Wrong But Somehow Right
Psych
Explicit
Marlowe Viccellio/Juliet O'Hara; Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer
~2200 words
Warnings/Kinks: Infidelity
They shouldn’t do this, but they do anyway.
They shouldn't be doing this. They shouldn't - they're in relationships; committed, stable relationships that suit them, fulfill part of them like nothing else ever has, makes them so happy that it feels like nothing else matters. It should be enough, but it somehow isn't. Like always, she hesitates, knuckles poised above the solid of the door. She should turn around, should leave, should definitely not knock sharply before crossing her arms, drawing in on herself.
This is wrong, so wrong, made even more wrong by the fact that it's her partner's apartment, her partner's girlfriend. There's nothing right about this at all except that when the door opens, something feels so, so, so right from the yellow hair curling around her face, the shade of red on her lips more enticing than whatever clothes she's wearing.
"Juliet," Marlowe says softly, like she wasn't expecting this, like Juliet hadn't sent her a text a few hours ago saying that Carlton wouldn't be coming home until much, much later than usual. "Come in."
Carlton's decoration has been softened by Marlowe's presence. There are flowers, candles, bits of color amidst the colder décor that used to dominate the apartment. Juliet finds herself running over the details. Trying not to think about Carlton because that will be the straw that breaks the camel's back. And it should be Shawn, really. What Shawn would think about his girlfriend slinking into someone else's arms, but it's not. He'd probably just watch her with wide eyes and then ask if he could watch and pout and plead when she told him no. No, it's Carlton instead because he's her partner, and she shouldn't do this to him. It'd devastate him. It'd break him like nothing else has because he'd lose both of them at once. He could never forgive either of them for this, and he'd be all alone again.
She feels fingers wind through her hair, finding the clip that holds it in place and letting it loose, letting her hair down without so much as a question to it. Marlowe doesn't ask - Marlowe takes what she wants, automatically assuming that Juliet will let her have anything (or will let her know when she decides not to).
"I like you with your hair down," she says, lips pressing a light kiss to her shoulder, the ends of her tangled hair.
"You like taking it down," Juliet shrugs her unoccupied shoulder and turns her head, body following until she can meet Marlowe's eyes.
Marlowe assumes that this means she can kiss her, and Juliet stops fighting. If she didn't want this, she wouldn't have come here. It's wrong, and they shouldn't, but her hands clasp feminine hips, and she savors the smooth skin pressed against hers, the clever tongue that darts into her mouth and entices her to play. Fingers comb into her hair, soft but demanding, pulling her close. One of Juliet's hands curls against her lower back, rubbing her thumb firmly in the dip of her spine through the open back of her dress. Warm skin beneath her hand, and Marlowe arches and makes a soft noise against Juliet's lips. Just like Juliet knew she would.
"Juliet," she pleads for more, mouth moving to touch her neck. She scrapes her teeth but doesn't bite - they do their best not to leave marks for the obvious reasons, but sometimes it's not enough. Juliet kneads at her back with her knuckles, a touch too firm, and Marlowe bites back, making a low, needy noise.
They tumble onto the bed not long after, rumpling pristine blankets, and Juliet would be much more concerned about them if Marlowe's eyes weren't glittering darkly, her smile wicked as she tugs on Juliet's blouse, going for the quicker, easier route. Her hands - warm, so warm, and palms so soft - slip underneath the band of her bra, cupping her breasts, and Juliet stills for a moment, hands flying to Marlowe's wrists, wanting to keep them there, soft, touching sensitive skin.
Juliet reaches behind her and unhooks her own bra with ease, tossing it aside and giving Marlowe free access. Marlowe's fingers tighten just enough, kneading, thumb rubbing a nipple as she leans up to capture the other in her mouth. Juliet groans, head tilted back, hair tickling her bare back.
There are still thoughts there, plaguing, guilting, Shawn and Carlton and how much they're betraying the both of them, but then Marlowe's now free hand dips down to brush the back of her thigh, the sensitive spot just above the knee, and Juliet's mind clears itself, all thoughts of no, bad, wrong replaced with god, yes, more, and Marlowe.
She pulls away, shivering as one wet nipple makes contact with the cold apartment air. Marlowe eagerly pursues her, but Juliet's hand stays her, keeps her down, on the bed, looking up at her with a raised eyebrow and a hopeful smile. Juliet pulls herself reluctantly off of Marlowe, saying softly, "Wanna see you."
"Go on," Marlowe encourages breathlessly, moving her body just enough for Juliet to drag the zipper down. Marlowe goes to remove her own clothing, but Juliet's hand grabs hers again.
"Let me."
Marlowe nods eagerly, leaning back and watching with blown pupils as Juliet drags one strap down from her shoulder, tracing the revealed skin with her lips. There is a light dusting of freckles there, time spent in the sun that never faded, and Juliet finds herself smiling at them, nipping at the skin and laughing softly when Marlowe shivers beneath her.
Marlowe taking is hot, there's no denying that, but this, when she lets Juliet do whatever she wants with patience and quiet excitement... There's no way to describe it. There's so much power in it. Juliet pulls the dress down, kissing and nipping the upper swell of her breast and a little firmer just beneath the band. Her fingers trace down Marlowe's sides, pushing the dress down, exposing skin that Juliet gladly follows with her mouth.
She likes Marlowe's curves. And her flat belly. And her hipbones that need to be bitten at, held down to stop the minute little jerks, the silent pleading that gives way to audible pleading instead. Marlowe's voice catches in her sigh, another soft noise that Juliet adores.
