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Another Day on the Job. (AutumnDreaming/Rekoj)

"Don't throw your bloody clothes on the floor, that's just rude!" Roxie said with a laugh, bending to gather them up. Luckily, no stain was left behind on the floor. "He's a baby, this guy, Di. Are you certain he's a cop?" The dark-headed woman asked the other. "He said he was, I don't know. He's dressed like a punk, though. He had a gun, but he didn't seem smart enough to shoot it. Come on, lift him in on one. . . two. . . three!" The man lingering in the door frame, the girls worked together to lift him off the ground. Dianna was taller, though leaner, than Roxie so she cradled the man's head and supported his torso while Roxie grasped his legs. Together, they shuffled through the house down a long hallway and into an immaculate room with a massage table. "Got any customers?" Dianna asked her friend, struggling a little under his weight. "One guy dropped by." Roxie answered, helping the other swing him up on the table. "Hour massage. He tipped well." She grinned, stretching the man out.

"Let me take a look at it." Roxie said, turning on an overhead light above the massage table. "I'm a masseuse, but you gotta get your LPN- that's Licensed Practical Nurse- before you can get your license to do this. I've got some training, don't panic." She leaned over him, running her hands through his hair. "You like whiskey, Sugar? You're gonna need it while I clean and stitch up this mess." Roxie stepped back to a silver tray, picking up a bottle of a Jack specialty. Handing it to her roommate, she donned a pair of gloves and straightened out her mess of gauze and dressings for his wound. Dianna picked up his head, turning up the bottle and pouring some of the whiskey down his throat. "Easy." She said before handing the bottle back.

Roxie took it and gathered a deep breath. "Don't scream, Sugar." She warned before tipping the whiskey bottle over the wound and cleaning it with the pure grain alcohol.
 
When he hit the table, and he heard them speaking about whether he was a cop or not, he found that touch of male pride that kept him going. Shuffling, he reached into his back pocket and dropped out his wallet. In it, was the badge, nice and shiny. He looked at the bottle and felt it come up to his lips, so he could gulp it down his throat. The wonderful hint of an inebriation started to haze his mind, when the bottle was poured into his open wound. He hissed and his entire body cringed as his hands curled into fists. The back of his head pressed against the table as well as his feet, pressing his entire body up, before he dropped and inhaled and exhaled sharply. He hissed out another breath and let out a quiet groan, before reaching for the whiskey, eagerly waving his fingers, "I need it."

Another swig, he began to speak, to defend himself against their teasing comments, "First undercover assignment as a cop, you got yourself a rookie- but at least I'm clean. I could've bolted when the gunfire started to ring out. Or when you were laying there..." he started, mentioning towards the lady in the catsuit. With the wallet now exposed, his real name was there. He was trusting these two, whoever they were, so now he wanted some knowledge. "I'm really tired of not knowing your names, you now know I'm an undercover cop, who's in immense pain. My name is Patrick Adair, now tell me yours- before pouring more of that alcohol into me."
 
He was eager to defend himself, reaching into his pocket to produce his badge. Dianna took it, mulling over the name. "A Detective Patrick Adair. What do you think, Rox, is this a fake?" The red-headed criminal held the silvery plate out to her friend, intentionally questioning his credentials. "I don't know, Di. Maybe." Dianna unzipped her leather suit partially, dropping his wallet down into the depths of her bosom before tugging the zipper back up to her neck. When he reached for the bottle of whiskey again, neither woman complained. It was best he drowned out his pain and made himself sleep better, too.

He began his prattle about himself, though neither one was listening. Roxie was leaning over his wound, trying to discern the severity of it. "You're lucky the bleeding has stopped or else I'd have to cauterize it. You know how we do that around here? Cigarette lighter from a car." She stretched her neck up, blowing him a kiss. "I can't see. Come here, Di." The leather-clad woman walked to the opposite end of the table, peering over at the hole in his body. "Hush, Sugar." Roxie said, glancing at Dianna for help. "You already know my name, hotshot." Dianna said, shooting glares of daggers at him. "Remember, you wanted me."

