She's sure there's a rule against this somewhere. Or at least there should be. Maybe if there was a specific paragraph or subsection, she wouldn't be doing this. If there was a rule that said 'Do not have angry sex against a wall with your new Lieutenant only hours after a transfer', she wouldn't be having angry sex against a wall with her new Lieutenant only hours after a transfer. But the rules only say 'There is to be no personal relationship between superiors and subordinates', and she didn't spend almost her entire career in Internal Affairs without learning how to bend rules and regulations to her will.
And it's not like this is a relationship of any kind.
They barely even know each other. Sure, she has more intimate information about his life than most people, details about his drinking, his anger issues, but those are all work-related, and nothing she hasn't seen a million times before. If he thinks he's the worst of the bunch she's had to investigate, he's kidding himself. She certainly doesn't know him, though, not even after having read his file cover to cover; she doesn't know what makes him tick, what makes him the person he is. But apparently, she's in the process of finding out what makes him groan into her hair, what makes him push her that tiny bit harder into the wall, makes him bite down hard on her earlobe. Even that doesn't count as a personal relationship in Raydor's Little Rulebook, though. This isn't personal at all.
Preferential treatment is for people who can't keep work and sex separate, she knows, and for a sickening second, she thinks of Chief Johnson and Will Pope, but then his hands find her back, going lower and lower, until he hoists her up as far as she can go with one foot still on the floor.
There isn't any finesse to this, just a white-hot rage that makes her entire body clench. She's not even angry at him, not exactly. She's angry at them all for so blatantly defying her; at Taylor for his smug grin whenever she sees him from the corner of her eye; at herself for ever agreeing to the transfer in the first place. And from the way his hands bruise her hips, she knows he's just as angry, though at what exactly she doesn't want to know, doesn't even want to guess at.
He changes the angle, and she barely manages to bite back a moan. What would she be moaning anyway? His name? His rank? She just called him Andy, not for the first time, but she hasn't used his first name enough over the years for it to be even close to a habit. Using his rank when he's buried deep inside her would be the right punishment, she thinks for a self-righteous moment, but then lets the thought trickle away and bites her lip instead. She doesn't need to call him anything at all. It's better that she doesn't, better that she thinks of him only as a warm body, convenient, but not friendly, never more than this right here.
But when he comes, he groans her own rank into her ear, as if reminding himself (and her) who they are, what they're doing, and somehow, that pushes her over the edge. She briefly wonders if her name would've had the same effect.
Neither of them bothers with niceties. She pulls out a handful of tissues, cleaning herself quickly, almost before he's managed to tuck himself back into his pants. It's obvious that this won't happen again, so she doesn't feel the need to say it, but then his eyes fix on her, studying her more intently than he ever has before. Trying to figure her out, maybe, and she's suddenly confident she'll be able to get him on her side soon enough. The others won't be as easy—if fucking in what amounts to a closet not far from the morgue of all places can be considered easy, anyway—, but they, too, will come around.
She's read all their files and knows exactly where to hit them. She'll have to earn Sanchez's respect, and ignore Provenza until he falls in line. Tao will stop being suspicious the first time he needs her help, and Buzz hopefully won't even have an issue with her taking over in the first place, beyond the regular transition period between bosses. Flynn was supposed to be the difficult one, the elusive one that she couldn't get a grip on, that wouldn't trust her until hell froze over. He's proven to be the exact opposite now.
A few deep breaths later, one hand smoothing out the last wrinkles in her dress, Sharon feels as inscrutable as ever.
"Lieutenant," she says, nodding her head once, and meets his eye without flinching.
His "Captain" comes back like an echo, quickly and reliably, and she wonders if (hopes that) it will always be like this between them now.
When he opens the door for her, his other hand hovering over her lower back for the duration of a heartbeat, she steps through without giving it a second thought.