Title:        You're the top
Pairing:      Masters/Sim
Rating:       R18+
Length:       2568 words
Summary:      Jo tries to ruffle Suzie's feathers
Disclaimer:   not mine - Thames TV's.

Note:         this story reads better with italics
              functioning (there are no italics in this emailed
              version).  Go to   Three Dollar Bill
              to read with italics intact.

****************************************************************
You're the top
by Viv Martella's Ghost


Jo Masters was drunk.

She was listening to herself recite a tediously long
story about chasing after a lost evidence folder
earlier that day.

Shut it, Masters, you daft git, her brain said.  But
her mouth kept moving.

On the other side of a glass of dry white, Suzie Sim -
the only other stayer after the CID Friday night
piss-up - listened with admirable patience.  Her glass
was still nearly full.  It was the only drink Jo could
entice her to order all night, while she herself had
sat back and guzzled...how many house reds?

"The funny thing is," she was saying, "that in the end
I found it.  On me own desk!"

She waited a moment for a response, but Suzie was not
one for polite tittering.

"Sorry," said Jo abruptly.

"That's okay, Jo," said Suzie, reserving her amusement
behind her clipped formal style.

Jo, drunkenly slow, stared at Suzie for a moment,
thinking how wonderful she was to be so forgiving.
"If I say one more word about stationery," Jo said,
face flushed and eyes sparkling in contented
drunkenness, "will you promise me - promise - you'll
walk out of the bar and leave me with the tab?"

"Promise," said Suzie, and smiled.  "But we don't have
a tab."

"No," Jo agreed, sitting up straight with effort.  She
pounded the table with her finger.  "The figurative
tab."

"Ah."

"See?  Thanks."

Jo downed the dregs of her glass.  Suzie took an
experimental sip of her wine and made a face.

"You're really not hittin it off with that wine, are
you, Suuuzie?"

"It's okay.  I'm used to more expensive wines."

Jo made a contorted face.  "Well la - de - da!"

"Don't misunderstand me.  I don't have anything
against cheap wines.  They just don't taste very
pleasant so what's the point in drinking them?"

Jo smirked, stretched her arms to the sides, and waved
her hands in an uncoordinated gesture which was meant
to say, I am the living proof of why, but she couldn't
quite manage it, and instead giggled profusely.

"Hm," said Suzie.  "I rest my case."

"Oh come on, am I not entertaining enough for you?"

"You are.  You're very entertaining, Jo."

"Get us another then, there's a good girl," said Jo,
and tossed a crumpled twenty pound note at her.

Suzie raised her eyebrows.  "Don't you think I should
be getting you home?"

"Pah!  The night is young!"

Suzie obligingly got up to go to the bar.

"And get yourself something while you're at it!" Jo
shouted after her.  "Vodka, gin, sherry, an effin
shandy if it'll take the pole out of your..."  She let
her voice dwindle to nothing, finishing the sentence
only to herself.

A bloke at the adjacent table grimaced at her.  "She's
a good girl," Jo told him, and he nodded.  She
breathed deeply, and sighed randomly, "Ooooh, fuck."

Suzie.  Suzie Sim.  Jo found her aloof - to say the
least - at the best of times.  She's a different
species! she'd said once over a pint with Gary Best,
and he'd laughed, as he laughed at all her jokes.
Dear little dyke spike that he was.  Or a poof.  Is he
a little baby poof? wondered Jo, but her brain failed
to concentrate long enough to gather an argument for
or against.  Well he ought to be a poof, she
concluded.  I'd marry him.

But here she was - Suzie that is, not Gary - bringing
her another drink.

"You are such a good girl," said Jo.  "Bloody cheers."

"Cheers," said Suzie, and held up her glass to be
clinked.  "I bought myself an expensive single malt on
your tab."

"I am impressed!  Bloody cheers to that!"  Jo clinked
Suzie's glass for a second time.

As they sipped, there was a brief moment of no
conversation.  Currently residing in a different
timescale, it went longer for Jo.  During that moment
she saw the changes pass over Suzie's face, clear as
day.  The slight amusement and disapproval gave way to thoughtful,
which moved into concentrating, and then deep cogitation.  A
little frown went with it.  This, thought Jo, is not a good sign.

"You know what puzzles me?" began Suzie, exercising
the frown.  "Is how that motorcycle thief managed to
get out of the multistorey car park so fast."

God, no.  Don't do this to me, Suzie Sim.  Not the
motorcycle thief.

"You know what puzzles me?" countered Jo.  "Is how it
is remotely possible on god's green earth that you can
work with me every single bleedin day - day in, day
out - and not want to cuff me to the photocopier and
shag me senseless."

Suzie was suitably surprised, but said nothing.

"I mean," continued Jo, "I couldn't give a flying fuck
about the motorcycle thief.  I am really over, Suzie,
the sodding motorcycle thief.  What is infinitely more
interesting to me is this question of whether or not I am
simply the sexiest detective you have ever seen in your whole
career in the Met."  She laughed as she said it, but held her
head high at the end.