The girls laughed in unison, though it was an uneasy melody from the masseuse. "Don't freak out, Sugar, but I need to get these pants off so I can see better. Jeans are heavy." Without further adieu, she began to take his shoes off. Following suit, Dianna reached up and unbuckled his belt. His button was unfastened while both women tugged on his jeans to pull them down his body. "You can keep your underwear." Roxie laughed, pulling the denim over his feet. Going back to his side, she carefully pushed a cotton swab to his side, dabbing ointment on the wound. Pulling it together, she pushed butterfly stitches over it to hold it closed while grabbing the dressing with her other hand and laying it atop the hole. "Almost done."
 
Patrick had given into the evening, he could worry about his life tomorrow, he could worry about his wound tomorrow, he could put it all off for one day. He took another swig from the bottle, and casually began to sit up a little. He propped himself up on his elbows to inspect every move they made, barely shrugging as they helped him out of his denim. He even shuffled his feet to assist them in removing him of his pants. He took another swig of whiskey, and asked, "You ever see anyone else- besides a cop or a criminal drink like this? I'm a fucking cop, end of story, I was two seconds away from taking you down Diana."

He then stopped and somewhat frowned as he held the bottle of whiskey in his hands, and stared at it. To be truthful, he wasn't a big drinker, but to be undercover, you had to be able to fake it. He drank, tipping the whiskey, and swallowing the harsh liquid down. He then offered the bottle up to the ladies, forgetting about the wound and the stitching, barely checking on it. His skin was pale, except for where the alcohol was making it flush, it was an interesting combination. But he was oblivious to it, and many other things as he shook the bottle in front of them, "Rox? Diana? I hate drinking alone. Diana, you almost got shot, Rox, you got a cop dropped on your massage table with a bullet wound. It seems to me, you could both use a drink.."
 
Both of the girls looked at each other in unison, exchanging the same expression. They thought him whiny and annoying, wounded or not. Dianna rolled her eyes heavily, snatching the bottle away from him and placing it back on the tray. "We don't drink to get drunk or drown our sorrows, Officer. Lie back down before you make the blood pump more, Jesus, you are a rookie!" The woman laughed, using her hand to push him down until he was in splayed out again. "And, it's not Die-Anna. If you think you know me so well, say my name correctly."

Roxie and Dianna had been friends since childhood, but they had separated on different paths. Roxie had moved outside the city, keeping a residence in the country she used for a massage parlor, too. Dianna could always count on her, though she had done her jobs alone. When she had chosen to execute the one prior to the music box, Roxie had let her come stay with her. It was Dianna's intention to flee again, but she knew she had a place to go should she need it. And, it seemed, she had needed it.

"I'll be back, Rox." The red-head said as she began to unzip her leather suit. She let it fall down her shoulders, pulling her arms out of it as she disappeared through the door. Roxie nodded, pulling up a stool and sitting beside the cop. "So your station is corrupt and you're stuck with us. You really need to take it easy, Sugar. We don't do anything to you, but if you try to cross her it's curtains for you."
 
"No.. no crossing," Patrick shook his head, his voice had been full of hope and alcohol in his previous sentences, but it was evident he was serious about this. Even in his current state, weakened by pain and blood loss, and inebriated from the harsh shots of whiskey- this came out clear. "I will not cross you, or Dianna." He sat up from his laying position to be able to look the tattooed woman. His index finger pointed right between her eyes, as he was doing all he could to make this clear to her. He summed up all of the energy and strength he had, to remain sitting up, so his inebriated bright green eyes could find hers. He remained sitting up, his face close to hers his eyes looking deep to find Roxie's. He remained sitting up, before his strength was wasted up, and he collapsed back onto the bed- in a deep, deep sleep. Something he desperately needed, as not only had the events of the day drained him of his energy- hunting for Dianna had left him without a complete sleep in weeks. He snored lightly, and twisted over upon his side, unable to find any more energy to keep himself going.
 
