the side. And, ah, god, she's so fucking wet and Diana cannot help herself, has to taste. She's rewarded with a little gasp and Elizabeth's thighs tense around her and Diana takes that as permission enough, shoves her face in around the panties and laps at her.
It's weird, doing this without hands. It's weird to realize that she's never done this without hands, honestly. She can't hold her open, can't keep her face clean at all, has to press Elizabeth's damp panties to the side with nothing but her face, has to figure out how to breathe without stopping because every time she slows down even the slightest bit, Elizabeth jams that heel into the nerve into her back. Diana's used to this being almost a delicate act, used to spreading girls wide and licking them open slow and teasing, used to making them beg a little. But Diana has figured out by now that Elizabeth Burke will not beg, and may in fact make her beg. She's close already, wants to beg Elizabeth to come, wants her to tense and kick and pull her hair. Diana's breathless, face hot and, ah, god, covered in her, and when she finally gives in and moans a little against Elizabeth's cunt, that, that's what gets her to come apart. She shouts when she comes, jams Diana's face hard into her crotch and Diana sort of gives up on breathing, sort of doesn't care. When Elizabeth finally relaxes, Diana pulls away panting, red-faced, probably totally disheveled. She can't help but glance up at where she's pretty sure the camera is.
"You're not done," Elizabeth says, snapping Diana back to attention. (Her spine actually straightens a bit. She wonders if this is what Burke is trying to emulate when he gets his bossy voice; he's clearly got a ways to go to match his wife, if that is the case.)
"I don't know if I ca-" Diana starts, but Elizabeth cuts her off. Again.
"Get up." Diana gets up. "Strip." Diana doesn't have a hell of a lot left to strip, but she does. She winces a little when she peels off her underwear (plain, cotton, boyshort-type; next to Elizabeth's understatedly elegant little affair it may as well be boxers, Diana feels, but there's no hiding them at this point)-- she's so wet it's uncomfortable to move, like at any moment she's just going to goddamn melt. Elizabeth looks her up and down, smirks at her sensible shoes which she neglected to take off, and flicks her hair out of her face. She looks remarkably composed for someone so fresh from a screaming orgasm. Diana supposes she just looks remarkably composed all the time.
"Now," Elizabeth says, "I like you, so I'm going to let you come." (Damn, Diana hadn't actually considered the possibility that she wouldn't. She's intensely grateful, now, and a little embarrassed to have taken that for granted.) "What's going to happen is I'm going to stay right here, and you're going to get one of those lovely legs-" (Diana tries not to blush; she does not get this kind of compliment often.) "-up over mine, here, and you're going to grind against me until I come again. You're going to need to come before that, though, because after the second time, I'm finished. And then we get dressed, and we leave. Understand?"
Diana nods dumbly. She's not one to be rendered speechless, usually, but Elizabeth's just so completely matter-of-fact, and Diana really has no clue what to do with that besides obey. It's a downright weird position, trying to get their legs intertwined properly while Diana's trying to balance. Elizabeth ends up half-reclining, propped up on her elbows (and knocking down a framed photo of herself in the process of getting there) and looking no less regal for it. It's lucky Diana's tall, and lucky the desk is short, but even so she has to practically climb onto Elizabeth's lap for it, and she suspects this is not an accident. She can't really reach to kiss, not without knocking the computer off the desk as well, but Elizabeth reaches up and shoves two fingers in Diana's mouth, and, ah, that's enough to keep her occupied, keep her from actually sobbing aloud when they're finally arranged enough that she can grind down against her. Diana's never actually tried it this way before, never really seen a need to, and it probably wouldn't work at all if they weren't both so fucking wet. Only, they are, so it does, and Diana comes so fast she'd be embarrassed if she were aware and conscious enough to do so. She probably makes noise, probably bites down on Elizabeth's fingers too hard, or maybe opens her mouth to gasp and lets them fall out; either way, the next coherent thing she registers is another slap to the cheek, Elizabeth's fingers wet from her mouth, and that's almost, almost enough to make her go again. But Elizabeth's coming, and Diana now has the opportunity to watch her while she does-- it's gorgeous, her whole body arches and tenses and she looks momentarily like some perfect statue, completely frozen, face beautifully contorted. And then Diana watches her come down, watches her collect herself, put herself back together, and that's gorgeous too.
