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“Oh, it's you,” London exhaled as he turned a corner. In an alley on a side of the court house, Defense Attorney Morgan stood leaning against a wall smoking. “...Yeah, lawyers tend to be found around court houses” she replied like it was an overly friendly greeting. Gradually, London closed the distance between them as he caught his breath. Staring at her cigarette, London shot back “Trust me, there's plenty of places lawyers gather that aren't court houses.”
“I'm sure. I'm currently in my natural habitat, though, so what has you so riled up to find me.”
“I was on this side of the building near a window and smelled smoke, Arson Department instincts kicked in, and… found you. ‘Guess I wasn't totally wrong to be worried, plenty of fires have been started by improperly discarded cigarettes back when they were popular.”
“Thanks for the history lesson, but don't worry, I already know to put them out. My mentor taught me more than just how to cure a hangover and trick people into thanking you for your passable legal services.”
“Gonna take a stab and guess you're trying to calm your nerves before going in.”
“mhmm” Morgan hummed before blowing a long puff of smoke through her lips. “Eh, Serra's waiting for me. I might be able to answer some of the simple questions before they come up in front of the ADA.”
Morgan watched her hand press the spent cigarette into the brick wall. As bad as it is to store ash in your coat pockets, it's better than littering in front of a cop... “Detective. Why were you pulling your collar down?” Morgan accused, seeing the man fiddling with the top of his sweater's collar out the corner of her eye. Even if it was for just a moment, she was sure she saw a few dark dots across his neck. His eyes slid to the side like “I'm getting to the point where my scruff is getting itchy, that's all” slid out his mouth.
“I didn't know beard hairs grew down that far. Must have been down at your collar bone.”
“This sweater is also a bit old and cheap, ‘makes it itchy. ‘Can't afford to splurge on a new one just because I want to.”
“Oh? I would think if you're having to interview and investigate and present in court, you'd want to be properly dressed. It would be a bad look to the jury if their homicide detective was fidgety and unkempt. Could invite a lot of unconscious distrust that would affect the results of the trial.”
“Sigh, fine. It'd be best to not keep quarreling about this and hold the Adjunct up.”
In plain view, a trail of dark dots traveled down London's neck. He's done this reveal enough times already, but never has his viewer been so satisfied to see these scars. “Someone put out their cigarettes on you” Morgan chimed running her eyes back and forth between each dot. Trying to keep his cool, London began telling the story behind them. “You know how people end up in ironic places in life? One of my partners in Arson had a thing for burning people. I had a fling with him, and maybe because I wanted to look tough, maybe because I wanted to build a mental resistance to burns, or maybe because I enjoyed it when he did it, I let him put some of his own cigs out on me.”
“Aww, what a cute story. What happened to that partner?”
“Transferred out to another city after getting a promotion. Everyone in the department knew about it, but the fact that he made the choice to leave without even talking to me personally probably burned me the most.”
“ah, what a sad story… hmmm.”
The attorney twisted the cigarette butt between her fingers. Before she could speak whatever was on her mind, the detective read his watch, “we should get back inside.” Not missing a beat, she shoved the butt into her pocket and started making her way out of the alley. As she passed him, she brought forward a proposal, “if you wanted to make some different associations to smoke and cigs so you aren't panicking or hiding a tragic tale, I could help.”
“Tiger, I know the suggestion you're gonna make. If you're serious, ask me out to dinner first.”
“Well, it's not ‘dinner,’ but I do know a good bar. I even know the owner, so he'll turn a blind eye when we both go into the bathroom and squeals seep out.”
“Fine, I’d be nice to drink with someone for once without having to make sure she isn’t building a habit.”
Like many of Morgan’s plans, not everything comes together perfectly, but it gets to its destination. Instead of having a few drinks before slipping away to the bathroom of Kintsugi to perform some debauchery, her and her victim were lectured about how they wouldn’t be mucking up the establishment’s reputation. They wouldn’t be allowed to treat this place like any of the other thousand bars in the city where they could take a few sips of a cheap drink before making a mess of the bathroom and then leaving. So, after having a bit of a stilted conversation over some “decently priced” drinks, they were allowed to move over to the bar’s utility closet.
