Bad Trick

CODE: D (set in the D Is For Damien storyline)

TAKES PLACE DURING (specific story): NA

PAIRING: Det. Max Kristeva/Unnamed prostitute (M/F)

EXPLANATION: Oyyyy. o_o; All right. *cough* Kristeva is one of my more royally messed up characters, as you can guess from reading this. He is NOT really a violent person...just...messed up. He is a ritual abuse survivor, and at the time of this scene has not yet realized that, so is still going through some pretty wonky stages. I'm not certain if this takes place before or after his first marriage to Natalie Kristeva (the two were married for about three months, then divorced, then married again a while later), but at the time of this scene he is not married to her. Feeling frustrated, he decides to pick up a prostitute and...THIS happens. Poor MK. Poor hooker, too. Yagh.

DISCLAIMERS: A LOT of them. This is a much older scene, written before I knew many of the details of Kristeva's abuse. For one thing, the hooker touches him, and he would NOT have liked that, at the time this takes place. He COULD have permitted it, but it's unlikely. For another thing, the dialogue and character interactions are probably off, as well as Kristeva's personality. He was not a fully developed character at the time and much has changed since this was written; I just KNOW I must have gotten something wrong. Some of the actual details are probably incorrect, also. Do cops carry ID cards? And what's with that mixed metaphor ("stabbing waves") at the very end?? And the wandering POV sucks. Oh, the tattoo business. When this was originally written, that was meant to be a cult tattoo that he had been given during his abuse, and I think it was on his left shoulder. In the actual storyline this has changed so it is now a mandala tattoo that he himself got as an adult, on his RIGHT shoulder. (It still has cult significance, but that's beyond the reach of this story...contact me if you're interested, which I know you're not.) So...a lot of this scene could be wrong. I also noticed on typing it up that this is actually more character interaction than actual sex. Er. Sorry about that. o_o;

* * * * *

Bad Trick

She let him open the door rather than the other way around; he barely glanced around inside before turning to her. His eyes were shadowed in the dim room. He let her in, shutting the door softly behind her.

She watched him, tapping her fingers together while he moved toward the bed and looked it over. He kept his face blank; she wondered what he could be thinking. The stony look in his eyes made her uneasy, yet it was her job, she had to make a living somehow, and she could never do that refusing guys on a hunch.

He turned back to look at her. She offered a smile. "So," she said. "Anything in particular you're interested in--any kinda fantasy thing? Y'know, little schoolgirl, nun, dominatrix--policewoman?" She giggled nervously. She'd thought it was a bad idea to let a cop of all people pick her up; yet so far he didn't seem to be interested in turning her in. She hoped that he wouldn't change his mind.

She also hoped that he didn't have any weird fantasies. She was new to the job, and didn't quite like acting that way. She preferred to do it straight, with no interference. However, that was no way to get the job done either.

"There's one thing," he said, his voice flat. She swallowed. Here it comes. "I want you to stay here the night."

She blinked. "That's it? That's all?"

He nodded. "If it doesn't conflict with your schedule."

She winced. "No, but you'll have to pay extra. One hundred dollars up front."

He nodded, pulling out his wallet--she had the vague idea that he was going to pull a gun and say, "Freeze!"--and handing her the money. She took it and put it in her purse, then turned back to him. She took a breath to steady her nerves. It would be nice if he at least showed some kind of emotion. He didn't move toward her, so she walked over to him, draping her arms over his shoulders and offering her best smile.

"I hope you've got protection. Just in case, y'know."

He nodded again, his eyes boring into hers.

"One can never be too safe." She ran her hands along his back. "Well, Detective. First you have to let me know what it is you like. Don't expect me to guess."

"You have all kinds of tricks up your sleeve. Why don't you try some?"

