High Crimes (BDSM, drug use) (Retrojapan x Traveler)

[Retrojapan]

Soundtrack: Edwyn Collins - A Girl Like You​

The fact that Sterling had technically abducted her was actually the highlight of Iona's twentieth birthday. She would minimize it until she died, but it was maybe the best role of her life. She was going to look back on the night and remember something different each time like rewatching her favourite movie. The memory imprinted in her mind forever. The gun tucked in his pants. The actual firearm, she corrected to stop from emphasizing his previous erection. All the while still thinking about it with emphasis. The sound of TV like white noise through the walls. Her black cocktail dress was Breakfast at Tiffany's, but she still needed his pearl necklace.

Sterling was a police officer and there would never be another story like this ever again. A tale of high crimes. People were going to be writing about this one on the internet. They probably already were. She was kind of a big deal. The mayor's young nubile daughter spending the night in a hotel with an older man was obviously scandalous, and deserved to be written about, for sure. It also marked the first time Iona hadn't checked social media in more than half an hour. It finally happened. Iona's life was more entertaining than the image of it.

The mayor's daughter then at a family friendly hotel with hot cop. A million times better than the coked out strip club the Scooby Gang saw her to. At the same time, without The Rocket Club intro, would she still be looking at Sterling like she had something to prove? Wasn't it serendipity? She knew he wasn't going to follow her script so easily. The cop was damaged goods. Also the typical protector type with some kind of chastity fetish, perhaps. Knowing her track record, he was probably gay.

The cop leaned against the wall for the lover's quarrel, and Iona was just relieved the scene reflected more on cocaine and not her as a person. She was still the angel and also the starlet in this blockbuster, and that only meant one thing... or it should have. Cue the booing audience who expected more stains on the bedsheets after this. Sterling was crossing his arms with a look of disappointment that she totally deserved, but it was her fucking birthday! What the hell! She had been around the sun twenty times and that meant she didn't need older men with their shit together telling her what to do. She needed some excitement and inspiration for her next script. It was going to be a modern and less controversial Lolita.

"Wash up?" Iona snapped, her nose in the air. "As if I'm dirty?!" She was already walking to the bathroom, though. The platform wedges the redhead stepped out of dropped her three inches, and she grumbled nothing but sass on her way. "I'll wash up alright, but only because you brought me to this disgusting place. Pfft. There is no way I am sleeping here tonight. Not in that bed. Ew. You can't make me. I don't know who you think you are."

If anyone asked, Iona was Veronica, even though the truth was that she was Betty to the core. When someone told her what to do, she was compelled. Daddy was the mayor and her mother could never say no either. Go wash up was fucking foreplay to her. She realized it in the bathroom when she finally looked in the mirror and saw bedroom eyed Marilyn Monroe in the reflection. Sultry. No wonder Sterling needed a breather from her. She gave him some time and got ready to bunker down for the night. Not sleeping. She washed off the sex kitten, but kept in character as she returned to the bedroom.

 

[Traveler]

Sterling went over the events of the night, categorizing them for the eventual report he was sure he would be writing behind bars. After tonight’s impromptu interruption by the mayor’s daughter’s friends, he felt like he had just been cockblocked by Beavis, and his cock hadn’t even been a contestant in tonight’s adventures. He started out babysitting three men on a kitty hunt and wound up with the pussy de jour in a hotel room. How the fuck had it gotten to this point?

He watched Ione’s reaction to her friends leaving and realized that he was packing hollow points in his sidearm, but every barrel he had on him was locked and loaded to do major damage. He didn’t have any full metal jackets, or jackets of any kind – even if he had been drinking, the thought of fucking the mayor’s drugged out daughter bareback was a minor mark of insanity. And he was not that crazy.

Yet.

As if she was dirty? No, Babydoll. You’re only dirty on the outside. Mr. Policeman here is dirty on the inside and wants to rip your world apart but can’t. Won’t. Not tonight, not while your daddy’s still issuing the police department’s paychecks. Not on the second ‘date’, the first ending in the kind of handcuffs that led to no one’s orgasm (unless you counted K-Hole and Karen), and definitely did not end in the ‘Call Me’ vibe that a girl like Ione deserved.

He watched her march over to the sink and wash her face off, though she had very little of it compared to most of the dick-magnets strutting around the Rocket Club that night. What a strange little girl; privileged thief stilling cheap Chinese dildos, hanging with the cheap drugs group, dressing in outfits that were expensive enough that he wouldn’t consider buying them for a girlfriend, and now shooting down the Marriott as if four out of five stars was not enough to satisfy. What exactly did it take to properly satisfy this woman?

If she was Betty in a Veronica bod, he was Reggie masquerading as Archie. Better yet, as Jughead, whose voracious appetite for food was really a metaphor for his sex drive. This was Fifty Shades of Grey gone wrong; a power play where the most powerful character wasn’t even in the room. Daddy Mayor held the cards and he wasn’t even at the table.

The woman of the night strutted back, slightly more sober and definitely more fuckable. God, he wanted to just take advantage of the situation, badge be damned. But duty called like the interfering referee it was, and he had to be the adult in the situation.

He met her near the foot of the bed, taking note of the look in her eyes and the hardness peeking through her fabric where he was certain perfect size Cs waited for their playdate. He knew that hands were a weak spot where he was concerned, and if she brushed her slim fingers across the rocket in his jeans it might as well be over. So Sterling wound his fingers around her wrists to keep them at bay and stepped in to look down into those electric blues of hers.

“You need to sleep this off, Baby, and we’ll talk in the morning.” He steered her towards the far bed, her long legs begging to have a knee part them and ply her open like a toy surprise, exploring every juicy tidbit inside. “You’re drunk. You’re high. And I’m the cop who busted you last time. Don’t make me cuff you to the bed to make you comply.” Her lips were aching for a kiss. Her body was ripe for his, and everything about this night was off just enough to make it into an alternate reality where right was wrong and wrong was right. But if he gave in this just wasn’t going to go on the internet; it was going on good old-fashioned American print news: Cop kidnaps mayor’s daughter after pining for her for eight months and rapes her in a downtown hotel. Full story at eleven.

No…that wasn’t how his career was going down. Not tonight.

 

[Retrojapan]

Soundtrack: The Cult - Fire Woman​

Sterling knew exactly how the fuck it had gotten to this point and was only asking out of rhetoric to save face. Nice one. Caught the cop feigning innocence in a seemingly well thought out plan to kidnap and rape the mayor's daughter on her twentieth birthday. Raise your hand if you knew he had it in him. Iona wouldn't be surprised with anymore of these nasty parlor tricks. Stay tuned for the corrected American print news update: Cop kidnaps mayor’s daughter and rapes her in a downtown hotel after spending eight months in a self-imposed chastity belt. Sensational. It was all orchestrated to give way to this transgression of Sterling's very well put together, brooding, pissed off without a reason James Dean character, actually. In other words, dubious consent.