"No," said Suzie, having gathered her wits.  "Not by a
long shot."

"What?  What's the matter with you?  Am I not woman
enough for you?  It's all real, you know."

Jo shifted her position in a busty sort of way.
Suzie, impressively, did not look at Jo's tits at that
point.  Jo found this unbelievably funny.

"You are such a straight girl!  What, did they give
you an injection at birth or sommit?  Did they give
you electric shocks when you wanted to play with the
little girls at nursery school?"

Suzie took it in stride.  "Do you want me to answer
that question?"

"Probably not."  Jo rubbed her smiling face with her
hands.  "No.  I don't think you should, Suzie.  I
really really don't."

Jo drank.  Suzie drank.

"Sorry," said Jo.

"Maybe you're just not my type," said Suzie.

One half of Jo's mouth curled upwards.

"Is that right?"

Suzie shrugged.  "I think I'd prefer someone like
Ramani."

Jo nearly lost her mouthful.  "Ramani?  You're havin
me over!"

"Why not?"

"She's so..."

Jo shook her head, finding the words.  She laughed
loudly.  "She's insane, Suzie.  You'd drive each other
mental.  She's a basket case.  I mean - don't get me
wrong - she's a great copper I'm sure, but... She's a
complete and utter nut job."

"No she's not-"

"And you - you're an obsessive compulsive
workaholic... You'll make superintendent before the
decade's out and she'll still be fluffing around
trying to save the world one domestic at a time."

"She's Acting DI."

"Whatever," scoffed Jo, attempting to make a `w' with
her hands as Gary had taught her, but instead making a butterfly or a moose or -

"I respect Ramani."

"Oh, come on.  I respect her too, I have great respect
for the woman.  I meant mad in a good way - I love nut
jobs, me.  But you and her together?  Professional
respect, Suzie Sim, does not a romance make."

Suzie did not appear to be at all perturbed by the conversation.
That's cos she's yankin your chain, Masters, you great plonker.
Suzie swilled her ice gently, calmly, pensively.  I think.
It was so hard to tell what was going on behind that dark-eyed
self-assured poise.

Jo tried to nudge it.  "I would have thought Samantha
would be more up your alley.  Or Prosser - what about
her?  You could do well out of that."

"I'd be surprised if you have the slightest idea how
to characterise my alley, Jo."

Suzie smiled.  She had made a joke.  Jo burst out
laughing.

"I'm sure it's very pretty."

Suzie licked her lips, sipped her drink.

Ice and fire, thought Jo.  Hot.

But this was Suzie Sim.  What would Gary say?

"Ramani has a lot of qualities you lack," Suzie was
saying.  "Charm, intelligence, professionalism,
maturity..."

Go for it, Gary would say.  Can't stand her
personality but I wouldn't kick her out.  Jo could see
the enthusiastic jaw grinding and hand gestures that
would go with it.

"So you don't want to give us a kiss then?"

"No," said Suzie shortly.  Jo laughed.

"Phew!  That was a lucky escape."

Suzie's eyes held her gaze.  Not angry, not
flirtatious, not hurt.  Unreadable.  Interview eyes.
Her voice was interview voice when she asked,
unemotionally, "I'm not your type either?"

"Well...let me put it this way.  My last had a - shall
we say - a passionate nature.  She's pretty much the
opposite of you."

Suzie nodded.

"So no," smiled Jo, and mouthed, `you're not my type'.

Suzie considered this, poker faced.  She was good at
it.  Very good.  Jo was not too shabby at getting
results but she could never emulate Suzie's coldness.
Her cool.  Her unruffleable composure.  What would a
person have to do to ruffle it?

I want to fuck you up the arse, girl, Jo suddenly
thought.  And suddenly, she really did.

"How's that whisky going down?"  She was quieter now.
Sobered, a bit, by purpose.

"Better than the sauvignon," said Suzie with perfect
French.

"Well," drawled Jo, getting out of her seat, "I've got
a bladder like a football.  So I'm off to the-"

Jo stumbled awkwardly, and fell over her chair onto
her arse.  She sat on the floor looking serenely
amused.  Suzie watched her, pitifully.  Jo extended
her arm towards Suzie.

"Would you be a love and give us a hand?"

Suzie was a good girl.  She helped Jo up, helped her
stand, offered herself as a leaning post.

"D'you mind?" said Jo, gesturing at the ladies' with
her head.

"Come on then."

Suzie helped Jo stagger to the bathroom.  She helped
her push open the door.  As they staggered in, Jo
staggered back against the closing door, and Suzie
found herself pressed between it and Jo as the door
slammed shut.  She glared at Jo.

"Do you think I'm a complete fool?" she asked
dispassionately, though she didn't make any attempts
to extricate herself.

Jo shook her head.  "I just want to ruffle your
feathers, Suzie.  I don't want to marry you."

"Ruffle my feathers?"

"Come on.  You know you're up for it."