Roxie's brow was arched toward him, perked in trying to decipher what he was attempting to say. He was speaking of not double-crossing them, but at the moment both the girls seemed to have the upper hand. They knew someone they could get involved into the situation if necessary who would certainly take care of the young cop if needed. Roxie did not feel threatened, but from the state of the markings on her body, very little frightened her. As the man fell back, succumbing to a deep slumber, Roxie sighed in relief. She stood up, patting him on the forehead before exiting the room.

Dianna was in the kitchen in a gray jersey-knit dress that was comfortable and sheer. Her phone was to her ear, the other hand reaching to pull out the pins in her red hair. "Yes, blood. I left the keys in it if you want to- oh, thank you. Goodnight." Hanging up the phone, she shook her head at Roxie. "I should never have stayed." The other woman said nothing, but smiled weakly as she left the kitchen.
 
It was a deep sleep for Patrick Adair, yet he awoke early. The first movements were the most difficult, as he struggled and fought to bring himself up to a sitting position. However, he got to the point where he was resting upon his elbows, and could further inspect his wound. He quickly found it was bandaged, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He could forget about it for now, as he decided to test how it was. With a groan, he rolled off of the massage table and onto his feet, standing up with wince. He began to test his range of motion and found he could bend, lean, and move in every way- except one. He felt a sudden spike a of pain when he went to twist his torso to the right, making him look around for a Tylenol.

Unable to find a Tylenol, he started to quietly step around the house, confused at his inability to find his shirt-or pants, anywhere in the room. It was either still really late, or really early, as the sun was still hidden entirely from the sky. The only sign that morning was coming was the first hint of colour over the horizon. In the kitchen, Adair had found himself a glass of water and leaning against the kitchen counter. He remained in the kitchen, looking around for a coffee machine, trying to forget about the bottle of whiskey in the other room.
 
The situation they were both in didn't seem to bother Roxie. Then again, few trials in life had ever been worth losing sleep. This, of course, was not one of them. Yes, Dianna had been reckless in her nearly flawless plan as Elise, compromising both of them. But, Roxie had just saved a man's life, and as much as she could be pinned as an accomplice, she had nothing to do with any of her friend's plans. Dianna's greed had been activated by the looks of a simple music box, foiling all her plans. She should have left after her last job, moving on to somewhere else, but she didn't. That had begun her unraveling, leaving her easy to catch. Thus, it was completely her fault a man had nearly bled to death on her massage table. Still, it wasn't troubling. After she had left the kitchen, Roxie had gone into her bedroom and closed the door. Only a few minutes later, she was sound asleep.

Dianna, however, knew the burden of the blame fell on her shoulders. All night, she had walked the floors, peeking in one him a few times to make sure he was still breathing. Hovering over him, she had briefly entertained the idea of smothering him. After all, if the system was corrupt then who would miss him? Still, she wasn't a killer. A ruthless thief, perhaps, but certainly not capable of ending someone's life. She needed to leave, to go as far away as possible. Roxie would understand, though she may be angry with having to solely care for him.

She couldn't sleep, even if she tried. Instead, she had gone back to the kitchen and pulled herself up onto the counter at the very end of the row. She was hidden by the shadows, undetected when he came in to scrounge around for a drink. After remaining silent for a while, she sat up. "Looking for something?"
 
His eyes remained oblivious to the form in the shadows, as he was focusing on getting a full glass of tap water. It wasn't long before he was refilling it, finding himself in desperate need of hydration. He brought the cold glass up to his lips and simply chugged down another glass of water. He was in the process of filling it up for the third time when he caught the shadow move out of the corner of his eye. He didn't panic though, as a soft voice was quickly accompanied by it. Patrick couldn't make out who's face it was in the shadows, but it was obviously Dianna. Her short, but feminine form, and her hair gave it away.

He was surprised to find Dianna up and waiting for him, but he didn't show it. He met her voice with cool indifference, and finished pouring his glass of water from the tap. He twisted his form to lean back against the counter, taking a small sip from his glass of water. It took him a few moments to respond, in a hoarse voice he barely recognized, "A coffee machine... my wallet... and my pants." He looked around the kitchen once more, to try and identify any of those things one last time. He added to his first comment, with what might have been the slightest hint of a smile, "In that order."