The aspiring Sofia Copolla realized this was the first pitch that might actually raise a few heads. Maybe even a pilot episode. Still not enough for the only head that wouldn't budge in Sterling's pants, though. That one was reluctant to answer any calls to order. What role was good enough? Everyone waited with bated breath knowing Sterling's blue balls deserved a twenty year old minx with enough sense to know this was a devious idea, but still eyed him anyways. A look which recognized the older man to her no-jailbait-this-time lolita. Surely Sterling understood that he embodied just the sort of conflict, reluctance and sexual frustration she was hoping to see in this role. The fact that he was still going to put up a fight just showed her that she made the right choice. He was so in character it was insane. Iona was supposed to be the masochist. The more drawn out the better, though. Good thinking, hot cop. Never give in and make the audience beg. The tension was that fucking good. There he was in the face of his number one search on Pornhub, and he was still playing the hero. What was he saving them from? What was he trying to prove? Weren't they both tired of the 'casual young redhead rough older man' search?

If the plot was modern Lolita seduces older man in a position of authority - then she only had a twelve month window to get in character. Let's get this shit rolling. Big production. Time was ticking and she was still just a slut with no actual idea how to actually get what she wanted. Twenty year old's don't know shit about seduction. Most people don't actually. Never too late to learn, though. All she knew was that she was young, had perfect tits and could memorize entire movies, but not the periodic table. The kind of attraction that had her swatting guys away like mosquitoes. No one ever seduced her. She thought courtship was a tennis move. Romance died in the nineties. Sterling was trying to be immune to her story lines and curiousity, but he still brought a drunk girl back to a hotel in the name of protection. Laugh out loud. No wonder he was so pissed off all the time.

Eight months ago Sterling answered her casting call in Plato's Closet. She had stolen three inch g-spot massage wands made of rose quartz and some lube in hopes of a tall, tortured soul type with a secret BDSM kink no one was allowed in on. Of course the bastard rode up on a motorbike like prince charming on a horse. Traditional yet modern. No one appreciated or saw it except for Iona. She knew the cop was a diamond in the rough. How lonely for that closet dom Sterling. Good thing Iona was just the brat he needed to fuck up his life. She wasn't letting go of the script she had reserved for a man just like him. Cue another eighties song coming in from one of the rooms down the hall to really drive home the mood.

If Sterling was really like Jughead then why wasn't he going for the buns in front of him? This was the part of their story that could be as easy as Jughead giving in to his favourite thing in the whole world. Instead the only one with daddy issues seemed to be Sterling, who was thinking about Iona's mayor father like the next obstacle in the never ending cockblock series that was her life. Batter up. Mayor daddy at third base. She could tell by the way he was looking at her tits pressing against the skimpy black cocktail dress that he was, indeed, probably thinking about her father. It happened more than she wanted to admit. Still, her long legs were begging to have a knee part them and ply her open like she was a Kindersurprise on Christmas. How many years was this on Santa’s wish list? The only older man who was going to make this one come true was Sterling himself, and all he could seem to do was ruin it. He was ruining all the fantasies one by one. Santa wasn't real. Neither was the tooth fairy!? You bastard. Easter bunny a no go? What about the one where Sterling gets what he wants for the first time in his life? That one bullshit too?

The man said it himself. Iona was drunk. She was high. Sterling was the cop that busted her last time. He was acting as though he truly felt she would be receptive to any of this. No surprise he was going to have to cuff her to the bed to make her comply. His hands were wound around her wrists to control the situation, but it only made her more excited. "You think I'm stupid? I know what you're after! Pervert.... I knew it. And you know, I'll be up all night, buddy! I'm not giving in to you. Just cause you're a cop you think you can weasel me into bed and talk about it tomorrow. You dirty old man."

She threw her chin up and nose in the air indignantly even though she totally wanted a weasel in her bed. Instead she let Sterling guide her around the room. It was like he had given up smoking and replaced it with just putting the last pack of cigarettes in different spots around his house until he went crazy and finally took one. She let him hold her wrists and tempt himself. That sick fucking cop. "Don't think I don't know what 'sleep this off we'll talk in the morning' means! It means make up sex! You aren't getting my forgiveness that easy. Now after what I went through. I'll stay up all night to protect my dignity!"

 

[Traveler]

She only struggled with her mouth; her hands compliant in his grip. Her accusations were really her fantasy spoken out loud in hopes of a self-fulfilling prophecy. He’d like to help her out, really he would, but in this case prudence was really the best solution to both their hard decisions. He, to keep them, she, to make them. A girl like that wasn’t going to willingly enter rehab unless it got them an extra fifty thousand likes on their Instagram page, and Ione didn’t look like she needed any more licks at the moment. Likes. Like she needed anymore likes.

Ah, there it was. Dirty old man. She was pining for Daddy’s attention, and Officer Sterling was the closest thing to a Daddy-figure she had found. He certainly wasn’t her Scooby gang, and he wasn’t her sex for drugs hook-up, so what was he? The embodiment of everything she was mad at, but didn’t know why? He had walked her between the beds and was eying the non-existent headboard for an anchor. Nothing. No rails, no iron bedpost…Shit, he should have just taken her home.

But the image of her chained to his bed wasn’t going to make it any easier on him. He nudged the bottom of the blankets aside and saw the bed was boarded to the floor, probably to keep people from losing their shoes underneath. Or their condoms. Same thing, really, when you considered the uncomfortable chance that a family vacation might turn into a discussion about the birds and the bees over a discovered prophylactic.

Make up sex? Who said they were fighting? “What exactly did you go through, Ione? A couple of months without your phone? Or were you pining for John Boy out there, the one who left you with me?” He shook his head. This wasn’t going to work out the way he had thought. She was stoned. He was hard as a rock. Not a great combination for protecting her dignity.

“Sit,” he said, pushing her against the bed. Nice height, really. Her face at hip level brought a lot of images to mind. “Will you stay put if I let you go?” he asked, not really expecting her ‘yes’ to be a ‘yes’ but hoping that her compliancy might hold a bit longer. Just enough for him to get his cuffs, cool his jets, and walk it off from there to the dresser and back. This night was definitely turning into a damned if you do, damned if you don’t episode of the 'casual young redhead rough older man' search engine.

A little pull would be all it took. A zip and his hand on the back of her head, letting her mouthy lips struggle against him as he face-fucked her until she stopped talking, but no.

No. That wasn’t how it was going to pan out tonight.

She could stay up all night if she wanted to. He needed sleep and it wasn’t going to happen if she had free rein in the room. He let her go and walked over to the dresser to pick up his cuffs, an idea beginning to form in that dirty mind of his. The bed might not have built-in restraints, but that wall lamp next to it did and she could sleep with a hand cuffed above her head. Plenty of women did. He could push the bed over a notch, clip her to the light, and catch a couple of Z’s while she mouthed off about dignity and make-up sex for a fight they weren’t having.

Maybe tonight wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

 

[Retrojapan]

Iona's sobering reality in a hotel room with hot cop absolutely did not match up with what she was actually envisioning for this scene, but so what? No one needed to know the true feel she was going for until her script was actually in production. Only then they could know she was DSM disturbed and needed therapy. But until then, she was free to bounce ideas off the wall she was cuffed to. If the police officer knew what the young redhead was really imagining, well, let's just say the tortured dom likely would have taken her home that night after all. Sterling only knew what he knew though, and insisted on keeping up his eight month streak of no pussy blues.

In her mind, Sterling's blatant rejection of her was a lot darker and thought provoking than a man who just didn't want to lose his job or fuck up his life. It was the night before his best friend's wedding - wasn't his overdue casual hookup supposed to happen tomorrow? With someone ten years her senior and not looking at him through pinpoint pupils? The poor man didn't even realize they were fighting. Of course they were. Men and women with unresolved sexual tension and literally nothing else in common are always in a perpetual state of fighting. They just needed to bang it out, and only Iona seemed to want that for their character development.

