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Even back when they'd dated the first time, before Georgie had been comfortable or self-aware enough to know what she wanted and how to ask for it, Jon brought out something of a mean streak in her. Nothing outright cruel--she never wanted to hurt him too badly, never wanted anything that felt like it was too much or too far--but he was in turns pretentious and buttoned-up and endearingly awkward, and it made her want to rip it all down, to strip him raw and see him without his layers of facades and masks. She never quite managed it the way she wanted to--there were a million shades of human emotion, and there was plenty holding her back even if true fear wasn't a factor. And by the time Georgie had come to terms with being, as she often put it, "a bit of a jerk" in bed, they had drifted apart and the fantasies faded.


And then he'd showed up on her doorstep, looking battered and terrified and helpless and, even as she ushered him inside and soothed his babbling hysteria, something inside her went, Oh.


That something was smothered quickly under the barrage of strangeness that appeared to be stalking Jon, but even Georgie's irritation and sadness and uncertainty (which was one of several cocktails of emotion that she had learned meant "you would be afraid right now") didn't kill it completely. She ignored it for the most part--her friend was clearly in trouble and she was capable of controlling herself, thank you very much. Somehow she doubted Jon was capable of even the most soft and gentle of relationships at the moment.


That didn't stop her from touching herself, late at night with her door firmly shut, long after Jon had gone to sleep, imagining him on his knees beneath her desk, his wrists bound, his mouth put to work, his pretty voice making tiny, needy noises every time she shifted her hips. It was a nice fantasy, and he never had to know about it. (When he said, "What is something you'd never choose to tell me?" that was the answer that bubbled up first to her mind, and it took every ounce of her willpower to choke it back and confess about his accent instead. Not the time, Georgie, she thought wildly.)


And then somehow "I'm out of your life forever" turned into Jon stumbling home to her after long stretches of time as The Archivist, looking worse for wear and often miserable. Georgie developed something of a sixth sense about when he would show up, and started keeping stocked up on herbal teas and first aid supplies. Sometimes he would tell her what had happened, sometimes he would simply sit on her couch and stare into middle distance; sometimes she would offer him advice or comfort, sometimes she would patch up his injuries in silence. It wasn't that she enjoyed his visits, not when he was such a wreck during them. But there was something that pleased her, knowing he would come to her when he needed her.


Georgie was half-dozing on the couch with the Admiral when the knock came. She knew it was Jon before she even got up, but she hadn't been prepared for the look on his face when she answered the door.


He didn't appear hurt--not physically, anyway--but he was huddled against the door frame, shivering wildly, and his eyes were damp when he looked at her. A complicated flurry of emotion fluttered in Georgie's chest, and she grabbed him and pulled him into a hug. He let out a choked noise at the contact and clung to her, his hands twisting in her shirt. She could feel his heart racing. "Come inside," she whispered; she pitched her voice soft and soothing, as if she were speaking to a skittish animal. "Come on, it's okay, I've got you."


She led him to the couch; he seemed unwilling to break contact with her and she didn't make him, instead looping an arm around his waist and lacing her fingers with his. His shuddering had eased, but not stopped. Georgie lowered him onto the couch, straightened, and said, "I'll go get you--" but his fingers tightened around hers with sudden panic, tugging her back towards him.


"Don't--!" He looked up at her with stark terror on his face. "Don't--don't leave me."


Georgie went slowly to one knee in front of him, cradling his hand in both of hers. "Okay. I'm here. Tell me what happened."


Jon's eyes darted around her living room, and for a moment Georgie was convinced he would clam up. It wouldn't be the first time. But he took in a shuddering breath and began to speak.


"It--it was the Lukas family. I'd warned Melanie not to, but--she--you know how she is." Georgie nodded. She was well aware. (She was also aware of the likelihood that Jon had warned her away from them without telling her why, but she didn't say that out loud.) "And I--I couldn't let them take her so I offered--I told him--Nathaniel Lukas, I mean, I--"


"You...took her place?" Georgie ventured. She knew a little of Jon's fraught relationship with his assistants. That he often did foolhardy things in the name of protecting them. It had taken a lot of cajoling from several parties, Georgie included, to get Jon to trust them with even the safest of tasks. It figured Melanie had been the one to finally justify all his worst fears.


