aFireFist
A Life in DC
Chapter 11 - Part 3
"One more chance," the captain said, voice carrying just enough to cut through the nearby chatter. He looked at each of them in turn, slow and deliberate. "Brass is breathing down my neck on this. Another clusterfuck like Kane Street and this unit gets pulled entirely. I want results. Real ones. Make the Queens feel actual pressure. Bring something to the table we can show upstairs—arrests, disrupted operations, anything that looks like progress. No more excuses about pollen clouds or the Bat Family showing up late. We do our jobs, we get it done."
A couple of the others murmured agreement. Montoya nodded, her expression tight and focused. Sawyer shifted her weight, powerful frame steady, but her eyes flicked toward Vieri for a split second. Vieri nodded along with the rest of them, keeping his face neutral. He already had the play ready for Friday. The meeting with the Queens. It was the kind of balance he'd been cobbling together since this whole mess started—give the task force something that looked like wins on paper, keep the women satisfied enough to play along. It was risky. But in Gotham, everything was.
Across town, high above the rain-slicked streets, the Clock Tower hummed with the constant low drone of servers and cooling fans. The massive circular room felt alive with technology—rows of monitors glowing with feeds from hacked GCPD cameras, traffic systems, and private security networks. Cables snaked across the floor in organized bundles, and the air carried that faint ozone tang of electronics working overtime. Dim overhead lights mixed with the blue-white glow of the screens, casting long shadows across the central command console.
Barbara Gordon sat at the heart of it all, her wheelchair positioned perfectly for reach. Her red hair was pulled back tight into a practical ponytail, a few loose strands sticking to the back of her neck from the warmth of the equipment. She wore her usual dark tactical top, the material fitting snug across her full breasts, the fabric shifting slightly with every breath. One hand rested on the main keyboard, fingers occasionally tapping out commands. The other had drifted between her thighs more than once in the last hour, pressing firmly against the seam of her suit before she caught herself and pulled it back. Her cheeks carried a faint flush she hoped the others hadn't noticed. The raid audio from Kane Street still played on a loop in her head. It was distracting. Dangerous. And she couldn't stop replaying it.
Stephanie Brown perched on the edge of the console like she owned the place, legs swinging idly, boot heels tapping lightly against the metal paneling. Her Spoiler suit hugged every curve—the purple-and-black material stretched tight over her bouncy D-cup tits, the zipper pulled low enough that soft inner cleavage showed whenever she leaned forward. Her thick, rounded ass pressed firmly against the console edge, the suit doing nothing to hide how the cheeks spread slightly from the position. Blonde hair fell loose over one shoulder, and her blue eyes sparkled with that familiar mix of mischief and barely-contained energy. She had been the one most vocal about the footage since it leaked through their hacks.
Cassandra Cain stood silent right behind Stephanie, arms crossed under her chest. Her sleek black Orphan suit clung to her compact, athletic frame like a second skin—defined shoulders, narrow waist that flared into powerful thighs, and a firm, rounded ass that flexed noticeably when she shifted her weight from foot to foot. Dark hair framed a face that rarely showed much emotion, but right now her dark eyes were locked on the screens with intense focus, a faint flush coloring her cheeks.
They had been running Vieri's name and movements nonstop since the raid audio first made it through their systems. The sounds from that back bedroom were burned in deep—wet rhythmic slapping of flesh, Harley's broken, ecstatic screams of "Daddy," the raw desperation in the overlapping moans as Catwoman, Poison Ivy, and Harley Quinn had completely lost control over one beat cop with a ridiculous cock. It wasn't just the audio. The way the three of them had unraveled, competing and surrendering at the same time, had left all three women in the Clock Tower quietly rattled in their own ways.
Steph was the one who said it out loud again, swinging her legs a little harder so her thick ass shifted against the console. "We need to meet this guy. In person. Soon." Her voice carried that excited edge, blue eyes bright as she glanced between Barbara and Cass. "The way those three were going at it? I want to know what the fuck makes trained killers turn into desperate sluts like that. Harley screaming for it, Selina acting all possessive then folding completely, Ivy talking about the Green singing in her pussy? Come on. That's not normal."
Cassandra signed sharp and direct, her movements precise and emphatic, hands cutting through the air. Strong. They all wanted him. We should test it ourselves.
Barbara tried to keep her voice steady, but it came out a little tighter than she intended. She shifted in her chair, thighs pressing together under the console as another faint pulse of heat hit her. "We almost missed the entire Pentagon incident with Madame Zodiac because we were too busy replaying that raid audio for the nth time." She gestured at one of the side screens where a frozen waveform from the Kane Street feed still sat open. "We still stopped her but it was closer than it should have been. This fixation on Vieri is becoming a real problem. We're supposed to be monitoring the city, not getting distracted by… whatever the hell happened in that apartment."
Steph grinned, biting her lower lip as she leaned forward. The motion made her bouncy D-cup tits press more noticeably against the tight Spoiler suit, the zipper dipping lower. "We still stopped her, Babs. And come on. You heard it too. This guy has something. We can't just pretend it's not worth looking into. I mean, three of Gotham's most dangerous women completely folded? I need to know what that feels like up close."
