This is not a happy story. I am placing this warning here because there are some dark themes, so be prepared. Don't say I didn't warn you! But please enjoy...

Chapter 1

Sharon Raydor could feel the hint of a headache coming on in the back of her forehead.

She wished she could control the wave of arousal that tightened her chest every time Brenda Leigh's weary brown eyes looked in to her own. And each time their eyes met, Sharon's eyes darted downwards, quickly reminding herself why they were seated across from one another in her office.

Brenda's hand was shaking. She was unnerved, and rightfully should be. It'd been a long day. She hadn't anticipated shooting anyone.

Sharon took a deep breath and glanced down at the half complete form. She tapped her pen against the desk before pushing herself back in her seat. "Chief," Sharon swallowed.

Brenda distractedly nodded. "I know, Capt'n."

Sharon let the pen twirl around in her fingers. She could actually go for a cigarette at this point. It was nearing one in the morning. She was exhausted and she did not like the fact that Brenda Leigh Johnson was seated in her office due to a force investigation and not to sort through the mess they'd gotten themselves in to.

"Can we get this wrapped up?" Sharon tapped the pen against the desk, avoiding eye contact with the Deputy Chief.

"Certainly, Capt'n." Brenda took a deep breath.

"Brenda Leigh, are you okay?" Fritz appeared in the doorway of Sharon's office. He swooped in and wrapped his arms around his shaken wife; a gesture Sharon had been fighting against attempting herself. She intently looked down at the investigation paperwork, anywhere but at Brenda wrapped warmly in her husband's loving arms.

Sharon felt queasy. "Agent Howard, would you mind?"

"Would you mind, Captain? My wife was almost killed; I think I have every right to console her."

Sharon set her jaw. Instead of dignifying him with a response, she waved a hand and dropped her pen on her desk. Christ, she wasn't going to get out of the office until three.

…

When Sharon stepped inside of her California bungalow, she caught a whiff of cigarette smoke. Her eyes slid closed, her jaw clenched, and she kicked off her heels. Slamming her purse on the ground and sliding out of her blazer, Sharon stepped in to her kitchen, unsurprised to find him standing there, leaning up against the counter as if it was so natural for him to be there.

He took a swig of his beer, his eyes setting in to hers as she walked towards him. She took the burning cigarette from his fingers and took a long drag before moving past him.

"I thought you were never coming home." He turned to lean up against the island counter.

"I'm surprised you're still here." Sharon pulled a bottle of whiskey from a cabinet and took down a tumbler. She poured herself a generous portion and threw back a huge gulp before taking another drag of the cigarette.

"You're becoming a lush."

"You drove me to it." Sharon narrowed her eyes at the man in her kitchen, watching as he lit up another cigarette and offered Sharon an ashtray he'd dragged out from its hiding place. She tapped off the ashes from the nearly finished cigarette before picking up the whiskey bottle and moving towards her living room. "I don't like when you smoke inside." She sighed, settling down on the couch. Her legs fell open; no need for propriety in a skirt while in her own home.

"I don't like when you come home late." He'd followed her in to the living room and settled on the coffee table in front of her.

"I don't remember asking you to come over tonight, Mitchell." Sharon took the last puff of her cigarette and butted it in the ashtray he held out for her.

He shrugged and took another swig of his beer. His rough hand landed on her knee, his fingers smoothing over her skin.

She nudged him away. "I'm not in the mood." She swallowed back another sip of whiskey.

His hand returned to her leg, this time moving up her thigh, pushing her skirt upwards as his finger grazed the center of her wet panties. "I'd beg to differ."

She hit his hand away.

"Who did that?" He settled back and sipped his beer.

"That's none of your business." Sharon pushed her skirt back down and leaned her head back against the couch.

"Not that superior officer you keep complaining about?" He took another drag of his cigarette and let his fingers trail over her knee again. She hit his hand away again, but he grabbed her wrist.

"Let me go," Sharon hissed, twisting out of his grasp. "And no, she is none of your business."

"She? You fucking dyke." Mitchell snorted.

"I am not even dignifying that with a response." She swallowed down the last of her whiskey and poured another.

"You only cheated on me with women. Why don't you just admit it?"

"You cheated on me with women, what's the difference?" Sharon twisted and got up from the couch. She was exhausted. She needed to go to sleep, but now he was here. She retrieved the pack of cigarettes from the kitchen, lighting one before returning to the living room.

"The fucking difference, Sharon, is that I'm a man." Mitchell grabbed at Sharon, nearly causing her to spill her tumbler of whiskey.

"You fuck," Sharon cursed, allowing herself to be pulled down on to the couch. She took a puff of her cigarette before Mitchell took it from her. He took another puff before putting it out. "That wasn't even half smoked, you shit," Sharon sighed before Mitchell pulled her in to a rough kiss.

She pushed at him, careful not to spill her drink, and detached him from her lips. "I told you I'm not in the mood."

"Well I am," he pulled her free hand down to his crotch.

"You know, I really wonder why I stayed married to you for as many years as I did." Sharon groaned, setting down the tumbler before undoing Mitchell's jeans.

"Because you loved me." Mitchell easily responded, settling back against the couch as Sharon reached down to grasp his erection. Her hand worked knowingly up and down his girth, wondering why she was even doing this for him at all.

"Go fuck yourself," she retorted, crawling over him until she was kneeling between his legs.

"It looks like you're going to do that for me." He arrogantly thrust himself forward. Her hand squeezed his penis and he winced, glaring down at her. "You fucking bitch, don't you ever do that again," his hand was squeezing her wrist just as hard in a matter of seconds.

