Sometimes things aren't how you think they should be (Fic)
This was done to amuse h_bomb1013 and to prove to myself I could do it. In its own way, this is total crack!fic. It's L&O:CI AU, it's NC-17, it's rude, crude and socially unacceptable. That said, I think it turned out pretty damn well.
I am, however, an evil bitch.
Alexandra Eames was no longer a young woman, but two hard and fast rules kept her looking youthful despite her profession. Rule One: Nothing went into any of her orifices without being wrapped in a condom. She was a damn connoisseur of the latex. No amount of money or intimidation could change her mind and after over fifteen years of hooking she was disease free and child free. Not even an abortion to her name. Rule two: She never took any drug stronger than an aspirin, never drank anything stronger than wine, and never did either on the job.
She got plenty of flack for both in the early days when she worked for an escort service. She explained over and again that it wasn't an insult to the person she was with. Eventually she developed enough of a reputation for what she would do that what she wouldn't didn't matter. She topped, bottomed, took it everywhere and never met a position she wouldn't do. Hard and rough, gentle and luxurious, she would be your perfect fantasy girl.
Off the job was another story. She had sexual relationships for fun, but they were very much under her control. Not to say she liked to dominate people, just that she wanted her needs met for a change. Her family knew nothing about her job, as far as they knew she lived off money inherited from the man she was briefly married to in college. He hadn't left her a damn thing, of course, but an empty spot in her heart and a "missed" chance at joining the police academy.
Alex sat at a hotel bar sipping a glass of soda and wondering exactly when it had all gone wrong. She had a good life. Money wasn't an issue. She had her health. She was professional enough that she hadn't had cop troubles in a very long time. Why were two different cops now making her life miserable? Either one of them, had they approached her at different times, would have been easily handled, but if she tired to get rid of one now the other would be tipped off.
Her old man was a retired cop. She hadn't wanted to follow in his footsteps, but she didn't hate what he did. They were a necessary evil. In a pinch she'd even called them when johns got out of hand. These, two, though, she didn't get at all.
The older one made noises about the public good and how she was going to get her 'connected' uncle to take care of Alex. This, as far as Alex could tell, was because there wasn't any case to make against her for anything more serious than jaywalking. The younger one didn't bother with an intermediary. Instead she came around, screamed her head off about how Alex was a whore, and then waved her gun in the air. Alex calmly pointed out that in fact she was a whore and asked was there any other point that the woman wanted to make. That started another tirade and Alex didn't ask again.
They came back once a month, both in the same week, and had been for the last six months. Maybe they were on their damn periods together, she though with a sour look. She was so wrapped up in her annoyance she wasn’t aware her next client had arrived until he put his hand on hers. Smiling slowly, she leaned over and kissed the bear of a man on the cheek. She liked this one; he had well defined needs and an elegantly complex imagination. Playing with him really was playing.
Up in the hotel room, she had laid out the tools of her trade. Dildos, nipple clamps, riding crops and bondage rope were spread over the desk and couch, all ready for him to use on her. He needed to gain the control over her that he clearly lacked over the women in his life. She knew a little about him. He'd admitted early on that his mother had been sick when he was young and that he knew his tastes derived in part from that. She didn't think he understood how much his current situation affected it though, but since she had no specifics, she didn't bring it up with him.
Their session went pretty much as it always did, leaving her soaking with sweat, red from his determined beating and fucked hard in every hole. He had excellent control and didn't think that just because she was a whore he shouldn't please her. He was wonderful fun. Afterwards he took the time to thank her and make sure she was okay. He lay down next to her on the bed, dwarfing her, and caressed her flat stomach. When he felt her breathing return to normal, he asked what had distracted her so much when he arrived.
She debated for a long time about telling him. He was a cop, too, and might decide that the thin blue line was more important than anything she did for him. She kept it simple, giving only a few details about the two women, but it still felt good to tell someone about it. He asked very few questions, laughed at her descriptions, and kissed her gently on the nose when she was done. There wasn't much he could do, but he understood how frustrating it had to be for her. She slept well that night, a combination of the particularly good sex and being able to get something off her chest.
