Disclaimer: This story is fan fiction. The characters are the property of Steven Bochco Productions and/or ABC.

Rating: This story is rated NC-17, for adults only.

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The music was sassy and sweet, the tempo insistent. There were no other dancers on the floor, only he and Diane . Diane, in his arms at last, swaying with him to the sensuous beat. He held her close, running his hands over her shoulders down her soft, smooth skin to the small of her back. He could feel her hips press against his and begin to move in a wonderful rhythm that matched the music.

"Diane..." he moaned.

"New girlfriend, Harry?"

Denby opened his eyes. The romantic setting disappeared. He was in his own apartment, laying on his own bed. The music came from his stereo. There was a woman in bed with him. She was petite and attractive. It was not Diane. Her hair was short and dark blonde. Denby gazed at her breasts, which were directly above him. He reached up, and balanced one in each hand. His thumbs circled the nipples, making them grow hard. He began to squeeze and pull at them in time to the music. He closed his eyes.

Her hips began to move again, responding to the stimulation. "Well, that's nice, Harry. I'm glad to see you're a little more into it. Are we going make it a two-way street today?"

"Are you going off the meter?"

"Come on Harry, a girl's got to make a living."

Her name was Christine. They had met years ago when Denby, still walking a beat, picked her up for shoplifting. On the way to the station house, Christine suggested a way that they could work things out on their own, and Denby agreed. A few years later, after a particularly disastrous break-up with a girlfriend, Denby ran into her again. Denby was now a detective, and Christine was working for a high-priced mid-town escort service. This time he paid her, took her to a hotel room, and fucked her violently. Afterwards, he cried, and she held him. Thus began an intermittent but continuing liaison. Sometimes a year went by, sometimes he saw her once a month. Through several more ex-girlfriends and one ex-wife, Christine had been a constant in his life. For Denby she always found an hour in her schedule. She even gave him what she laughingly called the 'NYPD corporate discount'. Not for the first time Denby marveled that his longest running, most successful relationship with a woman was with a prostitute. What did that say about him?

Whatever else he might think of the dynamics between a hooker and a john, Denby looked at his own association with Christine more dispassionately. Surely this was the male animal at his purest. Sex was the essence of the beast, the primal need to dominate and procreate, to continue the species. This was sex with passion and desire, but sex without the intimacy that came with making love, sex without the emotional commitment, sex without the cultural imperative to marry and have a family.

Denby was not feeling like much of a male animal at the moment.

Her hips moved, pressing her pussy against his cock. In his mind, he could picture Diane there with him. A wave of desire swept over him, and he breathed deeply. "Stay with the image," he thought, "feel the sensations and just let your body react. It's the autonomic nervous system, it'll know what to do." His cock stiffened a bit, but that was all. He groaned with frustration.

"Chris, baby, you're going to have to do all the work today. I'm...I'm still having that problem."

"Not to worry, Harry. I can still make you feel good." She moved down to take him in her mouth, then she looked up again. "You know, you'd be surprised, I get this a lot. A lot of those guys on Wall Street, the brokers, the day traders? It's job pressure, I tell 'em. You can't let your job get to you, Harry."

"No," he thought, as she slowly brought him to a mockery of an orgasm that was still the best he'd had in months, "you can't let your job get to you."

And as he came, he murmured Diane's name again.

The End