It was an interesting situation, as now was the first calm moment he had ever spent with Dianna, the thief. She was supposed to be his target, the very person he had worked for months on to find. She had never been anything more to him than his target, the criminal he had to apprehend. Here they were, not even a day after he'd aimed his gun at her, and tried to arrest her... and he couldn't think of her as anything more than just another human. Not a target, not a victim, not a criminal, but just another person trying to survive in the rat race of life. It doesn't take much to change your perspective on life, and surviving a gunshot is definitely more than enough. In the shadows of Roxie's kitchen he stepped closer to her, and questioned, trying to find her eyes in the shadows, "Couldn't sleep?"
 
One might question why Dianna was situated atop the kitchen counter instead of in a more comfortable seat. After all, even if she couldn't sleep she could still have sat down on the sofa or lay in bed. No, the house was too quiet in the other rooms. At least here in the kitchen she could listen to the gentle whir of the refrigerator or even the falling of ice as it formed in the ice maker. The solidity of the counter was harsh on her behind, but she hardly noticed it as she had remained there- contemplating every possibility of her situation. She had no new jobs lined up, no place to go. Besides, now she had been recognized. She doubted her life as a thief could continue. Sparing his life or not, it was still his duty to make sure she was placed behind bars.

She watched him consume glass after glass of water, the alcohol obviously dehydrating him. "You should drink juice. Electrolytes are good, especially in aiding to build up your strength. Also, you need to take it easy and not move around so much. It was a flesh wound, but you're still entitled to a little convalescence." When he answered her question, she offered him nothing more than a shrug. "The coffee pot has been in front of you the whole time, but you missed it." She leaned to the side, revealing the black machine pushed into the corner behind her back. She made no motion to get down, though, insisting he drink juice over coffee. "There's some acetaminophen, extra strength, in the cabinet above the stove. It's not prescription level or strong enough to prevent the type of pain you must be having, but it'll help."

Unwinding from her tangle, she picked up a leg to cross it over the other. "Your wallet?" Head canted until she remembered where she had stowed it. Hand slapped to her bosom, feeling it resting in the safety of her bra. Reaching in, she pulled it out to show to him before returning it back into the folds of her fabric. "I'm afraid you can't have it back just yet, Detective. Don't worry, I'm not a petty thief. I have no intentions of spoiling your credentials or stealing your money. I haven't even looked at it, really, but it may come in handy for me. Besides, you can't frisk me if you're off duty and within the walls of this residence. That would be a violation."

Dragging in a long inhale, she gave him another shrug. "Your pants and shirt are outside in the garbage. The stains wouldn't come out so I'm afraid you're stuck in your skeevies for a while. Don't worry, I asked a friend- who is about your size- to bring you some of his sweats and more comfortable clothing until your wound has healed enough to be able to tolerate normal jeans again. It's not a torture method, Roxie and I won't look. . . much." She grinned, running a hand through her red hair. "Nah, couldn't sleep."
 
Patrick couldn't help but shake his head as she pointed out the coffee machine, however, she seemed to be preaching about juice. He finished his water and wondered if she had a point, would juice be better for him than his usual coffee? Patrick stared at the coffee maker, almost zoning out Dianna as he pondered what to drink. More than the alcohol had dehydrated him, his body had lost a lot of liquid, and he needed to replenish it. Patrick quickly came back to life when he heard her mention the extra strength acetaminophen, quickly stepping across the kitchen and reaching up above the stove, wincing as he stretched to reach the bottle. Feeling the cool, small plastic pill bottle he made his way towards the fridge. Juice won the battle, as Patrick didn't have the patience to wait for coffee to warm up to drink. He reached into the fridge as Dianna found his wallet. He was eyeing her now, the entire time, only taking quick glances at the juice and the glass to make sure he didn't spill it everywhere.

