Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Later, Zoey will decide that it’s Max’s fault. 

He’s the one that made her take self defense classes after she told him about being followed home by some creep at the bus stop the other night (which, by the way, she does not still feel antsy about). “I re-routed him! Threw him off with my…” at this, she’d swished her hands in the air in a choppy motion, “totally well-planned out detour.”

Max, of course, insisted, and eventually she caved after Max belted I’ll Stand By You, much to her chagrin. She did not need Max walking her home every night, on top of everything else. It would just get...confusing, or something. So she agreed to it. And prayed that would quell his protective urge enough to stave off his love ballads for another couple of weeks. Maybe months. Who knew when she’d have the head and heart space to figure out the love-mess she was in?

Anyways, back to the point: Max is at fault. Max is at fault for the events of That Night, because her reflexes wouldn’t have been so honed, her fight or flight instinct wouldn’t  have switched straight to flight, and she would not have accidentally ended up pinning a certain someone to the wall after he snuck up on her late one night at the office. 

They’re the last two on the fourth floor — as usual. Leif, she supposes, is there working on the CHRP, or devising some other stupid way to steal her spot. Zoey, for once, doesn’t care to know. The stupid watch is acting up again (the days are going in reverse order — how can a calendar functionreally be screwing up this badly?) and her and the team have been combing through code for nearly two days now. Like some sort of fairytale, Joanne has made it very clear that when the clock strikes 12 on the third day of this nonsense, she’ll be dead meat. 

She can not afford to be dead meat right now. 

So, here they are, sitting at their desks at 1 AM Zoey wonders what sleep is, as she gets up to go to the bathroom after obliterating her third cup of coffee for the day. Her usually prim outfit is a little bit dishevelled. She’s pulled off her sweater, and the top button of her shirt (patterned with flamingos, a happy hand-me-down from her father),  is undone. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, orange hairs falling out, and she can feel the knots knitting themselves in her shoulders, tightening and tensing, bringing an ache that travels up to her neck and head. 

“Leaving for the night?” Leif asks, a little bit too smugly, as if the idea of her going home is another sign of his perceived superiority. Zoey narrows her eyes at him. 

“No, unfortunately I have the pleasure of staying in your valued company until this glitch is solved,” she grits out, rolling her shoulder back. 

“Oh, please. Don’t let all the work that you haven’t been able to finish thoroughly because of your...exciting life stop you from going home and taking a break,” Leif calls after her as she walks away, rolling her eyes. He’s like a child trying to get the final word in. 

The strange thing is, and she’d never admit this even on pain of death, but she’s glad he’s here. The office is so vast, the floors shining and the furniture sleek, that being alone in the office gives her an unsettled, floaty stomach. Even if it’s Leif, at least it’s someone. 

As she enters the bathroom, her mind drifts away to other things. Simon, for one. After witnessing him and Jessica’s heartfelt performance, she’s been avoiding him double time. That’s part of why she hasn’t been able to get her work done — trying to avoid someone who works on the same floor as you is awfully distracting and inconvenient. She doesn’t know what she’ll say to him. Or Max. She’s hoping that it just won’t ever come up, honestly. She has better things to worry about — her father’s health, for one. Her mom’s onset of grief. 

She stares at herself in the mirror as she washes her hands, wondering what’s become of her. Then, she shakes the thoughts away with a sigh and finally exits the bathroom. It’s the perfect moment — to see a mouse get startled and scamper away, around the other corner. Zoey gives a high-pitched squeak — not a scream, really, just a startled noise, and then covers her mouth. She blinks, frozen for a second. Did Leif hear? Hopefully not. 

When she doesn’t hear anyone calling her name, she sighs in relief and goes after the mouse. If Leif heard her, she imagines the last thing he’d be is worried. He’d probably just hope she’d fallen to her death somehow and that he could pretend he hadn’t noticed. She peaksaround the corner as quietly as possible. It sits there, proudly nibbling at whatever crumb it picked up off of the floor outside the bathroom. 