Two weeks later she saw a news article about a police detective killed during a rape. She'd been off duty, no way for the rapist to know she was a cop, but the attack had been brutal and all the NYPD was up in arms. Alex felt bad for a moment until she realized the cop in question was the younger of her tormentors. She read the article again with heightened interest. Once she processed her relief that she was done one albatross, she didn't think much of it. That is, she didn't think much of it until the front page news about a corrupt City cop killed by the mobsters who paid her.
Alex tore the papers apart looking for details. The detective's uncle had been brought in for questioning, protesting that he knew nothing about the killing and that she'd completely clean. Despite his claims, her bank accounts showed multiple payouts that Internal Affairs tracked to known mob sources. She'd been seen repeatedly at clubs and restaurants that were barely concealed fronts for organized crime. Alex had the passing thought that if she really was dirty, she wasn't very good at it. The woman had been shot twice in the back of the head and left on her living room floor.
It took a while longer to get past the second death and shake off the idea that she had some sort of guardian angel. It wasn't an idea she liked over much. From time to time every hooker got herself a stalker, some guy who made more of the relationship than was there. If this was about her, things could get much worse. Still, in time, she let it all go. None of her johns claimed to know anything about the deaths or hinted in anyway that she should be grateful for some unexplained gift. Life simply went back to normal.
Her bear of a cop client made an appointment with her a few months later and when they reached the hotel room where the toys were spread out, he stood and smiled at them for a long time before turning to her and shaking his head. They wouldn't need most of that, he told her, before dragging her to bed. In the end most of the toys still got used, just not the rope. And he didn't beat her nearly as bad as usual. He did leave her shaking with pleasure at the end, though, and he looked much happier than he usually did.
When she asked him about it, he told her he'd come to terms with his mother's illness, finally realizing it was up to him to decide how to deal with the way people in his life affected him. Her understanding and acceptance of his sexual proclivities had helped a great deal. In the time since he saw her last, he'd ended two relationships that didn't bring him anything but stress and was feeling much better about life. He assured her he would continue to see her and thanked her profusely for her professionalism.
He had paid her and left her to clean up when she put the pieces together and sank to the floor in a stunned heap. She didn't run scream for another cop because she couldn't prove any of it and was fairly sure he'd done it for himself and not for her. The dead women had crossed some boundary with him and he'd snapped. Or maybe not. He'd seemed so much happier.
She gathered her things, cancelled her next client and went home. After a long nap and most of a bottle of wine, all would be right with her world.
1539
I am, however, an evil bitch.
Alexandra Eames was no longer a young woman, but two hard and fast rules kept her looking youthful despite her profession. Rule One: Nothing went into any of her orifices without being wrapped in a condom. She was a damn connoisseur of the latex. No amount of money or intimidation could change her mind and after over fifteen years of hooking she was disease free and child free. Not even an abortion to her name. Rule two: She never took any drug stronger than an aspirin, never drank anything stronger than wine, and never did either on the job.
She got plenty of flack for both in the early days when she worked for an escort service. She explained over and again that it wasn't an insult to the person she was with. Eventually she developed enough of a reputation for what she would do that what she wouldn't didn't matter. She topped, bottomed, took it everywhere and never met a position she wouldn't do. Hard and rough, gentle and luxurious, she would be your perfect fantasy girl.
Off the job was another story. She had sexual relationships for fun, but they were very much under her control. Not to say she liked to dominate people, just that she wanted her needs met for a change. Her family knew nothing about her job, as far as they knew she lived off money inherited from the man she was briefly married to in college. He hadn't left her a damn thing, of course, but an empty spot in her heart and a "missed" chance at joining the police academy.
Alex sat at a hotel bar sipping a glass of soda and wondering exactly when it had all gone wrong. She had a good life. Money wasn't an issue. She had her health. She was professional enough that she hadn't had cop troubles in a very long time. Why were two different cops now making her life miserable? Either one of them, had they approached her at different times, would have been easily handled, but if she tired to get rid of one now the other would be tipped off.
Her old man was a retired cop. She hadn't wanted to follow in his footsteps, but she didn't hate what he did. They were a necessary evil. In a pinch she'd even called them when johns got out of hand. These, two, though, she didn't get at all.
The older one made noises about the public good and how she was going to get her 'connected' uncle to take care of Alex. This, as far as Alex could tell, was because there wasn't any case to make against her for anything more serious than jaywalking. The younger one didn't bother with an intermediary. Instead she came around, screamed her head off about how Alex was a whore, and then waved her gun in the air. Alex calmly pointed out that in fact she was a whore and asked was there any other point that the woman wanted to make. That started another tirade and Alex didn't ask again.
