Summary: Laurel and Grayson drink at The Grand and Laurel gets impatient.
When Laurel walks into The Grand, Grayson is noticeably absent from the booth where they usually sit. She glances towards the bar, spotting Skylar, who waves and smiles at her. He tells her Grayson is in his office when she walks over, dealing with some vendor issue or another while Kenji is on vacation. In his office, Grayson’s usually neat desk is covered in paperwork, the phone up to his ear, his brow furrowed.
He looks up and smiles at Laurel warmly when she walks in, holding a finger up to indicate he’ll just be a minute. She shuts the door and settles on the couch, texting Poppy that they’ll be out soon.
Laurel laughs as Poppy texts her back.
Really? Didn’t you two just see each other an hour ago?
Haha. Grayson’s dealing with a vendor issue.
Suuuure. Is “vendor issue” what the cool kids are calling it these days? 😉
Grayson sighs loudly as he hangs the phone up, rubbing a hand over his forehead. Laurel frowns, standing and perching on the edge of his desk.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Just one of our main vendors suddenly deciding to up their delivery costs.”
“Mmm,” she hums sympathetically.
Grayson leans forward, resting his hands on either side of her legs and smiling up at her. “Sorry. I’m done working for the night.”
“Good,” she replies, leaning down to kiss him slowly, bracing her hands on the edge of his desk.
He takes her hand as they head out to the bar, settling into their usual booth with Dax and Poppy. Laurel doesn’t intend to drink much, but Skylar keeps offering them new drinks that he’s experimenting with, each one stronger than the last, and she’s suddenly hazily aware of how buzzed she is.
“Hey,” Laurel protests to no one in particular. “I didn’t agree to drink tonight.”
“We’re at a bar,” Poppy giggles. “That your husband owns. You have to drink!”
“Not this much.”
Laurel slumps back in the booth, sighing and nuzzling into Grayson’s neck. He runs his hand over her leg, his touch warm against her bare skin as his fingers wander just under the hem of her skirt.
“Mmm,” she murmurs, pressing her lips to his throat.
His cheeks are pink as he grins down at her, then brushes his lips over her temple. It reminds her of the first time they drank a little too much together at The Grand, when all she wanted was to be alone with him. Of course, the wait had been worth it, but now that they’re married, and she has a few drinks in her, dragging him back to his office is sounding more and more appealing. She’s contemplating doing just that when Dax suddenly drops his head to the table, making Laurel jump as he groans, “Good night”.
Dax yelps when Poppy elbows him. “You can’t sleep here!” she declares.
“But it’s comfortable,” Dax whines.
“You’re drunk,” Poppy laughs. “Let’s go home.”
Dax grumbles as Poppy pulls at his hand and he clumsily climbs out of the booth.
“G’night,” he slurs, Poppy laughing and telling Laurel she’ll text her tomorrow as they head out the door.
“Alone at last,” Laurel sighs, peering up at Grayson and grinning.
“We are,” he agrees. “Want to stay here or go home?”
“I want you,” she declares unabashedly.
Grayson groans, squeezing her leg. “Home it is.”
“You have a perfectly good office that locks,” she breathes, nipping at his earlobe.
He protests half-heartedly, until she kisses across his jawline and he suddenly pulls her up from the booth and nearly drags her into his office. He’s told her before that she makes him half-crazy with need sometimes, that she makes him want to do things he normally never would. She feels the same way about him, she’d reassured him, so it was only fair.
Once the door is locked behind them, he hurriedly pulls her shirt over her head as he kisses her. They slam against the door in their alcohol fueled impatience, hastily pulling at zippers and buttons and tossing clothes all across the room as they bump into the desk and file cabinet with breathy laughs and quiet grumbles when one of them hits a corner a little too hard. Grayson half-carries, half-pulls her to the couch, and Laurel drops onto it unceremoniously. She giggles as he strips his boxers off and goes to kneel before her, making him blink up at her in confusion. “What?”
“I like the Superman underwear,” she teases him.
He grins, shaking his head at her. “Laundry day,” he retorts, then nudges her legs apart.
Laurel sucks in a breath at the way his fingers glide up her inner thighs, light, teasing touches, until she makes a whining, impatient sound. She tilts her hips up, gasping as he parts her folds with his tongue, lapping at her and holding her tightly in place, his fingers squeezing her thighs. Her head drops back against the couch, fingers tugging at his hair, trying desperately to move against him as he dips his tongue into her.
“Grayson,” she moans.
Damn but he’s good at this, knowing just how to touch her and make her writhe underneath him. When she says “Please” in a pleading tone, he finally releases one of her thighs, his mouth and his hand making her come undone, her fingers tightening in his hair as she moans his name.
When she opens her eyes to look at him blearily, he’s watching her, a faint hint of a smirk on his face as he runs his hands over her legs. He leans in, kissing her insistently, and she groans as she tastes herself on his tongue.
“Lay down, baby,” he says in a low tone, running his hands up and down her sides, cupping her breasts and running his thumbs over her nipples.
Laurel shivers at the sensation, then frowns slightly. Grayson is tall, and this couch isn’t that big.
“I have a better idea,” she murmurs, pushing herself to stand and urging him to sit down.
He does, his breathing ragged and his eyes darkening as she straddles him.
“Oh fuck, Laurel,” he groans as she sinks onto him.
Those words nearly make her come undone, hearing the normally calm and collected Grayson reduced to cursing. He almost never swears, even when he (rarely) gets angry. He only seems to do it when he’s on the verge of losing control, and it turns her on even more, knowing she has that effect on him. She rolls her hips against his, once, twice, until he suddenly bands his arms around her waist and thrusts up into her.
“Mmm!” she gasps in surprise, dropping her head forward and sinking her teeth into his shoulder, burying her hands in his hair as he lifts her up and down over and over, his movements hurried and sloppy.
She can tell when he’s close, the way he tenses against her and sucks at her neck when she lifts her head back up, his breathing harsh against her skin. Her eyes close as she murmurs in his ear, not even really paying attention to what she’s saying. Whatever it is, it makes him curse again, his fingers digging into her skin.
“Laurel,” he groans, grinding her down on him until she comes, her moans muffled against his neck.
He thrusts into her shallowly as her muscles flutter around him, then slams into her once more, reaching his release and spilling inside her. Laurel drops against him, panting, his hands still gripping her hips tightly until she feels him finally relax underneath her, his fingers tracing gentle patterns over her back. She shivers as the sweat dries and cools on their skin, smiling when Grayson scoots her back and kisses her sweetly.
“Mmm,” she sighs. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” he murmurs, kissing her again.
She laughs quietly as she leans back, explaining, “I remember the first time we were drunk in your office,” when he looks at her curiously.
Grayson smiles, brushing her hair out of her face. “You really tested my self-control that night, you know.”
“Hey,” she protests. “You invited me back here.”
“After you flirted with me all night,” he teases her.
“I did, didn’t I?” she says, smirking.
She yawns suddenly, smiling at him apologetically. “Sorry.”
“It’s late,” he says. “Ready to go home, Mrs. Prescott?”
“Our bed is more comfortable than this couch,” she agrees, another yawn splitting her face.
They kiss again slowly and then rise to get dressed. It takes some time to find her underwear under the couch, his left sock caught in the plant in the corner, one of her flats somehow on his desk.
Grayson shoots her a playfully scolding look as he locates all of their clothing and they get dressed. “If someone wasn’t so impatient…” he says, trailing off as he finishes fastening the buttons on his shirt.
“Not my fault you’re so irresistible,” she teases him.
That comment never fails to make him blush, and it makes her smile to see the color spread up his neck as they make their way back through the bar.