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It had been a quiet week, up until the moment they’d got a call about a missing boy, in his late teens. So far, they hadn’t made a lot of progress, and it was getting on Morse’s nerves a bit. Especially since some people at the station were more interested in hiding dirty innuendos in everything they said to Morse than finding out what had happened to the lad.
Peter really ought to have kept his hands to himself more carefully, too. Morse didn’t need the added stress of worrying about long touches and deep stares and someone picking up on them when he was trying to work.
At least he stopped lounging around the station and actually did something when directly asked to, by Thursday. Morse still didn’t particularly like how near him Peter was standing when they reported to Thursday about the case.
“We’ve been thinking about calling Miss Doyle”, Peter said.
“Probably a dead end”, Thursday said. “Morse already looked into it, didn’t he? His sister was out of town the whole week.”
“But Emma Woolston was there, wasn’t she?” Peter said, turning around the argument he was trying to make faster than a bloody record spinning on a player. “A manga-nimous lady like her would probably spend a lot of time helping around the shelter. She might’ve seen something."
“Magnanimous”, Morse said. He couldn’t help it - the blatant mispronunciation was absolutely grating his ears. Both Thursday and Peter turned to look at him.
“Bless you”, Peter said dryly. He shifted his weight from one foot to another, probably irritated with the disruption. Morse shrugged.
“I’m not trying to be funny. That’s how it’s pronounced”, Morse said. That earned him a disbelieving huff.
“I didn’t know the E stood for Encyclopedia”, Peter muttered.
He practically rolled his eyes, and there was a subtle tilt to the way he was holding his cigarette, almost a gesture of exasperation. Morse couldn’t help but stare at the way the smoke was swirling in the air, Peter holding the cigarette between slim fingers. He had really nice hands.
“Probably should’ve guessed, though”, Peter said, raising his dark brows slightly. He was almost smirking while looking at Morse, and it was so patronising that it made him shake.
Morse drew in a sharp breath, about to say out loud that it wasn’t his fault that Peter couldn’t speak like people were normally expected to be able to, but a stern look from Thursday silenced him.
“Alright, Jakes, that’s enough”, Thursday said, probably growing tired of them not making any progress with the case they were supposed to be working on.
“Morse, you too. Now, the missing lad. What was it about Mrs Woolston you were saying, Jakes?”
“Right, sir”, Peter said, throwing a dirty look at Morse before looking back at Thursday to keep explaining what they thought they’d found out. Morse frowned, but said nothing.
He wanted to stray from the case and argue with Peter as little as Thursday did, but it was still frustrating to not be able to do anything about it. Especially when he knew Peter was going to be insufferable about it for a long time after.
The rest of that day passed in quiet and subtle not-quite-hostility, something a bit chilly instead of full-on cold, but tense all the same.
The next morning wasn’t any less prickly. Peter stared at Morse not-too-subtly from the moment he arrived at the station, and the air was rattling with electricity. They didn’t really speak to each other, not properly, and they hadn’t planned anything in advance for that week. Morse knew they had to sort it out eventually, but he was feeling particularly petty, and so he made no move to do so. He hadn't done anything wrong.
As the day went on, a quieter moment arrived. They weren’t quite alone in the room with Peter, but it still made Morse terribly uneasy. He didn’t know what Peter was planning, but knowing him, it probably wasn’t anything devoid of ulterior motives.
He got a confirmation for his beliefs when he walked past Peter’s desk to go get a file from a cabinet, and heard something light and rustling flutter down behind him.
“Better pick that up, constable”, Peter said. Morse turned around, and lo and behold, there was a sheet of paper down on the floor next to Peter’s desk. He was pretty certain it had been securely under Peter’s hand only a couple of seconds ago.
Morse gave Peter a dirty look. Seriously, he had better things to do with his time. Obeying every petty command that Peter thought would be funny to give to him wasn't worth his while.
“Why?” Morse asked. It wasn’t directed at the request as much as the whole situation. He found himself asking Peter that quite a lot these days.
He quickly looked around the room to see who might’ve been listening to them argue. Not all too many people, and it wasn’t like them disagreeing was anything new under the sun.
“Because you dropped it, and a sergeant is telling you to”, Peter said. He stated it frustratingly matter-of-factly, leaning back in his chair and lighting a cigarette. He was looking at Morse down his nose as if he was being completely impossible, and Morse couldn’t help but let out a small sigh.
“No need to be like that about it, Morse. You might’ve got yourself on Thursday's good side, but you still have to do the work, just like the rest of us”, Peter said. “This isn’t Gideon’s Way.”
Morse blinked a couple of times, not able to focus on the words as much as the way Peter pushed the cigarette between his thin lips. It wasn't until he blew out a cloud of smoke that Morse managed a coherent thought again.
