To Protect and To Serve

The last few paragraphs of that chapter took awhile for me to write!

-Sasuke-
Two officers in full uniform mumble to one another, hoping I don't hear and report them for being unprofessional. It's morning! Why the fuck would I care?

"Hey, you know Molocchi, his beat's on Pike and Pine?"
"Yeah?"
"He lost his job. Budget cuts."
"Holy shit."

Holy shit. That means I could lose my job too. I loathe the fact that this country is in a recession at the very least. The officers scuttle by my desk, Styrofoam cups of black sludge that civilians view as coffee clutched in their hands. It’s Halloween. I don’t like Halloween. I never liked it much as a child or teen. Now that I am an adult, and especially a cop, forget it. There’s so much crime on Halloween. Not just Mischief Night, but Halloween. Mostly arson and vandalism, but sex crimes and child abuse are reported. I grit my teeth and rub my temples in anticipation of today. Is it five o’clock yet?

Francisco’s signature knock greets my ears. He never uses his key except to lock the apartment. I’m so glad he always announces his arrival. I trot to the door and open it. “Trick or treat!” he bellows, grinning hugely and tackling me in a big hug. “Hi, Sasuke!”
“Let me breathe. Okay. Hi, Francisco.” Neither of us are dressed up. We walk into the kitchen. “Did you get any trick-or-treaters?”
“Do you see a bowl of candy anywhere?”
“Nope! That’s fine. I don’t like trick-or-treaters either. I prefer to eat the candy myself. Gave up trick-or-treating when I was thirteen though. Hey, wait a second, you bastard! How can you not have any candy?”
“I don’t like sweets. I never went trick-or-treating.”
“You must live a deprived lifestyle! It’s better with me in it though.”
I nod. “Have you eaten yet?”
“Yeah.”
“Feel like having dessert?”
“Sure!”
I hand him two boxes of Godiva chocolate, one white, one milk. I have a feeling he wouldn’t like dark chocolate, which is what I eat sometimes. Francisco beams. “Thanks, Sasuke!” He kisses me. “Now I’m going to get all fat. Will you still fuck me even if I gain a hundred pounds?”
I smirk. “You never stop moving and your metabolism is incredibly high. You won’t gain a pound. Yes, I’ll fuck you no matter what you look like.” Francisco turns serious and I feel like backing away. “Good.” The seriousness disappears as he opens the white chocolates and offers me a piece. I shake my head, wondering what he’s hiding. Still. Again. He shrugs and pops the piece of chocolate into his mouth, chewing with obvious pleasure.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“I want to fuck you one last time before you get fat and the sex changes slightly in dynamic.” He bursts out laughing and nods. “Get on the table.” He grins from ear to ear as he bends at the hips over the table, chest against the wood and still covered with the black cloth of his t-shirt. “This has always been a fantasy of mine, Sasuke.”
“Don’t bother holding onto anything. It’s been one of my fantasies for a long time too.”

“The candles sure look pretty.”
Two lit candles burn faithfully on an old but sturdy plate. It is a small white plate about six inches in diameter, slightly chipped in a few spots but and its rim is slightly raised, with navy blue rings spanning it. The candles are my extent of celebrating Halloween each year. I usually only burn one. The second, this year for the first time in awhile, is for Francisco. It’s my way of telling him I hope we’ll stay together for at least a few more months. I’ve never felt that way--the wanting to stay together for more than six months—towards anyone romantically before. Francisco’s favorite color is orange. Bright orange. He likes the candles. They are small, thick oval-shaped orange candles, maybe the width of a six-year-old’s palm but thrice as thick. Black wax is spun in the shape of a spider’s web on each candle, and strategic black lumps of wax represent a spider on each candle. The candle I have silently designated as Francisco’s is burning faster than the one I have chosen to represent as mine. Both candles are about halfway burnt down by now.
“Hey Sasuke?”
“Yes?”
“Do you believe in ghosts?”
“Yes. Do you?”
“Yeah. My grandmother turns the microwave on and off ‘cause it’s directly below the liquor cabinet and my grandfather makes the clock chime fifteen times at midnight.”
That makes me smile. “Were they married?”
“No, they’re from different sides of the family. She was an alcoholic which is how she died and he really liked clocks. He died of old age at eighty-nine. She died at fifty-one of severe cirrhosis.”
“Wow.”
He nods, gaze wandering again to the two small flames. “How was your day, Officer?”

I groan. “It’s Detective, not Officer. And I do not like Halloween. Always lots of new domestics in the daytime and a shitload of rapes once the sun goes down. Gets worse when the moon is waning or dark.” Francisco nods, interested. The candles are seemingly burning vertically, not horizontally. I want the wax to melt evenly, completely and horizontally.
“So you work in sex crimes and child abuse.”
“And I have a smart boyfriend,” I remark. Hr grins. He leans forward slightly and begins fussing with the old plate holding the candles. Pools of wax inside the candles wobble merrily. He wants to poke the soft wax near the flames, I can tell. I do it all the time when I burn candles. I place my hand on top of his and tell him so. Again, the big grin. And a slight blush. He shifts his body slightly and we cuddle closer.

He wraps his arms around my middle again and hooks his chin over my shoulder, kissing my neck. I ruffle his hair and he swats my hand away.
“Do you think it’s weird that we spend so much time together?”
“No, you come over three nights a week and it’s fine. You have a key to my apartment which also says—you matter to me a lot.” I hurriedly mumble that last part as my face turns the same shade as the candles. I turn orange when I am embarrassed and pink when I am angry or sad. My sunburns, few and far between, are always an angry red, should you care to know. Francisco draws me closer. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he whispers. For him, it’s whispering. For me that would be talking in a slightly louder-than-normal tone of voice. We sit in sentimental silence for a full ten seconds. I am always surprised when he stays quiet for longer than three.
“Do we have too much sex?”
“Of course not!”

He smiles again. “Do we have enough sex?”
I smirk and stroke his face. “Just barely.”
“I hoped so. Is it still mind-blowing, as you described a few weeks ago?”
“Of course.”
“I love these afterglow conversations. Hurray for post-coital sentimentality!”
“Happy Halloween, Francisco.”
“Happy Halloween, Sasuke.”
The candles burn steadily.