It should have been a simple case, a couple of kids from the estate caught twocking, not something they'd usually bother with. Leave that mess to the local plods, but when the wreck finally burnt out there'd been the body. Young girl, too damn young to wind up stuffed in the boot of the car, and a body made it theirs.
It hadn't taken long to ID her, pretty silver necklace fused into her neck matching a report the mis-pers dug up, Sally Ansell, just eleven years old, reported missing by her grandmother. The necklace had been bagged up and sent off to evidence, but after the fire they weren't expecting to find much. Kids always set Brant off, the whole office knows that, and as usual the others slink off and leave Porter to deal with him.
"Eleven, just fucking eleven and tossed away like..." Brant's pacing the squad room like a caged animal, wanting, no needing someone to hunt. "And did you see this report? Parents didn't even notice she was missing, if the nan hadn't been waiting on her she wouldn't even be in the system. As it is we don't know how long she's been gone."
"School says she was there Tuesday, but not seen since, and according to the pathologist she's been dead about two days, so sometime Tuesday night. He'll know more once he's done with the autopsy." Porter knows that won't go down well, but he's learnt the hard way to keep Brant away from pathology if there's any choice.
"You went by the morgue without me? Getting to be a habit that."
"Well if you'd stop terrorising Dr. Adam's staff you might be more welcome."
"I don't terrorise them... well not much, but if they're that nervy maybe they're in the wrong line of work. What else did he give you? Anything we can use?"
"No signs of sexual assault," he gets that out first, and knows it's helped rein in part of Brant's anger. "But signs of longterm abuse, cracked ribs not from the fire, and preliminary x-rays show bones broken and not healed right."
"The parents." Brant's already heading for the door when Porter calls him back.
"Collier's already bringing her in. It's just the mum, Dad's doing a stretch at Longmarsh."
"You sent Collier? Does the poor dear need her hand holding? She battered her kid."
"So she said, took one look at Collier's warrant card and confessed on the spot. Spontaneous admission counts no matter how her brief tries to spin it. CPS is just waiting to take a full statement. But there's nothing more to be done." No one to hunt, is what he dosn't say, nobody for us to chase down and make pay. "She's been on the lash pretty much nonstop since her bloke went down, and on Tuesday night it went off on the landing, girl just took a tumble, and that was all. Manslaughter is the how the CPS will file it."
"If it was just an accident, why not call it in. What was the girl doing in the car?"
"She was taking her to Margate," the puzzled look on Brant's face would be funny under other circumstances, but today it's just sad. "She reckoned Sally liked the beach there, wanted to take her to her favourite place."
"The beach, jesus, what the fuck was she thinking? And what the Gresham lads just made off with the car while she wasn't looking?"
"Something like that, she went back inside to get Sally's coat and when she came back out the car was gone, and she just..." Porter lets Brant figure the rest out for himself.
"Just picked up the bottle again. Christ that's a fucking mess of a story. So that's it, there's nothing more to it?"
"Collier'll take the formal statement, seems like the mother won't change her story, so bar the paperwork it's done, and if Collier's doing the statement, then the paperwork's his too."
"I..." Brants back to pacing, he's wound up with nobody left to take his anger out on, and they both know what's coming next. "Well if you don't need me I'll head off, places to be dealers to scare up."
Porter doesn't bother to call him back, just tips his head at the door, "Try not to scare them up too much, that paperwork I don't need."
"Porter you worry too much, I'll be as gentle as I always am." He pauses at the door, "Tonight." It isn't a question, and Porter's known this was coming all day.
"You've got a key." Brant just nods before heading out, not bothering to answer. Porter gets back to work, the sooner he gets things finished, the sooner he'll be home. And he needs what's coming every bit as much as Brant does. He briefs the Chief Super and begs off the press conference, dead kids always bring out the vultures, but he hasn't the stomach for it today. When Collier's finally through with the Ansell woman he files the statememnt in the proper places, but can't bring himself to read it through. Doesn't want those details in his head. When the team clock off he slips them a couple of twenties to stick behind the bar. Buying a round for a job well done is habit, but he won't be joining them tonight. It's not a celebration, and they didn't get a monster off the streets, just a sad tale of misery where everyone lost. If those kids hadn't chanced on the car, they'd maybe never have found the girl, and he doesn't like to think on that. They'll go down for the twocking but he's of a mind to give the CPS a nudge to get them into a programme rather than seeing them go to Feltham. But that's a job for tomorrow, tonight he's got other plans.
When he gets back to his flat it's long since dark, winter nights drawing in earlier every day as they head towards December. He cranks the heating to ward off the chill then starts getting ready. Switches out the sheets for a crisp clean set, leaves the cheap Irish whiskey Brant favours out on the kitchen table, calls the local Tandori and leaves their usual order, knowing that Brant'll stop there on his way. Last step in his routine is a shower, he lets the steaming water wash over him, cleans up inside and out, washes the grime of the day away and tries to settle his mind. It still amazes him sometimes that they've got a routine, that they've settled into something so orderly. From drunken fights and bloody nights where they'd both tried their best to forget the horrors of their latest case; nights where they'd both wound up bloodied and beaten, and way too fucked up to make it to work the next day. To this, it's not a relationship, christ Porter knows damn well how badly that'd go for both of them, it's more like stress relief, a way for them both to reset, and get ready for the next bloody mess heading their way.
