That fateful night, the boldest and fearless of her soon-to-be ex-colleagues had seen her off, with a discreet gathering at a local watering hole, a known hang-out to the force. There, at ''Our Boys in Blue'', a dimly lit, seemingly seedy dive bar, neatly tucked away in a dark alleyway off the main strip of the city, Mia lifted her glass one last time with the men and women with whom she'd earned her first stripes, graduated from rookie to police officer, and eventually became a detective.
John, her old partner, and mentor, who had encouraged her to pursue her extensive training in forensic psychiatry, and monitored her progress closely, was there. If it weren't for him, she would have never considered a long-term career in the force. With the years and the trials they faced, they had become friends, and eventually more.
He poured her one glass after the next, from the bottle of Jack on the bar, as he watched her give goodbyes to each member of the team that came streaming in, after day shift. Finally, when the crowd of drunks and errand hearts dispersed, she mentioned her desire to catch a good night's rest, as she started her new position the morning to come.
As they got up and walked away from the dusty, tired and crackling neon lights that hung above the worn out, polished mahogany bar, she felt his hand slide ingenuously under the lining of her leather jacket, and the warmth of his flattened palm, that began rubbing against her waist, which contrasted greatly with the rushing wind of the night, as he went and opened the door for her, and guided her out. Like old friends, they walked silently in almost complete darkness, in communal muteness towards the strip, which shone with obscene, spectacular gravity.
She could sense, or had an idea that he was searching for the right words to say. His deep blue eyes, their icy gaze, buried under the furrow of his dark chestnut brow, scanned for a sign from her into the darkness.
Eventually, he said, his voice seemingly sweeter, yet coarse, ''Let's keep in touch, yeah...?''
She smiled, and replied in her usual snarky, cynical tone, ''As if I'm ever going to get rid of you...''
He chuckled, a deep smile pleating upward the lines of his frown, broadening the ridges of his cheeks. His eyes, if only for a moment of bittersweet remembrance, sparkled under the orange hue of an advertisement sign, guiding them back into civilisation, before his smile faded, and he returned to his sombre demeanour. He sighed, and slowly slid his arm further around her, to wrap his forearm across her hip.
Instinctively, she followed and let her small hand softly find his shoulder under his shirt, felt him recoil ever so softly at the cold of her fingers, then lean into her, as she let her hand course down the ridge of his back, following the shiver she just sent down his spine, her fingertips carefully reading at the goosebumps that followed her path, to finally tighten her grip around his leather belt.
She felt the familiar call of a late night in his presence, and she knew all too well she could not resist him, but in the back of her mind, she was already trying to conceive of a life spent further away from him. He knew her to be stubborn and deadset on having her way. That was what got her in her current predicament. And allowed them to get closer... Yet there she was, transferred away, quickly silenced for her disorderly sense of justice, her tendencies to search too far and wide for truths better-kept secret.
Finally, they reached the strip, and he released her from his grip, only for a moment, to come face to face with her. His eyes delved deep into hers, as nightlife sleepily slowed around them, and the grizzly amber tint of the light post above them painted them as other-worldly creatures. She knew what he was about to ask, and what they both wanted.
She asked, ''Do you want to grab a drink at home?''
Her tone seemed vaguely innocent, inauspicious but he knew. His voice thundered, assured and definitive, ''Yes.''
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Moments later, and he was roaring like a mating lion, his coarse, deep moans echoing at the nape of her neck, vibrating through her eardrums, as he thrust himself deep within her. His rugged palms were kneading at the wet and sweaty pasty dough of her ass cheeks, pushing and stretching them out with each of his expert strokes, taking her further in and away from him in an entranced dance she dared not leave.
She answered each of his tempestuous cries with her own, in whispered whimpers, moaning his name and accompanying it with dirty nonsense, in between deep, needy staccato breaths. She'd gather her strengths, and held tight onto the back of her old familiar couch. Her breasts clung strongly onto his dampened chest, gyrating them stuck with each rolling of his hips against hers, which titillated at her nipples, swollen from his tonguing and the bites he had playfully given her just moments before, and glowed with fond soreness against his warmth, as he pushed and buried his thick, pulsing cock inside her.