“... if I must ”, Morse said, and crouched down to pick up the papers.
He could feel Peter's gaze on his arse as he did it, and even though he’d known without a doubt that it would happen, it didn't make weathering it any easier. He was a bit red when he stood up straight.
“Here”, Morse said, seething as he laid the documents on Peter's desk, managing to resist the urge to add ‘are your damn papers’.
“You forgot something”, Peter said. He'd probably noticed that Morse had swallowed the rest of the sentence. It was infuriating.
“Show some respect. Being cheeky isn't going to get you very far.”
“Here are your bloody papers, Mr Sergeant, sir”, Morse hissed, not-quite-slamming his hands on Peter’s desk and leaning closer to return his stare. Peter cracked up for a moment - he had the audacity , Morse was starting to actually get frustrated with the whole situation - but quickly managed to look stern again.
“See?” Peter said, looking at Morse with darkened eyes, blowing smoke in his face as he spoke. “Wasn't so hard.”
“May I go now?” Morse asked. Unlike some people, he actually came to the station to work , not to smoke and pose and be absolutely insufferable all day, every day.
“Not so fast. I think we should have a little talk about this attitude of yours”, Peter said, fingers suddenly wrapped around Morse's wrist. He didn't let go as he got up from his desk.
“The car will be alright for that”, Peter said, voice low against Morse's ear. Morse’s heart jumped to his throat, because Peter was way too close for it to look natural if someone looked at them for too long, but also because he liked what he was hearing. Bloody hell.
“As much as I'd like to teach you a lesson right here, I’ve a feeling someone would end up getting a heart attack”, Peter said, laying his hand on Morse’s shoulder for a second before letting go of him.
Morse was becoming fairly sure of the fact that he’d soon be the one suffering the attack, if Peter kept doing this. Regardless, he followed him out of the office, letting Peter handle the questions about their intentions with a couple of vague words and a self-assured, polite nod.
They managed to look ordinary and orderly enough when they walked out of the building and to the car park. Peter stumped his cigarette on the way, and Morse was grateful for that - sitting in a car slowly filling up with smoke hadn't ever been terribly pleasant for him.
And as soon as they managed to get the car door shut, Peter was all over him.
At first it was a casual lean towards him, and for a moment Morse believed that he was about to say something. However, the way Peter was looking at him quickly turned way too dirty for that, and before Morse even realised it, there was a firm hand on his thigh, and then Peter was kissing him, pushing him back against the seat and panting against his mouth. He tasted of ash, the bugger always did, and Morse almost fought the kiss at first, just to make it harder for Peter.
It was rude and indecent and patronising, and being wanted that much never ceased to drive Morse crazy. Peter slipped his hands under his jacket, proceeding to wrestle it off and press his mouth against Morse's neck. He was making a wet sloppy mess of it, and the way he was holding on to Morse's thigh made his intentions very clear.
“Peter - mmph ! Jesus! Shouldn’t we drive somewhere first?” Morse groaned out, even though the way his trousers were growing more uncomfortable with every passing second disagreed with his hesitation quite obviously. Peter was looking all too happy with himself, so Morse shoved his hands in his hair and tugged , pretending not to care about the fact that he got pomade all over his hands. It was a tad disgusting, in all honesty, but it was part of the appeal at this point.
“It’s fine. Nobody comes here this early“, Peter said. “Believe me. I’ve walked around the building a couple of times at this hour.”
“Right. Because no-one smokes as much as you do”, Morse muttered. Peter scoffed a bit.
“Guess so”, he said. “Not like you don't like to watch, though.”
Morse simply grabbed Peter by his shoulders to pull him closer and kiss him again. There was a slight hint of stubble on Peter's face, barely noticeable but certainly something Morse could feel , and pressing his face against Peter's sent a warm shiver down his spine.
“Morse. Focus. You do remember why we're here, right?” Peter asked. The way he was sliding his hand down Morse's back to grab his arse led Morse to believe that Peter was the one who wasn't concentrating on what they were supposed to do. (Pretending to do.)
“To talk about my attitude”, Morse said, holding back a smile.
“Right. Get on your knees. You've got to show some respect for the people above you”, Peter said, kissing Morse on his cheek one more time before shoving him away.
“That's how the world works.”
Morse could just barely fit himself on the floor, between the seat and the glove box, and he had nowhere to put his hands except Peter’s thighs. Peter didn’t seem terribly offended by it. By the look on his face, it seemed like he was about to just grab Morse by his hair and shove his face between his legs.
It would’ve been terribly ungentlemanly, but the thought alone made his face heat up, so Morse contemplated his choices for a while before eventually starting to open Peter’s belt. No use dragging it out unnecessarily, now that they’d come so far, but Morse still took his time with the buckle. He didn’t want Peter getting greedy, as Morse knew he sure would’ve, was he in his place.