"Well don't be such an arrogant asshole," she released him and then raised an eyebrow in contempt, daring him to not let her go. The longer it took for him to release her, the longer it would be before she got to taking care of his erection.

He finally pulled her hand back to his penis and dropped it, settling back against the couch. Sharon had long ago stopped wondering why she did the things she did for this man. She supposed it hadn't always been this way, not in the beginning. He'd been a fairly decent guy, perhaps a little rough around the edges, but Sharon Raydor had always admired a good challenge, an imperfect man. She hadn't anticipated she would end up in such a miserable dance with him, this never ending back and forth of pity fucking and fighting.

She took him in to her mouth, licking the tip of his penis at first. She knew exactly how he liked receiving blow jobs, and she supposed she should. After twenty-eight years of marriage – most of it spent platonically living in one another's presence for the children – she had managed to appease him with blow jobs. She mostly hated them, but she did enjoy the feeling of being in control of him, of knowing that if she stopped halfway through he'd get blue balls. As she sucked the tip of his cock, she knew she never would, mainly because she didn't want to cover up the black eye he was certain to give her if she so attempted such a thing.

As she glanced over at her wrist, she realized she would need long sleeves tomorrow to cover the bruises that were already forming on them. He could fuck himself. He had no right to lay a hand on her…yet, she let him.

Her hand and mouth kept a steady rhythm, but her mind began to stray to the only respite she had while administering to him. Breasts. Sharon Raydor loved the supple curve of breasts. She loved to touch them, to suck on taut nipples, to knead the soft skin. It was no wonder she had enjoyed cheating on her ex-husband with women. Women were beautiful.

Mitchell grunted. She knew he was getting close. She applied more force to her motions, letting the tip of his penis glide more roughly in and out, trying not to bite it as she did so. Sometimes she wished she could tear his cock right off.

She could feel Mitchell begin to squirm ever so slightly, and she knew his orgasm was coming. In a matter of seconds she could taste his salty ejaculation in her mouth. She stopped her ministrations and caught his eye. "Aren't you going to swallow?" He glared down at her.

She reached for his beer and spit the cum in to the bottle. "Now zip up and go home." She sneered, pulling herself up.

Mitchell quickly pulled his pants back up and buttoned them, reaching out to grab her, "you fucking cunt."

"I'm not your wife any more, Mitchell, let me go and get the hell out," Sharon pushed him off of her, knowing he'd had more to drink than her. She could still handle him if he got too rough with her.

She nearly stumbled to the table beside the couch and poured herself another glass of whiskey, swallowing it down a bit too quickly.

Mitchell zipped up his pants and moved past her in to the kitchen. He pulled another beer out of the refrigerator – she wondered why she even kept beer for him – and then moved back in to the living room. He collapsed on the couch. Sharon poured herself another drink, but did not drink it so quickly. Instead she took a seat on an armchair and set the tumbler down, reaching for the pack of cigarettes instead. "You're pathetic." She mumbled around the cigarette she'd placed between her lips.

"Why's that?" Mitchell took a swig of his beer and glanced at her.

"You can't even drive home, can you?" She lit the cigarette and leaned back in her seat. A stream of smoke came effortlessly through her lips.

Mitchell just shrugged and leaned back against the couch.

Sharon closed her eyes as tightly as possible, pinching the bridge of her nose with her free hand. She felt disgusting. Tears swelled behind her eyelids, but she kept them at bay. She held them down and tried to drown them out by filling her lungs full of smoke.

What had happened to her? She was becoming a person she hardly recognized.

…

"Hey, are you okay?" Fritz was lying on his back in the pitch black room. His wife had remained painfully quiet since leaving the office. He'd watched her shower, brush her teeth, and then curl up on the bed – as close to the edge as possible. He'd taken this as his cue to not touch her.

Some nights Brenda Leigh didn't want to be touched. Some nights she wanted nothing to do with him. He'd slowly become accustomed to her mood swings. Tonight he'd written the distance off to the traumatic events of the day. He hadn't been on scene when it'd happened, but he'd heard the man had gone down roughly. It hadn't been pretty. And he knew she'd had a gun to her head. He knew she'd once again escaped death by mere seconds. She was shaken, he could appreciate that. He just wished she'd let him in, sometimes. He only wanted to be there for her.

Brenda shifted ever so slightly in the bed but did not reply.

"Honey?" He let his hand cross the invisible barrier she'd created for herself. This did not bode well for him.

Brenda jerked away from him and sat up. She reached angrily for her pillow, "I just…I need some time to myself. All right, Fritzy?" She tried to not sound as angry as she felt.

She knew it wasn't his fault, what she'd done, but she couldn't help feeling angry. Most likely she was angry with herself, but this anger manifested itself as anger towards him. She wished she could make it stop, she wished she could let down her walls and let him in again – like she had been able to do in the beginning of their marriage – but ever since that night… She hadn't been the same.

And she had to wonder why she was thinking about that night when she should be shaken from nearly getting shot. Perhaps this was her avoidance tactic. Instead of breaking down, she was choosing to focus on the night that had opened her eyes and completely changed the way she viewed everything.

"I'm gonna sleep in the livin' room," Brenda sleepily drawled, her skin burning from where her husband had touched her. She wished she didn't feel so downright disgusting around him. She did love him; she just couldn't stand being near him right now.

Fritz rolled back on the bed and exhaled loudly in frustration. He watched as his wife carried her pillow in to the other room, mad because though he knew she definitely wouldn't be up for sex that evening, he still had an erection. He wished he had better control sometimes, but he couldn't help the fact that he needed sex. He craved intimacy with her and the longer they went without it, the more he wanted it.

Realizing what he would have to resort to, Fritz reached for Brenda's lotion on the bedside table.