Pt. 3/2: The Point Is Reached. Kinda.

The key slid into the lock with ease, turning with a satisfying click; Hoffman opened the door, letting Strahm walk in, Amanda taking a little longer to enter into his domain, swallowing as the door closed.

For an apartment, it was surprisingly spacious, well-furnished; walking further on, into the living room, she could see that it was the sort of place she would have loved to wake up in, back before John, back before she could wake up a different house every night if she, or the men in the club she’d visit, wanted to. A dark red sofa, black cabinet next to it... television placed a good distance away from it... carpet soft, almost fluffy under her feet... an armchair, end table, with a multitude of white rings from a coffee mug, next to it... a kind of spicy, not-entirely-unpleasant smell seemed to just hang in the air.

“Nice place you have here, Mark.” Strahm ran a hand over an arm of the sofa, brushing against the material. Damn, that fabric feels good...

Hoffman’s lips twitched at the smile the feeling of his sofa brought to the federal agent. Every material in the room had been specially chosen, for a little post-sex comfort, for her to lie there without complaining about the hard wood of the floor, or about how her skin stuck to the couch’s material, for any bruises to not hurt as much as they lay together on the soft, plushy fabric. And, he had to admit, it did feel good to just fall asleep on it, just come home, lie down, and snooze.

“Are we going to, you know, do anything yet, Peter?” Amanda sighed, giving a quick roll of her eyes. “Or am I going to have to fuck Mark on his own?”

Strahm smirked as he slipped his arms around Amanda, pulling her closer to him. They stared at each other’s eyes for a moment, Strahm admiring the dark, wildness of them, Amanda noting how blue his were, so like Hoffman’s, who was now stepping, ever so slowly, to Strahm’s back. With a short, harsh intake of breath, getting on her toes to do so, she crushed her lips against his, feeling his hands grip her waist. Her mouth moved to his lower lip, nibbling on the soft flesh. Feeling his hands clench as she did so, nails nearly digging through her clothes, she began to bite harder, tasting the sharp flavor of his blood in her mouth, sucking the flesh for more, more of him in her.

Hoffman took another step forward, placing his own pair of hands on Strahm’s shoulders, thumbs pressing into the flesh under the shirt and skin, as the agent leaned in to have his bottom lip shredded. Eyes fixed on Amanda, her own pair closed in ecstasy, concentrating solely on chewing, running her tongue over the ruins of his lower lip, Hoffman worked his arms around Strahm’s waist, running his left hand around the rim of Strahm’s slacks. With just a hint of ceremony, his hand plunged in, through the elastic waistband of his boxers, gripping the stiffening flesh.

Build-Up (Flirt, Flirt, Flirt, Booze, Flirt, Make Love To Me)

As one-night stands went, this one was actually good-looking, for a welcome change. It was less common now, now that she’d given up, gone clean, but, while she had been shooting, some of the men she’d ended up with... Like things out of a horror movie.

She’d ordered a drink, a Bloody Mary, lips twitching with amusement to see the way this Special Agent Peter Strahm kept glancing from beer to her breasts, beer to her breasts. Just like Hoffman... only...

“You from here?” she asked, taking a sip of her cocktail.

“No, just... here, meeting with Homicide. Mostly going through paperwork, autopsies, that kind of thing.”

“Huh.” She took another, longer sip of the cocktail.

“What about you?”

“...Taking some night classes in engineering. Pretty... interesting.” Not too far from the truth, now, are we?

“Sounds great.” Don’t bring up Jigsaw, don’t bring up Jigsaw. His mind started to panic as he tried to think of a topic that wouldn’t offend her in any way. “So... any... uh... any roommates? Or you just live by yourself?”

“Well... does it matter? I was kinda hoping we could, maybe, go back to your place.” Her lips spread into a wicked smile, a look that seemed to cause the heat in the room intensify, sweat to appear on his skin. He worked his tongue around his dry lips, wondering how he could have thought of this as anything but a good night.

“Is a hotel room okay?” he breathed, unable to manage anything above a whisper. Her smile grew even wider at that, her body getting a little closer to Strahm, so tantalizingly close...

“Of course-” she broke off, her grin fading as she caught sight of something, rather, of someone, a someone who took a seat next to him, much to her apparent annoyance. He turned to look into a pair of hypnotic blue eyes, staring at him in a way- He had to tell himself it was in no way arousing, that those eyes weren’t making his skin sweat even more profusely.

Hoffman looked at the federal agent in front of him, taking in every detail of that angular face. Not bad-looking. If I were gay... rather than just... making her a little jealous... He smiled over Strahm’s shoulder, as he leaned a little closer to the agent, to Amanda’s glower.

“Usual,” he grunted to the man behind the counter, who seemed to be trying to grasp that he was back again, back for a drink, no less.

“Usual fifteen? Hoffman, you sonuvabitch, where the hell’ve you been all this time?”

Hoffman kept his gaze on Strahm, trying not to turn around, leap across the counter, and attack the man who had willingly helped take five years of his life away. You’re better than this, Hoffman. You’ve seen worse. Well, okay, you’ve tested worse... “Just the one.”

“Amanda. Nice of you to wait for me to park the car. Who’s this?” His beer was slid to him, a glass he caught and started to drink in one fluid movement.

“Does it matter? We were just leaving anyway.” Amanda slapped the cocktail glass to the table as she stood up, dark eyes flashing as Hoffman’s fingertips began to circle the counter, just next to Strahm’s arm, letting the side of his hand brush against the white material of his shirt. Strahm shivered from the oh-so-slight feeling, trying to imagine the woman next to him naked and prostrate on the countertop, trying not to face that just a little bit of contact with the man on the other side of him was enough to turn him on. No, no, think of her, think of how her bare skin would look, how easy it would be to penetrate her...

