Friend in Need

by lemon_teacake

Summary:

Peter saved Lindsey from a face full of shrapnel and himself from drowning. She feels it's the least she can do to help him through the trauma he's endured, especially since they're partners and all.

Notes:

Peter is mute as an effect of his self-administered tracheotomy. I don't know if that's medically accurate and I don't really care.

“I know you’re pissed,” Lindsey says, grip twitching on the steering wheel as she resists the urge to take her eyes off the road and steal a glance at her partner, “but you can’t go off on your own and chase anything you think might be a lead.” She wants to reach over into the passenger seat and gently squeeze Peter’s thigh, but he’s too agitated for that to go over well.

He’s picking at the gauze on his throat as he pretends he can’t hear her, staring doggedly out the window in his refusal to look at her. “Why did you save my life if you’re just going to give me the cold shoulder? Do you even like having me around?” she asks, and that gets his attention just like she knew it would. Strahm glares at her, and Lindsey can feel a smile twitching at the corners of her lips at how affronted he is; even in the depths of his rage, she knows he cares about her.

“I know, I know, how could I even ask that, and everything,” she says, pulling easily into a parking spot outside their extended stay hotel. “I’ve been with you through every step of this case, and I’m going to stay with you now. But I can’t help you if you don’t let me in.”

The only reply she gets to that is an exaggerated eyeroll and a pointed gesture toward his bandaged throat as Peter steps out of the car and slams the door behind himself. But he does wait for her at the front of the building, giving her time to catch up to his long strides so they can walk in together. Lindsey looks up at him, and Peter glances away, still trying to shield himself from her gaze, from anything that might count as comfort. She sighs.

“You know this isn’t a punishment, right?” They make their way down the quiet hallway to their adjoining rooms, Peter twirling his keys around his fingers the whole way. “I’m frustrated that you rushed into the meatpacking plant without waiting for backup, but I wouldn’t expect any different. I know you too well for that.” Peter looks into the distance. It’s strange talking to him without him being able to snark back. “You don’t need to beat yourself up about what happened; you did everything you could…”

Peter stops and glares at her, again pointing viciously at his throat. Even though he doesn’t—can’t—say anything, Lindsey understands the gesture perfectly well. Cost me my fucking voice, though, didn’t it? Don’t tell me you really think I’m going to take that lying down.

“You need to rest.” Lindsey adopts her sternest tone, trying to convey some sense of finality to Strahm that could hope to compete with his own stubborn need for vengeance. “We’re going to catch the person who did this to you, but we need to do it the right way. You have to recover first. If you rush out there like this, it’ll be too easy for them to take you by surprise. Let’s regroup.”

Unsurprisingly, Peter doesn’t respond, and they remain in silence for the rest of their walk. When they reach their rooms, Lindsey pauses, although Peter goes right away with unlocking his door. He stomps into the bland space, and Lindsey fights the urge to impose on him. Erickson had told her to keep an eye on him, the both of them knowing full well that Peter is unlikely to listen to orders and take the time to heal. But if she just follows him in, Peter will be rightfully resentful about being treated like a child who wasn’t trusted to be out of his minder’s sight. Lose-lose.

But, before Strahm’s taken more than two steps into his room, he pauses and looks back at Lindsey. A soft sound that might be a huff or a sigh sneaks past his lips as he appraises her awkwardly waiting in the corridor, and then he waves her in impatiently, like he can’t believe she hadn’t already made herself comfortable in his space. Lindsey takes him up on the offer that feels more like an expectation and follows him into the drab, impersonal room.

While she had put her things away in the various drawers and closets provided by the hotel soon after they’d first arrived, Strahm has clearly been living out of his suitcase the whole time they’ve been here. Notes are stacked on the desk just like the last time she’d visited, and there’s a half-empty bottle sitting next to them. Lindsey tries not to think about it too hard; Peter always gets stressed out and high-strung when they’re on a challenging case, especially when his insomnia acts up (which it usually does), but there’s no way she’s letting him turn to alcohol in his current state.