The way that he said it, it was barely even a question. She shrugged. "Well, you don't seem to be interested in playing good cop, bad cop, though I can make a very convincing bad cop." She giggled and traced a finger down his shirt front, relieved inside that he wasn't interested in anything kinky like that. She knew that he must have a pair of handcuffs somewhere. "You like kissing? I can do that pretty well." She demonstrated. He accepted her mouth and she felt him put his arms around her. Well, finally she was getting somewhere. They continued for several minutes; she ran her hands down his sides and tugged at his tie, removing it. She brushed her hand against his front and drew back abruptly, surprised; he was erect already. The look in his eyes was still stony; she couldn't believe that it didn't show on his face.

"Are all you cops so urgent?"

He stepped forward, catching her again, his mouth covering hers. He bit at her lips but didn't break the skin; Let him do it so long as he doesn't end up damaging the goods, she thought. She also thought that if this was a bust, then it must have gone wrong somewhere. Which was good for her.

She broke away, giggling and taking hold of his collar, leading him to the bed. He followed. She sat on the edge and brought her legs up onto it, lying back and drawing him over her. He pressed against her, squeezing her arms; with one leg he pushed hers to the side. They were both still fully dressed; nevertheless, he bore down onto her, his hips pumping hard against hers. She started again in surprise. If she hadn't known better she'd have thought that they were already at it, with the way that he was moving, yet so far they hadn't even done anything yet.

"Hey, Detective," she said, "how long's it been for you, anyway? Hold on a minute and I'll get you situated."

He broke the kiss, staring down at her through narrowed eyes and panting harshly. She started unbuttoning his shirt, pulling off it and his jacket at the same time; she reached for his belt buckle. He didn't touch her the whole time. She undid his belt and pulled down his pants, feeling him press something into her hand. She knew what it was and was further surprised that he'd been telling the truth. She pulled off his underwear and slipped it on; his hands reached under her shirt, pulling at her bra. Well, at least contact is established, she thought. She unbuttoned her own shirt and shirked it off; he didn't remove her skirt, instead raising it above her hips. She didn't object; if that was the way he preferred it, let him do it. When he pressed against her she could feel his heartbeat, pounding in his chest; yet his eyes remained as cold as ever. She stroked his back and shoulders, not going any further; some guys were sensitive about where you touched them, and she didn't want to set him off; he looked crazy enough already. Any cop who wanted to make it with a hooker must be crazy.

He didn't speak. He pulled down her underwear and she removed them with her toes. He pressed his lower body against her, again with that up-and-down motion; yet he still hadn't entered her. She ran her hands along his sides and nuzzled his ear while he kissed her neck.

"Come on, Detective, don't be shy," she cooed. She couldn't understand why he wasn't inside her yet. "You don't have to play easy with me. You're paying me for this, remember?"

He lifted his head and kissed her on the mouth. He shifted, spreading her legs with his knees. His breath was hoarse and fast. He gripped her hips, bringing himself down and into her. Immediately he started thrusting, not ramming but grinding his hips hard against her, as he had before they'd undressed. She wasn't used to that kind of motion, and he'd barely participated in any type of foreplay; he must have been more urgent than she'd thought. She didn't complain; it could have been a whole lot worse. He could have used his handcuffs. She didn't know if she'd have been able to allow that. Instead of speaking, she received his kiss when he moved to her mouth, and arched or moaned when it was appropriate. He didn't caress her at all; he kept his hands on her hips, squeezing tightly and almost painfully; she winced slightly but ignored it. His grinding grew faster; he was hard and frantic inside her. The two of them moved back and forth quickly. She clutched at the bed to keep herself from slamming into the headboard; a moment later he stopped thrusting suddenly with a jerk, arching into her. She gasped and arched slightly herself though he didn't notice; he stiffened inside her and froze that way, his head thrown back, for a moment or two. Then he let out his breath in a whoosh, sinking down on top of her; his muscles loosened and she could feel his breath, hot on her neck. She didn't move. He'd said that he wanted her to stay there all night; maybe he had something else in mind, or was going to go for seconds. However, after a while he lifted himself, pulling out and rolling to the side. He was still breathing heavily; she could tell simply from the way he'd acted that he hadn't been with anybody in a good long time. Were there any other cops out there so desperate that they'd use a hooker to relieve themselves? She doubted it.