Popping open the lid of the painkillers, he dropped three or four of the white pills into his palm. He quickly popped them all into his mouth, and took a few desperate sips of the juice to wash them down. He placed down the glass on the counter and looked back up to Dianna. He stepped closer to her again, close enough where he could make out her eyes in the darkness. His bright green hues seemed to shine through the darkness, as he watched her hand return his wallet back to her bosom. It should've felt awkward, him, clad in nothing but his boxers, standing only a mere few feet from the thief he'd had his heart set on catching. But it wasn't, there was a surprising calmness to the moment, as Patrick could hear nothing but the sound of the refrigerator and the beating of his heart.

That was when he took another step closer, his hand gently going up her arm to her shoulder. The closer he got, the more he could tell she'd had a long night. He quickly wondered, if she looked like that, what did he look like? Pushing that thought from his mind, he smirked and responded, "You really think I wouldn't frisk you? Like you said, I'm off duty, I'm not a cop right now.. and I don't know the next time I'll be. What are you going to do if I frisked you right now? Phone the cops? You know I really do want that wallet..."

He leaned his face in closer to hers, his hand moving up from her shoulder softly up her neck to her cheek. His eyes closed as he found a comfort in feeling her soft skin, and comfort was something he desperately needed right now. He took one more step closer, feeling his leg come up against hers. He couldn't step any closer, so he simply leaned, his free hand now finding her side. It ran up and down her form, before daring to go towards her chest- keeping true to his word about frisking her. He softly questioned, "Mmm... why couldn't you sleep?" before opening his eyes, surprised to find how close they had gotten to hers.
 
Dianna supposed she should have been polite enough to reach the bottle of pills for him, but the thought had never really crossed her mind. He seemed to take too many of them, though she didn't think much harm would be done in it. Then again, she wasn't the nurse of the house. She was pleased, though, when he opened the refrigerator to pour himself a glass of juice as she had suggested. While he popped down the pills like candy, she tilted her head back to rest on the wooden surface of the cabinet above and behind her. She was painfully tired, both physically and mentally. If only she had been earlier or more careful that box would be in her possession, and she would be on a plane to Europe to have it deposited in a safety box until she could reclaim it at a safer date. Instead, though, she had been overconfident, which had created her downfall.

He began to advance toward her, lifting his arm to lay his hand on hers. Brow furrowed at him, wondering what he was doing. "No, I think you think you're going to try it, but you're not going to succeed." There was a threat in her voice, a sternness that she didn't usually carry. "I don't deal well with cops, Rookie. So, no, I'm not going to call them. Try to retrieve it and see what happens." As much as she has tried to be helpful toward him, she still somewhat resented him for his behavior toward her- for messing up her plans. He continued to stalk her like his prey, leaning his face in so closely she could feel his breath blowing across her features. His hand advanced to her neck, but she did nothing to stop him.

As his leg pressed to hers, Dianna had the feeling he was trying to trap her. The other hand positioned itself on her side sliding up toward the swell of her bosom. As his eyes opened, she thought his hand had gone too far. With almost cat-like reflexes, her hand snapped up to capture his. She bent it backward in an uncomfortable- yet not quite painful- position. "Because I was too busy thinking about how to stop you from frisking me." She muttered, bending his arm a little more.
 
He had begun to feel himself getting lost in that moment, until he dared to move his hand towards her chest a little more. This is why he hadn't rudely gone straight for her chest, he had been waiting for this. He had to give Dianna credit for one thing, she never gave up her fight. He smirked as he felt his arm get twisted, and let his body move with her twisting. He let out a chuckle, even after she bent his arm up a little more. She dodged his question and gave him the expected sarcastic response. He let her believe she had control, it seemed like something she wanted so badly. Detective Adair had seemed like a pushover the previous night- but there was fight left in his system. There was pride, and there was definitely a lot of hidden strength within his lean form. He was figuring out the woman who had a hold of his arm more and more by the second, she needed control- but he was about to shake her foundations.