She disentangles with no small amount of regret-- this won't happen again, she's almost sure of it. But as Peter Burke (who surely, surely must have been alerted that someone's in his office, who is quite possibly watching this, who quite possibly knew his wife was planning to do this all along) has not burst in here and killed her yet, Diana supposes that once is probably enough of a treat anyways. But, god, when Elizabeth sits up and pulls Diana in for a kiss, the finality of it almost makes her want to beg for more, for something real.
And then Elizabeth pulls away, hops down off the desk and sorts her clothes out. Diana has to turn away, can't look at her as she gets dressed. It's damn uncomfortable, wriggling back into pants when she's still this slippery and sensitive, and she's already planning on a long, scalding shower when she gets home.
When she finally looks up again, Elizabeth's already gone. The desk is still a mess-- Diana flushes hotly to notice that the ink on those forms she left for Burke is a bit smudged. She considers cleaning it up, trying to hide it. Then she reconsiders, grabs her bag, and gets the hell out of there before something else can go horribly, horribly right.
***
"Thanks for meeting me."
Starbucks. Outdoors. Spring. Christy's at home, has called three times today, wants to know why Diana's still in Manhattan if the case was over four days ago. Paperwork, she has told her. Mountains of it. It's not a lie.
"Not at all." Diana wishes she weren't still this shy around Elizabeth. It's not like it meant anything. It's not like she wants anything anymore. "How is he?"
"Peter or Neal?"
Diana finds it really weird that she has to ask, but shrugs. "Both, I guess. Haven't seen Caffrey since Monday. Peter's been... quiet."
"They're-" Elizabeth pauses, takes a sip of her frappuccino, crosses her legs, exhales. "Surviving. Neal's a mess, Peter hates when Neal's a mess, they're getting on my nerves except when I keep finding one of them sitting up just shaking in the middle of the night-" She cuts off. Diana pointedly does not ask how Elizabeth is in any position to know what Neal Caffrey's doing in the middle of the night. Elizabeth's legs are crossed such that one foot is right against Diana's ankle, and Diana sort of stopped breathing at that point anyways. There's an uncomfortably long pause, and Diana should not be this distracted. Elizabeth finally breaks the silence, mostly because Diana forgets to.
"Listen. You saved my husband's job and probably life. He told me that you-- that's a hell of a lot of blind loyalty. And don't think I'm not grateful, but-"
Diana knows sort of where she's going with this. "It's because I trust his judgment. Beyond everything. He's never let that down. But it's nothing else."
Elizabeth lets out a breath. Diana wonders why on earth she'd be worried about this kind of thing, considering. "Good. Just checking."
"Of course." Diana moves her legs away from Elizabeth, a little, and sighs quietly into her decaf, and thinks of Christy. Yeah, she'll be going home tomorrow.
Pairing/rating/fandom: White Collar, Elizabeth/Diana, NCvery17
Summary: [But given the chance, who wouldn't do this with their boss's wife? On her boss's desk, no less.]
Notes: gyzym beta'd and shamelessly encouraged this.
Warnings: Slightly spoilery for S1 finale. Infidelity, lesbians, general irreverence.
"This really isn't how-" Diana starts.
"Shut up," Mrs. Burke interrupts, and finishes dragging Diana's shirt off so she can get at her mouth and kiss her quiet.
Diana kisses like she knows exactly how fired she could get for this. But given the chance, who wouldn't do this with their boss's wife? On her boss's desk, no less. She can see her own signature on one of the forms under Mrs. Burke's thigh where her skirt's all hitched up. Diana's fingers itch to push it up more, but she's not sure what exactly she can get away with, here. She breaks off from the kiss panting.
"Mrs. Burke?"
Without warning, Mrs. Burke slaps her. Not hard, but really not the sort of thing she expected. Hurt, she tries again. "Mrs-" another slap. "...Elizabeth?" she tries, only about 90% sure that that's actually her name. They haven't really talked a lot before this, to be honest. But it must be right, because Elizabeth rewards her with a gentler kiss, then another one on the cheek where she hit her.
"You regularly go around hitting FBI agents?" Diana asks when they break apart again.
"Yes," Elizabeth laughs, and reaches back to unhook Diana's bra and strip it down off her in one smooth motion. (This is one of the reasons Diana loves women: no fumbling.) Diana shivers, and wonders if Mrs. Burke-- Elizabeth, that is-- remembers that the walls are glass, that there are security cameras everywhere, that there is absolutely no way for Peter Burke to not find out that someone's banged his wife on his own desk.
