“Fuck me!” You slammed your laptop down on the desk in one of your — many — outbursts of anger that he would downplay by saying you were just dealing with too much at work. Which, in fact, wasn't a lie; work had been consuming your life when this new serial killer showed up and was throwing a lot of pressure at the police. You, as the lead investigator in this case, haven't exactly been getting the best night's sleep since then.

Sleepless nights, too much caffeine, and dark circles starting to form under your eyes as you tried to catch any clues in the air. The Ice Truck Killer, the name you gave it because of the way the corpses were preserved and almost too well cared for. However, the blood was drained, completely, and there was always a part of it missing, but never something you could fully latch onto beyond the killer's modus operandi.

There goes, another cup of coffee and a scratch on your forehead as you sighed. Stay calm, you tried to focus, because a truly good investigator would do that without breaking their own laptop. “The neighbors across the street must have heard you,” he scoffed softly, large, warm hands squeezing your shoulders. “They'll complain about you being too noisy again...” Rudy leaned over your body sitting in front of him a little. “Especially saying those ugly words out loud.”

Normally, you would be upset about being disturbed when you were working — even if it was at home — but, this time, you really felt like you needed a distraction after almost becoming a nervous wreck. Not that he didn't give you enough distractions every time he was with you... A little more wouldn't bother you now.

“I can always pretend it's not me.” You grumbled, slowly getting up from the chair as his eyes followed every movement your body made. Rudy chuckled softly, wrapping his arms around you and pushing you slightly against the edge of the desk behind you. “Are you wearing my necklace?”

He knew that would be the first thing you noticed, even before you noticed that he was shirtless thanks to you. “You're wearing my shirt.” Oh, yes, he would have that on the tip of his tongue — it wasn't a complaint though, the sight of you wearing his clothes always pleased him greatly. “It looks better on you than on me.”

Rudy had a way of looking out for you, making sure you were okay even when you seemed to have no regard for your own health; which was quite often. “I'm glad you think so,” you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders. “You look better shirtless too.”

A professional at this, that was him, taking your focus away from your main objective that night without needing much other than the attraction you felt for him. “I can say the same about you, you know?” One of his hands went up to the hem of his shirt on you. God, it would be so tragic when you knew the whole truth about him.