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Sapiosexual
One who finds the contents of someone else's mind to be their most attractive attribute, above and before their physical characteristics. From the Latin root ‘sapien’, meaning wise.
‘Give me words that make my mind curl before my toes.’
-Rachel Wolchin
Phryne Fisher truly was a formidable woman.
Jack Robinson had known this for a long time, but somehow she never failed to surprise him with her razor sharp wit and bright intellect.
She loved being right, and he didn't mind her often stubborn persistence as long as it helped a case along. However, he loved it when she was sometimes wrong, and it was even better when he got to call her out on it. The way she’d puff up and sputter was almost undignified for a woman of her standing and he adored the sight of her, all flushed and irritated. It reminded him of who she was, his Collingwood girl, the little spitfire she had been as a child, still lurking in those mischievous cerulean eyes.
Those same eyes that had often challenged him on matters of both a professional and a far more personal nature; that had wordlessly pleaded with him not to leave her, the eyes that had practically beamed at him from the railing of the RMS Strathnaver upon her return home, and had soon after looked down upon him with wonder and adoration when she took him inside for the first time.
Those bright pools of greyish blue were currently fixated upon a small scrap of paper, which was right in front of them on the heavy mahogany desk. The green glass shade of the banker’s lamp cast an intimate glow across the desk, which was covered in ancient texts and dictionaries. There were books upon books on the shelves lining the walls, and Jack felt a pang of envy whilst perusing the extensive collection from where he stood, wishing he’d had an opportunity to study in a place like this in his younger years.
They were in a small study, adjoining the main hall of the university’s immense library, supposedly deciphering a piece of evidence in their current case. Jack wasn’t all too sure, but according to Phryne, this little piece of paper - found by Collins at the docks - had to be a coded message. He had to agree that it looked as though it had been written quite recently, but the language had eluded him from the start.
He’d thought it prudent not to ask how she’d gained access to the library at this time of night.
She had procured a brass key from her decolletage earlier that evening, when they’d been standing in front of a large wooden door adorned with ornaments. And even though he had seen her breasts unbound and up close numerous of times, the shimmy of her chest still caused him to stumble over the threshold upon entering.
Phryne was bent at the waist, hovering over the desk and examining the writing on the paper. She was using a magnifying glass to track down anything she might have missed the first fifty times she’d looked. He was leaning against the side of the desk and watching her work as the sturdy wood dug into his hip. She’d often told him he was very proficient at leaning, and he had no idea what she meant by that, but he kept telling himself she might need his moral support and therefore, he’d stayed. After all, this was his case, as well.
More often than not, he had to check the name on the door of his office to figure out who was actually in charge of the investigation.
Even though she could be a right nuisance at times - her curious nature often getting her into an infuriating amount of trouble - it was always a pleasure to watch her work. He could almost see the gears in her head, turning. Her eyes were moving over the paper, sometimes swiftly, other times they would linger. Every now and then they’d shoot up, meet his, squint, and then she’d reach for a heavy tome or she would go through the stack of research his team had already completed.
Her delicate hands were restless; moving the magnifying glass, raking through her hair and leaving it tousled (and remarkably attractive), leafing through yellowed pages.
She was mumbling, to herself mostly, and it was an endearing sight. It felt as though he were privy to something private, yet another part of her that he was allowed to see. She licked her lips in quiet contemplation, then bit down on her red-slicked bottom lip as if sinking her teeth into a ripe cherry and he could feel himself stirring inside his trousers at her fairly innocent action. Fairly innocent, because he’d come to realise that when it came to Phryne Fisher, things were hardly ever truly innocent.
He took a deep breath, and her brow furrowed in annoyance at the sound.
To be honest, the writing had looked like a collection of random characters to Jack. Upon first glance, her best guess had been Biblical Hebrew, until she’d noticed a divergence in the writing. It was Aramaic, she was sure of it. It was an extinct language Jack had only ever read about in history books, but she somehow knew enough of it to recognise it.
That miraculous discovery had been made about two hours ago.
***
He knew she’d cracked it right before she opened her mouth. Her eyes were moving frantically, as though disbelieving of what they were seeing as the pieces of the puzzle clicked inside her brain. It was a beautiful thing to witness, and Jack felt his heartbeat racing.
“I’ve got it!” she exclaimed victoriously as she slammed down the magnifying glass on the desk, and Jack winced.
He walked over to where she stood as she pointed at the scrap of paper. The smell of the perfume she’d dabbed behind her ear, into the enticing hollow of her throat and between her breasts just that morning was taunting him. He’d witnessed it from the comfort of her luxurious bed as his erection strained against the soft sheets.
The perfume had mixed with her own heady scent during the day and he knew there was no stopping the sudden and rapid hardening of his cock.
“Look here, Jack,” she spoke, and the excitement in her voice was almost contagious, if he were prone to such bouts of exuberance.
“I thought the words didn’t make any sense, but they do!” she explained. “I’ve been wracking my brain over this,” she sighed. “They really went to great lengths to ensure nobody would find out about this, Jack.”
Great lengths, indeed.
“About what?”
He turned his head away from the paper to look at her face, and he thought her mind as brilliant as her smile.
“It is a coded message, my dear Inspector. There are words there, but they’ve hidden them well. The key is to take the first letter, here,” she pointed at the paper and his eyes followed her finger, “then skip the next two, take the fourth letter, skip the next two, and so on,” she finished proudly.
Jack straightened, and his breath caught at the sight of a blush, high on her cheeks. And that smug little thing she did with her ruby red lips was enough to both infuriate him and send the blood pounding through his veins, heightening every sensation.
“But what does it say, Phryne?” he asked, pretending to be exasperated but failing miserably in the face of his own curiosity.