"You've gotta find yourself a girlfriend, Detective," she murmured, stroking his neck. "A good-looking guy like you, it's hard to believe you haven't gotten lucky yet."

She meant it; she couldn't understand why he wasn't married. At least, he didn't wear any rings. He didn't respond, instead turning over onto his side and burrowing his head into the pillow. She hoped that she hadn't upset him. It was a moment or two later when she decided that she hadn't; he was fast asleep, breathing slowly and evenly now. That puzzled her; he'd paid her fifty extra for this? Well, it was a good way to get some rest, anyway. With a sigh she lay back on the bed, wriggling under the covers, shutting her eyes and dozing off.

* * * * *

A murmuring, and then a low moan. She opened her eyes, blinking in the darkness. She turned to her right, but saw nothing; she reached for the light and turned it on. That cop, the detective, was still there; he was on his back now, frowning at the ceiling. She paused for a moment, and then he moaned again, tossing his head. He flinched in his sleep and his hand clutched at the covers. He was having a nightmare.

She watched him for a little while, wondering what he could be dreaming. Maybe it wasn't a nightmare at all, but something else... She glanced down, noticing something on his shoulder, dark in the dimness. She frowned herself and bent closer, squinting at it. It was some kind of symbol tattooed onto his shoulder; she couldn't be sure what it was supposed to be but it looked vaguely familiar, like those cult things she'd heard about in the news. Her eyes widened and she backed away slowly. What was a cop doing with one of those things on his shoulder? She tried to decide if she should wake him up, maybe leave right now--but would he come after her, find her? He acted weird but she seriously doubted that he'd start stalking her! Maybe it was just some kind of personal symbol--a mandala or something, she wasn't sure what they were called nowadays. He suddenly gasped and jerked his hand to the side, his fingers raking the bed. "Don't," he moaned, and she knew that he was having a nightmare.

She decided that it would be best to wake him. He'd probably appreciate that, at least, if not anything else. Then she'd ask if she could go; it must be almost dawn, she had to get back to work, maybe she'd see him again sometime when he wasn't so tired. She gently nudged his shoulder.

He began breathing harder, wincing as if in pain. He shook his head and a strangled cry rose in his throat.

"Detective?" she whispered. "Hey, Detective. Wake up."

A murmured whimper. She shook his shoulder harder. That must be some dream! He didn't seem to be waking up at all.

"Hey, Detective. Wake up. You're having a bad dream."

He suddenly bolted upright, his eyes flying open. He whirled to face her--and his hands shot out, wrapping around her throat. She managed to get out one gasp before he started throttling her, his fingers sinking into her skin. She flailed against him, her eyes wide and terrified. When that didn't work she tried prying his hands away. But his grip was as strong as a vise, and only tightened the harder she struggled. She could see stars behind her eyes; the room was growing hazier, as if she were watching TV through a film of static. The detective was jerking her back and forth like a ragdoll, snarling, his eyes wild. She made a choking noise in her throat, trying to tell him to stop. She couldn't breathe at all! He looked as if he'd completely snapped; his eyes were nothing like the way they'd been yesterday.

"You--don't--do--that!" he shrieked, punctuating each word with another jerk. Somehow she could tell that he wasn't really talking to her; he was still in the throes of his dream. She wanted desperately to tell him that it was over, this was real, he was awake now--yet with each passing second her sight grew dimmer, her muscles weaker. She felt her mind growing fuzzy and started jerking herself, her muscles spasming, her lungs crying out for air. The room was turning black around her.

She flailed her arms out to the side, knocking over the lamp. It fell to the floor with a crash. The room went completely dark now; yet she could dimly hear thumping noises on the stairs, a pounding on the door, a voice yelling, "Hey! What's going on? You okay in there?"

