Work Text:
When Basira first gets sectioned it is immediately clear that this isn’t a department with an enthusiastic extracurricular timetable. Of course, she hadn’t expected traditional after-work drinks from Section 31, given just how much people seemed to dread and avoid the sectioned like the plague, but she’d thought that the compulsory exclusivity might lend itself to a sort of camaraderie.
It did not. She only had that with Daisy.
It’s Daisy who invites her to drinks, a few weeks into Basira's new job as she’s starting to adjust. There’s a couple others in the dingy, decidedly non-exclusive pub when Basira arrives, but it’s Daisy who shifts in the booth to let her in, who splits rounds with her, who listens even if it’s in brooding silence that takes a little getting used to. It’s only when other people cut in or laugh over Basira and Daisy is the one to nod at her, hearing and understanding her whole point, that Basira realises the silence is her way of listening thoroughly. She appreciates that in a colleague. And, well. It's really attractive.
She buries that thought, of course. Or not even buries, just sees it and walks on by. She and Daisy are colleagues and she’s never gone in for complicating work with stuff like that. Just seems pointless. Is it really gonna add that much? She looks at Daisy's arms and teeth when she finally open-mouth laughs at Basira’s joke and thinks, yeah, it would. But the wariness seems to continue on both sides.
There isn’t a doubt in Basira’s mind that Daisy is feeling something about her too. They gravitate towards each other on raids and hunts, which, intuition and evidence tells her, is not something Daisy does often. And she has eyes. She solves puzzles and makes judgement calls for a living. There’s that something people call ‘something’ in Daisy’s expression when she looks at Basira over her scope or the rim of a pint glass, so it’s easy to make that call.
The wall of work they’ve mutually agreed on keeping between them stays as strong and steadfast as they’re starting to become on the job. That doesn’t mean there’s nothing to feel. They stand shoulder to shoulder or one in front of the other at briefings and Daisy’s ponytail tickles Basira's chin. Sometimes she just looks at the vulnerable nape of Daisy’s neck, guarded either side by her thick traps, and a specific part of her brain intrudes with chants of lick it. She rolls her eyes. Office romance seems so immature. Office fuck seems better but hardly appropriate when their boss is informing them about a giant hoard of flesh eating monsters hiding out in some squat house.
Eventually, maybe inevitably, the wall crumbles. It isn’t the flesh eating monsters that break them. It’s something, somehow (christ this is their life) even worse. The hunt lasts a month, and when the showdown finally comes, it’s not just scary in an adrenaline pumping way that Basira is starting to get used to. The horror doesn’t come at speed. It’s just creepy . It’s eerie and blood curdling and awful in a human way, and as she and Daisy get in the car to go home, they’re both still shivering every so often like they can’t shake it.
It doesn’t ever get questioned that Daisy drives straight to hers. Basira is glad. She still feels rattled and hates feeling rattled. She needs to keep moving, put one foot in front of the other, it’s how she’s always operated, and now, she’s sat silently in a car she isn’t driving with no idea how to process what she’s just seen. When Daisy offers her the shower first she dimly wishes she’d asked instead, just because it’s more proactive, but she’s never held with overly polite rituals, the stupid you go first, no you go first, so she goes.
There wasn’t much blood left on her, but seemingly enough that as Basira picks out her nails the water runs pink down the drain. She feels heavy, and the water is helping her come back to her body after shock seemed to distance her a bit, but still there’s a floaty, surreal feeling that means she doesn’t even look up as Daisy walks in in her underwear.
Daisy rummages around for something and doesn’t ask, but Basira shuts off the water anyway to offer her the shower. They’ve watched each other change before and are open enough. There’s the ‘girl’s code’ thing of what’s nudity between friends? mixed with a professionalism of ‘it is just a body’, mixed with their mutual acceptance of their attraction that sees no point in concealment or teasing.