The space of the closet would be better for what they were doing, even if Morgan didn’t want to admit it. While various supplies, boxes, and miscellaneous items filled the walls and floor, the room itself was spacious enough for her and London to stand comfortably in it. The closet also had a small window for which she could blow her smoke out of and not immediately smoke out her victim.
As she stood against the wall, taking in the taste of her cigarette and enjoying the scene, Morgan realized she was being stared at. She did have to wear her “casual” outfit (the same one she killed four people in) as she didn’t want to be recognized in her usual attorney get up. With how exposed she was in it, she wasn’t exactly surprised she was getting looked over. Not soon after she noticed this, London spoke up, “you really enjoy those, don’t you?” It seemed his gaze was fixed at the whole of her actions, not just her anatomy. Of course she enjoyed them. She wouldn’t get addicted to nicotine and need to order in one of the few cigarette brands that still exists at a premium price if she didn’t. Unfortunately, “enjoyment” isn’t the only reason to use these.
Years back when Morgan was still in college and the hole hadn’t drawn her to start taking human lives just yet, she tried a bit of self medication. “A bit” is to say she tried every drug she could get her hands on as a way to see if they could “fix” her. Some psychedelic experience to change her as a person, a rebalancing of neurotransmitters to make her brain think differently, a shifting of hormones to stabilize some parts of her. Nothing really worked. There was no bodily effect she could go through to change the thing she was. At the very least, she learned that she could slow down her cravings through nicotine and alcohol, but they would still persist.
The whole experience did also build up her grit, somewhat. You have to have some wherewithal when you can do a full day of classes, drop acid as soon as you’re back in your dorm, and still maintain a decent GPA for a degree that doesn’t mean anything to anyone. And, if she had to admit, David coming to her for a hit of something he knew she could get and receiving a breath mint was a good bit.
Drawing her out of her reminiscing, London began criticizing his old partner. “He never really took his time to smoke before going to put them out. At a certain point, he stopped even putting them in his mouth, he’d just light them up then put them out.” Still doing a bit of his own remembering, he watched as Morgan walked closer to him, slipping an arm around his waist once they stood chest to chest. In her other hand, a stubby cigarette tucked between her fingers. “Sounds like he only enjoyed the aesthetics and simple sadism of such an act” Morgan whispered looking up into the detective’s tired eyes. Her breath of course smelled of tobacco, but those breaths were heavy. Before she even touched an ember to this man’s neck, she was delighted by every moment of this. “Makes me wonder what you were getting out of it then, and why you would be so happy to do it again” she spoke as her hand drifted up from his waist to his collar. As the untouched side of his neck was exposed, London remarked “from the look in your eyes, I wonder if you’re just trying to help me out or if you really just want to hurt me.”
If Morgan could have waited a few seconds longer, it’d have been possible for her next move to not come off as knee jerk retaliation. But that wasn’t what happened. As soon as she heard those words, she pressed the cigarette hard into his neck, as hard as she could. The lit paper and leaves were smothered by his skin, but it was still a burn, it still hurt. And the pressure of the remaining paper, leaves, and filter added to that pain. When Morgan first stood in front of him, he didn’t feel any sort of force from her. Now he felt pinned against the shelf he was standing against. All from one focused point of heat.
He winced and a groan left his throat like steam escaping a kettle. He’d forgotten what this sensation was like. He’d misremembered how hot heat can be on bare skin. No matter how many charred bodies or burned down buildings you encounter, there’s nothing like getting burned yourself.
Once Morgan let the butt slip from her fingers and fall to the floor, the initial burning sensation left. Afterwards came the warm, searing sensation of the rest of his nerves catching up. In contrast, the dull look on the girl in front of London felt cold. Her simple smile was genuine yet scary. He knew this look, but he couldn’t interrogate it from what he was standing.
For a long moment, this is where the two stood. Morgan pressed up against London’s chest, admiring her work, and London pressed up against a wall, made to experience the beauty of pain receptors. Eventually, she blew away the ashy residue on his new scar, making him wince once more, before taking a step back. “(A fresh wound is so much prettier than old scars, never thought about them contrasting, though)” she thought as her mask slid back on.