For a moment, Lindsey becomes worried that she’ll have to deal with that situation sooner rather than later as Peter marches over toward the desk, but he just grabs a notepad and pen before turning back to her. He scrawls something on it before turning it so she can read the note: Feel disgusting. Shower. 

“You shouldn’t get the bandage wet,” she says, stepping toward him even as Peter pulls back defensively, lips peeling back from his teeth in an animal snarl. Lindsey raises her hands placatingly, trying to show him that she doesn’t mean anything by it. “I can help you. It’s not anything I haven’t seen before.”

Peter tilts his head at that, like he’s remembering the times Lindsey has seen him naked. He isn’t the only one with a good memory for those moments—Lindsey can easily recall the times they’ve fallen into bed together. They line up closely—almost exactly—with the times he hadn’t turned to alcohol as his preferred method to calm down, a friendly roll in the sheets serving much the same purpose. These sessions have always done wonders for Lindsey’s stress levels as well, but she’s not about to be so tactless as to talk about that now; it’s Peter that needs help here, and her needs can wait.

“What I mean is that I can give you a bath,” Lindsey offers, and Strahm’s eyes narrow. She tries again. “Alright, you can give yourself a bath, and I can be on standby in case you need anything.” Now, he only hesitates for a minute before nodding tightly. Peter is still too tightly-wound for it to be anywhere near healthy, but maybe soaking in the hot water will help him to work through some of that tension.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” she says, even as she turns around to give Peter some privacy as he shucks off his ruined clothes. “I’d probably be dead if you hadn’t shoved me out of the way of that exploding doll; this is the least I can do to repay you.” Peter grunts before immediately hissing in a breath, and Lindsey turns quickly to see him grimacing in pain from even the weak sound. She considers saying something in the I told you so family, but bites her tongue.

Still seeming to sense the impulse, Peter glares at her with watery eyes before stumbling into the bathroom. Lindsey hears the faucet turn on before his hand suddenly reappears, clutching the door frame with white knuckles. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Panicked eyes flick to her face, and Lindsey leans in and nods, rubbing over the back of Peter’s hand with her thumb. “You’re okay, I’ve got you. No one’s going to hurt you.” He pulls away slowly, fixated on the rising water level as Lindsey stays hovering in the entryway.

She continues to listen as the flow stops and the man steps into the bath. It’s still aside from the gentle splashing noises of him soaping up his long, tired limbs, and Lindsey wishes, not for the first time, that her partner wasn’t quite so prideful. If Strahm had anything approaching the ability to ask for help, maybe he wouldn’t have a panic response to running water and a hole in his throat right now. Maybe he’d be able to audibly tell her to mind her own business.

A few peaceful minutes pass, and then the fact that Peter’s almost been in there for too long starts bothering her. Lindsey is tempted to peek inside, but resists, knowing that it would only shake Peter’s last bond of trust. However, once the sound of knocking rouses her attention, she doesn’t waste a second before bursting into the small room, immediately focusing on where Peter sits in the tub, suds thick on the surface of the water and slipping down over his greasy hair. His eyes are almost hollow, but Lindsey can still detect the lurking resentment underneath.

“Do you want some help washing your hair?” 

Peter doesn’t even nod, just looks at her pointedly, like any admission of something that close to weakness would carve another wound through his flesh. Obviously, she’s supposed to be a mind reader. She’d snipe at him for it, but not now, not when his hands are trembling slightly. 

There’s a million things she could say—about how she doesn’t blame him for being nervous having water over his head, about how he can trust her, about how she just wants to be there for him—but silence reigns as she brushes a curl that had fallen loose from her ponytail back behind her ear and picks up a plastic cup from beside the sink. 

Lindsey rolls her sleeves up to her elbows and dips her hands into the warm water that reaches up to the bottom of Peter’s chest. She tries not to stare at him, instead remaining focused on the temperature of the bath. It’s tepid, definitely not too warm to be poured over his head, so she lets the cup fill to the brim, eyes flickering up to Peter’s face when she notices how his gaze is completely concentrated on her.