Basira isn’t nervous exactly when she steps onto the mat dripping and Daisy straightens up to stand in front of her. She likes to think she doesn’t get nervous. Daisy looks from her feet to her face without trying to hide it, then gazes steadily into Basira's eyes, and her cliff-grey eyes are more grounding than the hot water. Basira can feel the towelling between her toes now, the drips trailing down her back, the warmth of Daisy’s skin reaching the stood-straight hair on her legs and arms.
She looks back at Daisy, trying to match the stare. She likes that neither of them back down, it’s the best part of flirting across tables - daring the other to drop eye contact. This is different. It isn’t a dare, it’s just looking with ‘something’. Basira’s not sure she actually can match how Daisy looks at her, and it’s more than the angle, the jut of her chin that’s never arrogant. Daisy’s eyes have an intensity that isn’t put on, that can’t be matched with trying. Her body completely in control of the need, the hunger that pierces her stare.
Are you getting in, then? is on Basira’s tongue, but that’d ruin it. It’d be a deflection of the hunter’s stare. So instead she offers a challenge.
Not a kiss. A kiss would be natural with anyone else she wanted and stood naked in front of, but she’s never kissed Daisy. In all their time they’ve never gotten to the standing close enough to try, looking at each other’s mouth stage. Even now, Daisy's looking at her eyes, not her lips.
Basira reaches round, watching how Daisy's eyes follow her hand round to her back, then snap back to her face once she realises. The clasp is easy enough to find, and Daisy shrugs her bra to the floor without a glance. That is a dare, and Basira immediately loses by looking down. Sue her. She’s only caught glimpses of Daisy's chest before and now she’s got an eyeful. Her tits are small triangles, filled in by her strong chest, and her nipples are flat and pale pink. Very pale. The skin starting to crinkle as her nipples harden.
Basira can feel her breath across her dry tongue.
When she looks back up, Daisy shoves her against the counter.
The speed with which it goes from stalking to pouncing and the knock to her back makes Basira gasp, but she recovers enough to turn it to a groan as Daisy goes straight for her chest. Daisy’s thumb circles eagerly, smoothing the now cold shower water so Basira’s nipples pebble up and start aching in moments. She grips the counter behind her as Daisy squeezes just on the right side of rough.
Daisy lifts and tugs wherever her hands fit like she’s on a mission. There’s comfort in it, from the return to the adrenaline of the hunt that suits them both. Really could it be any other way? Her palms fill and her fingers grab at Basira’s tits, her stomach, her hips. Basira pushes closer to her, breathing heavily as she widens her stance to open her legs. Daisy steps between them with a sound like a growl. She cups the top of Basira’s thighs, crowding her back against the counter till she’s on her tiptoes, half in the sink. Then she lets the height difference work to her advantage, burying her face in Basira’s chest.
It’s instinctive for Basira to grab at her hair, threading sandy blonde through her fingers. Daisy moans right against her sternum, the sound muffled between her breasts but vibrating through her, so Basira pulls a bit harder. She reaches for Daisy's shoulder next, the one without the scar, and lets herself finally stroke the firm muscle there, feeling it shift under her palm. It is very hot in this bathroom now. Smells like sweat and arousal.
The elastic of Daisy’s underwear is pressed against Basira's thick hair, rubbing a low scratchy sound there.
‘You can touch me,’ she says to the back of Daisy's head. She’s not gonna be the one to ask.
Daisy jerks up and frowns at her. Her hair is mussed and staticky, her whole mouth pink and wet from rubbing kisses.
‘I’m going to,’ she grumbles, like she’s embarrassed she didn’t get there first.
It’s enormously endearing. ‘Well go on then,’ Basira dares her with a grin.
Daisy bares her teeth right back and dives for Basira's throat, sucking, mouthing and biting more than kissing, hot and aggressive. Basira splutters what starts as a laugh, but she holds it in, not sure how much of this is performative. Daisy’s mewl against her collarbone doesn’t sound fake, and Basira’s answering moan is high and reedy like she would never put on as Daisy pushes two fingers between her legs.