She gurgled. The cop's grip didn't loosen a bit. If anything it only grew tighter. The pounding continued; the door was locked, but then she heard a splintering sound, and as she fell into a black haze there was the sound of a scream, and many voices, and suddenly her throat opened and she could breathe again. She gasped and choked, coughing sharply, bending over double. Someone helped her sit up, tipped her head back; she sucked in the air gratefully, and could feel her senses returning. Her throat was on fire; she brought her hands up and rubbed it painfully. There was a young man standing beside her, supporting her, looking disheveled as if he'd just awakened. He was staring at her, his eyes wide. It took her a moment to remember where she was and what had happened. Turning her head, still coughing, she saw another man--the landlord--wrestling the detective back against the wall. The cop was still snarling and shrieking wildly, his arms and legs flailing, yet the landlord was at least twice his size. He slammed the cop into the wall, knocking out his breath; he wheezed once and looked ready to pass out, only then he lifted his head again and looked around the room. The landlord had one fist raised, ready to strike him if necessary; yet the detective only blinked uncomprehendingly, his eyes raking the room.

"What..." he managed to force out. "Where am I?"

The landlord kept his hand planted firmly in the middle of the cop's chest. "Don't try pulling that one on me, you son of a bitch."

The woman tried to speak, and ended up hacking. He briefly glanced at her over his shoulder.

"Don't worry about him, lady. We'll take care of him. You all right?"

"He--" She coughed spasmodically and tried again. "--Paid--"

"Paid? Huh?" Realization dawned in his eyes. "Oh." He turned back to the detective, who was still groggily looking around the room. "Well. That's still no reason for him to try to do that. Ray, bring a blanket over here, and see if you can find his ID."

He pushed the detective down into a chair. Ray--the man who'd helped her up--grabbed one of the covers and brought it over to the landlord, who draped it half over the chair, covering him. He'd dropped his head into his hands and was grimacing, his eyes shut tight. Ray moved over to the man's clothes and started digging around.

"You're okay, lady? He hurt you too much?" Obviously deciding that the man in the chair wasn't much of a threat anymore, the landlord moved toward her, touching her shoulder lightly. Dark bruises surrounded her neck; they must have gotten there just in time, from the look of things. If the lamp hadn't fallen they'd never have noticed that anything was wrong.

She nodded weakly. "Drink--"

"Oh. Yeah. I'll get you some cold water, that'll help. Ray, you find his wallet yet?"

"Yeah. Uh--" Ray opened it and flipped through, then his eyes widened.

The landlord moved back toward the chair. "We're gonna call the police in on this one."

"Hey, Tom, he's a cop," Ray stammered, glancing up at the man sitting in the chair, holding his head.

"Huh?" The landlord looked up at him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"He's a cop! Here's his badge." He passed it over. The landlord took it, looking at it skeptically. "Uh--his ID card--'Detective Max Kristeva, Ward County Sheriff's Department.' Jeez, he's a cop, Tom!"

The landlord couldn't believe it. "Hey! You!" He nudged the man sitting in the chair. "You're a cop? What kind of stupid stunt do you think this is?"

The detective--Kristeva, his ID had said--didn't raise his head. "I don't remember," he said, his voice low and dull.

"Yeah, the hell you don't. Ray, go call the county post. See if this guy's for real. And get the lady a drink."

"Yeah, Tom."

The landlord paced the room back and forth, looking first at the prostitute and then the detective, back and forth, as he did so. This didn't look good at all. A cop trying to strangle a hooker in his building--no, it didn't look too good.

Downstairs, Ray reached the telephone, scooping it up and dialing the number of the sheriff's department. A female voice answered on the second ring--"Ward County Sheriff's Department."

"Uh, yeah, we've just had an incident here at Goodman's Apartments. There's this lady here, uh, a prostitute, and this guy tried to strangle her."

"Is she all right, sir?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so. Kinda shook up, though."

"Do you have the man in custody, sir?"

"Uh, yeah, we do. But, uh, he's one of yours."

A brief pause. "What do you mean, sir?"

"Uh, well, we looked at his ID, and it said, uh--" He turned and shouted up the stairs. "What's his name again, Tom?"