"Why am I pissed off at you, Sterling? What. Exactly. Did. I. Go. Through?!" Iona repeated his question with enough attitude and delay that he could probably tell she was coming up with an impromptu answer on the spot. Improvisational techniques should never be used in these situations, but she was going to try her luck. The woman was obviously lucky enough in the first place to be sitting there cuffed on a bed with Sterling staring at her like he was thinking about face fucking her right then and there. The panties she wasn't even wearing were wet.

"I got arrested for stealing a fucking massage wand, first of all." Iona was channeling bitch manager Karen from eight months prior, holding up the damned thing for the officer like the weird nudge that it was. Sterling probably spent every night for months thinking about the redhead putting the jasper, jade, carnelian and tiger's eye wands there at Plato's Closet in her snatch. Too bad she couldn't even tell him about it because she was in jail then off to college getting her stupid life together. This night didn't even do her 4.0 justice, actually. She had a midterm in a few days that she didn't study for. She probably preferred diamond dildos, though.

"I spent two months in a community prison like some kind of hardened criminal because of you! I didn't deserve it! I mean, what kind of person steals healing rose quartz for the heart chakra?! I am a good person! There are six kids from World Vision going to school every year in Africa because of me! You sent an innocent woman away and now look what has become of me! Hmph!" Iona turned her face to the side, closing her eyes. "You could have just taken the blowjob, but noooo. You even had to show up to court and tell everyone you caught the mayor's daughter shoplifting lube and a pipe shaped like a mushroom! Now I bet you regret it..."

 

[Traveler]

Damn, now he needed a shower. A cold one, with no touchy-touchy and no soap, and—who was he kidding. He needed a shower to get the edge off. Her little spout with the bitchy red mouth that wasn’t even lipstick was turning him on, and the more she complained the more he liked it. Thankfully she kept her hands to herself. Throw in a wrestling match and he’d be blowing his wad in her before the first cock crowed.

You know what I mean.

He should have told them about the proposition. Should have, would have, would it even had made a difference? If two months in the county jail did nothing to scare her sober, what would another five or six do? Nothing. She needed some serious counseling to get off her self-destruct kick, and there was perhaps one man for the job. But not this soon; it was still four months until the one-year mark, and any inappropriate acts between cop and perp this close to their fatal encounter was going to make 'detective' a sweet dream, never to be claimed by one Anthony J. Sterling. Never.

He let out a deep breath as she turned around, thankful that the front row seat of her hard little nipples had stopped their staring contest with him. Unlike Karen’s Alastor Moody tits, these had a nice, equal, tunnel-vision quality to them that he found painfully appealing.

He double-checked the bolt and lock, then turned up the TV to drown out any more complaining, before going to the bathroom and turning the faucet on. Hot, pulsating water was something he could always count on in these hotels. They knew how to keep their clients happy. He used the toilet lid to lay his gun and clothing on as he stripped down, not bothering to close the door because – hey, she was locked up. As he stepped into the water, he felt the tension already easing. Like a lover’s hand the water caressed his skin, slid over taut and anxious skin, and pulled out the worry that had built up like a dam in the pit of his abdomen. He groaned as he let the water pound against his head, down his neck, and across his back, to drip along the line of his hip and down his legs, rinsing off the sweat, the worry, and the frustration he had been carrying for the last three hours.

‘Breathe, breathe, breathe,’ he told himself. ‘Think of other things; the wedding tomorrow, don’t forget the ring, the keys, the’ – “Fuck.” He was supposed to pick up the flowers tomorrow at eight and get them to the church by nine. The bride’s mother was ill, and no one else lived close enough to get there and delivered in time. So it was left to the best man.

What was he going to do with Ione?

He leaned with one hand against the shower wall and turned off the water. Droplets dripped from his hair along the lines of his face. It was going to be a short night. He’d have to set his alarm for five to figure out what to do with the vixen and get home in time to change, to pick up the flowers…’Remind me to elope if I’m ever stupid enough to marry.’

Sterling toweled off, then wrapped the white terrycloth around his hips before picking up his clothing and walking back to the bed. He clicked the T.V. off and set his things down on the end of his bed (her bed, his bed), then flicked off the lights except the one by the mattress.

 

[Retrojapan]

Sterling really was regretting sending her off to jail. There goes the evidence down the shower drain. That was probably the best one in awhile for him, but he didn't even feel better after, did he? Busting her ass off to jail was the cop's big domino move which caused everything wrong in her life, apparently. Even the things that had nothing to do with him, like being forced to attend a Catholic school and start a relationship with the college President's gay son. It was all because Sterling sent her to jail. She wasn't about to take responsibility for her own shit just yet. Nuh-uh. That happens when you're about twenty six. Sterling's jacking off in the shower was totally understandable given the situation though. It's a difficult one to explain because there is so much to unpack between the towel clad stud coming around the corner and the half passed out slut cuffed to the wall. Let's recap.

Flashback to the beginning of the night. It was her twentieth birthday with her then-boyfriend and a pube named K-Hole. Things were actually pretty sweet with the birthday bumps eight ball, the naked chicks and shitty music. Looking at their phones there for hours was a good time. There was Sterling, also having a good time at his best friend's bachelor party. Nearby there was a wig on three legs gives giving out lap dances. Still separate events at The Rocket Club until worlds collided for the second time. It was fate. Iona knew it. Before that, she was just a stupid bitch with a thing for stealing precious stones and hanging around Plato's Closet looking for weed. That was way back when Sterling still had a good head on his shoulders. Not like the head he was taking out in the shower with the bathroom door open while he had the mayor's twenty year old daughter on a bed cuffed to the wall. The transgression was somehow totally believable and remarkably admirable. Audiences would be impressed that he was keeping up with the long standing denial of the ultimate sexual opportunity his darkest internet searches could provide him. It all went well with his good cop image and conflict of interest politics of which he explored in the shower.

Iona didn't understand why it had to be this way. She was the Belle of no balls, staring at the TV and watching a documentary on tiny but deadly cats. She was feeling pretty good about everything, actually, when Sterling came into the room basking in the afterglow. He would see that, by his own clever design, she was still the half asleep Anne Darrow to his King Kong. This was his most excellent contribution. She was going to stick with the imagery. The scene was his bedside light off. Her light on. His bed. Her bed. The end of her birthday night. Breakfast at Tiffany's cocktail dress without a pearl necklace. Definitely not what she would have ever imagined for herself, which is why she was looking at him for the first time without even a lick of sass. For a girl who spent so much time in front of a screen learning scripts and voicing lines, she didn't look for the only one in the room to distract her then. It was off, anyways. They were both in the room and she felt it.

"This has actually been the best birthday of my life." It was no good looking at the good cop now. He was earning her respect and she hated it. Despite everything, she was comfortable even though her arms were restrained to a lamp above her head and this was how she was supposed to sleep. Sterling was sitting completely Greek God in just a towel on the other bed after masturbating in the shower. She knew it. The redhead wanted to ask if he had thought about her, but instead just smiled to herself and relaxed for the first time in over eight months.

 

[Traveler]

She was laid out on the bed like a buffet, completely available for the feasting. But her mention of birthdays (just twenty, damn it) and her sober interest in the pussies on the screen reminded him that despite her trips around the sun she was still a kid. Twenty was nothing compared to his decade plus years on her. And the saying goes, ‘Don’t live the same year 75 times and call it a life’. This year was definitely not a repeat of any other, and he didn’t want a rerun.

