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The sky is always so dim behind the thin windows high above. There was never any sun or any clouds that passed by, not even the grace of a star. Salmon remembered enjoying stargazing, maybe it was when he was younger- when he had hopes and dreams, visions of becoming something great.
Those hopes and dreams had been turned to dust, and his only wish was to get out of this place alive.
“Oi, Salmon. You got rocks in your brain or what?? Get yo’ booty cheeks over here and help me out.” A feminine voice raged a few paces away. It was Cancy, a friend that he’d made in the trials by the hurl of a brick. He heaved a sigh and turned to her, “Sorry, sorry. I like seeing what time of night it is. The sky looks pretty, even so far away.”
Cancy pinched the bridge of her nose, fed up with him before reaching any objective, “It’s the same damn sky we see every therapy. And the next time you go daydreaming, I'm gonna leave you here to get killed. Yeah? Great. Now let’s go.”
“You’re daddy Easterman’s desperate little ‘’how high’’ as per usual.”
She ignored that comment in favour of kicking the orphanage door down.
The pair entered the orphanage just as Mother Gooseberry had finished speaking over the PA system, her full figure already entering into the metal doors as soon as they came close. Salmon scrutinized the list in front of him, raising a brow as the “Prayer” part of the list had been crossed off and “Party” had been written over in blood.
“Hah, maybe the Priest is having one ‘’hell’’ of a roof raiser!” Cancy joked, slapping her knee. “Get it? Cause they're a Priest?? In the Chapel and they're throwing a ‘hellraiser’??” Seeing her partner eyeroll she scoffed, “Ugh, you suck the fun outta everything- just like you did that stupid cop.”
Salmon choked on his own spit, coughing as he sped towards her, his heart seizing with momentary panic and fear as the memory invaded his brain, “Woah!! Uncalled for! Jesus Christ why would you say that??” He swallowed a few times, wiping his mouth with the cuff of his purple sleeve, “I’ll laugh at your joke next time if you promise not to bring that shit up again.”
He could practically hear Coyle’s deranged laughter and feel the dick lodged in his throat, his breath coming out short and raspy, choking around the girth as the cop rammed it back inside, over and over again. Saliva spilling around the hot length as semen flooded his throat, forcing himself to swallow the bitter fluid again and again-
Salmon had been sore for weeks afterwards. He felt disgusting then, and feels filthy even now. Stupid fucking police officer. He never wants to be in that kind of powerless position again, even if he gets stuck in a trial- he’ll take death as an option.
She sniggered at him, patting his back, “Sorry sorry, I won’t bring it up.” She looked him in the eyes and he could see her gaze soften, “I guess it’s still a little soon, huh. Let’s just focus on the objective and get the hell outta here. I’ll give you some of my good shit when we get back.”
The reagent smiled at her, albeit more of a ‘meep’ than an actual smile, but she took it nonetheless and they continued on their way. Cancy let him deal with tuning the radio frequencies, as she doesn’t really possess the patience for that kind of thing. She’d rather play ‘ring-around-the-rosy’ with an ex-pop than do anything short of tedious. Though why she uses a barricade rig over a stun rig- which seems more her style- is beyond him. She's never patient enough to set it up.
Once the radio was tuned, they decided to split off and tackle different sections of the orphanage, though Cancy still yawned at the suggestion, claiming she’d “die of boredom” or prefer getting her teeth drilled out by Futterman, but eventually agreed at the prospect of getting out quicker.
How she did these therapy’s on her own without disappointing Doctor Easterman, he's got zero clue.
Cancy opted for the girls' dorms, and Salmon took the infants, keeping his ears strained for any sort of whining that the radios did before they channeled properly. He crept along the hallways as quietly as he could, hiding behind various moving nuns as he went to avoid the local ex-pops and traps. Distantly, he could hear Mother Gooseberry mumbling to her puppet- something about ‘fixing her face’.
Since when did she care about little things like that? He didn’t hear what the puppet had to say because he spotted the radio he was supposed to tune. As quickly as he could, he slid into the room and made a beeline for the radio. And within a couple of quick heartbeats, it was tuned.
The sky outside was still dark from those thin windows high above, distantly wondering what the time was. A memory of his life surfaced, one of a very ornate pocket watch with fuzzy lettering engraved on the inner lid of the watch.
Salmon always wondered about who he was before the therapies. But not just him- Cancy as well, and all the other unfortunate people who came here before him. They had lives before this, what were they?