"Detective Max Kristeva!" the landlord shouted back.

"Um--his ID says Detective Max Kristeva. Sheriff's department. Look, we got him here, he's upstairs, he doesn't look too good himself, what should we do?"

Another pause. Evidently the person on the other end found it hard to believe that one of their policemen had just tried to kill a hooker. "We'll send over someone immediately, sir. Just hang tight."

"Uh, yeah, okay." He hung up, grabbed two glasses and filled them with water, and headed back upstairs.

It was the same as he'd left it; the detective was still sitting in the chair, the lady in bed--she was dressed now, he noticed, Tom apparently having fished around for her clothes and given them to her--and the landlord pacing the room. He looked up as Ray crossed the room to hand one glass of water to the woman, who took it and swallowed with a grimace, and then holding out the other to the cop.

"Jeez, Ray! What do you think he needs with that? He just tried to kill her, for God's sake."

"Yeah, but he doesn't look too good, Tom. Maybe he's got some kinda problem." He nudged the cop's arm. "Here, Detective. Have a drink. Come on."

"For God's sake," the landlord muttered.

The prostitute tried to clear her throat and speak. "I don't--*cough*--he was having some kind of--*cough*--dream--*cough*--I don't think he knew what he was--*cough*--doing."

The landlord stared at her as if she'd lost her mind. "You're standing up for him? He was having a bad dream? What kind of excuse is that?"

"Come on, Detective," Ray prodded gently. "Take a drink. I called your guys, they should be coming down to get you."

The detective finally lifted his head. Ray backed away in surprise. The cop's nose was bleeding, blood running down his face and onto his chest. His eyes were glazed, and he reached out vaguely in Ray's direction for the glass of water. Ray handed it to him and he swayed unsteadily as he took it.

"For God's sake!" the landlord exclaimed again. "What, is he high on coke or something?"

The prostitute shook her head and coughed. "No--no drugs."

"Well, he's high on something! I hope those county boys get here fast!"

"Were you having some kinda dream, Detective?" Ray asked, bending to look into the cop's face. He picked up an edge of the blanket and attempted to hold it to his nose for him. The cop pushed it away and instead held his hand there, blood squeezing between his fingers. He looked half dead, like he was ready to pass out. He shook his head as Ray spoke.

"I don't remember," he said, in the same flat voice.

"You don't remember coming here with a prostitute?" the landlord demanded. "Or you don't remember doing the 'wild thing'?"

Another shake. "I don't remember choking her."

"Yeah, well, that's too bad, 'cause you've got three people who'll say you did it. And I doubt your word'll stand up against that." He cocked his head; there was the sound of sirens in the distance. "You hear that, 'Detective'? That's your own boys coming to pick you up. I hope you spend a nice, long, sobering night in the clink, 'cause you don't get away with this kind of thing here. Not even with your fancy badge. You hear me, 'Detective'?"

Kristeva didn't answer. Instead he hung his head again, swaying slightly and wincing as waves of agony stabbed through his brain.

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This item is not looking for critique. It was written solely for entertainment's sake. Although a scene from a possibly longer story, it is complete in itself and unless otherwise stated there is not going to be any more of it written. Additional unrelated SCENES may be written, but single scenes themselves are complete as they are. So please do not expect more. If you are interested in reading the series which INSPIRED the scene, just look elsewhere in my portfolio and you should find something. (Use the "story codes" given in the scene headers. For example, "MI" = "Manitou Island" series.)

I am not looking for critique on grammar, spelling, style, sentence structure, flow, or the mechanics of writing. What I AM interested in is commentary on such things as characterization, plot, symbolism, theme, etc.--the deeper aspects of the story. I like to know if a scene is believable, if the characters are interesting, what you thought of how they interacted, if the writing evoked any emotions, things such as that.

Feel free to criticize, but just keep in mind that I'm working on more important projects and shared this just for fun and/or to illustrate character interactions, so I don't plan to revise it any time soon. Comments on the characters, theme, etc. are more than welcome.