There’s not much warm up, but Basira supposes she rather asked for that, and Daisy slips in easily enough that the rough stretch is fucking good. She doesn’t waste time either, stroking with her palm, keeping her fingers buried to her knuckles. Soon she’s thrusting hard enough to knock them both against the counter, slapping their thighs together. Fucking on the bathroom sink.
Basira’s nails bite into her shoulder, hanging on. She’s honestly not sure, as she gasps out what she wants, if Daisy's pounding pace is hunting down her orgasm as a gift, or chasing prey as a point of pride, or running away from something else.
Whatever it is, it fills her good enough. She hauls Daisy closer, dropping her face onto Daisy's scarred shoulder as shakes come over her. The longer it goes on the more the urge to kiss her growls in Basira’s stomach. As she comes wet and hoarse over Daisy’s hand, it feels like an aching hole.
When Daisy's arm stills, Basira presses a kiss against her shoulder and doesn’t look up for a minute.
They make it through Daisy's turn and another shower before getting into bed and deciding it’s fine with very little word. They sleep in underwear. They don’t kiss.
The decided on ‘fine’ seems to both forgive and minimise their first fuck, as well as allowing other no-strings, no-kissing transgressions. There’s a few times on the phone when they’re hunting. Sometimes Daisy goes off for weeks without so much as a word, but then she’ll call up in the middle of the night, not with a clue but with her breaths coming loud and uneven down the phone line, or a photo from a dodgy hotel bathroom, cropped close so Basira has nothing to work from in terms of guessing her location, but everything she needs to get off.
The ‘fine’ doesn’t leave much room for becoming something more than friends, but they very clearly are, Basira thinks, and she thinks it’s pretty mutual. Daisy gets her like her other friends don't. She gets Daisy, and Daisy isn’t the kind of person to tolerate hangers on. Some of it is work. A large amount of it is work. Who else would understand even what it is they do let alone how it affects them? They have each other's back without question. Who else can you have that with? Not even a wife. But a lot of it isn’t work and Basira thinks they both know that too. A lot of it is knowing how Daisy’s arm feels when the muscle is flexing to fuck her. What the freckles on her shoulder taste like. How sensitive she is and the smell of her cunt on Basira's fingers.
There’s a lot of hovering. Literally having each other's back means touching, brushing, hovering. All the time. They are, Basira supposes, hating the word, lovers. There’s more to it than to just call it fucking. But they don't kiss. Which would be weirder if it was something happening often, or publicly. But it isn’t. It's normally after something awful, or there’s something else to give them distance. The urge is always there, the instinct. Sometimes in the heat of things it feels again more like a void, and Basira doesn’t see the point in lying to herself about how much she yearns for it. Then the next day comes and they’re friends again.
‘Fine’ changes when they’re sent on that case in Scotland. Or rather, Daisy is, and though she normally works alone, this time they make her take a partner and she choses Basira. It might make other people insecure - that she has to be made to invite her closest friend along. Basira doesn’t see it like that, though, because she gets it. If not alone, then with her. That's not second best. That means she’s the only person Daisy trusts after herself.
Daisy has a cottage. It's run down and there’s a lot missing, but what it does have is surprising. Sofa, kitchen. Radio. Books. One bedroom. Basira teases her and they knock each other about a bit, rolling around on the rug. They sleep in the one bed.
The thing they’re tracking is huge, lumbering and awful. It takes a week of hard hunting to find and Daisy is non-stop. It makes Basira worried. It makes her flush with admiration and something else. It makes her feel flattered Daisy ever stopped to think of her in the middle of a case before. Daisy seems to grow several inches in height, her muscles more defined, the veins and tendons in her neck and hands more prominent. She growls orders and barks warnings. She covers Basira’s mouth with her hand to keep them quiet, and when the monster gets loose she turns her piercing look back around and says nothing about her fingers ending up over Basira's tongue.