They came back once a month, both in the same week, and had been for the last six months. Maybe they were on their damn periods together, she though with a sour look. She was so wrapped up in her annoyance she wasn’t aware her next client had arrived until he put his hand on hers. Smiling slowly, she leaned over and kissed the bear of a man on the cheek. She liked this one; he had well defined needs and an elegantly complex imagination. Playing with him really was playing.
Up in the hotel room, she had laid out the tools of her trade. Dildos, nipple clamps, riding crops and bondage rope were spread over the desk and couch, all ready for him to use on her. He needed to gain the control over her that he clearly lacked over the women in his life. She knew a little about him. He'd admitted early on that his mother had been sick when he was young and that he knew his tastes derived in part from that. She didn't think he understood how much his current situation affected it though, but since she had no specifics, she didn't bring it up with him.
Their session went pretty much as it always did, leaving her soaking with sweat, red from his determined beating and fucked hard in every hole. He had excellent control and didn't think that just because she was a whore he shouldn't please her. He was wonderful fun. Afterwards he took the time to thank her and make sure she was okay. He lay down next to her on the bed, dwarfing her, and caressed her flat stomach. When he felt her breathing return to normal, he asked what had distracted her so much when he arrived.
She debated for a long time about telling him. He was a cop, too, and might decide that the thin blue line was more important than anything she did for him. She kept it simple, giving only a few details about the two women, but it still felt good to tell someone about it. He asked very few questions, laughed at her descriptions, and kissed her gently on the nose when she was done. There wasn't much he could do, but he understood how frustrating it had to be for her. She slept well that night, a combination of the particularly good sex and being able to get something off her chest.
Two weeks later she saw a news article about a police detective killed during a rape. She'd been off duty, no way for the rapist to know she was a cop, but the attack had been brutal and all the NYPD was up in arms. Alex felt bad for a moment until she realized the cop in question was the younger of her tormentors. She read the article again with heightened interest. Once she processed her relief that she was done one albatross, she didn't think much of it. That is, she didn't think much of it until the front page news about a corrupt City cop killed by the mobsters who paid her.
Alex tore the papers apart looking for details. The detective's uncle had been brought in for questioning, protesting that he knew nothing about the killing and that she'd completely clean. Despite his claims, her bank accounts showed multiple payouts that Internal Affairs tracked to known mob sources. She'd been seen repeatedly at clubs and restaurants that were barely concealed fronts for organized crime. Alex had the passing thought that if she really was dirty, she wasn't very good at it. The woman had been shot twice in the back of the head and left on her living room floor.
It took a while longer to get past the second death and shake off the idea that she had some sort of guardian angel. It wasn't an idea she liked over much. From time to time every hooker got herself a stalker, some guy who made more of the relationship than was there. If this was about her, things could get much worse. Still, in time, she let it all go. None of her johns claimed to know anything about the deaths or hinted in anyway that she should be grateful for some unexplained gift. Life simply went back to normal.
Her bear of a cop client made an appointment with her a few months later and when they reached the hotel room where the toys were spread out, he stood and smiled at them for a long time before turning to her and shaking his head. They wouldn't need most of that, he told her, before dragging her to bed. In the end most of the toys still got used, just not the rope. And he didn't beat her nearly as bad as usual. He did leave her shaking with pleasure at the end, though, and he looked much happier than he usually did.
When she asked him about it, he told her he'd come to terms with his mother's illness, finally realizing it was up to him to decide how to deal with the way people in his life affected him. Her understanding and acceptance of his sexual proclivities had helped a great deal. In the time since he saw her last, he'd ended two relationships that didn't bring him anything but stress and was feeling much better about life. He assured her he would continue to see her and thanked her profusely for her professionalism.
He had paid her and left her to clean up when she put the pieces together and sank to the floor in a stunned heap. She didn't run scream for another cop because she couldn't prove any of it and was fairly sure he'd done it for himself and not for her. The dead women had crossed some boundary with him and he'd snapped. Or maybe not. He'd seemed so much happier.
She gathered her things, cancelled her next client and went home. After a long nap and most of a bottle of wine, all would be right with her world.
1539