Sebastian Stan || One Shots

Do as You're Told | Nick Fowler

warning: slight plot spoilers and well, you know, smut.

Things had changed now that Fowler was in charge. Liked things done differently to Marks. You spent a lot more time in the middle of everything, even if you were just sitting in the chair in the corner and taking notes of things you thought might have been important.

Good practice, apparently. Nick's way of testing your perception, needed to know if you saw things the way he did. Needed to see if you could see the wrongs and agreed with the rights.

You'd catch him sometimes, watching you as you write. Bottom lip dragged into his mouth before you have to pull your eyes away from his, could get lost to them and forget that there were others in the room. Flashing him tiny smiles to let him know you see him looking.

And that you liked it.

But it would never be more than meeting his blue glances, almost grey in the light between you. Couldn't go any further than following his tongue as it traced the shapes of his mouth before he spoke. No one could know the thoughts that went through your head or the wetness of your panties as you worked with him.

"Y/N?" You hear him call from his office, had seen him pacing earlier after a phone call. You know he misses the field, the thrill of it all. A life at a desk is too slow for him regardless of his visits to the gym.

You take a breath, let it settle in your lungs before letting it out again. Hands busy at the side of your trousers, fingers following the seams as you try and distract yourself from how different he sounded.

The gruffness to his voice, the tinge of something you don't quite recognise. Like his throat's dry, tongue too busy at his lips to swallow.

"Yeah?" You offer as you make it inside, offering a small smile. The one that forces his eyes away when you sit in the corner of his meetings.

Doesn't work this time.

Doesn't stop looking.

Follows you as you move closer. Waiting. Wanting. Needing him to give you something to do. Liked it when he gave you orders, even if they came with a please at the end.

"Close the door," Nick says and you mumble an apology with a laugh but his mouth doesn't move.

When you turn to face him again, hand about to move from the handle he follows with something that takes you by surprise. The words stop you from breathing. Heart loud in your ears, pounding so much that if he said anything else you wouldn't hear him. 

"Lock it."

Your fingers move faster than anything else and the click pulls you from your thoughts, stops you from getting ahead of yourself. Does nothing for the warmth that builds and the dryness in your mouth. And you're just stood there, waiting. Hoping the next command that he speaks tells you to catch your breath. Wondering if he can see the line of your throat bob as you swallow at nothing, not sure what to do as he watches.

Needing him to say something.

Anything.

"Come here."

You follow his voice as if it pulls you to him. Can't meet his gaze, find your eyes following the ripples of his suit as he puts his hands in his pockets. Can see the bumps of his knuckles through the blue of his trousers, ironed with perfect creases that run down his legs. You see the blur of his titled head as you force yourself to look a little higher, reaching the folds of his lapels.

"Get on your knees."

That forces you to stop. Didn't quite expect him to say it. Never heard him growl as he spoke before. You go to open your mouth, not really sure what you'd say. Ask why, maybe, even though you knew exactly where this was going. Had imagined it all too often.