Then, when they finally have the thing cornered, there’s a moment. It snarls its horrible, gore-stained teeth at the barrel Daisy trains on its skull, then snarls again as Daisy... hesitates. Her finger still but not steady on the trigger.
She pulls it eventually, and Basira fires too and the monster goes down once they’ve both emptied their clips. But Daisy is rattled and they both know it. It’s unheard of.
They have to bury the body in a plot that could barely be called a garden. The more their shovels thud and squelch into the earth, the more Basira can see Daisy shrink. It's like all she was putting into the hunt finally left her the moment it was done, the moment she had that thing cornered and only had one thing left to do to finish it. They strain in silence as they dig, and Basira keeps watch as Daisy's whole body deflates.
By the end, Basira is doing most of the digging. At this point, she’s more a bit weirded out, and honestly frustrated. As much as she’s also exhausted from the hunt, she’d been running hot from the chase and looking forward to their hunt in the bedroom. Sex is looking much less likely, and this look isn’t so hot on Daisy.
Once the monster is buried, however, Basira is starting to worry enough to overtake the rest of her feelings. She bundles Daisy into the shower that’s basically a wet room and hoses the mud off her, all the while trying to see where the spark from her eyes can have gone. The grey looks dull in a heavy way now, like clouds pregnant with stormless rain. It’s honestly kind of staggering. But when Basira thinks back, she’s seen Daisy flop after cases before. She had assumed that Daisy, like her, was caught in shock at what had happened, what they’d seen. This - the sag in Daisy's shoulders under the towel - isn’t shock. It feels like a come down.
Daisy sits naked on the side of the bed, her towel falling down around her, exposing her soft underside that she’s had covered in armour all day. She makes no move to pull it up.
Basira lets her sit in silence whilst she digs in their suitcase. The line between wanting to help and wanting to fix it is a thin one, straddling concern and irritation, and it’s not her natural arena.
‘Here,’ she says, throwing Daisy trackies and a vest.
When Daisy makes no move, Basira sighs, still not sure whether the sound is frustration or pity. Comfort then, she’s gotta somehow do comfort in a practical way that doesn’t shrink Daisy even more.
She pads over and takes in the droop of Daisy's head, the straight, thick strands of darkened wet hair. It’s instinct she’s going on now. Instinct that lets her own towel drop to the floor.
‘Look at me.’
Daisy does, her head lifting to Basira’s face with her professional openness and trust rendered so soft and submissive now that the next move becomes obvious. At least, Daisy's eyes, slack lips, and clean, goosepricked body are making it obvious what Basira wants her next move to be.
She swings herself into Daisy's lap without ceremony and presses her tit against Daisy's parted lips. Daisy blinks with something like surprise, but it's a curious surprise and she sucks without question. Relieved more than anything to see her proactive, Basira sighs and curls a protective, guiding hand around the back of her neck.
She goes slow, still cautious with what’s comfort, what’s sex, what’s right to offer to anyone, let alone Daisy, when they’re vulnerable. She touches and strokes the parts of Daisy's body that seem smaller - her arms, the muscles in her back that are still firm but no longer rippling, the scar on her shoulder that Basira can feel against her lips.
Daisy’s sucking pulls hard on her nipple and she lets out more sound than she needs to in an effort to be reassuring. It seems to work wonders. Basira lets her nails scrape a little experimentally and Daisy moans against her skin. Okay. So sex then. That’s the comfort.
She scrapes Daisy's nape and her scalp next, which has always elicited a positive result. Daisy groans when her hair is tugged, and her eyes are lidded with more than tiredness when Basira pulls her mouth off her nipple. Her lips are shining with spit. The wet of it feels cold against the dry skin of the hard neglected nipple Basira offers her next, but Daisy tongues and tongues until it's warm.
