Playing the Game Part One

Who: Aaron and Sam
Where: Pool Hall/Bar (since everything is owned by the KS and these two are DG :P)
When: Very early hours of the morning
Warnings: NSFW

It was quiet. In the wee hours of the morning, just before closing time, most of the patrons of the neighborhood bars had staggered home. The juke boxes had gone silent and the only sounds were the clinking of glasses as bartenders washed up and got ready to close. Most of the customers who were still around were either the kind who didn't want to go home, or the kind who drank until they passed out in the corner.

Aaron unbuttoned his shirt as he left the back room. Business was done, he'd done his job and collected his fee. He slid onto a stool at the bar, ordered scotch, and an icepack for his knuckles. It wasn't that he was overly bothered by the scrapes and bruises, but he might be needing to use them again tomorrow and it was a good idea to keep the swelling to a minimum. Aaron turned on his stool to contemplate feeding a nickle or two into the jukebox as he rolled up his sleeves. Then the ass of the guy shooting pool caught his eye. That was not a guy ass. He'd heard the clack of balls being racked and broken, and just assumed that at this hour, it would be some sixty year old bum who didn't want to go home and get bitched at.

He dropped a couple of bills on the counter, took his drink and icepack, and went to drop a nickle before going over. Sinatra. All the girls liked him. Aaron figured he could use a drink and some company. If the face wasn't as nice as the ass... well... that's what light switches were for. "Play you a game of eight-ball for the next round."

Sam's first day in Homicide was not the total train wreck she feared. Jakob was actually a pretty cool guy who respected her, liked her car, and let her drive. He wasn't skeevy (that she was aware of) or a perve (that she was aware of) and all around seemed like a good guy. However, until the poor guy's arm healed up and she managed to make friends with some of the other detectives, she was stuck winding down with some pool and a nice cold bottle of Coor's finest.

Then some idiot turned on some Sinatra. And that idiot seemed to have the idea that she'd let him play pool with her.

"If you change the music, I will," she said without looking at him, long blond hair curtaining her face as she chalked up her cue. It was a good day, after all, and Sam made sure that there was plenty of stroking and sensuality in the act. It was always fun to rile guys up after all.

Aaron stood watching her for a while, as if considering if she was worth another nickle. He knocked back half his drink, then set it on the edge of the table. Before strolling back over to the jukebox, he set a stick against the table next to Sam, looking her up and down. "How 'bout if you chalk my cue and I'll go set up some music for you to do it to. Any particular favorites?" He knew the game and he was willing enough to play it. There was no need to rile Aaron up. It was his natural state. He didn't wait for her reply, but started back across the room, balancing the icepack on one hand and digging in his pocket for a nickle with the other. He shoved the thing out from the wall a little, with only a small grunt, yanked the cord to kill the crooning, then plugged it back in and waited for her to let him know what the mood music was.

She looked at him with an eyebrow raised. "You do realize you just wasted a nickle, right?" She looked at him finally. She wasn't wearing as much make up, just some foundation and ruby red lipstick. She knew she looked good and she walked like she knew it, self-confidence and self-awareness in each step. This guy was definitely good looking and if he had shown up next week, she would've climbed him like a tree with not much convincing.

"It was already wasted if you don't like Sinatra." He glanced back, but didn't watch her cross to join him. Yeah. She knew what she was doing, and he did, too. It was time to make her work a little. "I got more." He leaned against the wall, putting more space between them and letting her take over.

Sam threw him a smirk and started flipping through the selection, her smirk widening into a genuine grin. Perfect. She took her own nickels from her pocket and plugged in her selection. Robert Johnson's Traveling Riverside Blues came on, the twangy guitar a tremendous difference from Sinatra's sultry tones. "Alright, cowboy." Sam grabbed a pool stick and shoved it in his hand. "Let's play."

She didn't wait for any response, just headed back over the table and lined up her shot. She always went first. The balls broke with a crack, sending two solids into two of the corner pockets. "Solids," she said out of habit, walking around the table to line up her next shot. "So what brings you around here?" she asked, leaning over her cue, focused on sending the solid green ball into a side pocket.

He caught the stick and didn't give, making her shove a little against his strength. He did watch her walk back, and then followed, taking his time. She broke, and then rounded the table and Aaron stood watching her bend and reach, not making any effort to hide the fact that he was staring at her ass. "Level pool tables, scotch and ice packs... you?" This woman probably ate a lot of guys up. He wondered if she thought he'd be scared off. That idea put a grin on his face, which probably lessened the effect he was going for with the calm, blatant staring.

"Listening to good music and having my ass stared at." Sam wasn't stupid. She knew when she was being checked out. She didn't mind. She stopped minding a long time ago. The solid made it into the pocket and Sam took a swig of her beer before going to the next shot. She missed it narrowly, the ball bouncing mere centimeters from the pocket. She swore softly under her breath but when she straightened, she had another smirk on her face. "Guess it's your turn." She moved respectfully away from the table with her beer bottle. She eyed his knuckles, bruised and a little bloodstained. "You gonna be okay?" she asked, not to insult him or anything and she made sure that was clear. She wanted a good game.