His combat training came into effect as he rotated his hand, pulling his arm away from her grasp. In the same motion, he grasped her wrist and used the weight of his body falling to pull her off of the counter. He didn't do much to soften the impact of her back against the cool floor, and quickly took a position of control, staying upon his feet, but staying low, ready for anything she was going to try. The tables had turned, he was tired of being taunted by Dianna. He responded, the smirk staying upon his lips, "And that's the best you could come up with? Stay up all night, trying to think of something to stop me, and you come up with that?"
 
Dianna was a very limber woman, her body easily moved in positions that most could not even imagine trying to achieve. When he shifted himself around, she did nothing to stop him. Dianna wasn't easily rattled by nature; a woman in her career field simply could not afford it. He pulled her with ease off the counter, the woman falling to the floor with a thud. She stayed motionless, feigning being dazed. The hem of her dress rose to her thighs, bunching up but not revealing her undergarments. She stared back up at him, making no offer to counter the attack. When he smirked at her, she laughed at the comment.

"No, I was thinking of ways to be gentle so I wouldn't hurt the poor Rookie. You know, wound your pride by kicking your ass." She grinned mischievously, lifting the hand in his grasp to clasp his wrist in return. Using the strength of his body, she easily swung herself around like executing a graceful dance move so that she was behind him. Snatching her hand free, she lifted both legs and planted her feet forcefully against the bends of his knees, pushing in hopes that his legs were swept out from under him and he fell.
 
Patrick Adair was surprised when he watched her practically slither her way out of his grasp. Before he could blink, she was behind him, and taking him out from behind. He felt her feet kick against the back of his knees, and went to grasp for the counter to keep himself standing. However, he forgot his limits and tried to twist his entire body to grab a hold of the counter. The only problem was, he tried to twist to the right, quick elicited a very quick gasp of pain as he had no choice but to let himself fall. He fell backwards, his feet giving way as he swung his hands in a desperate attempt to stop himself. And they didn't stop swinging until his backside met a cold floor.

He didn't realize how the weight of his legs had pinned hers in a very awkward position, but he couldn't press his advantage as he could only think of one thing. And that was holding the throbbing wound upon his side, his eyes closing as he hissed in a breath. The muscles were still crying with pain as he used his free hand to brace himself upon the nearby counter. He hissed one more breath, and let out a full exhale- before the smirk returned. As he noticed what position he had gotten Dianna into, his legs were keeping hers completely pinned, and spread, in a very undignified position. He let out a chuckle, as he knew just how much this was annoying her. He taunted her and asked, "Having fun yet?"
 
Dianna's plan had succeeded in causing him to fall, though she felt a brief pang of guilt for hurting him as she heard him gasp out in pain. Brief being the key word. Of course, he shouldn't be wrestling with her or anyone as he needed to rest, but she simply refused to back down and let him win the confrontation without a fight. Her stubborn pride was far too bold and persistent to allow it. She started to laugh when he landed on the cold floor beside her, but she was cut off when her plan backfired. Instead of landing behind her, his legs snared her feet and caused her to roll up on her back, her legs spread far and wide as they were pinned- knees touching the floor and bare thighs rubbing against his- under him. Dress fell around her head, revealing the black lace she had under it. She laughed and growled simultaneously, not sure if she was more angry or forgiving of the situation. "Loads and you?" She asked, twisting her body so that she was turned face down on the floor. "Get off of me so I can get up."
 
It was true, Patrick's body needed rest, he shouldn't have been wrestling with anybody. But more than his body needed rest, his pride needed to enjoy the situation. He didn't move, instead leaning back a little bit, getting a little more comfortable. He smiled as he got comfortable, keeping her legs pinned, making sure to keep his legs flexed, ready for any squirming she was going to try. He was trying to find her eyes to look into, however it was very tough when her dress had fallen down. He was doing his best to keep his eyes looking for hers, but they wanted to wander and view the black lace that had been revealed by the dress dropping over her form. He also couldn't help but feel a touch of enjoyment at the feeling of her thighs grinding against his. What he didn't realize, was what effect the enjoyment was starting to have upon his body.