Zoey stares at it, eyes narrowed. She wonders, what would the mouse be singing if she could read it’s thoughts? Could mice have heart songs? It’d probably be a song about food, or like, how hard it was to live on the streets. Oh! Maybe an Oliver Twist — 

“Zoey, what are you -”

For the second time that night, Zoey is scared out of her wits. This part, she’d blame on Moe, who she had been watching her self-defense class DVD’s with (Max hadn’t specified that it had to be with a real instructor — and what he didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him). When they were on the lesson about getting snuck up on, Moe had snickered and said “Well that won’t do anything. I say grab ‘em by the neck and show ‘em who’s boss.”

Zoey, blushing, had batted at her friend, whose advice was (unfortunately) the only thing that was on her mind when she turned around and reached forward, fingers closing around Leif’s throat, and pulled him to the wall, pinning him to it. Her reflexes were way better than she had imagined. Leif was too startled to resist, letting out a choked, surprised gasp. 

They both freeze. Leif’s eyes are narrowed as he stares down at her, and she realizes how uncomfortably close they are, how her body is pressed up against his. Before she can remove her hand from his throat, she hears it — the tell-tale sound of a heart song. Oh god, not now. She imagines it will be something absolutely humiliating — maybe him making fun of her for being a scaredy cat, or him expressing his disgust at her moronic behavior, or maybe expressing (once again) how much better he is than her. 

The opening notes are poppy - some R&B, then, Leif? She cringed at the idea of him rapping, but it seemed the most appropriate. She tries to pull away, but Leif is already in heart-song mode, and surprisingly, he grabs her hand, grip tight around her fingers as he squeezes them over his throat. 

Na na na na, come on, 

Na na na na, come on, come on, come on, 

Zoey blinks. She doesn’t recognize the song, but uhhhh… it sounds…. oh no . It sounds kind of sensual. Leif inches forward, pressing into her touch, and — oh. Oh. Grinding against her. 

Oh I love the feeling you bring to me

Oh, you turn me on

Zoey tries to pull away, heart hammering in her chest and face blooming a deep red. Heart-song-Leif isn’t having it, leaning back against the wall and thrusting his hips out, hand still fixing her fingers around his neck so that she’s choking him. 

It's exactly what I've been yearning for

Give it to me strong

And meet me in my boudoir

Make my body say ah, ah, ah

Finally, he lets go of her, sliding against the wall and pulling away. Zoey’s hand falls to her side as she watches him start to slide one sleeve of his cardigan, peeling the garment off and flinging it toward her. He turns around, bending over to stick his ass out. Zoey can’t stand the sight of it, mortified beyond belief — but it’s like a trainwreck. A very kinky trainwreck. She just can’t look away. 

I like it, like it

'Cause I may be bad but I'm perfectly good at it

He smacks his ass, making Zoey jump a little, and then whirls away, coming up behind her and sliding his hands down her arms, lips brushing her ear. Zoey shivers, goosebumps climbing up her arm — but, and she’ll never even admit it on pain of death, it isn’t one hundred percent a shiver of disgust. Her humiliation, second-hand embarrassment, and sudden interest coil tight in her stomach.

Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it

Sticks and stones may break my bones

But chains and whips excite me...

He slides around her, back to his spot against the wall, and picks up her hand to place it around his neck again, singing the last strains of his heart-song as he goes. 

They both seem to come back to reality at the same. Where Leif is still staring down at her, eyes — not narrowed, she realizes now. But hooded. She can feel him against her thigh.

And, she realizes with mounting (who knew it could get worse?) mortification, that he is sporting a raging boner. She gulps, and would pull away and apologize if it weren’t for what he says next. 

“Zoey,” he murmurs, staring down at her with equal parts mortification and...and...she isn’t sure. “I certainly didn’t take you as the type to make a move at the office, but maybe that was my mistake. You do keep Max and Simon on quite the tight leash.”

