A/N: Many more to follow after this one. I've just cranked out Chapter 14 to my other story however, and sleep is banging insistently behind my eyelids. As always, thanks for reading and enjoy!
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
His shoes murmur and squeak against his neglected wooden floors. He catches a glimpse of his tightly drawn expression in the living room mirror. Sighing, he drags his hand down his face, his two day old stubble scratching his palm. Impulsively, he decides to shave. He stalks off to his bathroom and paws around for a razor. A few swipes later, he's back to his living room, pacing anxiously like a confined tiger at the New York Zoo. He feels a little bit like a caged animal, his hair bristled and his nostrils twitching nervously. He has to stop pacing, before he wears a line into the floor.
Bobby flops down on his couch, taking one final survey of his apartment. Books all in their place, no dishes in the sink, his gun and badge safely tucked away in a locked drawer. His shoulders begin to shake; first, softly, then faster and faster, until he's erupted into a guffawing laughter. He actually cares how his apartment looks. It took this for him to clean up his act and actually…a knock at the door. He leaps up. His heart is desperately trying to escape the confines of his ribs, a frightened bird in a bony cage. No turning back now. Inhaling deeply, he forces his feet over to his door, and swings it open.
She's turned away, examining his hallway stretched out behind her. He catches a flash of her smooth skin, revealed beneath the scooped back of her dress. She faces him, baring her teeth in a nervous smile. Her eyes are a deep brown like his, but her hair is a fiery red. Very obviously dyed. He doesn't care. It looks soft, curling into shy waves as it flows across her shoulders. She arches one perfectly plucked eyebrow at him. "Bobby?"
He nods wordlessly and steps aside to let her in. Her heels click against his abused floors, scarred and lacking the sheen typically associated to lacquer wood flooring. Her shawl slides from her shoulders into his waiting hands, followed by her purse. "I'm Stacy. You called…?"
"Um, y-yes, I did." He didn't want her to say it out loud. Saying it out loud made it real. Saying it out loud make him culpable, made him responsible. He shook the agonizing thoughts from his head. He was a person godammit. He was a man.
She quieted his racing thoughts with a hand on his chest, sliding beneath the jacket he never took off. Her smile was now reserved to one corner of her mouth, turned up mischievously. "So, are you the kinda guy that likes to do dinner and a movie, or are you the kinda guy that likes to get to the fun part of my job?" She's pushing him now, lightly, toward his couch. Probably wouldn't take much more than a feather to knock him down at this point. And it doesn't. He slips backward, the sofa catching him before he plummets to the floor. She curls in next to him, running a finger down the side of his neck, under his collar. He looks away, his eyes cast downward. "I just need s-some…company…for the night." She throws her head back and giggles a much rehearsed move. Bobby wonders how many men she went through before perfecting that move. She slides easily into his lap, tossing her flaming hair over her shoulder as she leans in to kiss him.
"I can be anything you want, big fella." She presses her lips against his, already trembling with regret and desire. His arms circle around her waist, drifting down to grasp her thighs and lift her up. She wraps her legs around his midsection, squealing playfully as he carries her through the hallway and into his bedroom. He hadn't thought this through, as the mechanics of gently placing a vertical woman on a horizontal mattress, versus the forces of gravity crosses his mind. So, he turns with his back to the bed and sits on the edge, Stacy still wrapped around him. She overtakes him, peeling his jacket from his shoulders and pressing him down against the mattress. Her fingers work effortlessly to free him from his shirt, yanking it from beneath him and flinging it across the room. Very theatric. Bobby realizes that he's not having any fun with this. If he was gonna break, if he was gonna fall for this, he was going to fall all the way.
He reaches behind and rips her zipper down, pulling the dress down over her shoulders, her breasts, until its wrapped around her stomach. He gazes for a moment, wanting to remember every curve of her skin. Before she can lean down, he reaches up and grabs her ribcage, supporting her as he flips her over and crawls on top of her. He finishes removing her dress, dragging it across his nose before dropping it beside the bed. Roses. Cliché, but still a lovely classic. He plants kisses and swipes of his tongue everywhere that he can reach, drinking in her scent and her taste and her feel. She moans quietly, her fingers twisting into his hair. Her panties are off before he can even think. She reaches down to remove her black thigh high stockings and shiny patent pumps. He clasps her wrist with his fingers, gently, but firmly. "No. Leave them. P-please?"
She chuckles into his ear, her words coming out in breaths "Sure thing, dirty boy." Gently she drags her nails down his back, enraptured by the path of his lips and hands. He slides down, kneeling on the floor, yanking her body down with him, until she's perched on the edge of the bed. Bobby laps hungrily at her smooth center, her legs curling over his shoulders as she bucks and moans on the bed above him. He made love to her this way, three times, until she lies motionless, the quivering of her thighs the only movement in the room. He moves to the other side of the bed, stretching out across it and pulling her on top of him. Instinctively, she removes his pants and boxers. He watches her for a moment before reaching to his nightstand. He pulls open the drawer, and lets forth a curse at the sight of the empty Trojan box. The crinkle of foil distracts him, and he looks back to her just in time to see a condom wrapper emerging from the top of her thigh high. She holds it up triumphantly. "Gotcha covered." Expertly, she applies it to his twitching length. She brings her mouth down to meet his, holding his lips to hers as she slides down onto him. Bobby gasps into her mouth, his eyes wide and rolling back. It had just been so…damned…long. He twines his fingers into her hair and holds her close as she moves above him, inhaling deeply, as if her perfume and shampoo and sweat were the only oxygen in the room. She moved slowly, dragging it out, making it as good for him as he had made it for her. It was another hour before he finally released, panting and gasping and exhausted. He moves to encircle her, hoping that she could stay, at least for a little while. She beats him to it, curling against his stretched out frame and sighing softly. He wraps his arm around her, burying his nose into her hair, before sleep swallows him.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
The trickling of water drags him from his slumber. He rolls over, squinting against the bright light of his bathroom. She is in there, twisting her scorching hair upward into some semblance of style. She hears him move, and turns to face him, smiling. "Good morning. Well, good-one-hour-later, anyway." She chuckles lightly, reaching back to pull up her zipper. She makes her way over to the bed and leans down, planting a kiss on his forehead. "I have to go."
Bobby snaps back to reality. "Um…my wallet is in my pants…where did um…where did they land?" He feels a blush coming on. She giggles and runs her hand through his hair.
"This one's on me, big fella." Confused, he watches as she glides across the room and opens the bedroom door. "You have the number to the agency." She flashes him a wink "I hope you call again. Real soon. Take care, Bobby." With that, she's out the door. He listens sadly for the click of his front door. He pulls the comforter over his chest, his king sized bed suddenly feeling like a king sized auditorium, big and empty and cold. He curls his legs upward, a sigh erupting from the deepest confines of his soul. His neglected and scarred soul, lacking the shine typically associated with a highly decorated detective. Bobby pulls the pillow she had rested on to his face, breathing in roses, and slept this way.