No, fast-forward to the part where they part ways and everyone is happy, just like in the fairy tales. Which this is not. And the writers are cruel, so we all get to suffer.

If it were a fairy tale, he would be pounding at her portcullis instead of pulling the blanket over her black dress and shooting her that ‘gimme a break’ look as he clicked off the T.V. He would be sliding the towel off his gathering troops to make another run at taking out his frustrations on the Lucile Ball hottie smiling to herself, instead of climbing into bed and setting his alarm.

Four hours to go. Scene fade to black, then the curtains part and the next scene fades in. Still black. The sound of ocean waves and seagulls hum from his phone. Android, not iPhone. IPhones are for Gen Z/Millenials, Androids are for adults.

Sterling slid his legs off the side of the bed, the blanket covering but not concealing his morning mood. He slid his clothes on quietly in the dark, but perhaps not quietly enough. If the alarm did not wake her, the -ziiiipp- of his pants would. Reholster, rekey, wallet in the pocket and jacket shrugged over shoulders that carried way too much the previous night, and soon the weight of his ass on her bed as he reached over the sleeping beauty to key her cuffs. ‘Hmm, so close, and yet so far,’ he mused, looking down at her coming-off-a-night-partying face. He’d like to go grey on her but the world was black and white. If he had been a promiscuous teenager instead of a D20 jock he could have had a kid her age, and he knew it. There was no way to explain away the desire to dive back into the land of yesteryear and frolic in her Disney world, except she was her, and he was him, and they’d met now not once but twice over her mystic infatuations with personal wands and books on tantric sex. There had to be a reason.

Her buddies had seen his car, probably had it on their dash cams, so the blindfold was not needed. Probably not the cuffs, either, and if she was lucky, she wouldn’t have them on her without consent after this episode of ‘Breathtaking Redhead and Horny Cop’.

“Come on, Ione. Time to get you home.” Where that was remained a mystery. Would she go back to Daddy’s Mayor Manor, or to the boarding school where rulers across the knuckles were still a thing and Felix’s father ruled the campus? It was not going to be his home, that was damned sure. Not when he had a tuxedo to don, flowers to pick up, and a wedding to attend that included his friend the pharmacist marrying the daughter of an attorney.

An attorney who happened to work for the mayor’s office.

 

[Retrojapan]

Close up on the sleeping angel with her boob practically hanging out of her cocktail dress by the time Sterling could register his morning wood. She woke up feeling like an adult in her newly achieved twenty years of age. Wow. It almost hit her like a ton of bricks. Mostly because she was still a little drunk. The redhead was going to be hungover eventually, but not then. She was also as tingly as one might expect after having her arms cuffed above her head for four hours. All while sleeping soundly next to the cop who had a thing for doing the right thing. She felt it more than ever now that she wasn't as under the influence as she was a few hours prior.

Of course Sterling was even going to get flowers for the wedding too. What wasn't he going to do for this day? As if he wasn't already best man, cop and the noble knight in her cast. He needed to leave some of the good roles for the rest of the guys in Iona's life. Why did he have to get out of bed so perfectly and reholster his gun like some kind of Rick Grimes from the Walking Dead? C'mon. She was down to fuck from the beginning! He didn't even need to make her wish she watched more westerns, or knew how to make a sexual innuendo about his pistol. Or was it a revolver? Whatever. The gun was totally hot.

As she stirred from her intoxicated slumber, Iona imagined she must have appeared as beautiful as actresses do in the movies, with just a hint of alcohol still in her system to boot. Fuck yeah. She was ready to party. Even at the crack of dawn on four hours of half-quality REM sleep. Her blue eyes met Sterling's just as the mattress dipped to accommodate his weight on the bed with her. She sprung to life like a lost puppy finally coming home. Or just a drunk woman finally released from the handcuffs after a night above heart level. She stretched her limbs out as if to make it look really obvious that she was getting ready for a big fucking day. She was. The big day had come for Harry, was it? Yeah, Harry. Did Sterling really think he was just going to take her home after all that? She knew his friends now. There was no going back. Her ride along with hot cop wasn't over yet. She was going to get her wear's worth out of that Chanel ninety five. Iona had always wanted to attend a wedding.

"Screw that! You aren't taking me anywhere when you obviously need a hot date for your best friend's wedding. Don't worry - I got you. We're gonna show up all those bitches from high school." Iona primed her red hair for a moment and then blew Sterling a kiss. Her hand found his on the bed and she laced them together before giving him a wink. "When do we gotta be at the wedding? I'm already dressed."

 

[Traveler]

It was a semi-automatic, .40 caliber 15 rounds in the magazine (not ‘clip’) and one in the chamber, and because he wasn’t a douche who needed a high-priced misfiring son-of-a-bitch to feel like a man, it was the most reliable sidearm on the market. Glock 22, baby. Two full numbers higher than Ione was old.

Her hands were cold. Her fingers laced trough his like baby boas latching onto their first meal, gripping him there on the bed as she winked and invited herself along. She was right, in a way – Harry had said, and I quote, “Bring her tomorrow.” Yes, he’d been drunk as a skunk and high on three-legged wig, but he had said those words, and he was the groom. Better yet, they needed a girl about her height, weight, and possible shoe size – the bride’s maids of honor roll call was one person short due to a bought with the flu.

He took her in with this steel grey eyes and extracted his fingers from her baby boas. “You’re not dressed yet,” he said as he stood, “but you will be.”

Sterling motioned to the bathroom and told her to “Wash up,” before pulling out his phone and dialing Harry.

A few rings later and a muffled “Yeah?” answered. Harry’s voice sounded full of cotton. Hopefully other parts of him wouldn’t be, or Sheila would be pissed off tonight.

“Hey, tell Sheila to bring Amber’s dress and shoes to the church,” he said, trying not to watch Ione move across the room, but watching her all the same. “Because I found her that third maid of honor she needs, same size, same build…yeah she’ll do fine. Just tell her, never mind – put her on the phone. I know she’s there.” A moment later he repeated his instructions, this time to a person who he knew would remember, because it would make her wedding pictures balanced. Sterling pulled out his keys and waited for the party-crasher to finish washing up. As he slipped his cuffs back in their pouch, he noticed they smelled suspiciously like high-priced perfume. The next perp he caught was going to be in for an interesting ride. Maybe even the next girlfriend; there had to be something alluring in wearing cuffs that had another woman’s perfume on them.

Bruce’s bandana in a pocket, the door wide open for the princess, and they were headed back to the elevator. Past the twittering tourists, across the lobby to drop off the keycard (the receptionist gave Ione an I-want-to-be-you look), and down to the parking lot. This time without the blindfold.

“Do me a favor Ione,” he said, knowing that she was not likely to do so and had every reason to want to fuck up his life. They were not good reasons, but they were reasons. “Don’t fuck up today for Harry. He deserves a nice wedding.” He unlocked the door of his shiny white chariot and held the door open for her, watching her climb in with that little black dress of hers. A solid shut on the door, and they were off.

Very off.

Because this scene should have involved him dropping her at a safe house or her daddy’s mansion, not driving through the older suburban neighborhood he lived in and pulling across the front of his home where neighbors complained that the modern box house was out of character. He pulled into the side drive, wondering if she was going to remember where he lived and pulling the entire script off-topic.