“Hurry up”, Peter said, as Morse finally pulled his trousers and pants down, but made no effort to actually get to it. He didn’t see a reason to, as he was perfectly happy to just look up at the sharp lines and edges of Peter’s face, and the way his eyes were fixed on Morse’s lips was a very pleasant sight. (Even though it was a bit cramped and uncomfortable, to be crouching down at Peter’s feet.)
“Why?” Morse asked, leaning slightly closer and smiling against Peter’s thigh. He pressed a small kiss against the sensitive skin there, just a light peck, and the way Peter shivered at that practically made his toes curl.
“Your sergeant is telling you to”, Peter said, already out of breath. “Believe me, I’d rather let you off easy, but you’re not giving me a choice with the way you’re acting.”
“Tell me what you want me to do, then”, Morse said, slowly moving his hands down Peter’s thighs, then back up again. “I didn’t quite catch that the first time.”
“Bloody hell”, Peter snapped. “I want you to - Morse, you wanker! ”
Morse didn’t respond, because he’d swiftly and quietly taken Peter into his mouth. He had a pretty good hang of what he was doing, by now, but he made a point of looking up at Peter, eyes as wide and innocent as he could manage.
“Is this how you got out of uniform so fast?” Peter asked, voice hoarse, but tone so overly sugar-laced that it sounded out of place. Morse tried not to mind the taunting, as his mouth was so occupied at the moment that he couldn’t have responded to that even if he’d wanted to. Besides, it wasn’t a question that deserved an answer.
“Getting on your knees for any officer that asked for it”, Peter said. “Wouldn’t be unlike you, I suppose.”
Morse’s face was on fire in an instant. That was too far, terribly so, but it left him straining against the confines of his way-too-tight trousers.
He let out a muffled yelp, as it was the clearest, most desperate no he could manage at the moment. Some things were better left out of these kinds of conversations, even if they did both enjoy them a great deal , and Peter knew it. If they kept talking about stuff like this while they shagged, Morse could never look anybody tasked with supervising the sergeant's exam in the eye again. Bloody Peter and his vile, filthy mouth.
“Right”, Peter said, twisting his fingers in Morse's hair, so he was forced to take him deeper. It felt a bit excessive, but based on the sounds he was making, Peter clearly enjoyed his petty exercise of power, so Morse didn’t complain.
“I forgot. If sucking cock was the talent you used to climb up the ladder, you'd be Inspector already”, Peter said. He looked at Morse, a sly smile playing at his lips. Morse entertained the idea of grazing his teeth against Peter, just to shut him up, but it was probably a very bad idea.
“Probably the bloody Chief Superintendent by now, with those pretty lips and - ah ”, Peter said. Even though Morse had decided against using his teeth, he wasn’t above petty revenge in other ways.
“Jesus Christ, Morse”, Peter muttered, and there was a desperate edge to his voice that made Morse’s blood rush down.
“Alright, stop, stop ”, Peter said, eventually. Morse pulled back, brushing his cheek against Peter’s thigh one more time before scrambling up from the floor and hauling himself to the driver’s seat. He practically sat in Peter’s lap for a second along the way, and he wasn’t sorry for it.
He was grateful that Peter was showing some self-restraint for once . It was good not only for the fact that Morse could finally breathe and swallow properly, but also because it meant he could still get something out of the situation, too.
Well, something more , actually. He’d already got Peter, sweaty and breathless and undone, and he wasn’t bad to look at in the slightest. But Morse had been promised a proper lesson in respect, and it just wouldn’t do to stop when they hadn’t even started.
They stared at each other for a second, Peter breathing heavily, Morse licking his lips.
“Sir”, Morse said, careful to keep his tone challenging, even though they could both plainly see that he was itching to get his trousers off now .
“You were talking about corrective measures earlier. Am I to believe I won't be castigated for my behaviour, after all?”
“Oh, there you go with the big words again”, Peter said, a tang of bitterness in his voice. “Always so bloody smart with me. DC Morse, professor of criminal justice at Cowley-fucking-college.”
“Your words, not mine”, Morse said.
The air was tense, and then Morse’s hands were in Peter's hair and Peter was yanking Morse's belt open and Morse was pulling him on top. He was growing very fond of this frustrated, seething Peter, especially when he got a bruising kiss for all his troubles.
“Better keep your mouth shut”, Peter said, pulling Morse's pants down, running his hands up his thighs.
“I'm going to make sure you’re still sore by tomorrow morning, but it won't do to scream. This is a private matter.”