Brant likes to joke it's therapy, usually right after someone from upper brass makes the suggestion that one or both of them is in need of counselling. So far they've both managed to avoid the suggestion being turned into an order, largely by continuing to function moderately well, and solving the kind of cases that make the brass look good. The day that changes they're both fucked, as Porter's under no illusion that he's better adjusted than Brant, he just hides his nature better. One time, back when they'd just been starting to make this a regular thing, Brant had called them mirrors. Said as how he wears his anger and his violence on the outside for everyone to see, loud and proud, but hides this part of himself, won't ever let anyone know that he's just as fond of cock as Porter is. Where Porter's the opposite he kicked open his closet door without a thought, but his anger, that he hides, never wanting anyone to see him lose control.
When he shuts the water off, he hears movement in the kitchen, the clink of bottle against glass, fridge door slamming shut hard enough to make him wince, and the clatter of plates being pulled out, and the take-away being put in the oven to keep warm. He doesn't bother to cover up, just walks back into the bedroom, knowing what'll be waiting for him. Sure enough, Brant's lounging in the doorway, glass of whiskey in his hand, and Porter knows without looking that there'll be a glass of wine waiting for him on the bedside table, but a drink isn't what he's looking for right now. He steps right into Brant's space, pulls the glass from his hand and sets it aside, and leans in for a biting kiss.
Brant doesn't move, just lets Porter have his way, opens his mouth and gasps softly when Porter bites down hard on his lip. "No foreplay tonight then, just getting right down to it are we."
Porter stays silent a moment then steps back slightly, giving Brant room to move. "It's what you're good for, remember? Got to find some use for you after all." He lets his voice slip into the cultured drawl he favours for putting upstart lackey's in their place, knowing how much that fucks with Brant's head.
"Guv..." just the one word, but Brant's already slipping into his place, he never calls anyone that at work, lets his disrespect speak for itself, never acknowledging that anyone's his superior, but here in this place Porter is the one calling the shots, and they both know it.
He turns towards the bed, hears the rustle of clothes being removed, the thud of Brant's jacket hitting tthe floor. Another night he might draw this out, make Brant fold his things up neatly before allowing him into his bed. But not tonight, he's in no mood to wait. As soon as Brant's as naked as him he shoves him down onto the bed, and settles over him, they're both already hard, and Porter reaches down and rakes his nails down the length of Brant's prick, "Eager little thing isn't it," Brant just moan quietly, and Porter does it again, loving the way Brant's mouth twists up in pain as he tries so hard to be quiet.
There's lube in the bedside table, but he doesn't want that, he'd prepped some in the shower, and tonight he wants to feel the burn. Kneeling up, he lets his weight keep Brant down, then he angles himself just right and drops down hard, taking the full length in one quick slide. He doesn't give himself time to adjust, just lifts and drops again, this time Brant lets out a broken moan, and a "Please Guv..." but this isn't his time it's Porter's and he's going to take what he needs.
"We both know this is what an animal like you is good for, not like you're useful at work. Didn't do anything for little Sally today did you?" The taunt hits home and Brants hands fist into the sheets a he fights to keep control. "Nobody to beat up, no big villain for the great Tom Brant to chase down, useless all round I'd say."
They're both too wound up to last long, and Porter slams his body back down, rocking his hips with every rise and fall, taking what he needs. He wraps his left hand around his own cock, stroking hard and fast and it doesn't take much before he's coming over Brant's chest, and clenching down on Brant's still hard cock. He takes a second to catch his breath, then shifts slghtly, he could leave Brant waiting til he's ready to go again, but he'll save that particular cruelty for a time they're worse off than this.
When he gives Brant the nod, strong hands come up to grip his hips hard enought to bruise, and then Brandt's thrusting up, harder and faster, head thrown back, whispered murmers of "Guv..." and "Please..." while Brant rushes towards his own completetion, Porter bites and scratches his own frustrated need over Brant's chest, leaves bruises and deep sucking marks on every inch he can reach, and when he finallly feels Brant's rhythm falter he bites down hard enough to draw blood. The scream Brant lets out is as much about the pain as it is his relese.
They're both too wrung out to move, so Porter just savours the feel of still being stuffed with Brant's softening prick, clenches down just to hear the beautifully pained moans Brant can never quite hide. They'll clean up in a bit, and he knows there's a paneer waiting for him downstairs, along with Brant's vindaloo. They'll drink too much, and avoid anything that even hints at talking about their feelings. But they'll feel better, and the night's not over yet, he plans to get fucked at least once more, and he's been fantasising all day about having Brant on his knees in front of the sofa, hands clasped tight behind his back, and his mouth wrapped around Porter's prick. For a man who's still pretty new to this, he's surprisingly talented at blow jobs, and Porter plans to take full advantage.