A/N: I don't own any of the CSI: New York characters and I am not making any money from writing this.
Please forgive any minor spelling or grammar mistakes, Englisg is not my native language.
This is a Halloween story, in a way that it is very creepy and that it takes place arounf that time (early in season two). It is creepy and shocking and disgusting. YOU SHOULDN'T BE READING THIS AT ALL.
Why people kill each other more frequently around the Halloween time, she'll probably never know. But she knows that she spent hours on a triple murder scene (a cold case, since her new job was different from her previous one and not even formal, though still exhausting) and that she is tired. She just wants to get some sleep.
But as soon as she steps into her apartment, she knows that will not be possible. For quite a while.
She feels him, senses him, smells him in her apartment. She starts thinking the recent events over in her head, angry at herself for letting him be one step ahead. Despite her lack of concentration, she is certain that there was no damage to the lock. Maybe he somehow sneaked in through the window. Or he is getting really better...
She sees him rushing over to her, with that look on his face... the look that sends a fear rush to the pit of her stomach. More brazen too. No mask.
She wants to reach for her gun, but that would be against the rules.
So, she takes a deep breath, clenches her fists, and, as he stops mere inches away from her and raises his hand, she kicks him in the stomach as hard as she can. He groans in pain and falls down on the floor, rubbing at the painful spot desperately. She smirks. "Not a tough guy after all?"
He moves his head to meet her eyes. "You stupid bitch!", he nearly screams through the gritted teeth.
And he fools her. That was not a lame insult thrown by a broken man, like she first thought. That was a distraction tactic. The next thing she knows, his hand is grabbing her right ankle. She is almost shocked. All of his terrifying body strength directed against her. He pulls at her leg forward and she loses her balance, falling down on the floor in a face up position, with a thud. A sharp pain spreads through her back and she cries out softly. Her eyes are closed tightly in pain, but she feels him slowly creeping towards, on top of her. She opens her eyes once she feels his hot breath on her flushed face.
"Tough enough?"
She savors the burning pain that spreads down to her jaw and feels rage running through her body. To her fist. As the event flashes in front of her eyes, she punches him in the nose. With high severity. His head turns to the side, but he doesn't make a sound. Some blood drips on her face. She shivers. "Not nearly enough", she hisses.
He turns to face her again, blood coating his face. He grins. "That's more like it."
He then leans over and kisses her on the lips. She expects to feel disgusted, as always. And, as always, her senses react to the contact in the most extraordinary ways. The warmth rushes up her body, her muscles tense. She feels his hands moving up her forearms and then down, touching her soft flesh. She hears perverse moans that are being directed to her mouth.
She can't help but break free upon feeling that well known spasms sink into her toes. With some pain, she manages to stand up. So does he. She runs to her bedroom. He follows her. She has no time to look back, but she hears him approaching. Chasing her. She manages to get inside, but when she is about to slam the door to his face, he holds it back. She tries to close the door, but he doesn't let her. That's a blockade.
He eventually manages to push the door forward, gaining an access to her room. The door almost hit her and she barely manages to move away in time. He runs towards her and their lips meet again. They kiss passionately and roughly, driven by... love? Hate? Who cares? When he moves his lips away from hers and pulls her T-shirt off, she creams her panties and stiffs a moan.
Every time their bodies are about to colide roughly, as they are about to melt into one another, for some reason, she wonders how this whole thing has started, really started, and why: she never comes up with an exact answer. She undoes his belt and opens his zipper aggressively while thinking back at their first time. She knows that she started following him about a week after what happened to her friend. She remembers the cold shiver that ran down her back when they locked eyes in that alleyway near his apartment, in the middle of the night, with nobody else around. How her inner body felt like it was on fire when he walked over to her and knocked the camera out of her hand. She moans silently while watching him take his boxer shorts off, his member in full view, and feels spasms rushing through her as he undoes a button on her jeans, her memories still clear. How she then kicked him in the stomach, but ended up getting pinned to the ground before she managed to pull out her gun. An hour later, there she was, naked and sweaty, breathing heavily, in his bed.
She relives that moment while watching him ripping the condom wrapper frantically, sighing as he pulls the preservative over his length. She runs her hands down his biceps and hips, feeling herself shiver, as he climbs on top of her.
He enters her and she groans. Her muscles tighten around him, making a moan escape his lips. He keeps thrusting in and out of her, hard, refusing to break away from the eye contact that the two of them have made when he took her panties off. His eyes are filled with contempt and disgust, much the same like hers, she imagines. She wants to prove him wrong, see him come undone while inside her beautiful body, while looking at her form. She wants him to acknowledge that he desires her.
Maybe their personalities are more fitting than she first thought. She has never met somebody as brazen and intelligent as him before. Somebody able to avoid capture for so long. Outsmarting her and many others so many times. Making her feel so angry, disgusted, determined... so passionate. For indeed her job is-was-her biggest passion, and it wouldn't have been possible without people like him. And, obviously, his crimes are his biggest passion, and without people like her... none of that would be nearly as fun or interesting.
That is their game. Dangerous and raw. Dark and twisted. That is the way it is.
There it is. A sign of weakness. His lips quiver. Her name almost leaves her lips, but in the end, only a short breath comes out. His face is flushed and, despite the latex, she can feel him cum, noticing his eyes drifting over her body. But he continues thrusting, for she should not win. He knows exactly where her spot is and always does his best to simulate it. And soon, she reaches a peak. She tries to hide her pleasure with a mocking smile, but a blissful look appears on her face instead. Pleasure rips through her muscles and a liquid rushes down his member. He smirks. Smug bastard.
And that's all. No afterglow. No pillow talk. He quickly pulls his clothes on, knocking her already discarded clothing all over the room. That's probably all his way of making her feel used. Well, trying to. Hard to feel used after such pleasure experienced.
Because that is what she needs. Not some normal relationship that she has to kerp balancing with her professional life, like having a boyfriend is the most important thing in the world. No sugar talk during dinner dates. Her job is-was-risky. This is just taking it a step further. Raw and dangerous. But that is what she is.
For some reason, he stops at the doorway and turns to look at her. That single moment makes her feel like she has just been ravished all over again. "See you around, Aiden", he whispers.
She grins. "See you around, DJ."
A/N: Buahahaha!