If she was expecting a white picket fence and roses, she was only half right. The wall was stone, but the roses were there, and so was the gallant steed he had rode in on eight months ago. Sterling’s jaw tensed as he wondered how much crazy he had consumed to be doing this right now, right here, with her. He never took a girl home on the first date. Nor the second. And this wasn’t even a date, but the guilt-induced need to make sure she didn’t end up on the coroner’s table on her birthday night. And now he was letting her into his home and telling her to stay put.

“I’m getting dressed,” he said, opting to keep his keys with him as he passed the wine chiller in the kitchen. “Don’t mess with anything.” One last glance at her before he headed upstairs to the aforementioned bedroom, where a tux hung in the closet for one of his best buddy’s wedding.

 

[Retrojapan]

Oh shit. Sterling really was doing this. No take backs. This was happening. He was gonna put that gorgeous dress on her tight little twenty year old body and one up the bride at her own wedding. Hungry or ballsy? Both? The cop was setting it all up perfectly either way. Iona heard it all transpire over the phone for the poor bride-to-be like someone else was pitching her a script and they were a better writer. The irony of spending the night cuffed to the wall only to go to Sterling's house in the morning was not lost on Iona either. Sorry to hear about the maid of honour, though - there's a nasty flu going around.

The redhead promised that she wouldn't fuck up his best friend's wedding more than the usual hot bitch brought to a wedding last minute with no involvement with anyone there personally. You know the one. Iona had no idea that she was mere hours away from strutting that dress onto the crime scene of her father's attorney's daughter's ruined wedding. That's a weird one. What could really go wrong, though? Iona was going to follow Sterling's lead in this plot because even she couldn't spoil a wedding.

"How a person lives says a lot about a them, you know..." Iona told him with a drawl and a deep gaze that only meant one thing. She was trying to be mysterious about the fact that she was going to be snooping the hell out of his house. It was thrilling. She didn't know what to expect from a guy over a decade older than her. The kind of homes guys her age were bringing her to had just a TV on a milk crate and a single plastic chair in front of it. Sterling's place was classy and mature with absolutely no sign of feminine warmth anywhere to be found. Did she need to bring him a plant? Something to make it cozy? Something to prove she was there? Maybe there was a touch of it in the bedroom, but she wasn't about to follow Sterling up there just yet.

When he came downstairs, he would see the redhead turned Number 11 in the living room sitting on the couch like she was the weird girl that doesn't leave the morning after, casually flipping through whatever book was left out on his coffee table. When she looked up and saw Sterling in the tux, her jaw dropped to the floor and she actually made the motion with her hand to pick it up. Damn he looked good. "Wow, hot cop! You come in looking all shaken not stirred and I might just come home with you tonight. For real this time. Making my heart beat fast like you're handsome or something."

 

[Traveler]

It would not have been so hard had his closet not held things other than clothes. The situation hard, not Sterling. He was trying to figure out if he had some subliminal desire to fail and thus was setting himself up for a tricky situation, or if this was truly the most logical outcome from last night’s festivities. He dressed quickly, not wanting to give Ms. Bond downstairs too much time to go through his things, and then went downstairs to make sure she had not gotten into the liquor cabinet.

She had not.

Sterling walked down the stairs, trailing a hand as he looked for the little hiccup in his plans. She was thumbing through the coffee table book on his couch; a book on knots. Not the kinds of knots used by sailors on ships, though they could have been interchangeable, but on naughty knots, the kind that a twenty-year-old fancying herself a blend of Cinderella and Audrey Hepburn might be interested in. Interesting light reading that it was, it had probably given her an idea or two about what a date with Mr. Hardass would entail. Or the kind of tail he was after…never mind. The point is reality and expectations are sometimes worlds apart. And as the philosopher Tom Magliozzi, better known as co-host of NPR's Car Talk show, once said, “happiness equals reality minus expectations.” He was right.

Sterling stood for a moment as Ione gushed at him. It gave him an inkling of what women must have felt when begin cat-called by overweight workers on a city jobsite. Not that Ione was overweight. She was perfect, hence the problem.

“You’re not coming home with me tonight, Ione,” he said a he walked towards the girl. He flipped the book shut and looked at her, that dress pulled to one side and revealing just enough soft breast to remind him that her boobs were naturally that perky; no support required.

“Put on your best manners kid.” He smirked at her, thinking that she was unusually bold for someone her age. Perhaps it was because of her age, not knowing enough to be afraid of what was before her. She was leaping off a cliff she didn’t understand, and there was no guarantee he would catch her. He motioned for her to leave the couch and follow him. “Because whether or not that would ever be a possibility hinges on how well you play your role.”

He opened the car door for her again, seeing her securely in her seat before shutting her in. He’d like to chain the door shut and chain her in, but there was a wedding to attend. “And,” he said as he backed out of the drive, “don’t call me ‘hot cop’ at the wedding. My name is Antony. Tony if you want. But not ‘hot cop’.”

The florist was ready when they arrived, loading armful after armful into the truck until the air inside practically reeked of floral fragrance. The scent was intoxicating, and Sterling could not wait to get to the church and unload it from his Tahoe before his new leather scent began to smell like Chanel No. 5, white roses and lilacs.

As they drove to the church, he glanced over at her, wondering what was going on in that pretty little head of hers. “Have you ever been part of a wedding before?” he asked, wondering how much coaching it was going to take to help her remember her role. It was going to be rather easy, but you would not believe how many weddings had been sidelined because someone was not where they were supposed to be, when they were supposed to be there.

Because Sheila was reduced to just having Bruce and Joe's wives as bridesmaids, and with her best high school friend, Amber, sick with the flu, she was going to have to be happy with a surprise bridesmaid, whose daddy was her daddy's boss, and who was definitely going to steal the show.

 

[Retrojapan]

Yeah, that subliminal desire to fail was totally Sterling's self-defeating prophecy full speed ahead. Right on schedule, actually. Everything was on point. This was a big day for everyone but the cop and his sidekick who had no idea what they were walking into at the church that morning. As far as they were concerned, it was the big day for Harry, and another exciting day on Iona McBelle's wannabe reality show. This episode was actually a busy one. Here's the scene that our reversed Harold and Maude rolled into because her father, the mayor, was also in attendance of this wedding unbeknownst to even the bride.

As was her ex-boyfriend Felix, actually - he was the photographer. Goddammit the bitch manager haircut selling drink tickets was totally Karen looking to elbow you in the face to catch that bouquet. Perhaps also to get some inspiration for the raunchy smut she started writing on her tablet while her husband watched Nicholas Cage movies like they were actually good (or like Nic wasn't just using his bigwig father for the roles that maybe were okay). The three-legged wig slash priest (doubletake) from The Rocket Club was due to legitimize the wedding, and Harry saved a lot of money on things by allowing some bitch manager haircut 2.0 reporter to cover 'A Week in the Life of Our Mayor' on John McBelle like he gave a shit about it or attended social events in the first place. Fuck that. Not when Karen at the bar was giving him the good ol' lip lick over her nicotine stained meat flaps like she knew he had given up the habit last year. Second hand smoke, baby. This special program was straight propaganda spewing some shit about the mayor actually being a normal guy who wasn't just at the wedding to cheat on his wife. Or maybe get the reporter to be the next Monica Lewinsky.