"I guess we're both at the right place, then." He just kept watching. She stepped back from the table, and he finished his drink in one gulp, set the empty glass on a table. Aaron gave his knuckles a glance and shrugged as he set the icepack next to the glass. "Okay enough to beat a girl, I guess." That should get her going. He stepped up, pausing to hold his stick out to her. "Aren't you gonna take care of the tip?" His tone was almost lazy and his grin was laid back and confident. Cocky. About more than shooting pool.

Three years of having to deal with constant innuendos and chauvinistic men had made it a lot harder to rile up Samantha Tyler than it used to be. "I think you have enough experiance taking care of the tip on your own," she said easily and innocently, her voice uninterested in the subtext he was sending her way. Under the lighting, shadows played across his face, shoulder broad, shirt partially unbuttoned. He was attractive and definitely the kind of guy she went for but really, he was just too early. A pity. "But if you want to beat poor little me, you might want to start putting that tip to good use."

"Yeah... I know just what to do with the tip, and I probably will beat you, but I'd like to buy you a drink anyway." Aaron turned, chalking his cue as he walked around the table, studying angles. He laid it across the table a couple of times to measure, and then settled on a shot, leaning, shrugging his shoulders, and then standing to remove his shirt. He wasn't really looking to show off how good he looked in an undershirt, and he didn't look to her for a reaction. He just settled in and went to work, sinking four, and then scratching while trying a shot that took two rails. "Damn... You want that drink now?" He could use another one.

Sam hid her giggle behind a cough and slid off the stool for her turn. "Sure." Even though she still had half a bottle left, this was going to last awhile, and what the hell, she could use one to take home. "I'll take the same." She walked past him, brushing up against him as she went to the other side of the table for her shot.

As she brushed by him, he ran his hand down her back. He wasn't flirting. He was guiding her past the sharp corner of the rack of sticks.

Sam didn't acknowledge the touch, even though it did feel nice. She paused to tie her hair back so she could see better and leaned over the table, the view down her shirt easy for him to spot. Poor guy looked like he could use a free show and she grinned, remembering the last comment she got asking if she worked at Babylon.

Aaron turned to signal to the tender for a couple of beers, and when he looked back, he was looking right down Sam's shirt. He froze for just the space of a breath, taken by surprise, and then he moved to meet the bartender in such a way that the other man didn't get the same view. He paid for the drinks and half sat on the stool, still holding the bottles as he watched her, not ogling her boobs, but looking at her eyes.

Sam was incredibly focused on her task at hand. There was a little line between her eyebrows and she wiggled her nose on occasion, making sure her shot was lined up just right. She licked her lips slowly, not for Aaron's benefit. It was habitual, unconscious. She sunk the ball and straightened with a wide grin, looking over at him briefly before looking at the table. "So... any wagers, Cowboy?" she asked easily, her good mood clear. Another swig of her beer before she leaned over the table again. This time he'd see the gun in the back of her pants. Even if it was covered by her shirt, the outline of it was obvious. On purpose? Sam wasn't sure but she figured if she was bringing up wagers, it would be good to show that she wasn't a "poor little girl" and in fact could take care of herself.

"You miss this next shot... and you button another button on your shirt." Aaron hadn't taken her for a poor little girl, and he didn't even blink when he noticed the gun. Hell, he didn't know too many people who didn't carry some sort of weapon. He hadn't taken her for a poor little girl... at least not in the way she was thinking. He was beginning to wonder, though. He took a long pull on his beer, while he waited for her to name her bet.

Sam was surprised, not because she was looking to unbutton her shirt, but she didn't think there was much wrong with how her shirt was. "Sure," she said with a shrug. "If three buttons are bothering you, you should've mentioned something earlier."

"The view doesn't bother me a bit. We can go someplace where you can take it off if you want. Just button up here if you miss." He took another drink, but never took his eyes off hers. "What's your bet?"

"Your timing is really bad," she said, not elaborating. "So what you're saying is that if you win, you wanna go somewhere?" she asked for clarification. She wouldn't be surprised if he WAS looking for a good fuck (and Sam knew damn well she was a good fuck) if he won.

That's pretty much exactly what he was hoping for when he first saw her, win or lose, but now, maybe and maybe not. "If I win, you owe me a drink." He held up his bottle. "If we go somewhere, that's up to you." He looked down at his bottle briefly, and then back up at her. "What happens when we get there..." He shrugged. "Make your wager."

Sam nodded and didn't miss her shot so her shirt remained unchanged. She straightened up, not moving around to her next shot and instead leaned against her pool cue, resting her chin on her hand in thought. She honestly wasn't sure. "If I win..." she mused, looking down at the table. The bastard wasn't making it all that easy for her to figure things out. "You stop being such a wimpy pussy and trying to play me." Sam grinned at him widely and made her next shot, the crack of wood echoing through the quiet room, the jukebox still playing softly in the background. The next shot was a miss, however, and she ended up sinking one of his in the pocket she was aiming for.