Jon nodded. "I took her place."


"Which ones are the Lukases, again?"


Jon was silent for a moment. "Isolation," he said softly. "I was...there was a mansion. This massive, empty mansion. No sign of people, only of the things they had left behind. Food left rotting on the tables, televisions tuned to static. The windows were all boarded shut, and the doors wouldn't open, I...what day is it?"


"Oh, uh...Saturday now, I think?" Georgie said, glancing over her shoulder towards the clock on the VCR she still owned. "Yeah, it's past midnight."


Jon nodded. "I was there a week," he said. His shaking seemed to have stopped, but he showed no sign of letting go of Georgie's hand. "Elias was so angry when he got me out, said I should have..." he trailed off, but Georgie had heard enough about his creepy boss to imagine what he thought Jon should have done.


"For what it's worth, I'm glad you didn't. And I'm sure Melanie is, too."


Jon nodded, though he didn't seem particularly comforted. "I...I hadn't realized it was so late, or I..."


Georgie waved his concerns aside. "Oh, please, I do ghost stuff for a living, midnight is nothing."


"I just wanted to--to see someone."


"Well, yeah, that makes sense." Georgie shifted up onto the couch, propping herself up against an arm and tugging Jon into her lap. He allowed her to arrange him so that he was lying against her chest, and he buried his head in the crook of her neck, letting out a shuddering sigh as her arms went around him.


"...thank you," he mumbled. His voice was muffled somewhat by her hair. "I'm sorry for...this." She felt rather than saw him gesture vaguely behind her back.


"It's really fine." She stroked a hand through his hair, reasoning that it was likely to be one of very few chances she got to do so.


"Surely you have better things to do with your time than--"


"Jon." He fell silent, but she could feel him tensing up beneath her hands. "There is nothing I'd rather be doing than cuddling with you on the couch right now."


He huffed out a short laugh at that, tilting his head to he could meet her eyes. "Well," he said, and Georgie could just barely feel his lips moving against her skin. "I appreciate it."


She kissed him. It took a moment of maneuvering, to cradle the back of his neck in her palm and urge him up towards her, and he didn't seem to catch on to what she was doing until half a second after she had pressed their mouths together. But after his initial noise of shock, he went pliant and acquiescent, letting her roll them over so she could straddle his hips and pin his wrists to the cushions.


She sat up, shoving her hair out of her face and staring down at him. A million fantasies blossomed behind Georgie's eyes and she bit her lip, trying to keep her lechery out of her face. She must have done a poor job of it, because Jon shifted beneath her, the beginnings of a blush coloring his cheeks. "What?"


There was no compulsion behind his question, but Georgie opted for honesty anyway. "You," she said, "make me want to be so mean."


His eyes went wide but, to his credit, he held her gaze. "Mean...how?"


She slipped her hands beneath his shirt, grazing her fingernails along his stomach. Not as hard as she wanted to. He still squirmed. "Just...mean," she said. She pinched one of his nipples, roughly, relishing the way he arched and gasped. "You give me such filthy fantasies."


She moved to pull away, but Jon grabbed her wrist, holding her hand to his chest. "Tell me," he said, his voice low and full-throated, and Georgie wasn't exactly on even footing with him in terms of the supernatural, but she recognized the voice of the Archivist when she heard it. Jon looked up at her, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards, the very image of a man who knew exactly what he'd done. Georgie's tongue itched with the need to spell out every pornographic thought she'd had about Jon in the past months.


Instead, she stood, every movement deliberate and calculated, and hiked up the over-sized T-shirt she'd been using as a nightgown to peel her underwear off. "Well, to start with," she said, and it eased some of the tingling pressure in her brain, "you aren't allowed to tell me what to do." And she whirled around before Jon had a chance to process this, gripping his jaw tightly in one hand and stuffing her underwear in his mouth.