In the vehicle, Iona was smiling with her best manners at Sterling because she had no idea about any of the above paragraphs. The entire SUV was overflowing with flowers like she was in a commercial for allergy medicine and the side effects were nil. She was excited. The young redhead was anticipating being the unknown sugar babe starlet at this wedding that all the old men talked about until they died. That was the script, honestly. Maybe if she was lucky she could get tied up like one of those girls on Sterling's coffee table, too. She rushed that in the script last minute. It was super hot. Kinda like origami but with ropes. "Yeah, yeah, hot cop. I know you don't want anyone to know your true identity here while we're undercover. I get it. I'll be cool even though... I have never been to a wedding before. This is my matrimonial virginity you're breaking here."

As soon as Iona was whisked away to put on the dress and turn heads like the stunning redhead a decade younger than everyone else that she was, Sterling would spot someone else. She was wearing red because it caught everyone's attention and she looked fine as hell in it. This was no ordinary time to shine up the bride at her own wedding as per Sterling. This here was hotter-than-the-bride woman number two, who was there trying to win back the man she cheated on and turned into the brooding cop we all know today. It was Lorraine Stevens - almost Sterling. His ex-fiancée.

"Oh, Anthony. I didn't know you would be here..." She feigned surprise because she knew it was Harry's wedding. She was supposed to be Sterling's date.

 

[Traveler]

Matrimonial virginity was an interesting term. Interesting, because last week to the day was supposed to be Sterling’s wedding, called off ‘unexpectedly due to irreconcilable differences’ to the families, but those in-the-know knew that baby Lorraine had dipped into the chocolate factory to get that golden ticket with her boss, and even though she swore it was a onetime thing, affairs are like Doritos. You cannot have just one. And Sterling wasn’t the sharing type.

This was not his first wedding. Bruce and Joe had made sure of that. But Ione’s constant chatter and enthusiasm, as fucking annoying as it was, was also cute in strung out woman-child kind of way, and her little discussion about secret identities and matrimony virginity drew a smirk from Sterling despite not having coffee or a proper night’s sleep. ‘God, I hate her,’ the thought, still smirking.

So as soon as Bobbie and Virginia got their hot little bridesmaids (brides matrons?) hands on her, and whisked her away, promising to tell her everything she needed to know, Sterling jetting towards the groom’s ready room, anxious to get their stories straight in case anyone asked about the mermaid in a green dress. No stopping at the Karen-bar, no shit – was the priest the same person who…nah…can’t be, he shook his head a the tricks his rain was pulling on him and nearly ran right into Little Red Riding Hood. Make that riding crop – she was dressed to thrill and in his favorite color for her, all dressed up and looking at him like he was next on the menu.

‘Shi-ite.’ She was wearing rose oil and hibiscus. She fucking knew he loved that fragrance. Bitch.

He feigned looking around her as if someone else was there. “You get the day off, or is your boss breaking in the new assistant?” This smile did not reach his eyes. “I’d like to say it’s good to see you, Lorraine, but that would be a lie. And you know I never lie. Excuse me,” he walked around her, or tried to, but a vicious blond is the second hardest woman to get around. Make that the third hardest; second would be the blond bombshell you fucked three years’ straight before she stepped out on you.

A couple of Klingon moments later he was free, heading into the groom’s ready room. No girls allowed.

“Sterling!” Harry looked like he was about to throw up. “Thank God you’re here!”

“He overslept,” Bruce ratted. “And Sheila’s already pissed because there’s a reporter here.”

Sterling helped himself to the bottle of Scotch on the table and poured himself a shot. “Why’d you bring a reporter?” he glanced at Harry.

“I didn’t bring her,” the groom protested, “someone on Sheila’s side of the family brought her. Her dad’s boss, I think…” he walked over to the sink and splashed some water on his face. “Oh God oh God oh God, I’m going to be sick!”

Joe grinned and slapped him on the back. “You’ll be fine, Harry. Just think of it as a really big prescription, and you just gotta put the right pills in the box.”

Harry threw up into the sink.

It was going to be a perfect wedding.

Sterling was busy opening the window to air out the room when a thought struck him. “Sheila’s dad, he works for the mayor’s office, doesn’t he?’

“Yeah,” Bruce shrugged, watching Joe try to clean up the groom. “Why?”

“That’s the one!” Joe chimed in. “The mayor brought a reporter with him,” he turned and patted Harry on the back as he continued voiding his guts. “That’s it, you’ll be okay, big guy. Let it all out.”

“Fuck…” Sterling leaned against the windowsill and felt his world start to drop beneath his feet. “The extra bridesmaid I brought? The girl from last night?” Harry kept throwing up. Joe kept patting him on the back. Bruce took a bite of the finger sandwiches on the tray because he was a fireman and firemen can eat through anything. “She’s the mayor’s daughter.”

~ * ~​

Chubby Bobbie (which was a high school nickname she never outgrew. Or ingrew?) glanced over at Ione as they handed her the dress Amber had ordered. “So…how exactly do you know Anthony?” She was still good friends with Lorraine and ‘this’ was going to be a problem.

Sheila was pursing her lips so that Virginia (who lost her virginity first in the bunch) could dab lipstick on them without getting any on the white wedding dress. None of these women should have worn white to their weddings. All of them did.

“Don’t forget the shoes,” Bobbie said, handing over the velveteen box. “Hope they fit.” But of course, anything would fit a body like that. ‘Probably anorexic,’ she reasoned. ‘Girl could stand a burger or two or she’ll never be healthy enough to have babies.’ She turned to the others when the bathroom door closed behind the redhead. “Did you see her?” she hissed.

“Jealous?” Virginia raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow and smirked. “Fuck, I’d do her.”

“You’d do anybody,” Sheila stated flatly. “Now come on, help me with my veil while I hide my lips.” She fanned her face with one hand, trying to dry the surface of her smackers off enough to trust them around her white veil of chastity.

Twenty minutes and counting; then the handlers would gather the bridesmaids and groomsmen, line them up, and send them on their way, two-by-two like the arc. The wedding might go off without a hitch, but there was still the cocktail hour, the photos and reception, the first dance, the welcome speech… so much that they had to keep a list.

It was going to be one hell of a cherry popper for Ione.

 

[Retrojapan]

"You know I wouldn't miss this day for anything, Anthony. Honestly, Harry and his wife are practically family to me too." Lorraine replied back sweetly and did that thing with her eyes Sterling hated where she squints like Melania Trump and stares at him intensely. She didn't even know the bride's name was Sheila. Good on him for saying. Lorraine was a level 99 cold hard bitch skankador, but that was part of the draw on women with a resting bitch face like hers. A total freak between the sheets of every man's dreams while also being the kind of wench who was wearing Sterling's favourite rose and hibiscus oil ("You know I only wear this when I want you, Anthony") on the day she decided to go balls deep with her boss. She was even wearing the pearl necklace the brokenhearted bastard bought her too! The one Iona was missing from her Breakfast at Tiffany's cocktail dress getup last night. That evil red riding hood was ruthless and had no problem stepping side to side in front of Sterling just to prove to her ex-fiancé that he wasn't shit - even though she totally came to the wedding with Clayton. He was the Cialis rep who had a lot of personal success to tell you about when you had a minute.