It feels amazing. Better than the kill. Basira works a hand down between them to touch herself first. She's not normally a selfish lover, but seeing Daisy like this is not, as she had stupidly thought an hour ago, doing nothing for her. And her tits are really sensitive, so. Sue her.
Then she drops her hand lower, running her knuckles over Daisy's trail of hair and the dip between her thighs.
‘Open up,’ she says, stroking the back of Daisy's head with firm fingers. Daisy does as much as she can, her mouth only faltering slightly. ‘Good girl,’ Basira says unconsciously, strongly considering she’s never said it before.
It goes uncommented on, so she supposes she’s gotten away with it. Then her fingers find a deep well of slick that bursts and spreads at the slightest touch. Daisy actually whimpers then, and Basira is stunned to realise just how much power she’s made for herself.
It’s good, having had the burden of that power since the hunt ended, to feel the hot proof of it doing something for Daisy. In a comforting way. Whatever weird way Basira’s gone about this without a kiss, it’s worked. Then there’s something else that feels like soaking up wine. All the power she’d been watching in Daisy through the hunt and desperately wanting, is now hers. Her and Daisy were never unequal, but there was no question when it came to work that she was number two. So yeah, being in charge now, feeling Daisy submitting to her power. It’s fucking hot.
Being drunk on it makes her pull her hand away before Daisy can get close. She swings off, sits on the bed next to Daisy but doesn’t reach for her.
‘On your knees,’ she says, her mouth clicking wet with desire. ‘Hands behind your back. Don't touch yourself.’
It never seriously crossed her mind that she was pushing it. Daisy drops without hesitation, looking up at Basira with the closest thing to puppy eyes she’s ever had - wide and sparkling.
She dives in without needing to be told when Basira spreads her legs and pulls her hair forward. She knows what she’s doing still, which is reassuring (and a fucking relief, that this hunt hasn’t ruined that part of their relationship), but Basira’s too into the domineering role to stop now. She tells Daisy exactly where, tells her when she wants more. She grinds her clit against Daisy's nose without a thought for its pretty shape as Daisy's tongue stretches to please inside her.
She only says ‘good, you’re so good,’ after she’s come, and holds Daisy there, whimpering at the praise, until she’s finished again.
When Basira finally releases her mouth and pulls her back to look at her, Daisy is a mess, her face soaked, her eyes nearly glassy. She’s flushed and shivering, trying to rub off on her own thigh.
‘Don’t,’ Basira tells her. ‘Come here.’
She offers a hand and helps Daisy up to her shaking feet before gently pushing her onto the bed. As a comfort for Daisy, and an indulgence for herself, Basira flops down half on top of her and gives her adorable tits a squeeze.
‘Now, baby,’ she says. The little part of her not lost in this fucking fantasy is stunned as the word comes out.
Daisy doesn’t comment on it. ‘Now what?’ She asks, open and quiet like she’d do anything.
‘Now you can touch yourself.’
Daisy's eyes go wide with need even as she slips her fingers down. ‘Won’t you-’
‘Show me,’ Basira tells her with a smile and a stroke of her chest. ‘Show me first and then I’ll touch you.’
Daisy moans, higher and needier than Basira has ever heard come out of her mouth, and whether it’s the words or the first touch to her swollen clit that does it is unclear. Basira lies next to her and watches the show she makes unpurposefully, the arch in her back and her neck. Her cunt is flushed dark pink with waiting, the slick sound of her fingers like a slap each time.
‘Beautiful,’ Basira whispers, hardly believing it herself as she breathes a wondrous ‘such a good girl for me.’
Daisy whines, trembling. ‘Basira-’
It’s a huge effort not to give in to that and touch her. ‘Hmm?’
‘Please. I need-’
Basira grabs her wrist to still it and she gasps a sound like a sob. Her hips thrust up weakly, fucking herself shallowly on her fingers. That’s not what she needs. Basira moves her hand away and soothes the whining with kisses to her shoulder, her neck, her tits. Everywhere but her mouth.