God, the look he gave her. Something between affronted and turned on and embarrassed. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to lips stretched around her makeshift gag. "Now, let's see," she said, stretching out and settling herself on top of Jon, tangling their legs together. She could feel his cock pressing into her thigh and smiled. "Surprisingly enough, the gag was a spur of the moment thing, but I kind of like it." Jon gave her a look that clearly aspired to be a glare, but lacked the teeth for it and was instead something of a pout.


Georgie busied herself with the buttons on Jon's shirt. "I thought a lot about making you eat me out," she said, conversationally, as she meticulously undid each button. Jon gave a muffled moan that sounded, to Georgie's ears, fairly amenable to the thought. She urged him to sit up and slid his shirt off his shoulders. "Tying you up, too. I own quite a few pairs of handcuffs." She bowed her head to take one of his nipples between her teeth, running her thumbnail along the other. Jon squirmed under her; Georgie felt his hands flutter at her sides, but he didn't touch her and he made no move to remove the gag. She smiled against his skin. "Good boy."


Jon writhed and panted as Georgie sucked bruises onto his chest; eventually he flung his hands over his head, clinging to the arm of the couch for dear life. Georgie pulled back to survey her handiwork. She ran her fingertips along a bitemark at his collarbone; she'd marked up enough people to know it would purple into a pretty bruise. She had left his neck untouched, though from what Jon had told her, his creepy boss would know about this whether she left visible marks or not. The thought sent a possessive thrill of anger through her.


"Can I bite your neck?" she asked, stroking her fingertips along his fluttering pulse.


Jon hesitated, then nodded, then let out a muffled cry as Georgie sank her teeth into him. It would be an impressive mark once it bruised; for now, Georgie pressed soothing kisses to the reddened skin, until Jon's whimpering faded to low moaning. He nuzzled against her, though his hands still hovered inches from her skin; Georgie pressed a kiss to his forehead. "You can touch me," she said, and immediately Jon's arms went around her, holding her close. She couldn't hold back a laugh and Jon pulled away just long enough to give her an offended glare. "Sorry, sorry," she murmured, pressing kisses along his jawline. "I didn't mean it like that."


For a moment they lay there, Georgie peppering Jon's neck and face with soft kisses, her fingertips tracing along the red bitemarks she had left in his skin. There was still a gentle pull in the back of her mind, though it was soft and low enough that Georgie couldn't tell if it was the Archivist's compulsion or her own desires. (That was probably the point. Georgie didn't dwell on it.)


"Let me suck you off," Georgie purred. She hid her smirk against Jon's neck, licking a stripe along his jugular so he couldn't feel the way her lips curved. He let out a shuddering breath through his nose, and Georgie didn't wait for a more concrete answer. Jon was stripped and exposed before he had finished arching his hips.


Georgie's word choice had been deliberately misleading. She didn't sink down on Jon's cock, didn't take him into her throat like a champion porn star. She licked, slow and deliberate, using only the tip of her tongue along the underside of his cock, pinning his hips with her hands to stop him from thrusting up into the heat of her mouth. Almost immediately he was dripping wet and whining, and Georgie smiled, pressed a chaste kiss to the head of his cock, and dragged her tongue down the opposite direction, relishing his gasps and smothered moans. "Easy," she breathed, ghosting her breath over his skin. His hips jolted against her palms and she laughed.


This kind of cruelty, at least, she was used to. Twisting someone's pleasure around against them, reducing them to a helpless puddle beneath her hands. She focused on that, rather than on the darker desires that throbbed beneath the surface of her conscious mind. It took almost nothing for Jon to turn to putty in her hands, and soon Georgie had switched from deliberately tormenting him to simply toying with him. She pressed her fingers along his cock, finding the spots that made it jump in her hand; she laid too-soft kisses along his thighs, letting her mouth linger when his muscles tensed under her lips; her tongue and hands explored him languidly, her eyes flicking up towards his face to take in his reactions.