She placed her hands on her hips. Those shapely hips, with those lovely curves that fit so well in the palms of his hands...
“Honestly, Jack, if this is how you bully your suspects into submission then--” she chided as nimble fingers teased the buttons on his waistcoat down to the waistband of his trousers and up again, his suit jacket long discarded as it lay on the desk chair.
“Phryne,” he interrupted her, though he wasn't sure if it was because he really wanted to know what was written on that note (he really did want to know) or because her close proximity was making it difficult to think.
And when was she ever submissive?
His cock throbbed at the mere thought.
“It’s an address, Jack, for a rendez-vous, tomorrow night at Baker Street, at 2 in the morning.”
“Are you sure about that, Miss Fisher?” he goaded her, a hand smoothing down her rumpled hair.
“Are you doubting my intelligence, Inspector?” she asked him, and she made it sound like a threat.
When she raised an almost arrogant eyebrow, barely visible underneath her fringe, the tightly wound coil of desire inside him snapped.
His mouth on hers came as a surprise, and he swallowed her gasp. Soon, however, she was clawing at his back, pulling him closer. He wasted no time in prying her lips open to suck her tongue into his mouth until she slumped against him and moaned. She pulled away, if only because she needed to breathe. Her pupils were blown wide, her eyes hooded.
“You’re brilliant, you know that? Absolutely brilliant,” he groaned against her lips, his voice hoarse and his desperation evident. One large palm was splayed across her back as he pushed her against the desk, his other hand busily rucking up her skirt, a lone finger tracing the top of her gossamer stocking, teasing the skin of her bare thigh.
“Jack...” she moaned, then mewled in pleasure when his knuckles grazed the damp fabric covering her most intimate place. Evidently, he hadn't been the only one who’d found the thrill of solving another piece of the puzzle… stimulating.
He swallowed a curse against the slope of her breast when his fingers delved into the wide leg of her tap pants, brushed her damp curls and found her ready for him, the heat and moisture almost impossible to resist. Her desire for him was an aphrodisiac all on its own, and she whimpered when he pushed a finger through her wetness.
“The way you look when you…” he trailed off in favour of nipping at her throat. “I find it-- Christ, Phryne,” he groaned as she cupped him roughly through his trousers.
When she started massaging his length, he nearly lost control.
“Fuck,” he panted, suddenly impatient. Pulling her blouse over her head, it barely passed her eyes before he pulled her camisole and brassiere down in one firm tug and exposed a plump breast.
Taking her nipple into his mouth immediately, his hand came up to knead her other breast. He sucked and bit down on the turgid bud, and she whimpered, her hips moving restlessly against his. Suddenly she pushed him away and his mouth opened with a soft pop as it released her breast.
As she pushed herself up to sit on the desk, she motioned towards his trouser fastenings and started slipping her underwear off.
Jack stared as if in a trance as her dark mound was revealed to him.
“Jack.” His head snapped up. “Trousers,” she breathed as she pushed books and papers out of the way to lean back.
There was something terrifyingly arousing about having her this way, still almost fully dressed. He was about to fuck the brilliant woman he loved in the halls of the mighty and he couldn't find it within himself to regret it. They would have never gotten accepted into a prestigious university such as this one; her because of her gender and him because of his social standing, and it was remarkably satisfying to utterly desecrate this gaudy, pretentious desk in retaliation.
When she wrapped her fingers around his length, he gasped against her mouth. He’d imagined her touch far too many times for it to be appropriate (and he had told her as much), yet it still felt wonderfully new each time her nimble fingers danced across his skin.
“Protection?” he grunted, his voice hoarse as he lined himself up with her slick heat, batting her impatient hands away.
She nodded furiously and for a second he wondered if she’d planned this.
Another ragged breath, a steady push, a desperate groan and he was inside her. Her eyes were hot on where their bodies were joined as she supported herself on her elbows. He knew she loved to watch as he slid in and out of her, but as soon as he started to move she fell back, moaning and thrashing.
Jack was immediately close, wound up and so hard it almost hurt. He tried to slow down to prolong her pleasure, but it was a lost cause when he watched her sneak a hand between their lower bodies to touch herself and to impale herself on his length, desperately needing the friction.
He roughly grabbed her by the hips and started pushing her up the desk with his thrusting hips, pounding into her with unexpected force. She shrieked in delight. Her arms were flailing to grab hold of the top of the desk, and a heavy, antique tome landed on the floor with a loud thud. Her small, exposed breasts were bouncing with the force of his thrusts and he bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from coming at the sight of her, and the feel of her, squeezing him tight.
But it couldn't last. It was too much, too fast and too carnal and he was loving every second of it. As he surrendered himself to the white oblivion, pressing his hips tightly to hers, he barely registered the shudder that ran through her body as she clamped down on him and followed him over into the blissful abyss, the whisper of his name on her lips.
***
He could feel her shaking as he opened his eyes, laying half on top of her. It took a second before it registered that she was laughing.
He pushed himself up and off of her body, his legs still unsteady as he slipped from her heat.
“Why, Jack, that was a delightful surprise!” she chuckled. She sat up and wrapped her arms around his neck to keep him close. He’d managed to pull his trousers up from around his ankles and fumbled with a handkerchief he’d found in his trouser pocket to clean them both up.
She smoothed down her skirt to the best of her ability as he pocketed her underwear.
She merely raised an approving eyebrow.
“I wouldn't want you to think you’ve uncovered all of my secrets just yet, Miss Fisher,” he rumbled, his voice low and velvety.
“Never, Jack Robinson. My never ending source of mystery,” she praised him, running her fingers through his wavy hair. “I love learning something new about you every day.”
“Likewise,” he agreed, and before she could open her mouth to speak, he kissed her soundly.
She let him have the last word, just this once.