“If you tip your head back, it won’t even go over your face.” There’s an unspoken I’ve got you layered under the words, and Peter situates himself so that the water will fall back into the tub instead of the floor. Lindsey stabilizes herself on his shoulder as she pours over the crown of his head, her hand on the flushed, damp flesh a solid anchor for both of them. Suds trail down from the ends of his hair back down into the bath as she rinses his hair again, and water trickles down the cords of his neck.

Peter’s eyes flicker closed, and he breathes a soft sigh through his nose as he sinks further down into the water, finally relaxing somewhat into its warmth. Lindsey doesn’t disturb his peace with stupid questions, just takes her fingertips to his scalp and gently massages all the leftover shampoo out of his dark hair. It’s thick, but starting to turn gray, the enormous stress on his shoulders written across all his features. 

He leans into her touch, lips parting as she presses more firmly, like she could rub the anxiety right out of his muscles. It’s not very professional of her, but this is personal time, and they’re both adult enough not to let the two bleed into each other. Lindsey would do more, if he asked—but he can’t ask, and she knows him well enough to know that he never would in the first place—and she kneels down next to him, letting her hands skate down to rest on his shoulders before they start to run down his broad chest, the wiry hair tickling her fingers.

A hand darts out from the water to grasp her elbow, and Peter’s eyes are open. He looks unsettled, dissatisfied in some way, and shakes his head. “You need to relax,” Lindsey tells him, meeting his stony gaze even as she takes her hands off him and wipes the clinging drops of water off on her thighs. “You should let me take care of you. We’re partners; it’s my job.” When the staring match doesn’t break, she blinks first. “I want to.”

Strahm huffs and shakes his head, slamming his hand onto the edge of the tub with too much force as he levers himself to his feet and grabs a towel off the rack. There’s little point in arguing with him when he’s agitated like this, too much aggression in his movements as he unplugs the tub and starts roughly toweling himself dry, but Lindsey’s the only one who can reach him at the best of times.

“You need to rest,” Lindsey says, trailing behind after him as he storms back into the main room. “You’re not going to sleep if you’re this worked up, and you need to let yourself heal if you want to get back on the case.” She feels like a goddamn broken record, and it’s getting to her. The frustration is rising in her too, now; it’s perfectly normal for Strahm to be hot-headed and ignore any sort of helpful advice, but he’s usually not in such bad shape, so clearly upset and struggling. It hurts to see him in this state.

Lindsey presses in close as Peter leans over his suitcase in a search for some clothes to change into, and she must press in a bit too close as he spins around and shoves her away. She stumbles back a step and stares at him in shock for a moment as he glares daggers at her, towering over her imposingly even in just a towel. Strahm spreads his hands tauntingly and sneers at her, clearly trying to goad her into a fight, and Lindsey’s expression immediately hardens from concern into determination.

“Really? Is that what you think this is?” She scoffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “You want to fight so… what, so I can get the upper hand naturally and put you in your place from there?” Peter flushes red from his cheeks all the way down his throat. Lindsey keeps her eyes off the bandage and focuses on his face. “Instead of telling me what you want, you think it’ll be better if you trick me into giving it to you. Right, because that’s fair for either of us.” Lindsey pinches the bridge of her nose, and Peter looks away in an awkward attempt to avoid getting scolded.

“Look,” Lindsey says, grabbing the discarded pad of paper from the desk and handing it over to Peter, “I know it’s hard, but you have to actually communicate if you want me to be able to give you what you need.” Again, something lurks underneath the surface, even as she hounds him for not using his words: You might be able to live like this, but I can’t.  

But it seems like Peter has finally decided to believe the iron in her voice, and he writes a message on the pad before shoving it back at her. Want you on top of me. Fuck me hard and make me forget. Lindsey sets the note face-down on the dresser. She can do that; she wants to do that—there’s already heat pooling between her legs, desire curling through her gut—but she has to do right by Peter, even if he’s unwilling to take care of himself.