With a spin on her heel, she turned to the door, “we’d better get some ice for that, wouldn’t want it getting infected from being left untreated.” As she reached out to the closet’s door, a hand snatched her wrist. Her stomach dropped. For as much as she was sure there was nothing “illegal” about what she just did, having a cop grab her like this in an enclosed space shot dread through her. As she turned her head, she saw a face of confusion. “Sorry, but… is that really all we’re doing here” he queried. Not the tone she was at all expecting. Well… it did make a bit of sense given the situation. He let go of her wrist, and she turned to him, “I know you might have some expectations from the little ‘date’ we both showed up for, but I truly didn’t have any other desires for tonight.”
“Are you sure? I mean, if you really don’t, I won’t press it. It’s just…”
“What’s wrong, detective? I know old men don’t like being told no, but I’m trying to help you here.”
“I know this bar doesn’t get too many customers, but with what you’re wearing, I wouldn’t want to risk showing you’ve got a full pecker.”
It took a second for her to get what he meant, but once she did, that dread transformed into a deep embarrassment. For the longest time, she’d learned to ignore any bodily arousal she felt filling her hole with malevolence. However, with her victim alive and well enough, he would be the one to notice that excitement. It wasn’t that big a deal, not like she’d been caught red handed and he’d dealt with sadists before. But the idea that he was looking down to her tits and stomach and hips and bulge and thighs made whatever she filled herself with off that burn instantly digest. She needed to fill up again. But she had no preparation done. If she just scooted out of here in a rush after slipping an ice pick in one of her pockets, it wouldn’t be hard to pinpoint the one person who visited this place and had access to the inventory before someone died with one of their tools.
Her mind came to an abrupt stop as London held her chin, “I’m more than fine hearing a no, I just want to help you not embarrass yourself, Tiger.” Morgan sat for a moment, then asked “what can you do?”
“Well, my hands are pretty rough, so I can’t imagine any hand stuff would be good. I imagine you would have a bit of stage fright beating off in front of me. And I doubt you brought any lubricant or condoms. Now, it has been a bit since I had some action, but I do remember being told my head was pretty good.”
“...”
“Head as in… you know… a blow job.”
“Oh yeah, totally.”
One track of the dilemma was now replaced with another in Morgan’s mind. If she let him blow her, would he be a good boy and swallow her semen, leaving a low chance for collecting a DNA sample? Or would he spit, have the chance to get a decent sample, and she’d have to argue with him to not keep a tissue of her semen on him, raising suspicion on why she wouldn’t want that? She could make him swallow by shoving her dick as far down his throat as she could. Fuck. She wants to do something, but nothing sounds fool proof. It’s all a gamble.
Morgan rested her back against the closet’s door and began unbuttoning her shorts. “Just suck me off or whatever,” she mumbled. The old man in front of her smirked, and began to get on his knees, grunting in the process. “(God, this can’t not feel awkward)” she mentally bemoaned as her shorts dropped to her ankles. As the old man waited to be of service, his now partner was almost stunned by how she hadn’t noticed how erect she was. Even losing the short shorts, the leggings and panties felt tight as hell against her dick. Carefully, she pulled those remaining two items down just enough for her cock to fling itself out.
It felt so fucking vulnerable and grotesque to be doing this. She’s killed plenty of people, but there’s a certain clarity of causes and effects in death. You slit someone’s throat? They bleed out. You shoot someone in the heart? It can’t pump blood anymore. You snap someone’s neck? Their entire body shuts down. What is supposed to happen here? She lets all her mushy feelings guide her actions until another person makes them leek out in a sticky fluid? It’s stupid.
Before she could keep overthinking, London held the base of her cock with his thumb and index finger and gave the tip a kiss with his plump lips. This opening act cleared her mind and focused her attention. She didn’t need to worry about the complexities of this interaction. Next, he opened his mouth, let his tongue hang out, and placed that tip inside his mouth. The warmth and velvet sensation of his mouth shocked her. Whatever toys she’s used in the past has never felt this good. Before she could get a handle on what she was feeling, he took more of her shaft into her mouth. It felt so… disarming. The only thing on Morgan’s mind was the view and feeling of this man taking her inside his mouth and the grip he had on her thigh.