“Fuck you,” she grouses, finally stepping back.

“You wish,” he shoots back, scathing. 

“Shut up! For once, Leif, just shut. The fuck. Up!” she snaps.

“Make me.”

Later, she’ll blame Leif. For what happens next. His incessant need to have the last word — it’s enough to make anyone go insane. And that’s what it is. Insanity. 

Because only an insane person would look up at him, see the scathing, begrudgingly hopeful, look in his eyes, reach up to grab him by the throat and push him against the wall again. He inhales sharply as her fingers push into his neck, and it only takes a second for Zoey to be up on her toes, pinning him to the wall and kissing him. 

Surprisingly, he must be insane too. Because he doesn’t push her away, hands instead gripping her hips tight enough to bruise, pulling her closer so that one of them can brush over her ass. So that his boner is pressed into her thigh. She bites his lip, instinctually, and he — groans , like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him, his hips jutting out against her like he can’t control himself. 

Heat climbs up her spine, surprising her with its intensity. She’s never done this before — choked anyone or bitten them or kissed someone she hates. But God, if she doesn’t like it… she grinds her hips against him and he groans again, kissing her hungrily, hands tightening around her ass. A moan rises to her throat. Who knew she could have this effect? On Leif, of all people?

She tightens her grip, around his throat, just slightly. She doesn’t want to hurt him. Then she pulls away from the kiss, thumb stroking his Adam’s apple. “What, jealous, Leif? Wish you were the one at the end of my leash instead?” she asks heatedly. Suggestively. Because that’s why she kissed him, right? To prove a point that he’s enjoying this? “Or do you only like getting choked?”

Leif looks away guiltily, down at her swollen lips. “I —”

“Ah ah ah,” she interrupts, not knowing what is getting into her. What started off as a game has suddenly gotten very confusing, and she doesn’t know where she stands right now. “Let me do the talking…” she pauses, looking up at him. He looks back at her, and she sees his eyes — pupils blown wide with desire. It floors her, how vulnerable he is right now. How… aroused he is at this vulnerability. 

He stares silently, waiting. Waiting for her to speak. But now, when he has finally shut the fuck up, she has no idea what to say. 

What is she doing? Kissing Leif? Teasing him ? She’s never thought about him like this. Never thought about...wanting to do any of this to him. 

So why does she not want to stop?

Oh god, oh no, she thinks. Hurriedly, she steps away, smoothing down her clothes. It was a moment of weakness. Leif’s...heart or dick or whatever song got under her skin. She doesn’t want to do this. Leif sinks against the wall, in disappointment or relief, she can’t tell. 

“This, I, um, a mouse — anyways, um, I’ve got, to, uhh go, home—” she stammers out, then turns to scurry away, leaving Leif against the wall, still stunned. 

Chapter Text

She’s shaking as she gathers up her things to go home, shoving her sweater in her bag. Her cheeks are burning, but she can feel a chill under her skin. Of humiliation. How could she have done this? She’ll never hear the end of it from Leif. And Jesus he could make this a HR issue — and would he be wrong? Her actions were completely inappropriate, and — 

“Zoey,” Leif calls, and she jumps. For what must be the third time. 

She doesn’t look up at him, but she can feel him on the other side of her desk, watching her. 

“Zoey, don’t you have work to do?” he asks. It should be smug, but she can hear the tremor in his voice too. She doesn’t know whether to be comforted or annoyed at that fact. He tries again, when she doesn’t respond. “Zoey, what are you doing?”

Shut up, she wants to say. But she knows that it’ll hang in the air: his response the first time. Make me. So she says nothing, avoiding his eyes, slinging her bag over her shoulder. She walks around her desk, ready to leave, but he grabs her elbow. 