When he finally went limp and docile beneath her hands, she pulled away; she expected a noise of protest, but Jon just looked up at her with desperate, begging eyes. Georgie ran her thumb along his cheekbone, down towards his lips; she gently pulled the gag from his mouth and he made a soft, protesting noise at the loss. Georgie kissed him, slow and languid and torturous, and his fingers pressed bruises into her shoulders when she pulled away, though he didn't dare try and tug her back down towards him.


"Georgie," he said, his voice soft and needy and cracked with want. "Georgie, please."


Oh, that's nice. "Mmm, please what?" Georgie asked. She didn't bother to hide her smirk this time, folding her arms over Jon's chest and resting her head on them, grinning serenely up at him.


"Georgie..." Jon whined, dragging out the last syllable of her name petulantly.


Georgie laughed, sitting up and collapsing backwards into a sprawl, lounging against the arm opposite Jon, deliberately not touching him. "Come here," she said. Jon hesitated, then shifted until he was kneeling on the couch between her legs; she crooked a finger at him, urging him closer, and he crawled gingerly up her body. She stroked a hand through his hair, regarding him with a practiced smug fondness, then cradled his skull and pulled him towards her so his ear was by her lips. "Here's what's going to happen," she stage-whispered. "You're going to get me off, until I am satisfied, and if you do a very good job, and grovel nicely for me, you get to come."


A shudder ran down Jon's spine. He pressed a kiss to the underside of her jaw, one hand toying with the hem of her shirt, his fingers tracing half-formed words along the inside of her thighs. "Can I take this off?"


In response, Georgie relinquished her grip on his hair and draped her arms over her head. "If you must," she sighed. She noticed him just barely catch himself rolling his eyes and winked at him.


With the night shirt abandoned on the floor, Jon slowly worked his way down Georgie's body, though with far less teeth than Georgie had used when she'd done the same to him. He pressed one hand between her thighs, tracing the soft, wet folds of her cunt with a fingertip before pushing inside with an agonizing slowness. His thumb circled her clit, a feather-light, barely-there pressure. Georgie hooked her ankles over his back and tangled a fist in his hair, dragging his head down between her legs. "Stop teasing," she said, trying to inject some authority into her voice in spite of how breathless she felt.


The second his mouth closed around her, her hips jolted off the couch as if she'd been electrified. This will be over quickly, Georgie thought dazedly, slowly grinding her hips against Jon's face. It had been a while, if she were being honest. Too long since she'd done anything like this, certainly. Too long since she'd had someone so eager to submit to her. Her legs were already shaking, and she was so slick with arousal that Jon could slide two more fingers into her with ease. His tongue flicked over her clit, once, twice, and then she was arching up off the sofa with a strangled cry, holding his head in place.


"D-don't stop, not done," she gasped. Jon pulled back just far enough to grin at her, licking delicately over her over-sensitized clit while she struggled to catch her breath. "Smug bastard," she groaned, letting her head fall back over the arm of the couch. Jon kissed her, rolling his tongue along the fingers he still had inside her. Georgie stared up at the ceiling as Jon pressed languid kisses to her cunt; she scratched her fingers absently through his hair, along the back of his neck. "Let me kiss you again," she murmured. Jon moved to pull his hand away from her, but she tightened her thighs. "Keep that there."


It was awkward on his wrist, Georgie knew, but watching him scramble to obey her was gratifying. She kissed him deeply, chasing the taste of herself on his lips and tongue, sucking at his lower lip, licking his face clean. Her thoroughness brought a pretty blush back to his face. "Come on," she murmured against his lips; she rolled her hips against his hand. "One more."


He didn't need to be told to be rougher, this time. Georgie slid a thigh between his legs; his cock twitched against her. He had to be getting desperate. Georgie let out a sigh and rode his palm, meeting every thrust of his fingers and setting a deep, indulgent pace. She let her eyes drift closed and began to confess other fantasies of hers. Riding his face while her knees pressed his biceps into the floor. Spending hours making him come just from getting fingered. Taking him shopping for sex toys just to see how many shades of red she could make him turn.