As she squirmed and got her face down to the floor, he saw his opportunity. Throughout the squirming, his wallet had been at least somewhat dislodged from her cleavage. Noticing the tip of black leather sticking out, he took advantage of having her pinned. His hand went towards her chest, and his fingers deftly grabbed a hold of the wallet. He very slowly began to pull out from between her breasts, sliding it very slowly, his eyes now doing nothing but staring into hers. There was no more wandering, as he stared right into her eyes, until the wallet was free from her bosom. And as soon as it was, he dropped it to the floor, showing the unimportance of the item in the moment. He lifted his legs and let her legs free, but quickly he was crawling on top of her, his hands pulling at her dress, figuring it wasn't fair she had it on in the first place.
 
"You really need to stop trying to show off your masculinity and rest. If you pull open those sutures Roxie put in you'll probably bleed to death before I can even call her down here. Not that I would do much to stop it." She snapped at him, kicking and squirming in attempts to free her legs from beneath his. Of course, she had spoken a lie. If he really needed her help, the redhead certainly would do anything she could to assist him- medically, of course. Face down, she propped herself up on her elbows and began to try to crawl out from under him, but the mass of his body was proving to be too much. No matter what she did, she was trapped. "You're an asshole rookie cop, you know that?" She asked, twisting her body around so her hand could reach out to slap across his head. "You think you've got something to prove, right? I've helped you! I brought you here instead of letting you die and this is how you repay me? You selfish son of a bitch, get the hell off of me!" She was nearly screaming, though she dropped her voice to keep from waking Roxie.

When his hand grabbed his badge from beneath her dress, Dianna placed both of her hands on top of his arm to hold him steady for the briefest moment while she bit down on his wrist. "Get off of me!" She demanded again, pushing his arm away from her. Finally, he lifted his legs, Dianna moving to crawl away as she felt him creep up behind her. As he tugged on the her garment, she rolled over into a sitting position. Hand lifted, slapping as roughly as she could across his face. Staring at him, she growled for a moment. "What are you doing?"
 
He ignored her cries to get free, ignored her squirming, but he couldn't ignore that slap to the face. His head swung with the impact, and a bright red hand mark quickly forming against the cheek. He slowly turned his head back towards hers, revealing the smile upon his lips. His voice was amazingly calm as he responded, "Making things fair, it isn't fair that I'm wrestling here in my boxers while you've still got the dress on."

He could feel the adrenaline pumping through his system to numb the pain in his cheek. The adrenaline gave him confidence and strength, and it kept that smirk right upon his lips. He was going to go on about how her still having the bra upon her chest was unfair as well. But, he decided it wasn't a time for words, it was a time for instinct. He returned the growl that Dianna gave to him, and he taunted her once more, "That the best you got?"
 
When she had rolled up into the sitting position, he had been fast enough to tug the garment free from her body. She sat there on the floor in nothing but thin strips of black lace that barely covered her petite frame. As his head snapped from the slap, Dianna growled lowly in her throat. The mark was evident, but she didn't care. He certainly had earned it. "We did that to keep from infecting your wound not because we wanted to see your pathetic package, Rookie." She was being cold, growing more and more angry by his taunting nature.

"Of course it's not." Reaching up, she grasped a handful of his hair and slammed his head back into the cabinet. Then, she reached for the counter to brace herself as she pulled herself up to her feet. "Aw, don't give up on me now, Detective. Even wounded, you shouldn't let a woman get away with beating your ass. Don't want to disappoint your corrupted co-workers do you?"
 
Patrick was shocked she would go so far, a slap was one thing, but she had just tried to knock him out. Luckily, he was tougher than he seemed the previous night, and now it was more than just a playful wrestling match. It was a battle of stubborn pride against stubborn pride, a now pissed-off detective against a high-class thief, a strong man against a lithe woman. And the limber woman had made the mistake of taunting him one too many times. She thought she could just do whatever she wanted to him, and he wouldn't fight back as hard because she was a woman? She must've been dreaming, as he used his leg to sweep out her feet from under her.