“Let go of me, ” she snaps, turning around to shake off his grip. They’re face to face now. Zoey can feel the heat of her cheeks, can almost feel the heat coming off of his skin, too. He looks, for a second, stunned. His lips are still swollen, but his pants are now flat. Not that she was. Looking. Obviously. Ugh. “Look, we won’t talk about it. I won’t tell anyone about your…” kink? “...choking thing, and you won’t tell anyone about what I did. Any of it. Got it?”

The jittery feeling under her skin, the adrenaline rush mixed with her sleepiness mixed with her caffeine come down mixed with her, well, her hot-and-botheredness or whatever, makes her voice come out more snappy then she meant it too. More demanding. 

Leif stares down at her, and she can see how wide his pupils are, disks of black floating in his blue eyes. “Or else what?” he challenges, voice low. He steps closer, almost shakily. “What are you going to do to me if I tell, Zoey?” 

She inhales, sharply. She’s too tired. Entirely too tired to be dealing with this. Because she doesn’t even know what game they’re playing anymore. She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to say to win. Leif’s eyes search her face. As if he’s waiting for something. 

“Whatever it is, it’ll be worse than you can imagine,” she finally responds. 

He gulps, the apple of his throat bobbing up and down. Zoey wonders, briefly what it would be like to bite him there. Scrape her teeth along the ridge: whether he’d make a noise of pain or pleasure. She tries to shake the thought from her head. “I don’t think you know anything about what I can imagine.” It’s half musing, like he’s just speaking aloud. But also half challenging. He’s so close now, towering over her, watching her. 

“Based on what just happened?” she tilts her head, the petty need to win roiling in her stomach. “I can hazard a guess.”

A muscle ticks along his jaw. For a second, his eyes dart to her lips, then he looks away. He steps in closer once again, close enough that they’re almost pressed together. And she can almost feel him again, the tent in his pants barely brushing against her thigh. She inhales sharply, casting her eyes downward for but a second and looking back up at him. 

His eyes are cold, but furious with wanting.  “Prove it.”

Then, like clockwork — clockwork that doesn’t make sense because this doesn’t make sense — they’re kissing again. More harshly than she’s ever kissed anyone before. She channels all the anger, frustration and anxiety of the past week into it. Leif responds in kind, hands digging into the back of her neck and the small of her back, pulling her up against him. 

Zoey’s bag slides off her shoulder as she wraps her arms around him, nails digging into the hair at the back of his neck. He gasps sharply, grinding his pelvis against her, and she nearly stumbles back but finds her balance. 

“You’re too fucking short,” he grouses, lips leaving hers for a moment so that he can kiss along her jawline. Leif, it turns out, is a problem solver, something she’s always known in the context of work but never realized would also apply to his sex life.  He grabs her ass, fingers squeezing her through her skirt and lifts her up. 

Zoey is a team player, something she’s always been told but never figured would apply to having sex with Leif. She wraps her legs around his lips, her skirt riding up her thighs, and Leif stumbles slightly, before twisting around and propping her up on the desk. 

“And you’re too fucking weak to carry me,” she retorts breathlessly, clumsily undoing his buttons as he continues to kiss and suck at the side of her neck. He moans into her skin, grinding his boner between her legs, against her (already wet) panties. She gives a startled moan as he bites her earlobe. 

“Maybe if you didn’t wear so many layers, you’d be a little lighter,” he hisses in her ear, then scrapes his teeth along the side of her neck. 

“ Fuck, ” she groans. “Leif, wait — no hickeys,” she demands, fingers digging into his golden hair and tugging his head back. He gasps, startledly thrusting his hips against her again. It’s almost as if… “No way,” she says, a smug smile forming. “Leif, do you like that?” 

“Fuck you.”

She tugs his hair again — lightly, this time probing, and his lashes flutter. 

“Holy shit, you do, don’t you?” she tilts her head. “What else do you like? Huh?” Her need to tease Leif is digging its heels in, now. Making her brave, almost. Or stupid. She brushes her hand down, fixing it around his neck. “And you like this, too, don’t you?” she murmurs. 

