DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Psych or the characters, and I'm not profiting from this.
CHALLENGE: Submitted as part of the Cliché Challenge 2007.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
If You're So Tired...
By bank_farter
Juliet O'Hara is a good detective.
Junior Detective, she imagines Lassiter correcting.
Fine. A good junior detective. Whatever. The bottom line is that she's got skills. She notices things—things that other people (read: Carlton) don't always catch. Then she makes deductions about them, and they're good deductions because she's got a talent for logic. She relies on that talent. She employs it all the time. And, right now, it's leading her to one inexorable conclusion: somewhere along the way, she's gone seriously wrong.
Exhibit A: Subject has repeatedly stated that she holds strong objections to relationships and sexual dalliances among coworkers.
Exhibit B: Subject is currently pressed against the wall of the department's locker room, making out with the Interim Chief of the Santa Barbara Police Department (of which the subject is also an employee).
Exhibit C: Said Interim Chief—having already partially devested the subject of her shirt—is reaching down to undo the subject's duty belt.
A+B+C = Really friggin' wrong.
"Um, Chief Vick?" she starts.
"Ooh." Chief Vick detaches her mouth from Juliet's neck. "'Chief.' That's nice," she mutters before she goes back to nipping at the spot just above Juliet's collarbone and toying with the button on her dress pants.
"Yay?" Juliet replies. Because this isn't at all awkward. "Maybe we shouldn't--"
"Karen."
Juliet frowns. "Sorry, what?"
"I like it when you call me Chief," she says, leaning in so that her lips barely graze Juliet's ear, "But you really should call me Karen."
Exhibit D: Subject is now experiencing floppy stomach feeling that extends way lower than her stomach.
A+B+C+D = Totally, royally, so wrong.
And it just gets worse. Chief Vick—Karen's—hand is nudging her pants down and sliding into elastic of her panties, and Juliet should really be doing something to put a stop to this. Because, of course, it shouldn't be happening, and that's what police officers do: they stop things that shouldn't be happening.
But the truth is, she's not feeling like much of a professional right now. Karen's fingers are moving down to stroke her lightly (too lightly), and she can feel Karen smirk against her neck when she realizes just how much she's enjoying this.
Which is a lot.
Which, again, is bad and wrong, much like the fact that the next word out of her mouth is this:
"Please."
It sounds far more desperate than she intends, and she hears Karen chuckle as she slides a finger down to tease at her entrance.
"Please," she repeats.
"My, my, detective. We're a little demanding, aren't we?"
Oops. She's still the Chief of Police, and what the hell are you doing begging her to touch you like that? Or at all. Apologize.
"Sorry," Juliet says, blushing.
"I didn't say I didn't like it," Karen purrs.
Juliet's pretty sure that the reaction her body has to that should be Exhibit E, but mentally cataloging is no longer an option because Karen barely hesitates before sliding two fingers into her. The rhythm she starts is strong and steady and everything Juliet would expect from the Chief, and it's all she can do to moan and arch into her hand.
"You like that?" Karen half-drawls, half-growls as her fingertips graze over the rough spot inside the younger woman.
"Yes," Juliet gasps. The part of her conscience that never shuts off is still sending out the nagging signal that they shouldn't be doing this, but she could care less as this point. It's been a long time since anyone touched her like this, and even longer since she enjoyed it this much. The heel of Karen's hand is rubbing against her just right, the smell of spicy shampoo and peppermint (totally the Chief, she thinks, although though she's never really thought about what she should smell like before) is filling her nostrils. And, even though this is wrong, she's damned if Karen's fingers don't feel really, really right inside of her.
"Detective?" Karen's voice is low and close to Juliet's ear.
"Mmm?"
"Come for me."
That's totally cheating, Juliet thinks in the split second between when the Chief says that and when she feels herself tensing and bucking against her hand.
"Good girl," Karen whispers as she lets her ride it out. When she finally relaxes, Karen helps her onto the bench.
"Um," Juliet begins when she returns to feeling semi-conscious. "What was that?"
"What?" Karen asks, confused.
"That," Juliet replies, gesturing to the wall she was just pinned against.
"Oh. I haven't slept in over a week. My nanny went to nursing school."
"Ah." Juliet pauses. "Do you usually have sex with random subordinates when you're tired?"
Karen looks reflective for a moment before speaking. "You know? I don't remember."
The End