‘There,’ she coos, ‘let me baby.’
Her first touch is light as anything but Daisy gasps and grabs her shoulder. Her second is a long, teasing stroke and Daisy gushes over her fingers. Basira looks up, but Daisy is still strained against the pillow, biting her lip to white. Still waiting.
She deserves a reward, and Basira wants to play her more than anything. She gives the spot over Daisy's heart a kiss and her pretty, swollen cunt a light spank. The wet smack makes them both groan, and Basira doesn’t waste another moment before burying two fingers to the knuckle.
Daisy is shaking again within seconds, weakly rutting her hips in circles and whimpering before Basira's even really fucked her. She squirts again, not even noticing the wet up Basira’s forearm and her own thigh as she trembles with the effort of holding back.
When Basira starts to stroke her clit too, she breaks. Tears bead in her eyes as she begs. ‘Please. Please, Basira-’
Basira leans down again to kiss her firm, heaving stomach. ‘Go on,’ she mouths against Daisy's sweat, ‘come for me, show me.’
Daisy’s moan is more like a scream that must be echoing off the loch as she comes, soaking the sheets and arching tense as an arrow. Basira doesn’t stop as her sounds turn more to panting.
‘Good girl,’ she says, stroking Daisy's cheek, ‘my good girl.’
Daisy’s eyes are wide as she realises she’s close again, then screwed shut against sensitivity. Basira doesn’t have to ask her, or tell her she can go again. Daisy knows she’s going to whether she begs or not, and knowing is enough for both of them.
Daisy is as good a toy as any as Basira finishes her off with three fingers driving hard, and is the most beautiful limp rag doll when she’s spent. Basira crawls up over her, her own chest warm with hormones and power and pleasure, and, when she looks down at Daisy's flushed cheeks, exhausted with obedience and orgasms rather than whatever had drained her before, enormous affection.
Daisy looks up at her with a hazy smile, and her eyes have something of the same in them. Basira aches, and she knows what she wants to do.
She kisses Daisy on the mouth.
‘What the fuck?’ Daisy gasps when she pulls back.
Basira blinks in surprise. Not a single part of her had thought a kiss would be unwelcome after all of that. ‘What?’ She demands, then notices - ‘Are you crying?’
‘Shut up,’ Daisy spits with little anger. She rubs her eyes, her breathing still heavy. ‘Jesus, Are you kidding?’
‘About what?!’
Daisy pushes up and kisses her back. It’s hard and jarring and bruising at first, then Basira readjusts, catches her cheek, lets her in. Her mouth tastes sweet with perfume and poetry after everything has led up to this. It’s the most romantic thing Basira can imagine them doing and she almost cringes. Then Daisy’s tongue traces eager messy shapes on her teeth and she sighs.
Daisy gives a pointed, nearly pouting look when she pulls back, her arms crossed over Basira's neck. That.
‘Oh,’ Basira says. She smiles and almost feels stupid for the shyness in it after all that. ‘No, I wasn’t kidding.’
‘Good,’ Daisy breathes, already pulling her down again.
With the floodgates open, they seem to kiss for hours. Far longer than they should considering another shower and new sheets are on the cards. They roll out of the wet patch and Basira threads her fingers gently through Daisy's hair. It’s all still slow, actually very affectionate. Their little scene all seems to be wearing off quite quickly into warm sweetness. It’s a first for more than the kiss, and it pours itself into the ache in Basira’s chest like a balm of honey.
Eventually she needs air, then needs a towel. ‘So,’ she says with a cheeky air as she comes back to the bed. ‘This is fine?’
Daisy reaches for her and hauls Basira back into her chest along with the towel. ‘Yes,’ she tuts defensively. ‘This is fine.’
‘Just fine?’
‘Mmm,’ Daisy sighs, pressing her nose to Basira's shoulder and inhaling deeply. ‘Very fine.’