“Shut up,” he shakes his head and leans down to kiss her again, but she stops him, squeezing harder. He makes a noise, something between a gasp and a whimper, and she feels it thrill through her. 

“No, I call the shots now,” she says. He’s staring down at her, looking at her like she’s something completely new and unexpected. She loves it. She needs it. “And something tells me you don’t mind that too much, now, do you?” 

He doesn’t speak, just clenches his jaw stubbornly. 

“Answer my question, Leif,” she demands, tugging him. 

“No,” he finally chokes out. 

“No, what?”

“Zoey —”

“No, what , Leif?”

He swallows thickly. “No, I don’t mind it.”

“Good,” she says, then blinks. The control is like poison, intoxicating and heady and dangerous. She drinks it in. Lets it burn down her throat like liquor.“Now kiss me.”

He’s full of surprises today, because he doesn’t even hesitate, leaning in to capture her lips more hungry than before. Like she is something new, and he can’t get enough. His hands slide up from her hips to grip the back of her head, holding her as close as possible. 

He bucks his hips against her and she groans, frustrated as his hard dick presses against the fabric of her panties, giving not enough friction. “These need to come off,” she snaps, fumbling.

“Take them off me.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice, leaning back to unbuckle his belt and undo his buttons. He helps her tug his pants down, then reaches under her skirt. His knuckles brush up over her underwear and she resists the urge to push into his hand. “Someone’s wet.”

“You really want to talk to me about arousal?” she snaps. “You got hard because I choked you.”

“You’re the one who choked me in the - “

“Shut up and fuck me, Leif.”

He growls, tearing her underwear down her legs, leaning down to kiss her again. His mouth is bruising, his hands fumbling as he reaches into his back pocket. He pulls out his wallet, nearly drops it as she scrapes her teeth over his bottom lip. Leif draws away, pulls something wrapped in foil out of his wallet. “Condom,” he rasps, tearing it open. 

“Of course you have a condom in your wallet.”

“Are you complaining?” he raises a brow. 

She doesn’t answer, plucking the condom from his fingers. Her hands are shaking from - everything - as she slips it from it’s wrapping. “What are you -”

“You’re going too slow,” she slides her finger over the slick tip of his dick. He groans, braces himself on the edge of the desk where she sits, as she slides the condom on with precise fingers. She strives to be perfect in all things, and she silently thanks herself for the amount of bananas she practiced on in middle school. She’s had sex before, but never been the one to put the condom on. When she’s done, she slides her fingers into the golden curls at the base of his neck and pulls him in. He growls, deep in the back of his throat, as she hooks her legs around him again. She moans against his open mouth, adjusts his dick to rest against her slick entrance. 

There’s no going back now. It’s all or nothing. “Inside, now. ”

He thrusts into her without question, and they both inhale against each other’s mouths. He thrusts again, slow and steady at first, getting his bearings. His hands are everywhere - one gripping her ass, one curled into the thick of her hair. His hand shifts, reaching under her shirt, and she moans as he brushes over the cup of her bra, over her nipple. He pinches her nipple, and she can’t hold back her needy moan. She cries out as he hits her spot , thighs tightening around him as she feels a jolt up her spine. She arches against him, mouth finding the crook of his neck, biting down to keep herself quiet. “ Faster ,” she breathes into his neck.

He complies without a sound, groping her breasts desperately. As if he can’t get enough. A pencil pot tips over, spraying her carefully organized desk with pens. Heat gathers below her navel. She must look a mess - flushed, hair shaken loose from her bun, skin slick with sweat. Leif’s grunts are becoming louder, his pupils blown wide and lashes fluttering. She slides her fingers into his hair, pulling him into an open-mouthed kiss. His tongue lavishes over hers. She moans as he sucks her lip, his fingers clench around her thigh in a bruising grip, keeping her steady as he thrusts into her. 