“Okay. Then lie down and wait while I get some things from my room.” Strahm looks like he’s going to protest, despite the fact that he can’t speak, and Lindsey cuts him off before he can try. “I’m not going to fight you. You can either listen to me, starting now, or I’m not going to give you anything. That’s my final offer.”

There’s a moment where she can tell that he’s considering pushing her with another bout of lustful violence, but he ultimately decides not to risk it. Lindsey can tell he’s still feeling bitter as he makes his way over to the bed and flops down onto his back, but that just makes a small smile curve her lips. She’ll take care of all that frustration soon enough. “Stay right there. I’ll be back in a minute.”

The door that connects their rooms saves her the trouble of having to go out into the hallway, and Lindsey immediately heads for a particular drawer once she’s in her own space, letting her hair down as she does so and discarding the tie on top of the dresser. For a work trip like this, she didn’t bring all of her toys, but she had been forward-thinking enough to bring Peter’s favorite, a long purple number that looks exquisite situated at the apex of her thighs. She steps out of the clothes she’d been wearing, quickly donning her harness and securing the silicone cock in place. She throws on a t-shirt before grabbing a condom and the lube before she makes her way back over to Peter’s.

Even though she’s not out where anyone could bump into her, Lindsey still feels exposed like this, running around with her cock standing proud between her legs. But Peter had used the time she’d been gone to discard his towel on the floor and roll over onto his front; he’s not even looking her way when she comes back, although he does turn to stare as soon as the door clicks closed behind her. Lindsey watches the way his eyes widen, and he immediately goes to sit up on his knees, but she clicks her tongue in disapproval when he moves.

“Stay like that. I’m enjoying the view.” He’s not her typical taste, but he certainly is handsome, even though his muscles are a bit too tense and there’s a certain nervous energy radiating off him. He startles a little when she sits down on the mattress next to him, and she smooths her hand over his twitching flank like she’s soothing a spooked dog. “You’re going to have to relax if you want this to work. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Peter keeps his face in the pillow, but his eyes flick back to lock onto hers. They stare each other down for a moment, and then he takes a deep breath. “There we go,” Lindsey reassures him, opening the lube and squeezing a generous amount over her fingers. Peter’s back ripples as he holds back from another unpermitted movement. “Let me take care of you.”

She traces his rim with one slick finger before pushing it into him, the drag as he tries to adjust to her sending sparks up her spine. They’ve done this enough times that it’s easy to crook her finger just right to rub up against a spot that pushes a ragged exhale from his throat and makes him squirm in place. Lindsey teases it gently, just rubbing against it enough for Peter to feel it and for it to get him flushed with excitement, and she can tell that he’s holding back from pressing his hips back into her hand and demanding a firmer touch.

“Do you like that?” she asks, and Peter nods, another shaky breath trembling out from between his lips. “Do you want more?” He nods quicker, probably quickly enough to make him dizzy, and Lindsey chuckles before she adds her middle finger into the equation. She presses more firmly against his prostate and twists her fingers inside him, stretching him out and getting him ready to take her cock. 

“You’re doing so well,” she whispers, leaning in close so the words ghost over the back of his neck. Peter’s eyes had been clenched shut, but they immediately open wide to watch her, the blue of his irises almost completely eclipsed by his blown pupils. “I know you’re eager, but you have to be patient.” Lindsey adds a third finger, and Peter buries his face back into the pillow as his hips grind down into the mattress, his hands clenching into the sheets. “I’m glad you remembered not to touch without permission.”

Another breathy sound follows, and Lindsey knows Peter would be whining or growling or begging if Jigsaw hadn’t made him tear a hole in his throat. “There we go,” she says, stroking his side again. Peter leans into the touch like he’s starving for it, and Lindsey almost regrets that she has to take her hands away to roll the condom down over her cock and lube it up. “I’m so proud of you.”

