Fic: Overtime
My brand-new journal! Let's christen it with phonesex!

Title: Overtime
Fandom: Dresden Files
Spoilers: Proven Guilty; presumes a relationship.
Rating: R
Summary: Harry attempts to persuade Murphy to quit working. For 100moods, prompt 21, Creative.


The phone rang in the middle of a report. Karrin Murphy reached out and picked it up. “Hello,” she said, absently, scowling at her computer. How did you explain a murderous unicorn, anyway? Maniac with a plastic stake?

“Don’t hang up on me, no matter what you do,” Harry said, in a calm, pleasant tone.

She gave an involuntary jerk, startled by his voice. “I thought we just got finished with a case,” she said after a moment, trying to match his calm. “Don’t tell me you have something else for me.”

He chuckled, low and rich, and a thrill ran down her back. “Actually, yes, I do.”

“Oh, really?” She flexed her hand on the receiver. He had damn near purred that. Not good. Not good, not good, not good.

Maybe wonderful. But definitely not good.

Okay. She needed to keep cool and professional. She was at work, for God’s sake. “And what would that be?” she asked, in her best copper voice.

Harry laughed again, just a little bit mocking. “Do you know what I’d be doing to you right now if you were home where you’re supposed to be?”

Supposed to be? Startled, she glanced at the clock on her computer. Six-fifteen… hell, she was supposed to be home. Rather specifically she was supposed to be home with him. A night in for once, he’d said, but that was before he dragged her into this case, and overtime was just another job hazard for her. He knew that.

She carefully ignored the first part of his question. When he used that voice, he didn’t mean anything she should be thinking about at work.

“I’m finishing the report for your case, Dresden,” Murphy said, leaning back in her chair. “The justification, I might add, for your next paycheck. You should be thanking me.”

“Obviously not,” he murmured. “Well, I’ll tell you then.” His voice dropped another octave, and started shivers down her spine. “I’d start by kissing you. Very slowly.”

Her jaw dropped, and she popped her head up above her cubicle, scanning for anyone else working late. No one was in earshot, thank God. She ducked down again, huddling over the phone as if that would keep anyone else from hearing, and hissed, “Goddamn it, Harry, I am at work.”

“I know that,” he replied, in his most reasonable, most maddening tone. “That’s what I’m trying to fix. Guess what I’d do after I kissed you.”

“No,” she said. “Stop. You’re only making me take longer.”

“You could always hang up.”

Murphy opened her mouth, then shut it again. God damn him.

He waited a minute, then continued, in a lazy, smoky voice, “I’d kiss you, slow and gentle, because I know you like that. Slow and gentle and soft, and not just your mouth, either—though I like your mouth. I like your mouth very much. But I also like your nose, and your forehead, and your neck, and your collarbone, and your…”

“Harry,” she half-snarled, half-pleaded. “Stop it.”

He ignored her. “But I don’t think I’d touch you. Not quite yet. I am a little annoyed with you, you know. Here we had a perfectly nice date planned for once and you ditch me to work.”

“It’s your fault I’m here,” she reminded him, trying very hard not to lick her lips.

“No, it isn’t,” Harry said, sounding amused. “Not when I’m trying so hard to get you to come home so I can have you. Several times. In as many different ways as I can think of.” His voice dropped again. “And I’m very creative.”

Her mouth dried, and for a crucial moment, caught up in memories of just how creative he could be, she was unable to formulate a properly cutting response.

“Do you know,” he continued, conversationally, “there’s a lovely noise you make when I kiss your breasts. I’ve never been able to replicate it anywhere else. Not that I mind the trying. There’s some other noises you make that are just as nice. Like the way you scream and arch when I…”

She interrupted him, furious that he was so blatantly manipulating her, furious that she was responding to it precisely the way he wanted. “And if I punched you? Mix it up a little?” She made another furtive glance up and around; nobody but Stallings, grabbing himself a cup of coffee and heading back to his office. Her old office.

The thought sent a brief chill through her, cooled her off a little. If she got caught doing something like this at work, she would get fired, and then where would they be?

Which is why, her inner Harry piped up helpfully, she should go home. Nobody would miss the report until tomorrow.

She shut that voice up fast.

“I don’t know,” Harry said, breaking into her thoughts; his previous silence had evidently just been a considering one, not the abashed quiet she’d hoped for. “Sounds a little kinky, but hey, I’m up for experimenting.”

Murphy sighed, and rubbed her forehead. “Why are you doing this?”

“I would think that’s obvious, big-time copper like you,” he replied, and turned suddenly serious. “I want you home, Murph. You work too much anyway, and this one was hard on you.”

“I’m--”

“You’re not fine. I was with you, remember.” His voice turned soft, a little wheedling, and always, always that husky undertone. “You’re too hard on yourself, Karrin. Come home and let me be hard on you instead.”

His voice was so gentle, and he’d used his secret weapon, too, that low husky way he said her name that made her nipples harden and her eyes close. It took her a full minute to notice the horrible pun, and she was softening towards him enough that she didn’t even groan.

Besides, groaning at him would probably just encourage him.

“Shouldn’t that be hard in me?” she asked, instead.

Harry grinned. She heard it, and knew that he knew she was weakening. “See, now you’re getting the idea.”

Murphy looked at the unfinished report, the white space on the document glaring accusatorily from the screen, and sighed again. Really, no one would want it until tomorrow. Stallings wouldn’t be happy to have it tonight, either, not if he had enough work that he was staying late too. Probably budget, it was about that time.

Damn Harry for being right, anyway. Today hadn’t been a near-death scenario, but it had gotten close a couple times, and she ached to be touched, to be kissed, to lie under or above him and scream his name until she forgot her own.

She made up her mind, and shut off her computer.

“I’m going to be home in fifteen minutes,” she informed him, rising and collecting her purse, “and I’m going to kill you when I get there.”

“Fuck me first,” was his only response. “See you in fifteen.”