Chapter Text
"Shit," Britt mutters as she loses sight of the robber when he runs into a dark alley. She advances slowly, gun in one hand, flashlight in the other. "NYPD! Come out with your hands up!"
There's a clatter and a cat yowling, and she swings her flashlight up toward a fire escape, but only sees the cat's tail disappearing into a window. A few more steps into the alley, sweeping the flashlight side to side, and then a dark shape rushes her. She tries to hit him in the head with the flashlight but misses, catching the side of his neck so he staggers a little as the flashlight falls to the ground. It's enough for her to reach out and grab the man's wrist where he's holding a gun, twisting so he drops it. She quickly holsters her own gun to free up another hand, but her advantage is gone and the man is swinging at her, getting a good hit in to her stomach so she doubles over.
Britt recovers quickly and tries to subdue him, but the man is bigger and stronger and faster, and pretty soon he's got her in a chokehold, squeezing the air out of her while her fingers scrabble at his arms. She tries to grab for her gun, but before she can reach it there's another dark shape in the alley, moving fast and knocking the man away from her. Britt gasps in air and draws her gun, but the newcomer -- Daredevil, it's gotta be Daredevil, who else would it be? -- is moving too fast and she can't get a clear line of sight while he grapples with the robber. She goes for the flashlight but by the time she gets it Daredevil has knocked the robber out with a sickening crunch that probably means the guy's going to have a broken jaw.
There's an outstanding warrant for Daredevil's arrest on about a hundred different assault charges. Britt doesn't want to try to arrest him, but procedure is procedure, so she points the flashlight at him and cocks her pistol. "Turn around with your hands up," she orders. He stands up slowly from where he's crouched over the robber, hands lifting and head cocked to the side like he's listening to something.
"You're not going to arrest me, Sergeant," he says, voice low and rough.
"The hell I'm not. Turn around." She shines the light over him to get a better look as he turns. He's not in his usual costume; instead he's back in his old garb of black jeans and a too-tight black shirt, mask covering his eyes and nose. She can see the outline of the muscles of his abdomen and chest through the shirt, and for a second she finds herself happy that he's not in his new outfit. "What happened to your new suit?"
He smirks and replies, "Laundry day."
She takes a deep breath and says, "Hands behind your back. You're under arrest for--" He moves faster than she can see, flipping straight at her and pinning her against the wall by the wrists, gun and flashlight pointing up into the sky.
"Drop the gun," he says, and she lets go of it, heart pounding in her chest. In the sideways light of the flashlight his mouth is highlighted, pink lips standing out as the rest of his face and body fade into the darkness. He's pressing her against the wall, body flush against hers, and she should be terrified but she's not, she's just amped up from adrenaline. Daredevil might be a crazy vigilante with anger management issues, but he's on the right side, and she knows as long as she doesn't fight him he won't hurt her.
He's also really, really attractive, at least what she can see of him through the masks and costumes, and that should not be a thing she is thinking right now, definitely not, stop that train of thought immediately. He smiles, huffing a small laugh, like somehow he knows what she's thinking. "We're not enemies, Sergeant. We've worked together enough. I thought maybe we could come to some kind of arrangement." He shifts his weight and deliberately presses one of his legs between her thighs. Her breath catches in her throat and she swallows.
"Arrangement? You're not-- Are you offering sex in exchange for not arresting you? Is that what's happening here?"
He chuckles again, then cocks his head, considering. "If I was, would you take that offer?" He shifts against her again, and the heat from his body and pressure of his chest against her breasts and his thigh against her crotch make her a little lightheaded.
"You really want to add bribing a police officer to your warrant?" Britt asks, telling herself firmly that the answer is no, she would not take that offer, even though something inside her wonders if that's true. Before she can say anything else, though, he's leaning in, closing the distance between them, and kissing her, slow and hot. He feels and tastes familiar, somehow, but the thought fades away as he teases her mouth open, tongue sliding against her own, sending heat pooling between her legs. He lets go of her wrists and slides his hands over her body, one coming to rest on the side of her face and one gripping her hip tightly.
The kiss grows more intense, and she drops the flashlight and clutches at his shoulders and neck, abandoning any pretense that she might arrest him. He rocks his hips against hers and she moans, spreading her legs a little to let him push in closer. His mouth moves off of hers and down the line of her jaw toward her neck, then suddenly he freezes.
"Wh-- What?" she asks breathlessly.
"Your backup's coming," he says, then suddenly she's cold as his heat is withdrawn. He swings up the fire escape, then calls, "Thanks for not arresting me," before disappearing over the edge of the roof.
Britt gapes after him in silence, then hears the voice of her partner yelling, "Mahoney! Where are you?" from the street. She grabs her flashlight and gun and calls back to him, then heads over to handcuff the robber. She's trying to haul him off the ground when her partner finds them.
"What happened?"
Britt sighs. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."