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Let me state for the record that you have refused union representation… Is this true?
His hands shook a little from brimming anticipation as he delved into his sachet and removed his stylus and Slate. The files stirred from their brief slumber at the prodding stylus and a slew of files mushroomed into three dimensional display.
He had entered the interrogation room coolly- walked in with conviction goading the straightness of his spine and shot off his name, status, and badge number. All protocol, but no sooner he found himself disproportionately rapt with pride and casting an arrogant gaze as Roald realized who sat before him.
“Let me state for the record that you have refused union representation. Is this true?”
And it was the first time either of them had spoken directly to the other. It felt foreign but nonetheless the man went through the motions as though it was the most ambitious undertaking known to man- that is since the Transport Atrium.
The air that cloaked the small room ran frigid and sterile over both their skins. The silence hung between them voraciously- allotting the two to take up time with the other, each subtly sizing up the esteem or perhaps even the tenacity coursing through their perspective flesh like the irrigation of arid land.
Roald cleared his throat uneasily and asked again. “Is this true?”
Silence ate his last words. And he found that it irritated him a great deal that save his initial entrance she had failed to further acknowledge him. After all, she needed him because it was he who stood between her and departmental reprimand on her jacket- or perhaps dismissal all together and either or incarceration.
“Agent Best,” he called again. “I need you to state this for the record.”
Some time ago he had begun recording them- it had to have been just after he’d walked in.
But it was enough to snap her to attention, her long, immaculately taupe covered nails raking along the surface of the desk as she entwined her fingertips. And hesitated.
Her bobbed, symmetrical cut swept across her polymer padded shoulders, the only audible thing apart from his breathing. It paired with the sequence of the soft tip of her tongue darting out to wet her lips like the brief continuation of the beat of a moth’s wings.
And for just a second she considered walking away from this all.
Shit. Her gaze lowered to her folded hands atop the blanch desk, and Selene would not look at him in her moment of deliberation- not to give him the satisfaction of it.
She thought better. Then answered:
Her lips were devoid of a quirk, her face a mask of emotionless oblivion for she’d been well practiced at this. And if not for the prior incident, albeit months ago, the tables would’ve been turned and she’d be here- possibly staring across the large island into the depths of a brazened convict.
“…I can’t possibly believe a woman of your caliber would stand for malignancy on your team. I’ve sworn a duty to my office that I’ll be its exacting hand and if you are being deceptive, I will find you out.”
But Selene was content with the humiliation of her station- if that is what it would take to keep her squad in the clear. As a woman she was satisfied with subjugating herself to kissing a few frogs and this was by no means any different, now it was simply her turn to take a hit for the team and emerge with as little collateral damage through the rubble of an imminent fiasco.
“And how do you feel about that?”
Roald had been talking for some time now. Spewing some sort of bullshit, she was sure of it.
And in truth, she could care a fuck whether or not the man expired on the breath beefing up his throat nor the pissed look on his face that seemed as though it didn’t need a vacation.
He was insignificant in comparison to the shit mountain of worries stacked in her head. But she had to train herself that he was indeed the deal breaker when it came to the survival of her career and that of her colleagues. And at this very moment in particular she was supposed to be saying something completely momentous, only that her mouth could not quite dictate the thoughts that reverberated within.
She forced a smile across her generous mouth, “You tell me Detective Roald.” Her voice slightly thickened, her chest cavity easing as the burning distaste ceded as she worked around a bluff.
“Lieutenant,” he corrected. He wouldn’t be sucked in by her taunt, belittlement at best. And Roald quite begrudgingly admitted to the twitch in his pants at the sight of her mouth stretching and pulling across her teeth.
She brushed him off with a noncommittal shrug.
“Well, do you know what I think? I think it of you overly ambitious throwing a loaded question at me. My feelings are not admissible in our line of work- you know that as much as I do. And as soon as I believe in singular importance no sooner will I remove myself from fieldwork- Sucre is an exemplary agent and I am equally privileged to have him as a partner.”
She watched as the veins in his neck began to work as he introspectively ran his tongue across his slick teeth. “So,” he rose from the chair across from her and coolly ran his fingertips along the length of his jacket- unbuttoned then strung it upon the back of his chair.
He was deliberately ostentatious with his actions, a gambit to unseat her. “You’re telling me that he conducts clean protocol.”
Selene was beginning to see his pattern now, he was during the course of the “interview” strategically sloughing away questions, but now Roaldo was putting words in her mouth.
Through hooded brows she cut him a look of contempt. “By the book,” she replied dryly. “And how is this relevant, we’re discussing my logs- I’ve gone over all of this with Hodge-”
“Then that could only leave me to conclude that you must be the one everyone’s rallying around.”