He was rudely ripped from his thoughts by the crackling of his walkie-talkie, Cancy speaking hushed and panicked, “Yo dude, dude, the guy is here. Y’know, the angry yelling guy??” She was out of breath, panting like a dog, “..Oh fuck, Sparkplug! Sparkplug guy is here. Why is he here, he’s not supposed to be here why is he here oh my god-”
Salmon’s face contorted into varying degrees of confusion and amusement as he snorted into his walkie-talkie, “Sorry, who on god’s green earth is sparkplug?” Who gives people such shitty nicknames?
“Oh my god you’re so dumb. Sparkplug! That fucking cop!”
Oh.
Oh.
That’s who Sparkplug is.
His brain short circuited for a moment, panic seizing his heart and he momentarily stopped moving as if ice were running through his veins instead of blood, “... No. No I don’t.. Doctor Easterman wouldn’t… he can’t?? He shouldn’t be here..” Salmon’s mind raced with despair, fear of the lawman taking over rational thought.
“Dude it was so confusing, plus he charged at me as soon as he exited the doors like some heat seeking missile. I don’t know what the hell that crazy doctor is doing, but it ain’t good.” There was a shaky exhale, so unlike her usual bravado, “Let’s just stick with the program so we don’t get fried, ye-”
It came suddenly, the ominous sound of thundering boots and the crackle of electricity getting louder and louder on her end. Southern mumbling of ‘coloured people’ and ‘’where’d that little dark woman run off too?’ sounded sharp and so, so nearby.
It was Officer Leland Coyle. And he was on the hunt.
.
“Where’d that little dark woman run off too? Fuckin’... Just as I was gettin’ worked up.” He grumbled, scanning the area briefly before whirling around. The black woman would have to wait, he has bigger fish to fuck, he just needs to catch it first.
Ever since letting the little fishy swim away weeks ago, the pretty, frightened face has scarcely left his memory. Haunting him the way lightning haunts a thunderstorm, striking the open expanse of his heart each time with deadly accuracy.
Coyle could feel his dick hardening in his pants, and he grinds his palm into the leather to relieve himself of the aching pressure. What he wouldn’t give to see that pretty boy again and slam his dick into his throat and listen to him mewl around it. Fuck- fuck- that tight, wet throat would’ve sent a dog into rut with how good it felt.
His dick throbs again in his pants at the vision and it’s clear he can’t ignore the appendage. He zaps his inner thigh with the cattle prod, muscles seizing up as pleasure flooded through his body and going straight to his leaking cock. He groaned under his breath, picturing those teary green eyes and saliva slicked lips to help push him over the edge, releasing into his own pants like some sex craved dog- which he no doubt was, and creating a sticky wet patch in the front of his jeans.
Shame was quick to wash over him and even quicker to vanish, he’s an officer of the law! He shouldn’t be getting a… a stiffy over another man. It’s provocative, perverted, and wrong- illegal in all fifty states and beyond. Homosexuals have ruined this country with their disgusting values and sinful ways, he won’t let them ruin the law too. But even still, those green eyes wouldn’t leave him. Maybe he’ll just pluck ‘em out and feed them to crows, get them outta his head.
Movement in the corner catches his eye and turns him away from his wandering thoughts, green eyes vanishing from his head in favour of pursuit, “Is some skeeter shakin’ my web?” He drawls, walking closer to the flash of movement, ears peeled for rustling of fabric or sounds of breath. He lingers there for a moment, sucking smoke as he waits. He could wait all day if he must, he can exercise patience.
Then it happens, the coloured woman he’d been chasin’ earlier makes a run for it, haphazardly tossing an object in his direction.
Rage flared and he barks out at the woman fleeing in the dark, “That is assault of an officer! I’m gonna rip you something fuckable for this, commie shit!” He chases after her, following her rapid footsteps and bashing doors, an easy suspect to track down if he did say so himself.
It didn’t take long for the reagent to become cornered in some dingy bathroom with corpses and bloodied mannequins. Her breath came out in short and harsh gasps as she sucked in vital air, air that was becoming dirtied with cigarette smoke. Coyle felt a mix of disgust and delight at seeing her panicked expression, like a fly struggling in a web- he shut the door behind him and locked it in a slow and fluid motion.
The coloured woman gnashed her teeth at him, her oversized, yellow, rig clutched tightly in one hand. Looked to be one o’them barricade types. Useless in all sorts of ways, just like her species.
“Your kind ain’t allowed around these parts, fucko.”
The officer held up his prod, the tingling light casting burst of light in the bathroom, illuminating her fear. He wrinkled his nose at her apparel- or lack thereof. Wearing some fuckass tighty-whities and a tank top. Provocative women are the reason the country was going to shit- along with them damned coloured folks and jews. It just so happens she’s a combination of two- provocative and coloured, damned to be filthy.