"I don't even know what it means, so how can I know
I'm up for it?"

"Have you never wanted to be shagged in a public
lavatory by a randy lesbian who won't remember a thing
in the morning?"

"No.  I can't say I have."

"Look, it's me you're talking to, Suzie Sim.  You can
tell me.  I've heard it all before, wanted it all,
done it all."

Suzie, still squashed, just looked at her.

Ick.

Jo felt sick with herself.  This wasn't how it was
meant to go.  She stepped back from Suzie and leant
against the side wall.  Suzie brushed off her jacket
and folded her arms.

"I can't work out if you're just drunk or if you mean
it."

Jo shrugged.  "Bit o both I spose.  Would it make a difference?"

Suzie's intense brown eyes caught Jo's and held them.
"I don't like you very much you know."

"I know," said Jo, refusing to blink away from the
gaze.  "You're not much yourself, darlin."

Suzie continued to stare.  It was disconcerting.
She's going to punch me, thought Jo.  And I deserve
it.

Suzie Sim slid the bolt across on the door.  She took
Jo's face in her hands and kissed it with her
luscious, pouty lips.  Hard.  Grasping.  Hot.  Suzie's
hands found the sides of Jo's neck, as if to make
preparations for strangling her.  Jo could feel
Suzie's dislike, her bubbling contempt, in the suction
of her lips and the firm caress of her thumbs beside
her throat.  Jo pressed her up against the door again.
 But Suzie wasn't to be pushed around, and shoved Jo
back against the side wall.

Jo didn't waste any time.  Her right hand found its
way down the back of Suzie's pants to the crease of
her arse.

"Don't touch me," said Suzie, and extracted Jo's hand
from her trousers.  Tits up for that plan, thought Jo.

Meanwhile, her other hand had taken Suzie's fingers
and put them on the front seam of her own tight jeans.
 A place they seemed to like.  Suzie's fingers pressed
into her and pushed all the way down the seam.

"You want me inside you?  Is that what you want?"
demanded Suzie between kisses.

"Anything you like," breathed Jo, forgetting in that
instant who was supposed to be the top around here.

Suzie unzipped Jo and squeezed a hand inside the
denim.

"Don't these jeans give you thrush?" she asked, her
second hand peeling the trousers back down Jo's
thighs.

"Suzie, I never knew you could be so romantic," said
Jo.  She felt Suzie's fingers shove unceremoniously
inside her.  "I'll be sure - to tell - Ramani-"

There were two wriggling fingers inside her.  They
worked Jo, got her all liquored up and slippery.  Then
there were three, and they pressed deeper.  Jo's face
panted close to Suzie's ear.

"I want to hurt you," whispered Suzie, biting at Jo's
neck.

"Try me," whispered Jo.

Suzie's fingers shifted.  Then they pushed, and all of
a sudden there was a tight solid fist driving inside
Jo.  It burned rough without lube.  Suzie's knuckles
pinched flesh against her bones, and Jo's skin was
being stretched way beyond comfort.  She gasped,
swore, lifted her leg out of the way, held onto
Suzie's wrist, forgot to breathe.  Suzie ground into
her, pushing determinedly past the tight bit at the
entrance.  Jo was just wet enough, practised enough,
desperate enough and - above all - fascinated enough
by Suzie Sim to take it well and like it.

Once the fist was well in, she relaxed into it.  It
filled her, consumed her.  Jo's whole consciousness
was reduced to awareness of the object that had
invaded her; she was fucked gently into another
dimension as the fist jiggled and flexed.  When
Suzie's fist moved, Jo grunted.  When Suzie's fist
didn't move, Jo groaned.  She was in the zone.  Her
emotions were raw for Suzie to scratch.  She bent her
knees and swayed with Suzie's fist for all it was
worth.

There was no orgasm, not with fisting.  It had a peak
of a different sort, a satisfied, stretched,
I've-had-enough-now-get-the-fuck-out-of-me feeling.

"You'd better stop," breathed Jo.

Suzie withdrew her fist slowly, releasing the vacuum
seal of Jo's insides with the fingers of her free
hand.  She left Jo starry eyed, weak kneed, unable to
speak while she washed her hand under the tap.

Jo dragged her jeans back up her shaking legs.  Suzie
dried her hands with a paper towel.  "Can I call you a
cab?" she offered politely.

Jo was drunk.  Jo was fistfucked.  Jo had treated
Suzie like shit all night.  Jo was feeling
sentimental.

She smoothed down Suzie's immaculately neat hair.  "I
don't get a lift home, then?" she asked, her eyes
delicately twinkling and her face, as always, smiling.

Suzie let her do it, but she clearly wasn't
interested.  "I don't think so."

There was fire deep in those dark, cold eyes.  The
fire of victory.  Nobody topped Suzie Sim.

Jo smiled a wry half smile and nodded.  "Maybe next
time?"  It was only a joking half question.

For one gratifying second, Suzie's eyes smiled, before
she flipped open her phone.





The End.