Saw: Imagines & Scenarios 👀

Chapter 2: 🟡 First Kiss & Asking Out

Lawrence Gordon

You've been beating about the bush for a while but you don't want to say anything just in case you're reading everything all wrong, as you tend to do.

You sit in Gordon's office, quietly shuffling your feet, as he reads the final draft of your paper. You both know that once your paper is done, he won't need to see you anymore, since your placement finished a month ago. Your university tutor could read through the draft but you needed an excuse to see Gordon one, last time.

"It's very good, [Name]." He says, setting the paper on his desk and removing his glasses. He doesn't look at you. It seems he realises the situation you're both in.
"Thank you for a wonderful time during placement, Doctor Gordon." You smile sadly. You mean it genuinely but the words come out stiff and wooden.
"It was a pleasure." He stands from his seat, hands you back your paper and rounds his desk. "Let me walk you out."

The two of you walk out of his department in silence. Anything to be in one-another's company, even with the cold dread breathing down your necks.

When you reach the staff exit and reach for the handle, Gordon grabs ahold of your arm. You cock your head to look at him and he moves his hand from your arm to your jaw, holding you still as he moves in to kiss you. He's surprisingly strong for a man in his condition and at his age. It takes you by surprise but you melt into the kiss, hands landing on his chest as you lean into him. His body is so warm and you can feel the steady beat of his heart. The hand not on his cane goes to your hair, gentle fingers threading into it. His lips are so soft, moving against yours so sweetly. When he pulls away, you look up at him, eyes lidded and hazy. That usual kind and gentle smile is on his lips and you feel dizzy.
"Doctor Gordon..." You sigh and he presses a quick peck to the corner of your lips.
"Just Lawrence, [Name]. Just Lawrence..." He presses more along the line of your jaw. Further and further down until your hands fall from his lapels to his belt.
"Lawrence..." Your body thrums with warmth and energy, all the thoughts you've pushed to the back of your mind coming back in full force as he kisses you. "God, I've thought about this so much." You admit and he bites the sensitive skin below your ear.
"So have I... Go home now and text me when you get home safe." He whispers and you whine, wanting to keep going. "You have my number, [Name], I have your address. We can go for dinner sometime, alright?" He pulls away and you smile up at him warmly, through the haze of your dizziness.

On the way back to your car, you pinch yourself and you're delighted to find that you're not dreaming.

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Mark Hoffman

Hoffman hasn't had a girlfriend for... He actually can't remember how long since he's been in a relationship. Any other time, it seemed to make sense. He didn't trust anyone and didn't even like anyone enough to consider them relationship material yet here you are, scrubbing blood and gore off his latest trap until it damn near shines like new.

You're loyal, kind, understanding, smart, hard-working and good to be around. Maybe he's finally found a match with you but then...the anxiety of rejection. A pain stabs in his gut that makes him feel nineteen again. He doesn't know what he'd do if you said no. If he'd lay his feelings out on the table and then have you set them on fire. But you wouldn't, would you? He could trust you, right? But he doesn't want to intimidate you or coerce you into it. What can he do--
"How's this?" Pulled from his thoughts, Mark looks at the job you've done. The rusted metal has been deep-cleaned, leaving only the steel behind, a few patches of rust remaining.
"Perfect." You stand to empty your bucket and refill it and he follows suit, his large frame pausing in front of the doorway. A wave of fear crashes over you as Hoffman looms over you, his ever-straight face not changing as he reaches for you.
"Mark, I can't-- I need to get by so I can--"

Hoffman hauls you up a couple of inches so he doesn't have to stoop down and kiss you. Your full bucket drops to the floor, sloshing blood-tainted water all over the floor and all over Hoffman's shoes. You go stock-still for a moment when he first rams his face into yours, just trying to register what's happening... He's so rigid but soon he begins to loosen up as do you. You throw your arms around his neck and bury your hands into his thick mane of dark, silky hair. What can only be described as a growl rumbles through his chest and you moan against his lips, pulling back only to kiss him again, twice as hard. His large, warm hands find your thighs and hitch them up so your legs can curl around his waist. He stumbles out of the room and presses your back against the concrete wall of the hallway. His kisses are hard and sloppy but slow, his hands taking the time to explore your body now that you're stuck between him and the wall.
"Do you...wanna go out for...a drink sometime?" He breathes heavily as you pull on his tie and pop the first few buttons on his dress-shirt. You lean in to press sloppy kisses to his collarbone and as far down on his chest as you can.
"Sounds...perfect, Mark."

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Peter Strahm

Friday night at yours. It's been a particularly tough week so you offered to have him over for a drink to destress. Turns out Special Agent Peter Strahm can't hold his liquor so good.

Strahm collapses on your couch and brings you down with him, his tie half undone and his shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his chest.
"Listen; I treated you like garbage on your first few months." He murmurs and you shake your head.
"Nah, Peter. Like you said, it was always gonna be a little awkward to start." You smile and he shakes his head.
"I still wanted to apologise." He sighs and you take the drink from his hand, the fifth straight whiskey of the night, and put it on the coffee table. You have to remember that you can't let him do anything stupid. He's your superior and your partner, after all. He has to know he can trust you, even when he's drunk off his ass. Peter's just an honest drunk; not happy, not sad, just honest. "I trust you, [Name], and I don't say that lightly." He admits, not looking up at you. He obviously never lets many people past his barrier and you're one of them.
"I'm glad, Peter. I trust you too. You're a good guy and I look up to you." You tell him, placing a hand on his knee. At the contact, he sits bolt upright and stares at you eyes wide. "Peter?" Then his stare turns into a gaze, one lidded and heated. "Strahm?" You ask but he seems too far gone.

Grabbing your wrist, Peter presses your palm to his bare chest before pulling in close and pressing his lips to yours. You can taste the alcohol as he pulls you into his lap. He's stronger than you thought. When you're seated squarely in his lap, your body fills with warmth. You want to stay there, sat in Strahm's lap, kissing him like the world's about to end, but...you made a promise to yourself; nothing stupid.

You pull away and stand, looking down at him.
"Sorry, Peter, you're drunk. If I knew you were stone-cold sober, I might think differently but...I feel like I'm taking advantage of you." You tell him before getting the blanket and pillows ready for him to fall asleep on your couch (because there's no way you're letting him drive himself home). Strahm stands on wobbly legs and swallows thickly.
"This isn't just me being drunk and stupid, [Name]." He grabs your hand and pulls you in for a kiss, just one. It's quick and soft but so committal. There's so much emotion packed into this one gesture so you let him have it. "I hope you got something out of that. I did."