fcuk

John sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair in frustration as he walks hurriedly towards his car, the dark parking lot completely empty. It had been a long work day, and he had been utterly distracted the entire time. He could read people, damn it, it was his specialty. His bread and butter. He was a goddamn psychologist, and he was used to assessing the actions and words of others, taking them in and sizing them up until he could probably pinpoint for you the exact moment their psyche cracked, or neurosis developed, or self esteem plummeted.

And yet, there was only one person, one person in the whole goddamn world, who he couldn't manage to read. His enigma. His obsession.

And here she was, leaning casually against the door of her car, a cigarette dangling from her fingers.

Gabriel. Fucking Gabriel.

"What are you doing here, Kidd?" John parrots the nickname he often heard the other detective Duke teasing Gabriel with, baiting her. As he expected her eyes narrow, and she drops the cigarette to the ground, crushing the burning tip with the toe of her boot.

"Don't you call me that," she hisses. "Don't you fucking use that name. You know how much I hate it."

John did, he knew exactly how much it pissed her off, but something dangerous burned low in his gut that made him feel like pushing her buttons. He needed a reaction from her, and at this point even anger would do. He just needed something.

"Well," he continues, moving into her personal space until he had her pushed up against his car, breath hot on her face "it is your name, isn't it?"

Gabriel's top lip curls back, the barest hint of white teeth behind a curled snarl. "Get fucked," she spat. And John's vision went red.

Unable to control himself any longer he crushes his mouth to hers, forcing her lips apart with his own as their tongues battled for dominance. The kiss was sloppy, and wet, and neither of them were quite sure what they were doing, having never experienced this before within the confines of their asexuality.