“ Jesus, Zoey,” he breathes. “You’re so - “

She doesn’t want to hear his voice. She doesn’t want to think. She leans back and slaps her hand over his mouth. He whimpers beneath her fingers, mouth pursing. “Shut up.”

His eyes widen for a moment, before he continues, his grunts muffled against her hand as he continues to thrust into her. She throws her head back, panting. Letting herself let go. 

She jolts when she feels his finger on her clit, hand falling away from his mouth to brace against the desk. She would never have guessed that Leif of all people would be able to work a clit like he’s working hers, but tonight is full of surprises. He watches her, gaze hot with need and self satisfaction. She tries to keep her gaze level, but her lashes are fluttering, her features slack with pleasure. “Do you like that?”

“Fuck,” she gasps, “off.” It sounds more whimpery than demanding, but before she can repeat herself, the heat in her navel is unraveling, her back arching as she comes.

“ Fucking hell, ” she cries out, her pussy clenching around him, fucking her through her orgasm. Like a domino effect, he comes soon after.

“ Zoey, shit, I’m -” He leans over her, face pressing into her throat. One hand grips her thigh, the other bracing himself against the desk. She tightens her thighs around his hips, as he shakes and whimpers, finishes with a cry. 

They stay like that for a moment, wrapped around each other, panting.

What the fuck just happened.

She pushes his shoulder, more gently than she would have before. 

“Leif, you should get dressed.”

He looks slightly dazed as he pulls away, but upon looking at her, her hair disheveled, her eyes flicking away to avoid his gaze, his face shutters. Silently, they gather themselves. Zoey slides off the desk, grabs her bag. She’s too focused on getting the fuck out of there before Leif can say another word. 

“Zoey -” he starts, but she’s scuttling away, tucking her shirt in, redoing her hair as she walks. She takes the stairs, willing him not to follow her. She’s taking them two at a time, practically tumbling down, when she hears the door open, the echo of his belt buckle behind her. She exits the building at a run, the cool air waking her up even more to the absurdity of what just happened. She doesn’t stop for anything - not till she’s at her apartment building, in her bed, hidden between her sheets. 

Her phone pings. She doesn’t open the text, simply looks at it from her lock screen. 

Leif Donnelly SPRQPOINT

Sent 2:47 AM

You forgot your panties. 

Her cheeks burn, humiliation and regret sending the blood rising. She elects to put her phone down and ignore it for the rest of the night.

Before she does, though, it pings again.

I like the cat print, by the way. Very fitting.

Chapter Text

It’s a dark and stormy night, but no amount of thunder can drown out Zoey’s snoring. Max is the last to leave before Leif. He hesitates by Zoey’s desk, and Leif is not watching his every move from the corner of his eye, of course he isn’t, why would he be? But, if he was, he would have seen Max reach out for her, as if to shake her awake. Hesitate. Pull back. Reach out. Hesitate. Pull back. Repeat 3 times. 

Leif wonders if he should put Max out of his misery, but decides against it. Zoey’s affairs are none of his business, and to be honest he is way better off staying out of whatever bush fire her and Max are tangled up in. 

He can’t deny that he feels a thrill of satisfaction that Max doesn’t even know he’s standing next to the desk they fucked on. It’s that nagging, petty competitiveness that he loves to stoke. Why should he stop? It’s gotten him this far, after all. It got him through his internship and into a full time position at SPRQ Point. Strangely enough, it got him into Joan’s bed - he’d wanted to show Zoey up, be better at sucking up. 

It had gotten him...where he’d ended up last night. Fucking Zoey Clarke on the desk. It was his competitiveness turned slant — seeing her come undone against him, breaking some part of her shell. Seeing her blow up. He’d never admit it, not even on pain of death, but he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about her legs around him. The feel of her lily-soft thigh beneath his fingers.