Peter tries again to raise himself up onto his knees, but Lindsey holds him down with a firm hand at the small of his back. She lines herself up and starts pressing into the welcoming clench of his body, and all of Strahm’s bravado that had survived her fingers begins quickly melting away. His legs fall open as soon as her cockhead slips inside, all of the fight draining from his body with a bone-deep sigh. Her hand dips down to hold him by the hip, and she resumes gently stroking his back with the other one as she pushes into him as deep as she can go. “You’re so beautiful, Peter. So good for me like this.”

With her inside him like this, Peter doesn’t manage to hold back, and fucks himself shallowly on Lindsey’s cock when she doesn’t move soon enough for his liking. She laughs under her breath and thrusts into him slowly, making sure he can feel every inch of her length as she bears down on him. He gasps, fingers twitching as they dig into the pillow, drool spilling from between his lips to sully the case. Lindsey keeps her pace steady, giving him enough time to get used to the sensation of being filled before she gives him what he really wants.

Lindsey knows she’s not going to come from this—definitely not enough stimulation on her clit, no matter how sexy Peter looks with sweat dripping down his back and his hole trying desperately to hold on to her—but she reaches up and plays with her nipples anyway, reaching under her thin shirt to tease the pert buds. Her hips twitch as she speeds up her rhythm, plunging into Peter deep and hard, driving more of those sweet sounds out of him with every thrust. She can only hope that he’d let her know her if it was too much, but she knows she’d be able to tell. Lindsey’s been able to read Peter like that for a while now.

The sound of skin meeting skin is louder now as her hips piston into his ass, heat rushing through her each time she seats herself fully in him. Even though she’s not getting the same kind of sensation out of this that he is, it’s still enough to make her crave more as their heavy pants fill the air. Sweat trickles down her back and between her breasts as she moves, and she reaches down to pet over his sticky skin again, the reassurance of her presence somehow as much for her as it is for him. He’s blood-hot under her touch, and she wishes she could feel for herself how he clenches around her cock, how desperately he needs this from her. 

He’s meeting her thrusts now, and he’s practically trembling with the effort of letting her do the work. “Nothing’s ever enough for you, is it?” she breathes. “Go on, you can touch yourself.” Permission granted, Peter’s hand immediately snakes beneath himself to wrap around his surely aching cock. Lindsey switches from her comfortable strokes over Peter’s back to dig her nails into his shoulderblade, and his eyelids flicker in bliss. She’d told him she wouldn’t hurt him, but it’s obvious how much he craves it—besides, the endorphins are probably good for him.

It would be impossible to build anything meaningful with Peter (not that Lindsey would really be interested). It’s not just because they’re colleagues, but because this is the only time she ever truly understands him. When he’s just a body in pleasured pain, trembling and gasping underneath her as they both race down the path toward a devastatingly good orgasm. Sure, the trust is there in other moments, but there’s also his animosity, his aggression, his stubbornness—toward everyone, including her. Here, where they can be animals, it works. There, where they should be people, it doesn’t.

“You’re taking me so well. Look at you, you’re made for this.” Lindsey leans down over Peter’s back, almost flattening herself to his sweaty skin. The angle of her thrusts changes in a way that makes him gasp, hand speeding up as it strokes over his cock. She kisses the back of his neck and trails her tongue down over his nape, tasting the salty sweat leaking from his every pore. “You should listen to me more often.”

Peter twists his head to the side, offering her his neck and shoulder, but Lindsey knows it’s only an effect of the heat of the moment. She mouths over the skin, taking care not to leave a mark that would only make Strahm even more irritable and vengeful when he wakes up sore tomorrow morning. The less evidence she leaves behind, the less they’ll be tempted to ruminate on this when they’re back in their right minds.

“You gonna come, pretty boy?” Lindsey holds him down by the hip again and aims for his prostate, rubbing her cock firmly right up against where she knows it is. Of course he is—she can feel it with every tremor that passes through him, with every wet gasp that crawls out of his injured throat. “Are you ready to let go?”