Aaron didn't seem to react at all, until she sank his ball. He stood, drank the last of his beer, and then carried hers around the table to her. As soon as she took it, he grabbed her hair, up close to her skull, pulled her head back and kissed her, pulling her in close, careful to keep his hand well away from her gun. Aaron turned, taking a step that would guide her to the wall, where her heel couldn't go back far enough for her to deliver a solid knee to his nuts, should the slight struggle escalate instead of subsiding.

She didn't expect this reaction from him, but then she shouldn't have been surprised. And he did it on purpose, handing her the beer bottle so her hands were full, making any kind of defense a bit complicated and messy. When he grabbed her hair, a bolt of fear ran through her and the idea that maybe she shouldn't have potentially insulted him ran through her mind but then there were surprisingly nice lips on hers and a hand on her hip.

Still...

Sam dropped the pool cue -- the smashed beer bottle would just make an annoying mess -- and reached back for her gun, pressing it against his stomach. Hard. She didn't kiss him back, remaining stiff and unresponsive so he was feeling the muzzle of the gun in his stomach.

He knew the gun was there. Aaron knew this was a possibility and when she shoved the thing in his gut, he didn't let go of her hair or draw away very far. He did manage to resist the urge to bite her lip, though. When he spoke, it was in a deep whisper. "I'm not a pussy, baby. This is your game. You want me to quit playing?... You quit playing and tell me what you want. I'll sure as hell give it to you."

"Alright," she murmured. "First I want you to let go of my hair." She didn't move away from him, her lips brushing against his as she spoke. She did move the gun away, slipping it back in her pants. "Second, I want to you to back up. Third. I want you to try win this game." She tilted her head back enough to look him in the eyes, eyebrow arched. Yes. Every good day needed to be topped off with something nice and this had the potential to be very nice. "And if you win, I'll upgrade that drink to something more. Because if I just gave it over, where would the satisfaction be?"

He didn't move at all until she was done talking, except that the motion of her lips on his made him unconsciously open them as if he would resume the kiss. But he didn't. He very slowly released her hair, then ran both hands down her sides as he gave her just a little more room. "I never stopped trying to win the game... but there'll be a hell of a lot of satisfaction without you making yourself the prize in a game of pool." He was very sure of that. "Besides, what will we tell our grandchildren?" He stayed close for just a beat longer, then turned his back on her and her gun to get back down to business.

He circled the table, looking. The eleven ball was a gimme. It was two inches from the pocket with the cue ball right next to it, but then he'd be out of position to play the fifteen. He measured the angles, banked the cue off two rails with a sharp smack and sank the fifteen, then walked to the other side of the table, taking his time to line it up. Aaron took a couple of deep breaths. It was an easy shot straight across the table, but if he hit it too hard it would scratch. The cue cracked into the eleven and bounced back two inches while the red striped ball fell into the pocket. Leaving him with a clear shot to knock into the backside of the eight-ball and nudge it into the side pocket.

Aaron looked up for acknowledgment of his victory before rolling the remaining balls into pockets, racking the sticks and grabbing his shirt. "You ready to go?" If she wanted to consider herself his prize, he would allow that in the interest of giving her what she wanted, since it was, coincidentally, what he wanted too.

Sam nodded and grabbed her jacket, pulling it on. Beer in hand she beckoned him to follow her to her car. The streets were relatively empty and the cherry red Roadster was sitting by the curb, hood on, waiting to be driven. She took a long chug of her beer, emptying half of it, before tossing it into the trash and getting in, unlocking the passenger door and turning on her car. He could get in, or he'd miss out, she didn't really care what he chose at the moment, although if he was busy staring at the car, she didn't mind. It happened.

He was staring at the car, but not for long. It was cold and his jacket was in his own car because it was splattered with blood. The roadster was nice to look at, but there were many good reasons to get inside quickly. He didn't give his own car a second thought. This neighborhood was better than the one it was usually in and he could get a cab in the morning.

Sam nodded in approval and revved the engine, speeding down the avenue, perfectly calm and at ease. "Handcuffs don't bother you, right?" she asked in the same voice someone would use when asking if they'd rather have Coca-Cola with or without a lemon slice.

"As long as you're the one wearing them." His tone left no doubt that restraining him is out of the question. He answered her plainly enough, but asked no questions of his own. Aaron preferred to figure these things out as he went.

Sam made a 'hmmm' sound and pulled into the parking lot behind her building. Definitely the nice part of town, the apartment building upscale with a doorman. She shut the car off and started getting out. "I'm at the top. Elevator is slow." Which also meant You are more than welcome to get started on the way, especially since you already know I'm not wearing a bra.

Part Two: The Morning After coming soon