She let her mind wander, as she felt herself drawn further and away from sanity. John was a stud. She remembered the first time he had shattered her mind in a million pieces. In the front of their patrol car, when she was just a young rookie with dreams of changing the world into a better place. He had just given her an earful. It had been the first time she had buried her nose into a case and delved too deep. And the first time she'd ever seen this strange, new side of him.
He was afraid she'd be sacked, but ultimately defended her. He posed her to his superiors as a naive, unassuming youngster with no idea what she had actually stumbled into... A classic case of judicial corruption, an affair between an uptight, pursed-lip frigid judge and a sleazy police chief in UpperPD's District 6, that turned sour and eventually ended in the gruesome execution of Police Chief's wife, on District 8's turf.
The case was buried, but Mia took the heat for it. Chief Braun had every intent to clear it with his connections with District 6 and planned to make an example out of her. But she was a hard worker, good for the numbers, had blasted her way through the quotas...Yet she did not know what she was doing... Eventually, Braun relented and John got to keep her under his wing.
That night, he was driving her home in their patrol car. She was still under the impression she'd lost her job, and shell-shocked in anger from her first run-in with internal lawlessness. John, his hands tightly wrapped around the rigid leather of the steering wheel cover, was swearing up and down at her, for her brash behaviour, the lack of consideration she had displayed to not come to him first with her discovery, his eyes buried away under his authoritative, stern brows.
She could feel his disappointment and anger, and felt tragically the same, but kept herself from speaking.
Eventually, they arrived in front of her small duplex apartment, the deserted street only now lighting up from the distant blueish sky of a new day to come. The sun had yet to rise, and it was usually when she'd arrive home from the night shift, the air had that distinct but familiar, crisp and clean quality, only this time it seemed all so heavy to her.
He parked, and turned off the engine, before falling back into his seat, his eyes avoiding hers, which were seeking an escape through the slightly cracked open window.
She finally gathered up the courage to speak, and said,'' I'm sorry, John.'' Her voice was coarse and heavy, as she desperately tried to hold back the tears. He turned to look as if realising only now that she had been listening to his angry rant, and he was not just screaming, in fact, at a brick wall.
His eyes widened, revealing a softness she had not previously seen in his traits, and he struggled a moment, to know what to say. ''Listen... Mia. What you did was not wrong. It was... suicidal. I... I was just angry... Reasonably angry, because I was afraid something would happen to you...After what you did? I'm just glad Braun listened to me, for once.''
She nodded, her eyes still averted, as if to keep him silent and contented with her mute approval.
He stopped and breathed in, deeply. His hand reached over the dashboard console, and found hers. He started playing mindlessly with her fingers, rubbing and squeezing them in his clenched fist.
He sighed heavily, and leaned over the divider, and planted a soft kiss on her forehead, as his other hand softly wrapped around her neck. When he released her, she could only whisper, in a hurt, soft raspy voice, ''John...''
He leaned away, and conceded, in a defeated but caring tone, ''I care about you, Mia. More than you know...''
She was about to answer, her own admission of guilt. ''I c...''
But he stopped her, with a dry assertive order, ''Go get some sleep. We have work to do tomorrow.''
She undid her seat belt slowly, and briefly looked outside towards the paved pathway that would lead her to her doorstep, with a faint smile on her face. He had managed to saver her career, and kept her away from sure trouble till this very moment. But something within her was tugging at her soul, and in that brief moment of a still darkened dawn, she turned herself around to look at him, one last time. She looked into his tired, weary blue eyes that seemed to pour out his love and affection, as well as his worries and concerns. She wished to quiet them, if only for a second.
The next, she had given him a slow, passionate kiss, her teeth softly biting at his lower lip, lingering for a moment too late. He had frozen at first, unsure how to interpret it, before she had dug deep into him, and he relaxed, his hand firmly yet gently grasping the nape of her neck, for the first time. He could only mutter, in between breaths, her name, in disapproving confession before he embraced her waist with his strong, tensing forearms and lifted her off her seat and to his lap.