Birthday Suit
by cmshaw
cmshaw@cmshaw.slashcity.net
6 December 2001

Disclaimer: Alas, I received not one Mountie for my birthday this year.

Summary: Inspector Thatcher asks ASA Kowalski for a favor, and gets one.

Warnings: Sex of the f/f variety, which is new for me to write.

Notes: It's a femslash PWP. I wrote it just to see if I could, and it seems that I can.

Gratitude: To Jeannie Marie, for the "Naked Mountie" challenge (although I didn't quite fulfill it here), and to Mistress Overdone, for informing me that of course I had to write it.


"There," Thatcher said. She fixed the knot of Kowalski's lanyard and ran her hands down the front of the uniform which now covered Kowalski's shapely form. "You make a good Mountie."

Kowalski laughed and shook out her hair. "I'm sure I don't look as good in your uniform as you do," she said with a light laugh. "You cut a dashing figure."

Thatcher frowned. "You should put up the hair. You're not severe enough to be an Inspector."

"Is that the secret?" Kowalski said. She turned to her purse, sitting next to the pile of the clothes that she had originally worn to this party, and dug through it to produce a blue elastic. She pulled her hair back with quick, practiced movements. "How's this?"

Kowalski wore tiny ruby earrings. They glittered as Kowalski turned her head and smiled at Thatcher, and Thatcher's mouth curved up in a smile. "Beautiful," she said breathlessly.

Kowalski's eyes drifted down Thatcher's body, and Thatcher arched her back in a sudden shiver as she felt the nipples of her breasts tighten. There was no way Kowalski could have missed that, not with Thatcher standing there in nothing but her underwear. Thatcher's face was already flushed from the drinks she'd had, but she could feel the back of her neck prickling as goosebumps rose. Kowalski's eyes were dark and intent as she studied Thatcher. When she spoke, her voice was soft and breathy. "It's so convenient that we're the same size. For this switch, of course."

"Yes, yes of course," Thatcher agreed automatically, watching as Kowalski's hands brushed across her shoulders. The light touch drifted down Thatcher's bare skin to cup her breasts and stroke her nipples through the scanty lace of her bra. Thatcher gasped.

"For example," Kowalski said, barely above a whisper, "we would seem to be quite similar here."

"Yes," gasped Thatcher.

Kowalski smiled. "You know lawyers, though," she said. "We always want to see the evidence for ourselves." She stepped in so close that Thatcher's arm brushed the rough wool of her own uniform. The boots gave her an extra half-inch of height, and the uniform exaggerated the difference until Thatcher felt that she'd need to tip her head all the way back on her shoulders to see the other woman's face. Kowalski's arms wrapped around her, and Thatcher felt her bra tugged as Kowalski opened the clasp. Kowalski leaned back and slid the bra forward off of Thatcher's arms, and Thatcher shivered again. Kowalski's hands were back, so warm and knowing against her bare breasts that Thatcher felt herself begin to melt. "In fact," Kowalski purred, "we like to have a hands-on understanding."

Thatcher fought to keep her eyes open and her voice level. "I have always advocated interdepartmental cooperation." Kowalski's thumbs pushed her nipples in little circles and it became difficult to breath. "International cooperation, even," she managed to say, and then it was too much. She reached out and grabbed Kowalski by the epaulets. "Oh. God."

Kowalski gave her a pleased little smile. "I appreciate a cooperative woman," she said, and one hand left Thatcher's breast and moved downward. Knuckles brushed Thatcher's stomach and then strong fingers pressed in on her vulva through the thin cotton of her underpants.

Thatcher pulled Kowalski in against her body as Kowalski's other hand also swept down to her hips. She could feel the serge heavy against her bare skin, cut across by the cold leather brace, and she wound her arms around the warmth of Kowalski's shoulders as Kowalski's hands pulled her underwear down and let it fall to her ankles. Clever fingers stroked between the lips of her vulva, and she was wet, she was positively soaked -- and she arched back, clinging desperately to Kowalski's shoulders, as long fingers dragged across her clit. She moaned, and Kowalski rubbed harder.

One finger pressed down forcefully over her clit as Kowalski rocked her whole hand in rough little circles, and Thatcher rose up on her toes, the bare soles of her feet lifting off the cold floor to drive her body into the motion of Kowalski's hand. "Oh God," she moaned again. "Oh. Oh. Oh," and she clenched her hands into fists and jerked Kowalski hard against her.

"Look at you," Kowalski breathed in her ear. "Not so severe now, are we, Inspector? Drunk and naked and so, so hot for it. Do you like being naked in front of me?"

Yes, Thatcher wanted to say, but she was still moaning, a steady Greek chorus of Oh to underscore the climax on whose edge she trembled.

Kowalski pulled Thatcher in tight against her chest and changed the motion of her hand to a jagged up-and-down. Thatcher sucked in a desperate breath of air and froze, mouth open, as Kowalski seemed to lift her higher, and higher, and higher....

She slammed her hips down to grind herself convulsively against Kowalski's hard fingers with each pulse of her orgasm. Distantly, she could hear her own gasps echoing in her ears as Kowalski whispered, "Yes, yes, yes. Yes."

Thatcher rocked unsteadily on her feet as Kowalski sighed regretfully and stepped away. Kowalski's warm hand slipped from between her legs and Thatcher trembled a little with the aftershocks, then trembled again when Kowalski lifted her hand and calmly sucked her own fingers clean. Kowalski wiped her wet hand on Thatcher's uniform pants.

Thatcher watched her smile and did her best to breath deeply and evenly, from the diaphragm. She had no idea what the etiquette might be for thanking a woman for compounding an original favor with a madcap and delightful seduction; finally she just shook her head. "Can I borrow your clothing?" she asked. "If I'm going to wait here I should be dressed."

Kowalski stooped and picked up Thatcher's discarded underpants from the floor by their feet. "No," she said thoughtfully, "I don't believe you should." She gathered up her own clothing and tucked it all into a bundle under her arm. "This shouldn't take long," she said cheerfully. "I'll be back soon."

"But I'm naked!" Thatcher protested.

Kowalski grinned. "It suits you," she said as she left the room.



(obEFF)

End.

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