Lorraine was just keeping tabs on her better-in-retrospect stud of an ex because she realized only a dumb bitch says 'I do' to an affair instead of Sterling. Goddammit he was hot in that suit. He obviously had a date, and she was going to fuck that up royally for him too. And any other women trying to go home with him that night. Bitches be crazy. "It was good to see you, Anthony! What's the saying... Hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave? You walk ahead now in that sexy tux and make me wait for you to take us home tonight. I'll meet you at the guestbook."

Upstairs, Iona was still mirroring a young Winona Ryder breaking through into Hollywood vis-a-vis the bipedal Little Mermaid. It was looking good. The bride and her bridal party were like the sisters she suddenly found kindred spirits in after three minutes of explaining that a lip stain pre-white anything would have done the trick more than dab on stick. It's ok, you live and learn. She could hook them up with some after. No need to thank. She just wanted to get along with the women and not fuck up Sterling's life too much when all of this was over. Speaking of fucking up Sterling's life.... Just how was she supposed to explain her relation to hot cop in the most credible, but least damaging way? Oh shit. They forgot the details.

This was the fuck up that didn't need to happen had they gone over exactly how someone Sterling's age and breed brings someone a decade younger to a wedding in the first place. How?! It was already getting messy and she wasn't even drinking yet. Well... To be or not to be? Out herself being arrested for stealing dildos, or out Sterling and the guys for the strip club bachelor party? Maybe they were all good with it and nothing had to go to shit yet? It was an interesting predicament where Sterling was probably going to wish for Ursula/Lorraine to come and take Iona's voice away in about T minus two minutes. The trying to 'put on your best manners, kid' redhead was way more lawful evil than anything Sterling needed in this life, but she was honestly trying her very best to not ruin the wedding. That came right after protecting her reputation for being the mayor's daughter sans jail time. She was a fucking angel according to the press, dammit! Besides, Sterling made her the Maid of Honour. She was allowed to tell half lies to keep the/her peace.

"I met Sterling at the Rocket Club last night."

 

[Traveler]

“Last night?!” Victoria’s exclamation reverberated in all their chests, even the ones squished on top of the push-up bra from Target. “You just met him last night?” she repeated herself, her eyes taking in the whole of the girl who was almost an entire school career behind the others, a decade of catch up that had just outpaced them all. “And he brought you to the wedding?”

Sheila was busy looking at herself in the mirror, trying to find the right angle to have the photographer capture her perfect pose. “I needed a third maid-of-honor,” she defended the red head. “And she fits Autumn’s dress just fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Bobbie took a bite of the cucumber and cream cheese finger sandwiches and then dabbed at her lips with her fingers to take off any crumbs that might just linger. “What I want to know,” said Lorraine’s best friend turned informant, “is what Tony was doing at the Rocket Club when was supposed to be playing poker with the guys at his house.” She raised a painted brow at the redheaded vixen. “Was Harry there?” And of course, the other part of the question. Were Bruce and Joe there as well? The Rocket Club, where booze, boobs, and bongs were all there for the taking, was definitely off-limits for the men with rings and those who wanted them.

“Oh. My. Gawd,” Sheila realized. “They had a bachelor party, didn’t they?” She whirled on Ione. “Were there strippers? Were you one of the strippers?” She looked at her best friends from grade school, and then she squealed. “I’m going to have a stripper in my wedding pictures! OMG, that’s going to rock!” She squealed again, for some reason the thought making her ecstatic. What she was thinking of, of course, was that if she ever needed some kind of blackmail to guilt-trip her husband she would have it. Little did she know that the priest in their pictures was going to be the best blackmail of them all.

In the groom’s ready room they’d managed to get Harry de-puked before the knock came at the door. It was time. He nodded to the others that he was going to be okay and went out to wait by the priest. Because, unlike the bride’s arrival, the groom was just an ornament. He waited, he stood, and the entertainment came when the woman of the day walked down the isle in her $3000 dress that looked like it came off the Ross Rack. There was a knock-off on sale three miles down the road, but since Sheila did not know that, and this was ‘her day’, she remained blissfully ignorant until she went shopping there after the honeymoon.

And then it was time for the matrons and maid-of-honor to line up on opposite sides of the foyer and pair up, walking down the isle arm in arm to ready the eager eyes for the main course, the bride. Bruce and Bobbie, met, they smiled at each other, remembering their wedding five years ago, and then walked down the isle in that silly walk-pause-step-walk that was mandated at functions like this. Joe and Victoria, who could boast that one of them was a virgin on their wedding night, and lastly Sterling and Ione. He paused a moment, taking in her Ariel resemblance and the way she seemed to glow in the early light streaming in the stained-glass windows.

A hitched breath later and he was offering her his arm, acutely aware that someone in the crowd was Lorraine…shit. He glanced down at the twenty-year-old and smiled as they came to the door. Their turn next. “You look beautiful,” he whispered, and then their turn to walk-pause-step-walk, past Lorraine, past Felix with the camera, past her father with his hand on the reporter’s knee. Lined up three by three on either side of the priest, waiting for the bride to walk down the isle with her attorney father.

The divorce in two years was going to be more of a headliner than the wedding, but for the moment no one knew these things. And aside from Felix and Lorraine, everyone thought that Tony Sterling and Mystery Woman had made a lovely couple. But Karen was getting that bouquet, no matter how many women she had to elbow out of her way.

 

[Retrojapan]

The lapse between Iona's admission about the strip club bachelor party and Victoria’s reaction to said rite played out like the Jeopardy song. Was the wedding over before it began, or still doomed in some undetermined future? It was self-preservation on Iona's part since daddy ("If anyone finds out about this prison stint, I am finally divorcing your mother") was on the guest list, as well as the reporter who covered 'A Day in the Life Of Our Mayor's Daughter' before the episode on the actual mayor. She needed to maintain that public broadcast image for the rest of her life. As such, Iona did a fourth wall breaking -whew- before taking it upon herself to fill in the missing pieces for the bridal party. Why not? It's not like she was ever going to see these people again, and this was the perfect opportunity to mess with Sterling a little for revenge.

"You bet I'm a stripper! My stage name is... Coco Rouge? Yeah - Coco Rouge! I saw the whole gang there last night and they must have really liked the show because here I am! I don't normally do weddings." Iona smiled at Sheila because the bride now had ammo to hold over her husband's head until the day he died. Probably even after, too. She was totally the type who would show up at Harry's grave still bitching about the strippers at his bachelor party. If that isn't 'till death do us part', then what really is? Iona filled them in on the three legged wig giving out lapdances at The Rocket Club, and the show went on. Sheila and Harry's wedding with all the fixings. Papparazzi Felix and the next Monica Lewinsky filming it like Rose coming down the grand staircase. Only it was the Little Mermaid and she was meeting the Pierce Brosnan take on Bond for this one.

Her heart literally stopped beating at the sight of him in the tux again. Hot damn. Iona McBelle was just going to have to Die Another Day. The reference was needed because Sterling was so tall, dark and handsome that he was actually about to be announced as the next James Bond after Daniel Craig finished ruining the image. Oh wow. Hubba hubba. Come to mama. Hook line and sinker you're going down, Sterling. Did he just call me beautiful? The redhead wanted to get revenge, but he was so handsome and prince charming that she couldn't even fuck it up for herself. It was too perfect. She smiled at him because the last time someone told her she was beautiful was never. Didn't he know romance was dead, guys her age didn't know a thing about making a woman feel beautiful, and that all she could do in response was smile with her cheeks reddening as they walked down the aisle?

