Written for the slashthedrabble community prompt #382: Privilege.
Characters property of NBC/Dick Wolf. Written purely for fun and not for profit.
Rank might afford one certain privileges within the NYPD, but as far as John Munch was concerned One-PP could shove the majority of them up their collective brass derriere.
Most of the time rank only meant being stuck with responsibilities he had no use nor inclination for, such as having to take charge of Manhattan SVU whenever Captain Cragen was on leave. Being forced into a leadership position didn't suit him; even though he did far less work in the field these days than he used to, John preferred actually doing detective work, not merely ordering others around and keeping tabs on their progress.
The captain's office and desk didn't suit him, either. He preferred his smaller work space, his own computer, his own Fin sitting not far away, a ready target for his daily musings, jokes and annoyances.
Contemplating the grave unfairness of his current predicament on a late Wednesday evening, with Cragen away until next Monday, John glanced up from the captain's desk as someone knocked on the office door. "Come in," he called, and Fin entered. "Finished here for the night?"
"Yeah, Rollins already headed out. Nothing more we can do on our case 'til tomorrow. Are you ready to go home yet?"
"I wish. Waiting on Nick and Olivia to report back on that call from CSU, sounded like a rape-homicide in the West Village. Plus the DA's office is up my ass about reports that haven't been completed and they need for trial next week..."
"In other words, don't wait up."
"In other words, pick me up something for dinner; I'll eat it whenever I get home. Or...mmm...you could hang around and keep doing that for the next two hours while I slog through this paperwork." During John's grousing, Fin had walked around behind the desk to massage his neck and shoulders, warm fingers working deep into muscle knots so tight they threatened to pop.
"You ain't getting two hours of this without a big tip."
"Here's a tip for you: never get promoted. Otherwise when I retire you'll end up with this shitty job yourself."
Fin leaned over John slightly, allowing strong hands to glide over his collarbones and chest. "I get a promotion, you can't pull rank on me any longer."
"That would take the only fun out of being sergeant."
Fin made a disgusted grunt and went back to working on John's shoulders, his touch both soothing and invigorating. "Remember sneaking in here on more than a few occasions when we were stuck working overnight?" John asked. "Captain out for the evening, an empty squad room..."
"...door closed, lights off..." Fin continued.
"Ah the follies of...well, certainly not youth but rather reckless middle age." John smiled and spun his chair around to face his longtime love and partner. "Feeling nostalgic?"
"What do you have in mind?"
John got up to lock the office door and close the blinds fully. "Enjoying one of the few benefits afforded by my position."