She presses a rewarding kiss right to her center, over the wet spot on her panties, and Marlowe shakes with the effort of remaining patient, waiting for Juliet to give more. Her fingers tremble as they comb through her hair. She murmurs, "Juliet," with such a sweet urgency that Juliet can't help but finish pulling the dress down and Marlowe's shoes off, leaving her bare.
She kisses her calf, the inside of her knee, her inner thigh, and Marlowe's legs spread for her, open and accommodating. Eager. Juliet's hands rub gently at her thighs, sliding upwards towards her vagina.
Marlowe had giggled at her like a teenager when she'd called it that out loud the first time, but that's what it is. Marlowe had told her it wasn't sexy at all. Juliet had proven her very wrong, mouthing the anatomical words into her, against her clit until Marlowe came. So they agreed to disagree on that.
Her labia is flushing darkly, opening just for her, and Juliet's fingers slip in, rubbing in gentle circles as Marlowe lifts her hips. Juliet gives another teasing circle around Marlowe's clit - close but not close enough - before moving her hand down, dipping into her. Slick, tight, hot, and Juliet thrusts her fingers a few times, just to watch Marlowe's hands curl into fists, gripping the blanket tightly. She whines, mouths please, and Juliet smiles, watching as Marlowe's body goes taut, starting to glisten with sweat. Her hair is like a halo, but Marlowe's expression is anything but angelic. Her eyes are closed, mouth hanging open except for when she swallows or tries to speak only to stop herself. Letting Juliet drive.
She isn't paying attention, which makes Juliet grin. She bites down the giggles that try to rise as she dips her head, moving her body back and down until she has room to be comfortable. Marlowe feels the barest brush of Juliet's hair before Juliet's mouth is on her, tongue flattening against her, lapping.
Marlowe makes a quiet 'ah!' noise, exclamation point and all, and if Juliet weren't so busy eating her out, she'd take a moment to enjoy the victory of having surprised her. Instead, she focuses her energy on Marlowe's clit, sucking it, licking it, rubbing her nose against it, nuzzling. Her face is going to be covered, shiny, wet by the time she's done, but it's all worth it for the noises. The helpless little cries that say more than words ever could about how good this feels, about how close she is.
"Juliet," she pants, fingers in her hair again, urging her on as her hips roll up against the rhythm Juliet has set. "Juli- Please! Please, Juliet, please."
"Close?" She asks, her voice low and husky and rumbling against Marlowe whose hips buck up in response to the stimulation. Juliet slides her hands comfortingly over Marlowe's thighs.
"Ah, god, yes! Close! So close. So so so..." Her words break off into a pleading cry, and Juliet gives her more, pushes her over the brink so that her body arches off the bed, hips thrusting up with a sharp, loud moan. Juliet's hands slide down, under, holding her up as she continues, refusing to relent until Marlowe takes a deep, shuddering, gasping breath and collapses limply on the bed.
Juliet slowly slides away, knowing she must look like a mess, but Marlowe wears it better. Strands of hair cling to her forehead, sweaty, worn out. Her smile is blissed out, smug in a way that makes Juliet laugh.
Marlowe knocks her knee weakly into Juliet's side. "Stop laughing, sweetie. You did this to me." Her voice rasps, but the teasing edge makes Juliet's hips rock, frowning at the constraint of her skirt that she's still somehow wearing. The pet names don't start until after Marlowe comes. Like she's not sure if Juliet will like them or not until after they've gotten past the point of no return for the night. It feels like part of the completion to Juliet, knowing that she's gotten to be called 'sweetie' or 'baby'. That she's let go enough.
Juliet pets her trembling thighs one last time before pulling herself away. There are tissues nearby and she wipes her face clean, makeup coming off along with everything else. She sets it to the side as fingers touch her waist, reaching for the clasp and zip of her skirt and pushing it all down and away, leaving her bare. When Juliet turns, she finds Marlowe looking up at her with adoring eyes, hair wild and smile much softer as she pulls Juliet towards her.
She moves them so that Juliet is spread out beneath her, all of her open for the taking. Her fingers tease at her labia, and her smirk sparks an urgent need between Juliet's legs. "Ready for me, sweetie?"
Juliet nods, suddenly breathless as she says, "Marlowe. Please."
-----
They shouldn't be doing this, and there are a million reasons why, the first and foremost being that they sort of hate each other, and the second being that they're both in love with other people. But for some reason, they find themselves tearing at clothes, mouths and hands insistent everywhere on the familiar bodies they've mapped time and again until they've got them memorized.
Carlton knows this is wrong, knows he should stop. This is his partner's boyfriend, after all, and Marlowe... God, he loves Marlowe, and it isn't that she's not good enough but that he's selfish. And he's found someone just as selfish as he is, willing to give when Carlton wants to take, and take even when Carlton isn't sure he wants to give.
Shawn plows through his resistance with a heavy kiss, with strong hands pinning him to the wall when it's usually the other way around. "You told her you'd be late?"
"Yeah," he says, fully admitting his weakness even as he tries to convince himself that he should be better than this. "You?"
Shawn grins, "Duh," and Carlton doesn't think he's taking this as seriously as he should, but then there's stubble rubbing against his neck and a firm kiss at the corner of his jaw. He can feel that insufferable smirk, and then the need is back, full force, demanding that he take that cocky smile away by whatever means necessary.
"This is wrong," he asserts, one last attempt to regain control of himself.
Shawn presses his hips forward, rubbing his trapped erection against Carlton's thigh. "But, Lassie. It feels so right."
Carlton's fingers grip Shawn's hair, bending his head so he can crush their lips together. Because somehow, annoyingly, Shawn's right. This all feels so very right.