"You son of a bitch." Felix whispered, staring at the LCD camera screen. He snapped the picture of the maid of honour and best man right after Sterling called Iona beautiful. Her smile was so authentic it was practically photoshopped already. That was the smile he was going to photoshop onto everyone's face at this wedding. It was easily the best photo he had taken in his entire career of three months. What didn't make sense was that was his ex-girlfriend smiling at the older man in the picture. The same older man slash cop who abducted her last night from The Rocket Club!? Now they were at this fucking wedding!? It was so random. Except not really, cause Felix already saw Iona's father. Meeting your ex/girlfriend's father was awkward as fuck any day, but especially now because the mayor assumed they were still dating. Iona didn't go home last night and tell him the unfortunate news. Don't worry, I got you, Iona as Felix ensured the mayor that he was still boning his daughter. He wasn't going to throw Iona under the bus for that because it was probably the best birthday of her life come full circle. "What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On."

What the fuck is going on? Mirrored Iona's father from the audience as he watched his princess like a fucking fairy tale walking down the aisle with the man he swore took her to jail for stealing some dildos. Yeah, John totally knew she went down for three inches, which is why it took him two months to bail her out and pretend like he didn't know what the fuck a rose quartz massage wand was. His daughter was rebelling and now she was in a Catholic college dating a gay man. It was the perfect life changing experience, or so John thought. Now Sterling was walking Iona down the aisle like he knew she was a sheltered and inexperienced angel who needed a real daddy. How the fuck did this happen? John looked wildly and impatiently around the room like he could actually do something during the wedding. He had to wait like the father he was, losing his only daughter to an older man. The following audio was picked up by the reporter's recording of the event. As the wedding started, the mayor's voice narrated over everything. "Fuck this stupid shit. That priest works at The Rocket Club. Holy shit. Is this happening? What the fuck? I hate weddings. The bride is so fucking ugly I can't even believe this. This is the worst excuse for a fucking marriage. Fuck you. You piece of fucking shit. I fucking hate cops."

For a moment Iona let herself look into the audience. Bad idea. She thought this was a wedding where she was going to go as Sterling's unknown femme fatale. Instead she saw Felix not even taking pictures because he was texting K-Hole the update ('holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck'). Karen was chewing on ice from behind the bar while staring at Sterling. Iona's father was half-standing in his seat amidst the crowd of sitting guests. He was giving everyone that look dad's give when they're losing their precious daughter and it's out of their control. The reporter was a stupid bitch who didn't understand Iona's vision for her episode, but there she was filming one for the mayor. No one wears red to a wedding except for the level 99 cunt sitting in the front like the bitch who actually objects to the bride and groom, if only because their ex-fiancé was about to get with a twenty year old hottie, and the whole thing was being filmed. For the camera, Lorraine seethed at Iona, and Iona looked longingly at Sterling.

 

[Traveler]

The shitstorm was just working its way to the surface. Incriminating photos? Check. Bat-crazy father? Check. Trans-curious priest? Double check.

It was Harry who was going through this last phase, for as his heart rate finally slowed enough for him to get a look around, he turned to the right and caught sight of that profile he’d never forget; those lips that did those wondrous things to for him in the back of the Rocket Club, and the hands wrapped around the Word were the same ones that had wrapped around him. The priest recognized his Rendezvous and nodded with a wink and a smile. To anyone in the audience it looked like encouragement. To Harry, it was a promise.

He was going to either die or cum. Preferably both in reverse order.

The bridesmaids watched Coco Rouge waltzing down the isle with the City’s Most Eligible. They tried to hide ample hips and lacking breasts behind their bridesmaids’ bouquet, both hating Ione and wanting to look like her. And as Sterling and the vixen walk-step-pause-walked down the isle and came to the end of the line, it looked like they were going to end it Bond style, but the green had gone out of Ione’s dress and into Lorraine’s eyes, making the image more like this. And do not think that Sterling did not consider it. Because he did. Every walk-step-pause-walk-step of the way.

There’s something about seeing a person in a different place, a different light, and maybe it was the morning sun streaming through the stained glass window that washed everything in rose-colored-glasses-pink. But for a moment he thought ‘This is normal. This could be normal.’

But it wasn’t, was it? He gave her hand a little squeeze as they parted ways, going to their perspective corners to wait out Round 2 of the match. And then the music started. And it stopped. Did we forget to mention that the same DJ from the Rocket Club was hired last minute to work the event? Instead of the time-tested Wedding March, Jagged Edge’s Let’s Get Married blasted through the church, followed by a squeak in the speakers and a “My bad! Got it, got it…” before blasting the most heinous organ version of the wedding march on hand.

And it was all being recorded for posterity.

A cute little flower girl skipped down the aisle, tossing flowers along the path. She paused along the way to pick an especially annoying booger…which she ate before throwing more petals on the path, with a little bit of flavoring added. (Felix used the zoom lens for that shot. ‘Nice!’) Then came the bride—Sheila soon-to-be-Evans walked down the aisle with her attorney father, soon-to-be suing the wedding planner. Smiles were everywhere. Smiles, everyone. Smiles. It was going to be the perfect fucking wedding even it blood had to be shed.

Lorraine started to thumb through her phone, looking for incriminating photos. Because, unlike Sterling, she kept every shot she ever took, even the ones in secret for her personal use. And suddenly the wedding that was supposed to bring them back together had got damn personal. Fuck his career and everything else that went with it. If Lorraine was not the next Mrs. Sterling, no one would be.

Ione’s father was busy craning his neck, looking for the boy who was supposed to be fucking his daughter for pretend, not the guy with the cuffs and the gun. Not…that Felix was supposed to be sleeping with Sterling. That’s not what he meant. There he was, snapping pictures and sending texts. And all along, as Mayor John Sterling muttered his ultra-hatred for everything happening, his Karen-reporter got it all on digital. Every ‘fucking cops’ and ‘kill that bastard’ that passed through his wormy political lips. She was in for a Pulitzer, baby.

Somehow, they got to the “I do’s” and the ring, the kiss-the-bride and the “May I present Mr. and Mrs. Evans’. The cheers and the hurried rush out of there, to reconvene at the reception hall, three blocks away. Sterling took Ione by the hand and walked her past her father, past her ex and past his, past the ice-chewing queen creaming her cotton panties and past Nadine the Dispatcher (who invited her?) to the carriage in the back lot, chuckling all the way.

“Ready for Round 2?” he asked, smiling down at Ione. It was easy to forget the arrest and the drugs when she was sober and looking like she did. They had made it through the first match, now they had pictures, toasts, and some forced mingling to survive. They could do this. Piece of cake.

Only Felix texted K-Hole the venue, and Karen was sure that if she could just talk to the hot cop who arrested Ione she could make him see the error of his ways.

The playlist that Harry had made for the blissed ride over did not even get plugged in before he got an earful in the car “I can’t believe you went to the Rocket Club and hired strippers last night!” Sheila screamed at him, causing him to almost swerve out of their lane. (Stay in your lane, Bud. That’s how things get fucked up.) “Why didn’t you tell me that Sterling was bringing the stripper?”

‘The stripper? Oh God, she knows,’ he thought, tightening his grip around the wheel like priest-man tightened his around his cock. ‘She KNOWS.’ He momentarily thought about driving head-on into the next truck to save them both some grief.

“At least she fit into Ambers dress,” Sheila continued, “but still. You could have said something!”

Whew! Murder-suicide avoided. Now to take pictures...