There's a light mist in the air as Zuko makes his way across the street towards the alley where he'd gotten the call that the hooker would be waiting, looking for customers. Before long he sees the girl standing, back pressed to the old stone wall and one knee kicked up for support. Zuko feels like an idiot, wearing a suit that costs more than his used truck, and a watch that's even more expensive. Both are on loan from his old college buddy Jet, now an investment banker downtown—
"You can have them under one condition," Jet had warned him.
"What's that?" Zuko had asked warily.
"Don't you dare get any come on them. I swear to God, Zuko."
"What the fuck? I'm not actually going to have sex, you know that, right? I just need to make a deal with a prostitute."
After that, Jet had dissolved into laughter, so hard he almost fell over out of his chair, and Zuko had made a break for it with the clothes before Jet made any more Magic Mike jokes. Zuko should never have agreed to see that movie with him. He definitely wouldn't have, if he'd known this assignment was coming up. Magic Mike's not even about hookers, either. It's a good thing they didn't see Pretty Woman—
His only comfort is the fact that the hooker looks even more ridiculous than he does. She has overdramatic beauty queen curls, a choker necklace, and a sequined shirt that leaves more exposed than covered, tucked into a pair of sinfully tight cut-off blue jean shorts. She looks like she's trying too hard; like she's trying to use her clothes to cover up the fact that she's nervous about this. Instead of turning Zuko off, it makes him feel protective. He wants to wrap the kid in his coat—to cover her up so no one else can see her—and then take her home and feed her.
Then again, despite the overcompensation, there's a strength in the girl's body that's unmistakable. Zuko's eyes catch on her lean thighs and the well-defined muscles of the hooker's arms, further emphasized by the way she's crossing them under her chest, and his mouth goes dry. None of what he's feeling is appropriate, basically. He's perving on a teenager. He should be preparing himself to turn the kid around and cuff her to send her off to jail. What he's actually thinking about are all the other reasons he might roll her over. She has a really nice ass.
The closer he gets, the more his nerves spike. The hell was he thinking, signing up for this assignment? He can't pick up a hooker. It's already obvious that he's miserably bad at this. The only thing that helps him relax at all is the way her eyes keep darting over to a screen in a nearby bar; she's checking the score of a soccer match to pass the time. It's such a normal thing to do that it makes this whole situation seem marginally less ridiculous.
"Hey there," he says, once he's close enough to be heard. He's surprised by how deep and rumbly his voice comes out. He sounds like he's trying to be sexy.
The hooker jumps, then seems to catch herself, licking her lips and looking up at Zuko through her lashes. And wow, now that he's closer, Zuko can see that the girl isn't a kid; isn't some teenager playing dress-up. She's about Zuko's age, which doesn't help Zuko's simmering attraction to her one bit. Some of the guilt dissipating opens the doors for Zuko to admire her even more openly. "Hey yourself."
There's a stirring of warmth in Zuko's gut that he immediately pushes away, trying to concentrate on his training. "You lookin' for a good time tonight?"
Instantly once he gets the words out, he wants to cringe. Gross, he sounds like a sexual predator. Way to go, Zuko.
The corner of the hooker's mouth turns up in a half smile, like she's trying not to laugh at him. "Depends," she replies. "What's in it for me?"
Zuko can't arrest her until there's concrete proof that she'll have sex for money. He needs a clear statement of intent—a 'you'll have to pay me this much'.
"A better view of that game for one," Zuko says, because his next line is supposed to be something about his dick, and he might actually die of embarrassment if he says that. 'I've got a big screen in my bedroom."
The hooker snorts, giving Zuko a grin that seems genuine, considering how deep her dimples go, and how bright her blue eyes get. She gives Zuko a once-over, and the trail of her gaze burns through Zuko's clothes. "Tempting. What else 'ya got?"
Zuko is struck by the realization that he actually wants to have sex with this girl. If they were in that bar together—if she was anyone else in the entire city—he would be gunning to try to go home with her; drawing on his real lines, or just manning up and asking her to dinner. Despite the horrible clothes, he's drawn to her. Those eyes and that smile are really doing it for him.
But fuck, he's going to have to arrest her, instead.
"What do you need?" he drawls, while he fights off a stab of discomfort about setting up the trap like this, so neatly.
His gaze lingers on the hooker's full pink lips for a few seconds, still wet from the earlier swipe of her tongue. Staring so intently, Zuko can watch every move as she opens her mouth, forming the reply that will allow him to lock her up behind bars.
"HEY!" someone shouts, from an open window behind them, sounding furious. "This is private property! Don't make me call the cops!"
"Fuck!" Zuko says, stepping back. It's too early to have his cover blown.
Somehow, without noticing it, he'd gotten really close to the hooker. His breath is coming short. The waistband of his pants feels tight.
"Shit!" the hooker says, at the same time.
They stare at each other for one frozen second before there's another, "Take your business elsewhere!"
"The park around the corner," she says quickly while Zuko is fighting warring disappointment (that he's never going to see her again) and relief (thank fuck, he can wait and arrest someone else who's less tempting). "Tomorrow night. Same time, if you're still interested."
Then she takes off running in the opposite direction that Zuko needs to go.
