It's a good 3 hours drive from DC to Singer Glen, 133 miles door to door, but I can do it in half that time. One of the few benefits of a government sedan is the opportunity to break the speed limit and hell who's gonna stop me at 1 in the morning?

The last part of the drive is always the most challenging, dark winding roads which require my full concentration to ensure that I don't end up in a ditch. That would necessitate calling the local Volunteer Fire Department and I don't think I could live that down.

I pull up outside the house, a converted barn at the edge of the forest. A good solid wooden building, a bit like a boat, my haven in the storm that is life. Wearily, I climb out of the warmth of the car and walk over to the front door. He opens it shortly after my knock.

"Wasn't sure if you would make it" is his only observation at my lateness. He know it comes with the territory, he's been there himself. We are both in lines of work where you can't just down tool at 5 pm, you work until the job is done. Even so, 5 hours is pushing it, I feel that I owe him an explanation, he knows I don't do apologies.

"Case." I manage to say.

He nods and asks no more. It's not that he doesn't have an interest, he knows first hand the sort of work I do and the how intense I can be on the job.

I step inside the house, savouring its warmth and cosiness. It is furnished simply, with touches that reflect his ancestry. I instantly feel that I have come home.

He hands me a large bourbon. I waste no time in downing it in one, grimacing as the liquor makes contact with the back of my throat. The familiar burn jolts me into the present and allows me to fully appreciate who is standing in front of me.

We are so similar, both of us dedicated to our jobs, professional in our outlook, possibly obsessive in my case I concede. Both of us are unwilling to take the easy way out and need to get to the truth.

"Would you prefer the bottle?" he asks, arching an eyebrow at me. He has this easy way about him that I find so endearing. I put the glass on the sideboard. If I had taken the bottle he wouldn't have judged me.

"No." I whisper and gently caress his jaw, brushing the light stubble there. I feel him leaning into my touch like an affectionate feline. I trace the scar on his cheek, sometimes I worry that he puts himself in such danger for strangers, but I remind myself that I do the same thing n a daily basis without a second thought.

There is a frission in the air. My work-induced tension has been replaced by something else entirely. A sexual tension that is almost palpable. He looks into my eyes and can see my desire.

"Want you." I growl, as I grab him by the shoulders and push him against the wall, possibly with more force than I intended to. He accedes to my demand to access his mouth. Both of us are enveloped by our desire for one another as we push our bodies tightly together.

We come up for air….

I rest my head on his shoulder.

"Need you." I whisper.

"Yours." he replies huskily and takes me upstairs.