Cass nodded once, firm and decisive, her dark eyes never leaving the main screens. She signed again, slower this time, emphasizing each gesture. Strong. They all wanted him bad. We should find out why. Personally.
Barbara exhaled slowly, her cheeks faintly pink under the glow of the monitors. She could still hear the audio echoes in her head—the wet sounds, the moans, the way the women had competed and surrendered. Her hand twitched toward her thigh again before she forced it back to the keyboard. "Fine," she said at last, voice a little breathier than she liked. "We investigate. Track his patrol routes. Pull more feeds. See if there's more to the story than whatever happened in that apartment. But we stay professional about it. No rushing in. We observe first."
Steph's grin widened into something brighter and more predatory. She shifted on the console again, her thick ass spreading slightly against the edge as she squeezed her thighs together. "Sure. Professionally. But if we get a clean opening to talk to him alone, I'm taking first shot. I want to see if I can handle whatever he's packing better than those three combined."
Cassandra's mouth curved in the smallest, rare smirk—barely there, but unmistakable. Her athletic body stayed coiled and ready, the firm cheeks of her ass flexing once as she adjusted her stance, dark eyes still locked on the screens with quiet intensity.
Back at the precinct, Vieri pushed back from his desk and stood, the chair scraping lightly against the linoleum. The bullpen noise had settled into its usual afternoon rhythm—phones still ringing here and there, a couple of officers trading stories by the coffee station, the low murmur of radios in the background. He grabbed his vest from the hook on the side of his desk, the familiar weight of the tactical gear settling over his shoulders as he shrugged it on and adjusted the straps. The fabric smelled faintly of the precinct—old sweat, gun oil, and the general institutional must that never quite washed out. He clipped his radio to his belt, checked his sidearm out of habit, and headed toward the side exit.
Sawyer was already waiting near the door. She had her own vest on, looking every bit the capable detective, but there was a subtle energy in the way she stood—shoulders relaxed but ready, blue eyes flicking toward him as he approached. Montoya was still at her desk across the room, buried in more IA paperwork and follow-up reports. She didn't say anything when they left the bullpen together, but the look she gave Sawyer was sharp and direct, golden-brown eyes narrowing just a fraction. Jealousy, plain and simple. It flashed across her face for a second before she masked it with a tight nod in Vieri's direction. Vieri caught it clearly but kept walking. He just gave Montoya a small, even nod back and followed Sawyer out to the car. The tension between the two women was there, simmering under the professional surface, leftover from the office and the raid. Neither of them had said it out loud, but it hung in the air whenever the three of them were in the same room.
They stepped out into the damp afternoon air. The East End streets were still slick from the morning rain, puddles reflecting the gray sky and the occasional break of weak sunlight cutting between the buildings. The smell of wet asphalt and distant food carts mixed with exhaust from passing traffic. Sawyer slid behind the wheel of the patrol car, the seat creaking slightly under her solid frame. Vieri took the passenger seat, buckling in as she started the engine. The radio hummed to life with the usual low chatter in the background.
Sawyer pulled out of the lot and headed east, the tires hissing over the wet pavement. She was quiet for the first few blocks, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on her thigh. The car interior felt a little smaller than usual, the faint scent of her perfume mixing with the leather seats and the lingering trace of earlier rain through the cracked window. Then she glanced over at him, her blue eyes steady. "Been thinking about the other day," she said, voice low enough that it stayed between them. "The office. Can't shake it."
Vieri kept his eyes on the street ahead, watching the flow of traffic and the pedestrians hurrying along the sidewalks with collars turned up. "Pollen made things complicated," he replied, keeping his tone even.
She let out a short, rough laugh, the sound warm but edged with something deeper. "Complicated is one word for it. I've been wet every time I think about it since." She shifted in her seat, powerful thighs pressing together for a moment before she relaxed them again. "The way it felt. The way you handled both of us. It's been playing on repeat in my head during every quiet moment."
Vieri nodded once, not pushing it. "Yeah. It hit hard."
The radio crackled before either of them could say more, the dispatcher's voice cutting through clearly. "All units in the East End grid, we have a 10-52 at Rossi's Deli on 7th and Kane. Robbery in progress. Two suspects, both armed with knives. Clerk is on the line—male subject has a knife to his side, second suspect is clearing the register. Any units nearby, respond."
Sawyer's hand tightened on the wheel. "That's us. Two blocks up." She hit the lights and siren, the familiar wail cutting through the afternoon quiet as she accelerated. Vieri checked his vest and sidearm one more time, the adrenaline kicking in steady and familiar. They rolled up fast, parking half a block away behind a delivery van to keep the element of surprise. The deli's front windows were fogged slightly from the warmth inside, the sign above the door flickering with one burned-out letter. They moved together without needing to talk much—standard procedure, years of experience making the steps automatic.
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