When Elizabeth ducks her head to scrape her teeth over Diana's nipple, though, Diana forgets about the glass walls and the cameras, just throws her head back and moans, loud and low. Elizabeth laughs at her again, and Diana's seriously beginning to suspect that this is not a new thing, that she has maybe done this before, made her husband's interns and inferiors moan like that. Diana's not a jealous woman, but that thought does send a hot little stab of fury through her gut, and in revenge she grabs two fistfuls of Elizabeth's hair, drags her back up for another kiss, this one much meaner, harder. But Elizabeth, damn the woman, takes back the control so easily Diana almost doesn't notice, almost doesn't register when she breaks away panting again, this time because Elizabeth's pushing her to her knees.
Diana is not scared of Elizabeth Burke. She's not. The woman is five foot two with no combat training. She's a glorified caterer. She should not be able to get a trained FBI agent on to the ground this easily. But, okay, somewhere in the back of Diana's mind she acknowledges that she must be a little intimidated, because when she takes the hint, nuzzles in between Elizabeth's thighs and reaches up to hike up that skirt a little more, her hands are definitely shaking a bit. Maybe more than a bit. Maybe enough that Elizabeth won't let her try to continue. She just hooks one leg around Diana's back, the heel digging right into the pressure point, and it makes Diana arch, makes her forget her fear and shame and just shove her face forward so she's mouthing, oh god, she's mouthing her boss's wife's panties and her boss's wife is definitely ridiculously wet already.
"Hands on the desk," Elizabeth tells her, low and imperious, and Diana doesn't dare question it at this point. She does, however, recognize a loophole when she's given one, and she hasn't been told to stop, so she nudges in, gets Elizabeth's panties between her teeth, tugs them to the side. And, ah, god, she's so fucking wet and Diana cannot help herself, has to taste. She's rewarded with a little gasp and Elizabeth's thighs tense around her and Diana takes that as permission enough, shoves her face in around the panties and laps at her.
It's weird, doing this without hands. It's weird to realize that she's never done this without hands, honestly. She can't hold her open, can't keep her face clean at all, has to press Elizabeth's damp panties to the side with nothing but her face, has to figure out how to breathe without stopping because every time she slows down even the slightest bit, Elizabeth jams that heel into the nerve into her back. Diana's used to this being almost a delicate act, used to spreading girls wide and licking them open slow and teasing, used to making them beg a little. But Diana has figured out by now that Elizabeth Burke will not beg, and may in fact make her beg. She's close already, wants to beg Elizabeth to come, wants her to tense and kick and pull her hair. Diana's breathless, face hot and, ah, god, covered in her, and when she finally gives in and moans a little against Elizabeth's cunt, that, that's what gets her to come apart. She shouts when she comes, jams Diana's face hard into her crotch and Diana sort of gives up on breathing, sort of doesn't care. When Elizabeth finally relaxes, Diana pulls away panting, red-faced, probably totally disheveled. She can't help but glance up at where she's pretty sure the camera is.
"You're not done," Elizabeth says, snapping Diana back to attention. (Her spine actually straightens a bit. She wonders if this is what Burke is trying to emulate when he gets his bossy voice; he's clearly got a ways to go to match his wife, if that is the case.)
"I don't know if I ca-" Diana starts, but Elizabeth cuts her off. Again.
"Get up." Diana gets up. "Strip." Diana doesn't have a hell of a lot left to strip, but she does. She winces a little when she peels off her underwear (plain, cotton, boyshort-type; next to Elizabeth's understatedly elegant little affair it may as well be boxers, Diana feels, but there's no hiding them at this point)-- she's so wet it's uncomfortable to move, like at any moment she's just going to goddamn melt. Elizabeth looks her up and down, smirks at her sensible shoes which she neglected to take off, and flicks her hair out of her face. She looks remarkably composed for someone so fresh from a screaming orgasm. Diana supposes she just looks remarkably composed all the time.
"Now," Elizabeth says, "I like you, so I'm going to let you come." (Damn, Diana hadn't actually considered the possibility that she wouldn't. She's intensely grateful, now, and a little embarrassed to have taken that for granted.) "What's going to happen is I'm going to stay right here, and you're going to get one of those lovely legs-" (Diana tries not to blush; she does not get this kind of compliment often.) "-up over mine, here, and you're going to grind against me until I come again. You're going to need to come before that, though, because after the second time, I'm finished. And then we get dressed, and we leave. Understand?"