It didn't take long before Peter was inside him, driving into him with short, sharp thrusts. Morse held on to Peter's back, wishing they'd had time to get their shirts off. He still pressed kisses against Peter's neck whenever he got the chance, even though there wasn’t as much of bare warm skin against his as he’d liked.
“Not so smart now, are you”, Peter said, hot breath on Morse's face, hands pinning him down. It made him ache for more touch, he wanted Peter’s hands and lips everywhere . Morse let out a whine, trying to pull him closer, but Peter shook his head.
“You've got to work for it”, Peter said, careful not to touch Morse at all, just the bare minimum where their hips were joined. “I'm not going to give you special treatment just because you’ve got big blue eyes.”
“Peter”, Morse said, gasping for air. “Please, for God's sake.”
He looked at Peter, face undoubtedly very red, and couldn't have hidden how much he needed it even if he'd tried. Peter was a bit thrown off by that, Morse could see it in the way his rhythm faltered for a second, but it didn't take him long to recover.
“You're going to have to --”
“Sir”, Morse said, trying to make his voice as rough and pleading as possible. Playing into Peter's overblown ego was a cheap trick, but it always worked. Peter let out a shuddering moan, finally leaning down to kiss Morse. Morse bit his lip gently as a payback for everything he'd had to put up with. It made Peter moan again, and he finally let Morse pull him close, chest pressing against Morse's, everything hard and firm and hot.
Their shirts were in the way. Morse still wished they'd taken them off, but at least Peter managed to work a couple of Morse's buttons open and press his lips against his collarbone.
“Bloody hell, Morse”, Peter said. The tables had turned - suddenly it was Peter who couldn't and didn't want to keep his hands off Morse. It didn't take long before Peter finished, hands buried in Morse's hair, clinging to him like a thistle.
“Seriously?” Morse said, when Peter pulled out right after, climbing off him and slumping down on the passenger seat.
“I told you this was a punishment”, Peter said, still breathing heavily. “Would think you'd understand what that means, with that college brain of yours.”
Morse took that as a sign to climb into Peter's lap and lean his back against his chest. Peter sighed at first, pretending to be shocked by such insolence. He’d probably never been the type to not take advantage of the opportunity when a chance to kiss someone presented itself, so he wrapped his hands around Morse and pressed his lips against his neck yet again.
After what felt like forever, Peter ran a hand down Morse's stomach before wrapping it around his still achingly hard cock.
“There you go”, Peter mumbled against the back of his neck, moving his hand slowly.
“Such a pretty slut for me, Morse.”
It was horrible and filthy and depraved, but the words made Morse tense, something deep inside him curling. His heart was probably about to get out of his chest, judging by the way it thumped against his ribcage.
“Peter”, he mumbled, a tad horrified at how good it felt, to be held close by someone who cared about him and being stroked and petted and called that.
“Well, you are, aren’t you”, Peter said, not taking his hands off Morse for a bloody second. “That’s why I like you so much.”
It only took one more firm stroke before Morse spilled into Peter's hand. It took more than a minute for him to gather himself enough to even think about getting up and pulling his trousers back on.
“Jesus”, Morse said, still shaken up. “I can't believe you just said that.”
“Look who’s talking. You're the one who liked it a good deal, I see”, Peter said. Morse could hear the arrogant smirk in his voice, even though he couldn't see Peter’s face. He was too spent to get riled up about it, but he still turned around and kissed Peter, long, hard and proper, just to shut him up for a while.
“Do you want to go get some lunch? Somewhere a bit further away”, Peter asked after they’d dressed themselves as decently as they could, and were sitting in their own seats each instead of being a sweaty pile of limbs. He was peering at the mirror, trying to make sure his hair was still orderly and slicked back. It wasn't.
“Sure”, Morse said. He wasn't sure he'd be able to keep himself together if they went straight back to the station.
“We need to stop by my flat first. I need to change my…” he started, but had to stop when he didn't know what to address first.
Everything, really. Even his shirt was clinging to his chest, a complete mess.
“Morse”, Peter said, as he was starting the car. Morse looked at him, and Peter’s eyes were surprisingly sincere and non-hazy, at least when taking into account that he’d been in full-on Casanova mode just a few minutes ago.
“Look. I’m sorry about the… you know. Encyclopedia. Didn’t mean it”, Peter said.
Morse simply stared at him for a while, almost uncomfortably long for them both, and it wasn’t until they’d pulled up to the street that he spoke.
“Well, I’m glad to hear that? I guess”, Morse said, rubbing at the back of his neck. He had been quite a bit more sore about it than he cared to admit, and hearing Peter take his words back was both endearing and satisfying. Morse just wasn’t very good at apologies, and accepting them often felt even more awkward.
“Good”, Peter simply said, furrowing his brows a little, but not too worriedly, and that was the end of it.