“We only just got here, Mandy.”

“Correction. You only just got here. We are heading back to a hotel room, and you can get shit-faced. Sound good?”

Hoffman’s hand strayed to Strahm’s arm, stroking the skin. “Face it, Amanda... you don’t have a chance.”

“A chance at what, asshole?”

“Just one girl, in a hotel room... Couldn’t even compare. My place... both of you’d love it.”

“Listen, both of you,” Strahm said, glancing from Amanda, bristling, to her... acquaintance of some sort. “Hotel room? Shit. His place? Sounds good. Thanks...”

“Hoffman. Mark Hoffman.” He looked over Strahm’s shoulder, his smile twisting into a kind of smirk as his eyes caught Amanda. “How about a threesome?”

Buildup Pt. 1.5 (An Abundance of Strahm)

As nights out went, Strahm had had both better and worse. It wasn’t like he could call someone and moan about everything, because anyone who knew him could easily tell him to shut up and keep ordering until he couldn’t walk straight, that it wasn’t as bad as it could be, like that night in Vegas- He caught himself in time. Let’s not go there.

Still, as nights went, this one wasn’t exactly what he’d call good, or even average. Every woman in the place seemed to be accompanied by a man, and it wasn’t like he could just call someone from the Bureau to have a couple of drinks with him, laugh off the week with him. Fucking liaison meetings... Yeah, the Jigsaw murders are important. But, fuck, does Kerry have to go on about it... during coffee breaks? What kinda coffee break is that?

Now, Kerry, she was rather good-looking, the type Strahm would have hit on, if she weren’t such an icy bitch, and if she didn’t keep making eyes with the man in the next office, Ethan Matthews, Eric Matthews, something like that. It was a shame, really, that she seemed to have so much ‘overtime’, as she’d told him, with Matthews hanging around the coffee machine, grinning like a kid just let out of school. Smug bastard.

Still, as nights out went, he could do worse, much worse, than sit there, downing glass after glass, checking out any apparently single woman sitting at the counter, wondering whether it would be worth learning that if they weren’t as single as he thought, imagining them slowly slipping their clothes off, settling on his lap. He went a little further thinking about the blonde in the little black dress, conjuring up the image of yanking off anything she was wearing down there and thrusting into her, right there, right in front of everyone.

“Another Budd,” he sighed to the bartender, as the woman sauntered away from the counter, right arm clasped around the waist of some lucky bastard, the type Strahm felt he could easily outdo in bed. The liquid was cool, refreshing, something that he could pretty much take for granted and not get fucked over by. His eyes began to wander the bar again, his mind eager for another scenario that was never going to happen.

He caught something, a young woman entering the bar, hair cut short, spiked a little, short, frayed, tattered black skirt, eyeliner making her eyes stand out even more than he could imagine they usually did. She swept the room with her gaze; his breath caught in his throat as she began to walk toward him, gait slow, deliberate. She sat down on one of the stools at the counter, head turned, a curious, lustful look glazing her eyes.

“Hey, gorgeous. You gotta name?”

“Peter. Special Agent Peter Strahm.” He’d learned from experience that most women at least liked the fact that he had a little authority, or maybe it was the easy access he had to handcuffs. Either way...

“You can just call me Amanda.”

Build-Up (And Lack of Strahm)

“Where you going?” she asked as he applied cologne; the smell hit her from where she was standing. She noticed the clean shirt, something a little new for her, considering most of his clothes were unwashed, sweaty, oil-stained, a product of overtime on both his occupations.

“Thinking of going out tonight. See if anyone’s interested.” Hoffman turned to look at Amanda, running his eyes from her legs (which she’d decided to show off, possibly to taunt him, possibly to do something a little different) to her own pair. “Or have you decided to... accept... the offer I made?”

“Fuck you, Hoffman.”

“That a yes?”

“Keep dreaming, Detective, that’s all it’s gonna be.” He turned back to the mirror, watching her reflection as she paced around behind him. The sides of her lips twitched as he ran a hand through his hair, staring into the mirror, like he was trying to out-stare himself. “...Where exactly are you going?”

“Electricity, it’s fifteen, twenty minutes away from here.”

“Mind if I go with you?”

“So, you’re eager to sleep with anyone as long as it’s not me?”

“Pretty much.” 

“Bitch. How do I look?”

“How do I look?” Amanda stepped next to him, looking at her reflection, at the spikes and tufts of her hair, at her paler-than-usual skin, having gained a chalky pallor from so little time outside the warehouse, at the dark circles around her eyes. Damn, you need sleep. 

She noticed his eyes had drifted from his staring contest with himself, to the woman in the mirror, bad haircut, low-cut top flaunting her cleavage, much lingering of his eyes on that aspect of her. His hands gripped the sink, his gaze turning into a kind of glare, not that she could blame him.

“I want to play a-”

“Fuck you.”

“What?”

“If you’re going to quote John at me, just so I’ll sleep with you... Fuck you.”

“All I was going to say is, if you don’t accept, but you’re just tagging along, just to piss me off- Don’t tell me that you need a little action from someone you can stand- you know I’m going to have to try and... dissuade them from even thinking about you.”

“Oh yeah? What’ch’a gonna do? Kill them?” Her eyes glinted with the last sentence. He looked at her with a new intrigue. Well, looks like we have another sadist in the group. Fan-fucking-tastic. Three out of three now, you could say, don’t even try and deny it.

“Maybe I’ll just steal them away from you, see how you like it.”

“Like you could.”

“We’ll see.”

“...Fine. You drive. See you in twenty minutes... I gotta... freshen up a little.”