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“Are you going to finish what you started?”

 

You turned back to Magnus from the archives that towered in front of you. A stack of files sat on Magnus’ already overcrowded desk, awaiting organisation. You’d agreed to help him out if he showed you a good time tonight - you’d only been seeing each other six weeks, but opportunities for a “good time” had been few and far between thanks to a big case Magnus had caught just after your third date. His boss, Kurt, had been insistent that all the paperwork needed to be filed before another huge case landed in the laps of the Ystad police.

 

So, here you were. Hefting the files was making for a brief but satisfying workout.

 

“I’m just….. Paralysed by your filing system.”

 

Magnus finished the sentence of the latest report he was typing and stood up. “What do you mean?”

 

“I mean I can’t ready your handwriting.”

 

He sputtered out a shocked laugh.

 

“I’m serious. It’s worse than my doctor’s.” You pointed out his scrawl on a couple of lever arch files. “What does that even say? It looks like abstract art.”

 

“Minx.” He yanked you into him, and you breathed him in, his habitual scent of bitter, black coffee, toast and just a hint of citrusy aftershave cutting through the air and right into the heart of you. “I didn’t ask you here to critique my handwriting, you know.”

 

You pushed a hand into his tangle of sunkissed curls, bringing his mouth down to yours. “There are other things I’d much rather critique.”

 

Magnus cast a glance back at the computer. It was late, and everyone else aside from the skeleton staff downstairs had gone home, and he knew that the sooner this task was finished, the sooner you could get down to business. As such.

 

He sighed, his hands smoothing down your sides and coming to cup your backside. You leaned up into him. 

 

“I suppose I could take a break. All work and no play makes Magnus a dull boy, after all.”

 

You nipped at his lips, tasting coffee with a hint of sugar. “We wouldn’t want that now. Would we.”

 

He lifted a hand to cup your cheek for a slow, deep kiss. Your tongues tangled and you breathed him in, his unique smell infiltrating all the secret places inside you, leaving you wanting him more than anything.

 

You murmured his name as he pressed you up against the shelving, his clever mouth busy on your neck. You arched your head back to give him better access and he pushed into you, the line of his erection in his jeans heavy against your hip. 

 

“Want you,” he whispered in that voice of James Bond and honey, and any reserve you might have had about getting dirty in the Ystad HQ evaporated. You looped your arms around his neck and Magnus boosted you up so you could lock your legs around his lean hips.

 

He thrust lazily against you as you kissed, tongues dancing, drinking each other in. Magnus’ heart beat a ragged tattoo against your own as you loosed a hand to strip him off his shirt, him clumsily holding you up by one arm at a time so you could slide the light blue linen down off his arms. It puddled on the floor silently, forgotten.

 

You spread your free hand over his chest, fingers tangling in the light curls there. He was solid and warm and you’d never stop being glad that he was yours.

 

Magnus continued to explore your mouth at his leisure as you slowly, awkwardly undressed each other. For your first time this might’ve been wrong, but you and Magnus had fitted your bodies together in many ways already, so it was easy. Being with him felt right.

 

You unbuttoned his jeans and he fell into your eager palm, hot and heavy. Magnus bit off a curse when you stroked him, his length scorching your palm. You squeezed your inner muscles, wanting him right there. Now.

 

He fumbled with the buttons on your dress, then thumbed your nipple hard through the thin lace of your bra. Your pulse rocketed, desire in flames inside you. When he finally trailed his hand down to your panties and pushed the thin cotton aside to stroke the hard little nub at your apex, you shuddered hard from the glory of it.

 

“Magnus, now.” Thank goodness for the invention of the pill so you didn’t need to find a condom.

 

“I live to serve, darling.” And he thrust into you, all the way, until you gasped at the sudden fullness. He looked into your eyes, and you saw worlds in his, the blue irises silvery grey in the low lamplight of the office.

 

He thrust slowly at first, nipping at your neck and then laving the tiny hurts. You’d have a mark there in the morning, probably, but there was something primal about him claiming you like that. You lifted your legs higher to allow him better access. The angle was amazing as he worked into you, and you gasped his name out as he settled you against the shelving and again began to stroke between your legs. You felt a fluttering in your lower body begin, and Magnus bit out a curse as he felt you contract around him. He groaned your name as he pistoned his hips into you. A file toppled off the shelf as you climaxed, and you laughed together as your heartbeats started to return to normal.

 

You stroked a hand down his back. “Looks like we’ve just made more work for ourselves.”

 

He rubbed his jaw, stubbly from not shaving since seven am, against your cheek fondly. “The sooner we get it done, the sooner we can be in the bed for round two. And pizza?”

 

And you thought just then, his eyes dancing with merriment and his body warm and pliant around yours, you were falling in love with Magnus Martinsson.