She was stricken and she assumed she must have looked it as well for the new demeanor washing him showed that he’d gained strength and beyond her he had somehow nicked her armor. In spite of all her years of detached conditioning she discovered her face blanching a shade and her body involuntarily shifting from one end of her chair to the other and she knew then that she was had.
Roald did a side step- with a look of satisfaction marring his face, he lapped the perimeter of the desk and the chair where she sat- speaking with his hands. “Agent Best, I’ve finally figured you out haven’t I?” His fists found his hips and he stood akimbo and the slight deep ripple of what she could deduce as anger washed her; as well as her noticing the obvious erection indenting his economical gray slacks and a wet alertness glassing his eyes.
“So the joke is one me?” He threw his hands up. “I get it, I really do.” His voice piqued a few octaves as organic lubricant collected on his upper lip as a short, low chuckle rumbled in his throat and chest.
He came to a stop by her side. And leaned in close to her ear.
“You say jump and everybody with dick in hand runs up and says how high, am I right?” Quietly, so that the tiny machine breathing in their every word would not register.
It took all she could marshal within her not to send a spray of blood from his patronizing nose. The woodsy notes and syntho musk scents sickened her as it wafted from the well trimmed pores of his face and the heat of his neck and mouth.
Inwardly, she cringed. At the thoughts she could decipher behind his dark eyes. At the way he pursed his damp lips as she knew he was imagining fucking her all the way across the lengthy steel interrogation table.
Selene’s shoulders squared and a dark, arched brow shot up. “Are we finished here? Because if not, this new ploy of yours is tactless. I won’t have someone like you ridiculing and demeaning my station nor the credibility that Local 3 has garnered. I suppose then that you’re terrified of having a woman in authority, I bet it scares you shitless doesn’t it?”
By the time she was through she salivated on the fringes of rage and it took every ounce of that said credibility to stop herself from devouring the few inches between them and pummeling the shit out of his face.
She kept hold of his intent coal gaze. “If you’re not here to ask me completely relevant questioning then you will have to excuse me.”
Her chest heaved slightly under the confines of her blazer and doggedly she was set against licking her lips or any other tell that would give away the extent of her scorn.
“You’ve asked me about the conduct of my men, that’s all in my previous interview transcripts and reports. What I can recall I’ve expressed but I will not have you leading me into something that you can manipulate to incriminate myself or that of the esteem of my men. Once I’ve reviewed my statements, an additional report will be on your desk prior to us meeting again.”
Roald’s face went ashen, and an unmistaken sheen of pink touched his taut face.
He blinked twice, his hot, sweet breath blowing against the side of her face. The white meat of his knuckles fixed upon the desk was caught in inaction as he looked from her to the current file hologram upon the desk. He withdrew from the close proximity of her, a hand smoothening out the lapel of his starched collar to trailing down the tip of his tie.
There was no win here, what she’d only gained in favor was a relentless opponent who’d be on the fringes lapping at his chops in wait for the slightest misstep.
“May I?” She asked.
Her hand hovered atop her own recorder and at his consent she pressed a key then folded it into a discreet slip and stashed it away in her form-fitting eggplant colored blazer.
He followed suit, stowing his away into his briefcase along with the Slate in defeat- all the while shielding her of its exact contents.
Time indefinite clung within her lungs. She knew not where to go from this motion. It was as proverbial and contrary as hanging from the tip of a blade or washing up on the shores of one’s limbo. She was euphoric even, she’d dare admit that to herself, but knew well enough of certain truths to not coax herself into that kind of complacency.
Selene rose at her own behest, her legs clothed in a sleek, seamless black. Her hand extending across the desk- in a sort of last ditch attempt at placating wounds. She stood over him a good four inches, and he took in that length from immaculately polished wedge-heeled boots, nylon thermoplastic leggings to her well primed haircut and took hold of her hand.
“If you remember anything, my contact is in your file.”
She replied, “Duly noted.”
He gathered the remainder of his straggler items along with his composure, shot a glance with retreat after instructing: “I want that report by end of business day Friday,” and exited half as quietly as he had entered.
A long held breath escaped her.
After all, he was a man. Specifically one who’s dick at the moment was figuratively cut and strewn out limp under her boot.
She sat back upon the desk for a while, feeling the slight tremors of relief shocking the nerve endings along her legs. She then tapped a foot experimentally before making an escape of her own.
I'm dabbling in way more projects than necessary... but I will be editing/working on "Fruits" in due time. I like the variety and multi-tasking I suppose lol.