"Oh, God, Georgie please--"


The tone of his voice was so achingly desperate and Georgie couldn't take it. Her fingernails dug scores in his back as she came, clenching tight enough around his fingers that she thought for sure his hand must be cramping up, though he kept up a slow, easy movement as she came down. When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her with his lip between his teeth; his hand had stilled but he didn't remove it until she shifted away with a slow, satisfied smile. "Say that again," she murmured, tugging his hand towards her mouth to suck it clean.


For a moment she thought she'd broken him. He stared at her with a vaguely stunned expression, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "I--" he began, then swallowed and started again. "Please let me come," he said in a breathy rush, and Christ, maybe he'd broken Georgie this time. "Please, I did what you said, I tried to do a good job, please, Georgie, I need--"


She grasped his cock in a loose fist and he broke off with a moan. "Keep going," she purred, and almost immediately he had nuzzled into her neck and starting babbling into her hair. Mostly please, sometimes let me come, one dizzying instance of I've been good. Georgie almost wanted to draw it out just to listen to him begging, but--well, he had been good.


Towards the end he had devolved into just panting her name, over and over again, and that certainly had its appeal, too.


Jon made a valiant effort not to simply collapse on top of her afterwards, and Georgie slid out from under him to gather up her night shirt, which she used unceremoniously to wipe them both off. "Do you need anything?" Georgie asked, trying to smooth his hair back into some semblance of order. "I can make you tea, or something to eat. I think I have hot chocolate somewhere, if you want?"


Jon shook his head, his eyes slipping closed as she pet him. "A...a shower might be nice," he said. "Sorry about your shirt."


"Eh, I got a million of 'em," Georgie replied. "This one had a hole in the armpit anyway, very sexy." Jon smirked and Georgie pressed a kiss to his forehead. "C'mon, let's get you cleaned up. I have stuff you can wear. You staying the night?"


"Oh, ah, I--I can leave if--"


"Stay the night," Georgie said. Stay forever, she didn't say, though she thought it very hard.


Jon was tenser than Georgie would have preferred, jumping when she stepped into the shower with him, shying away when she placed a hand on his hip. "Are you okay?" she asked, squinting at him through the shower spray. "Was I--did I come on too strong?"


"No!" He shifted, grasped her hand and placed it back on his hip. "No I--" He lowered his head, resting his forehead against hers. "It's just--is it okay for me to keep coming here?" His hand came up to touch the forming bruise on his neck. "If something found out about you--if something happened--"


"Something might," Georgie said, shrugging. "But it's fine. Too late now anyway. If something comes after me, I'd rather have been helping you than have just sat around like some sad damsel wondering what you've been doing without me."


"I--I'm not worth that."


Georgie smacked his arm, pulling away to glare at him more effectively. "Jon, stop. I'm not afraid of--"


"I know you're not, but one of us should be!"


"But you can't keep doing this!" Georgie snapped. She cradled his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her eyes. "You can't be a human barricade for everyone. You have to trust people when they say they're willing to take the same risks you are."


"But I don't--you, and the others, they never asked for--"


"It doesn't matter," Georgie said. "You didn't either, but here we are. We just have to deal with it. Let me wash your hair."


She half expected him to argue, but he just nodded. She didn't know if it was because she had made a breakthrough or if he had just too fatigued to protest, but he slowly relaxed under her hands, and Georgie was just happy to see the tension leave him.


"Did you--did you mean what you said earlier?" Jon asked as they toweled off.


"About what?"


"About..." He trailed off, blushed, and made a vague gesture with his hands, looking anywhere but at her.


Georgie smirked. "Oh, that. Well, you asked me, I don't think I could have lied if I wanted to."


He blushed harder, scrubbing at his neck more vigorously than strictly necessary. "I think--I think I could be--"


Georgie let him flounder for a few moments, then dropped her towel, strode over to him, and kissed him square on the lips to shut him up. "Sounds good," she said. "Bed first. We can talk more at breakfast."


"I'm invited to breakfast?"


"You're invited to bed, too. Maybe even lunch, if you're good." She laced their fingers together, and for a moment Jon stared down at their linked hands like he hadn't quite caught on to what she was insinuating.


"I'll do my best," he finally said, and that was a start.