Before she even hit the ground Patrick was pushing himself up, and as soon as she impacted the ground he dropped his body on top of hers. His chest pinned up against her chest, he took her hands and pinned them above her head, putting his weight upon his hands to keep hers pinned where they were. He then realized how much control he had, if she tried to bridge her hips, there was no way she would manage to dislodge his form. There was nowhere to squirm, nowhere to hide. He slowly lowered one of his hands down from her hands, down the side of her face, down her neck. He stopped it at the base of her neck, his fingers and thumb pressing against her throat lightly. He lowered his face right up close to hers, and growled back, in a voice that showed for the first time the entire night he was truly angry, not just playing anymore, "I reeeeally fucking wish you could stop reminding me I'm a cop."
 
Dianna did not like to be bested, pure and simple. From the moment she had met him, this rookie cop had been nothing but a pest and a nuisance to her. He had disrupted her plans to steal an original artifact that was worth so much more than monetary value. From there, he had almost gotten her shot, and now he was practically preventing her from fleeing the country. She was positively livid at him, though she supposed he had saved her life by placing his between her and the bullet. Though, she knew, he certainly hadn't intended on doing it. She had repaid him by bringing him to safety. So, as far as Dianna could tell, she owed him nothing. Now, though, he was intent on knocking her down and belittling her with his pure strength. Her feminism was powerful, the woman wanting nothing more than to conquer his masculinity- even if he was wounded.

Dianna was barely stable on her feet before he swept his out to knock her down again. The breath was knocked out of her lungs upon impact, her head slamming into the floor. The dazed expression on her face was genuine this time, her hand lifting to sweep across the back of her head. He dropped down fluidly, using his weight to shift down and hold her to the floor. Hands captured hers, moving them to a disadvantaging point. She lay there, staring into his eyes as she felt his hand lower down her body to rest upon her throat. He growled a rumble back to her, trying to seem menacing. "And I really fucking wish you'd stop trying to throw your body on mine."

She did try to free herself from being restrained, her arms and legs flailing lightly. The struggle caused her body to press up against his, flesh to flesh. Chest was heaving, molding hers to his. His face was so close. . . In a moment of insanity, Dianna tilted her chin up until her lips attacked his with aggression.
 
Patrick wasn't expecting the kiss, but he wasn't exactly shocked by it. It was not a kiss of lust, of love, of romance, no, instead it was nothing but a continuation of their confrontation. Her lips were not kissing his looking to be loved, no, it was an aggressive kiss. He felt her lips attacking his and returned the kiss, making sure to put just as much anger into the kiss as she was. This kiss was just a continuation of their one-ups-man-ship, always trying to outdo each other. She wanted to kiss him, go after his lips? He'd return the favour, his teeth daring to sink a little into her lips. His eyes had closed, and he didn't realize what effect the kiss was having. His palms remained pressing down on her shoulders, and he lowered his entire body onto hers. He wasn't holding himself up and pinning her down now, he was simply laying on her, his hands remaining on her shoulders to keep a hold of her. He was aware of how slippery she was, and how quickly she could escape his grasp.
 
Dianna didn't know, or rightfully care about, what she was doing. For the moment, she wanted nothing more than for her soft lips to be molded to his. She didn't care if he saw it as nothing more than a continuation so long as he felt obliged to return the act. When his teeth sank down into the lusciousness of her bottom lip, she moaned an almost inaudible sound. Hands lifted from the floor, slipping out of his grasp, and fell to capture his cheeks. She held his face steady, her mouth opening as she dared to trace his lips with the nimbleness of her tongue. His body was shifting, no longer using control to keep her under him. She could easily slip away now, but she didn't. She was frustrated, and she wanted him to pay for causing it.

Breaking the embrace between her face and his, her hands lifted free from his jaws and slapped to his back. Fingers flexed, nails digging roughly into the skin as she slid her palms from his shoulders to his lower back. Hips arched into his, pressing black lace to the thin fabric of his boxers. Tilting her face, she found the curve of his shoulder and harshly bit into the skin.
 
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