Each dragging of his tongue up and down her shaft yanked strained breaths out of Morgan’s throat. It felt good, but something in her mind was trying to wade through the pleasure. Once London pushed her entire dick into his mouth and down his throat, two things forced themselves to the surface. First, a horrifically pathetic moan. Never in her life had a sound like that left Morgan’s mouth. Second, the need to gain back some control. For as good as she felt, she was being made to feel these things. As such, maybe another sensation could balance her out. As London dragged his head back, leaving a frothy stream of spit from the tip to his mouth, Morgan forced a thumb into her mouth. Her gloves kept her from breaking skin, but with how hard she was biting down, she was sure she was gonna leave a bruise. The feeling of a sharp pain, even the taste of licking her own wounds, could shift her sense of place back to where it needed to be. That said, it wasn’t really working. The pain didn’t overpower the needy feeling eating at her. It almost annoyed her to see this man giggling to himself about how he doesn’t “remember it being that hard to deep throat.”
Using her free hand, Morgan lightly gripped the back of London’s head. She wouldn’t force him back on (as long as he played nice), but a little bit of physicality could help her. “I know you feel like your throat is taking a beating, but you better not take all night to get me off, understand” she commanded. A sly grin spread across his saliva covered lips, “yes ma’am.” He got back to work, but this time, the sensation felt unlike what she had been dealing with and yet familiar. Hearing this detective gag and slurp on her felt… exhilarating. A little touch and a few words, and Morgan’s perspective morphed into being more… in control. Staring down at this homicide detective on his knees doing his best to make her cum made everything click in her brain. “(All these years running from the cops, sneaking past them time and time again, leaving the whole city in fear of me, and one of the State’s own is giving me head)” she mused.
Soon enough, the new mindset and London getting more and more into his work left her building to her climax. Where he had started just gripping a thigh, he now had one arm wrapped around one leg and a hand slipped under her leggings to get a grip on her ass. Still holding onto his head, Morgan moaned out “I’m gonna cum, you wouldn’t mind if I used your head, right?” He could only look up into that same cold expression as he had a dick forced deep down his esophagus and a load of cum shot down to his stomach. Until she let go of her grip on him and pulled him back off of her, London kept his grip onto Morgan. Once he was free, they could only stare at each other as he regained his senses.
“You need help up” Morgan sighed seeing he was having trouble getting up off the floor. Once back on his feet, he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped off the mess of spit left around his mouth. “Hopefully nothing dries into my beard hairs” he commented.
“You could wash up in the bathroom if you need to, I hear it’s exceptionally clean.”
“Yeah, and I could wash down the taste of cock with a fresh drink.” The two laughed, but ended up doing as much.
After leaving the closet, the bar was still empty. London immediately split towards the bathroom, and Morgan sat at the bar. Waiting for him to come back, she ordered an Old Fashioned for herself and beer for London. Once he sat beside her, they sipped at their drinks, not sure what to really talk about after all that. Finally, Morgan thought of something she felt the need to ask, “why were you so quick to agree to this ‘date?’” He gave a simple answer back, “didn’t see any reason why not.”
“Really? That’s it? A girl bullies you into extolling about a past failed relationship and you just take up her offer to mend old wounds?”
“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds bad. No, it’s more literal than that. I could have a drink and have a little fun messing around with my body while I still can and see where things go or I could sit at home watching videos until I pass out and wake up needing to haul ass to a crime scene.”
“So you take what you can get, I guess.”
“Mhmm. Like, quiet evenings, a good night’s sleep, going out to a nice place someone told you about, and yes, flings with coworkers are all things you could have taken away from you in an instant. Not in a devastating calamity way, but just in a ‘one day you have it, the next you don’t’ kinda way.”
“So appreciate the simple pleasures and experiences while you still can. I can more than understand that.”