He is, sadly, still extremely interested.
::
Zuko is five minutes early the next night, walking up in even more humid air than yesterday, under a gloomy sky. He'd spent the entire drive over lecturing himself about how inappropriate it was to be attracted to the hooker he was supposed to be arresting, and how important is would be that he keep it together this time. For some reason—oh, like how much of the morning he'd spend daydreaming about her lips—he has a bad feeling that the pep talk won't stick.
The hooker is already there when he arrives, pacing on the sidewalk by the rose garden and muttering to herself. "Get your head in it, K—"
"Hello?" Zuko asks, curious, and a little worried.
"Oh shit," she says, freezing like a deer caught in headlights. She's in an equally ridiculous outfit tonight—this time, a fringed purple top, showing off her collarbones, and a blindingly reflective miniskirt that she keeps having to tug down. "You came."
"Course I came," Zuko says. "I mean, look at you." It's partially sarcastic, because he can't help himself—does this girl own a mirror?—but at the same time, it's more honest than he would like.
The hooker blinks, and the sweep of her eyelashes is spellbinding in the dim light of the lamp overhead.
"Right," she says throatily. "Where were we, again? Remind me."
"We were talking about what I have to do to get you in my bed," he tells her, stepping closer and letting his own voice drop. That's easy enough to say, because a larger part of himself than he would like wants it to happen.
"Right," the hooker says, grinning slowly, the promise that Zuko wishes he would get to have. "I was telling you—"
There's the loud boom of a thunderclap overheard, an ominous warning. Seconds later, it's pouring outside, heavy raindrops soaking them both through to the skin. They both swear again in unison. The water is freezing. Zuko can see goosebumps dotting across the hooker's arms, and though he tries not to focus on it, he's pretty sure her nipples are pushing up out of that godawful purple fringe.
"Fuck," Zuko says with feeling. His mind is racing, trying to come up with a back-up plan. All he can think about, though, is how much he wants to kiss the girl standing in front of him. She's bordering on public indecency, clothes matted to her compact frame. Zuko never really thought he had a type before today, but now he's perfectly aware that his type is wet.
"Tomorrow night," she says, while Zuko is staring at her, struck speechless. "Day Eight Motel. Same time."
They'll be together in a room. With a bed. That's going to be a nightmare of a test for Zuko's self-control. Only the shock of cold water raining down keeps his head clear and stops his thoughts from derailing to all that he could do to her with a mattress to spread her out on and a little privacy. He nods, starting to jog backwards in the direction of where he'd parked his squad car, well out of sight of their meeting location.
Just before they'll be out of hearing distance, he catches himself. "Wait!" he calls, and the hooker turns to face him, those miles of smooth brown skin caressed by planes of water. "What name will it be under?"
"Ka-Kyoka," the hooker stutters.
Kyoka. It has to be a fake name. Zuko really hopes she has enough sense, at least, to give him a fake name.
It's a start, though.
::
Kyoka is waiting for him in the lobby, saving him from an uncomfortable conversation with the check-in clerk at the front desk. This time she's wearing comfortable looking velvet track pants and a velvet zip-up jacket, only half-zipped, with nothing on underneath. The pants say Juicy across the butt. Zuko snorts when he sees her—it's instinctive and he can't cover up the sound after it escapes his mouth.
"What?" Kyoka demands, her mouth going flat.
Zuko very pointedly doesn't analyze the fact that he feels so comfortable messing around with a suspected criminal.
"Do you always dress like a pimp in a bad hustler movie?" he asks, laughing.
She half glares at him, eyes narrowing even as half of her face twitches with humor, and it only makes Zuko want her more, seeing that little bit of push-back.
"Only for you, sugar," Kyoka says, faux-sweetly.
The endearment catches Zuko off guard. "What?"
Kyoka looks around, checking the mostly deserted lobby and then lowering her voice. "I thought it would be a good name for you—because, you know, you're kind of my sugar daddy. That's easy enough to remember. Plus I need a name to call you when we're…" she makes a lewd gesture with her fist.
"Oh," Zuko says, heartbeat easing. Yeah, that is pretty easy to remember. Though he's more like her future arrestor. Ugh. "Right. Sure, you can call me that."
What does that hand motion mean anyway, he wonders wildly. Jerking off? Fisting? Something else? He'd really like to know what she means by that gesture. Especially since he won't get to find out.
He thinks, for just a second, about what it would be like to hear her moaning his name in bed, and he instantly feels flushed all over, burning with the desire to go upstairs. He wants to kiss her more than he can remember wanting to kiss anyone in years. Wants to do a whole lot more than kissing, too.
"Good," Kyoka says, her voice that honey tone that had been driving Zuko crazy in the park. "So, sugar…" Now the pet name just sounds sexy in her low purr, not laughable at all. He shivers. "You wanna hear what you need to do to get me upstairs?"
"Hell yes," Zuko says, with feeling.
"All I need is—"
The fire alarm starts blaring overhead; an obnoxious screeching sound that makes Zuko feel like his eardrums are going to explode.
"I'm going to fuckin' shoot something," he yells to Kyoka.
"I'll help," she yells back grimly.