Diana nods dumbly. She's not one to be rendered speechless, usually, but Elizabeth's just so completely matter-of-fact, and Diana really has no clue what to do with that besides obey. It's a downright weird position, trying to get their legs intertwined properly while Diana's trying to balance. Elizabeth ends up half-reclining, propped up on her elbows (and knocking down a framed photo of herself in the process of getting there) and looking no less regal for it. It's lucky Diana's tall, and lucky the desk is short, but even so she has to practically climb onto Elizabeth's lap for it, and she suspects this is not an accident. She can't really reach to kiss, not without knocking the computer off the desk as well, but Elizabeth reaches up and shoves two fingers in Diana's mouth, and, ah, that's enough to keep her occupied, keep her from actually sobbing aloud when they're finally arranged enough that she can grind down against her. Diana's never actually tried it this way before, never really seen a need to, and it probably wouldn't work at all if they weren't both so fucking wet. Only, they are, so it does, and Diana comes so fast she'd be embarrassed if she were aware and conscious enough to do so. She probably makes noise, probably bites down on Elizabeth's fingers too hard, or maybe opens her mouth to gasp and lets them fall out; either way, the next coherent thing she registers is another slap to the cheek, Elizabeth's fingers wet from her mouth, and that's almost, almost enough to make her go again. But Elizabeth's coming, and Diana now has the opportunity to watch her while she does-- it's gorgeous, her whole body arches and tenses and she looks momentarily like some perfect statue, completely frozen, face beautifully contorted. And then Diana watches her come down, watches her collect herself, put herself back together, and that's gorgeous too.
She disentangles with no small amount of regret-- this won't happen again, she's almost sure of it. But as Peter Burke (who surely, surely must have been alerted that someone's in his office, who is quite possibly watching this, who quite possibly knew his wife was planning to do this all along) has not burst in here and killed her yet, Diana supposes that once is probably enough of a treat anyways. But, god, when Elizabeth sits up and pulls Diana in for a kiss, the finality of it almost makes her want to beg for more, for something real.
And then Elizabeth pulls away, hops down off the desk and sorts her clothes out. Diana has to turn away, can't look at her as she gets dressed. It's damn uncomfortable, wriggling back into pants when she's still this slippery and sensitive, and she's already planning on a long, scalding shower when she gets home.
When she finally looks up again, Elizabeth's already gone. The desk is still a mess-- Diana flushes hotly to notice that the ink on those forms she left for Burke is a bit smudged. She considers cleaning it up, trying to hide it. Then she reconsiders, grabs her bag, and gets the hell out of there before something else can go horribly, horribly right.
***
"Thanks for meeting me."
Starbucks. Outdoors. Spring. Christy's at home, has called three times today, wants to know why Diana's still in Manhattan if the case was over four days ago. Paperwork, she has told her. Mountains of it. It's not a lie.
"Not at all." Diana wishes she weren't still this shy around Elizabeth. It's not like it meant anything. It's not like she wants anything anymore. "How is he?"
"Peter or Neal?"
Diana finds it really weird that she has to ask, but shrugs. "Both, I guess. Haven't seen Caffrey since Monday. Peter's been... quiet."
"They're-" Elizabeth pauses, takes a sip of her frappuccino, crosses her legs, exhales. "Surviving. Neal's a mess, Peter hates when Neal's a mess, they're getting on my nerves except when I keep finding one of them sitting up just shaking in the middle of the night-" She cuts off. Diana pointedly does not ask how Elizabeth is in any position to know what Neal Caffrey's doing in the middle of the night. Elizabeth's legs are crossed such that one foot is right against Diana's ankle, and Diana sort of stopped breathing at that point anyways. There's an uncomfortably long pause, and Diana should not be this distracted. Elizabeth finally breaks the silence, mostly because Diana forgets to.
"Listen. You saved my husband's job and probably life. He told me that you-- that's a hell of a lot of blind loyalty. And don't think I'm not grateful, but-"
Diana knows sort of where she's going with this. "It's because I trust his judgment. Beyond everything. He's never let that down. But it's nothing else."
Elizabeth lets out a breath. Diana wonders why on earth she'd be worried about this kind of thing, considering. "Good. Just checking."
"Of course." Diana moves her legs away from Elizabeth, a little, and sighs quietly into her decaf, and thinks of Christy. Yeah, she'll be going home tomorrow.