He practically thrashes under her, arching his back as he gasps for air, and Lindsey can just barely see from their contorted position how he paints his hand and the sheets below with streaks of white. “There we go, that’s it.” Peter rolls onto his side, eyes closed and breaths coming in deep gulps, and Lindsey pulls out of him, taking care not to stimulate him further on the way. Her fingers trail down his side, a comforting gesture as she pulls away.

While she’s taking the condom off and setting it onto the nightstand, he manages to get himself turned around so he’s facing her, propped up on his hands and knees. For a second, Lindsey doesn’t know what’s coming next; Peter’s eyes are still dark, and he’s looking up at her like he’s begging for absolution. It all becomes clear when he leans forward and laves sloppily over her cock, lapping over the length of it with the hot, wet flat of his tongue as spit drips from the corner of his lips.

“No,” Lindsey scolds him wearily, pushing him away. “You’ll ruin your throat like that.” She sits back on her heels and parts her thighs, giving him a good view of the gathered wetness soaked through her curls of dark hair. Watching him swallow heavily has a blush dusting her cheeks, and she cards her fingers through his damp hair, brushing it back behind his ear. “But it would be sweet of you to eat me out.”

Peter surges forward surprisingly quickly, his big hands wrapping around Lindsey’s hips to position her better for the task at hand. He isn’t gentle when he drags his tongue through her folds, instead lapping greedily at the slick dripping from her hole before he sucks her clit into his mouth. Lindsey gasps and grabs him by the hair, tugging at the strands in an attempt to get him to take it easy, and he does, pulling back to gently kiss and lick the tender flesh.

Her hips jolt forward into the heat of his mouth, her cock slapping against the side of his face, although it doesn’t seem to bother him. Lindsey pets his hair and holds him close, almost riding his face as he drinks in the taste of her with more passion than skill. It’s still enough to quicken her breath, to make her heartbeat ring in her ears as she digs her nails into Peter’s scalp and grinds down against his face. 

She’s not going to last long, not with how worked up she’d already been from fucking Peter. His eager tongue easily stokes the heat that had already been building inside her. The force of her orgasm threatens to consume her whole, and it’s all she can do to hold onto him as she rides out its waves. Lindsey swears as she reaches her peak, her whole body trembling as she falls apart under Peter’s touch, at the mercy of her own needs. She must be babbling—she can feel her lips forming the shape of his name, even as the world whites out around her. She’d been so afraid when they’d pulled him from the cube, and to have him here under her, warm and alive, makes this moment all the more sweet.

As she comes down from her high, Lindsey unclenches her hands from where she’d been gripping Peter’s hair and starts stroking through the sweaty mop again. She realizes that she’s going to need to help him with a second bath, and a wry little chuckle springs up unbidden from her chest. Peter pulls back from between her thighs and looks up at her questioningly, but she just smooths her thumb over his cheekbone.

“Don’t worry about it. You should rest now.” Everything she’s said to him tonight she’s meant with every fiber of her being, but this is the first time she’s seen him visibly take her words to heart. Lindsey watches every last dreg of stress seep out of Peter as he falls back onto the mattress, and she reaches for a tissue to wipe up the unfortunate wet spot their escapades had left behind. By the time she’s taken care of it, Peter’s breathing has already evened out.

Lindsey considers whether she could get away with trailing her fingertips one last time over Peter’s forehead—the inane desire to crawl into bed behind him and wrap him in her arms had already been eliminated as soon as it had arisen, not even worth the thought. In the end, she decides to let him sleep, and gathers up all the little pieces of trash she’d left before heading back through the door to her room. She’ll see him in the morning, and he’ll be in the right headspace to deal with Jigsaw, thanks to this—to her. To them. 

Notes:

Are they just friends? Are there latent feelings? Who can say! Thanks so much for reading--I know it isn't my typical Saw content, but I had a lot of fun working on this. If you enjoyed, please leave a kudos and/or comment. You can find me on tumblr at lemon-teacake.