She swallowed audibly, making too fast a move for his liking. He went around the strange fountain sat in the middle of the bathroom, raising his prod and bringing down on her like the word of law.
And he is the law. And the law is him.
Womanly screams have never sounded sweeter.
.
It’s been silent for far too long. Not the whirr of a drill, nor the crackle of a chargestick, not even the rough panting of an ex-pop. Something was definitely wrong. The last thing he’d heard from Cancy was her stalking that stupid hillbilly cop to find out what he was doing in a therapy that didn’t belong to him- and then nothing more.
Her last update was that he was grumbling and moaning about fucking some fish, which they both assumed meant him. It was worrisome enough that Doctor Easterman was just allowing another prime asset in the trials along with Mother Gooseberry, but now he was hearing diddly-squat from his friend, and they still had to complete the therapy.
Salmon could feel the stress wearing down at his willpower, though he refused to give up like this. At least not until he found his friend.
He wandered around the girl’s dorms, switching his focus between listening for the radio to tune- that Cancy was supposed to but getting woefully distracted tailing a literal cop, and searching for said friend. It wasn’t like her to not answer the walkie-talkie, even if it was with a quick swear or a dumb joke.
The chatter of an untuned radio came from somewhere off to his left, and he rolled his eyes. Cancy didn’t even do her section despite being so enthusiastic about leaving the therapy. He went behind one of the moving nuns and slipped through the metal gate, moving quickly towards the radio.
In his carelessness, he made the mistake of bumping into the screamer that was laying beside the fake fireplace, it’s form hunched and desperate, deprived of the sleep it so clearly desired. And true to its name, it let out a deafening wail that made the reagents vision blurry. He covered his ears in an attempt to block the deafening cry, face scrunched up and eyes closing to avoid the overwhelming noise. Both actions to lessen the onslaught of stimuli did very little to soften the blow of such a scream, it gave him a headache.
Along with the annoying headache the noise also brought unwanted attention to his location, and before long he heard the rumble of the drill, as well as the sweet voice of Mother Gooseberry.
“Does someone want to play with me?” the woman asked as she lumbered into the room, her dirty red skirt gently swaying around her feet. Her pupils were a scary white under the light of the night vision headset, paired with the gentle tone made her uncanny and frightening.
Salmon never minded the Mother as much as he did Coyle, finding her almost as respite or refuge amidst a swirling storm.. Even though the drill puppet was a huge counterforce and agonizing to get hurt by. He should know- it took a month for the doctors to patch up and fully heal the gaping hole the drill had left in his left ribcage.
Mother Gooseberry practically stared right at him as she wandered closer, and he backed up in kind, crawling on his hands and knees to avoid being heard or seen. The puppet whirred its drill, crassly chattering to the woman, “They’re heres somewhere, Phyllis.”
“I’m looking, Daddy.”
“Well look harder. Daddy wants to get his beak wet.”
A mistake occurred while the reagent was backing up, his right leg bumped into the nightstand, causing a box, or some other heavy item to fall off of it and clatter to the ground. He watched as Mother Gooseberry snapped her head towards the loud noise, a smile stretching across the strange white mask, she stepped in his direction, murmuring softly to herself.
“Come out, come out wherever you are!”
And Salmon obliged. Making a mad dash across the room and hurtling his body through the window, taking off through the hallways. A quick glance behind him showed the woman sprinting after him, the drill whirring as Futterman shouted at Gooseberry. He sprinted into one of those big co-op doors, smashing it down in one hit, wincing as his shoulder throbbed from the force, but he kept running.
His lungs burned and he heaved for oxygen, stopping his run for a few brief moments, bracing his hands on his knees as he sucked in air. Feeling the burn lessen, he moved again, changing his pace from a dead sprint to a walk, moving again to the end of the hallway. It seemed like Mother Gooseberry lost sight of him, and just as he was about to turn around and head back for the radio, he heard whimpering coming from the bathroom.
Salmon paused his movements, listening closely. He heard the whimper again, a small cry of pain. His eyes widened as he recognized the noise and who it came from. He tried jiggling the knob of the door- to no avail. It must’ve been locked from the other side.
With a deep breath, the reagent bashed the door down again, his shoulder aching once more. The look inside the bathroom made his blood run cold. Inside, his friend Cancy lay there, propped against the far wall, bruised and bloodied, her barricade rig held loosely in her hand. He noted that one of her eyes was swollen shut, blood trickling around the puffy skin and sliding down her cheeks and jaw line.
Salmon, unfortunately, forgot about the elephant in the room; Officer Leland Coyle, who stood off to the side with a cigarette in his mouth and his cattle prod in his hand. He looked all too smug. Another round of fear struck his heart like lightning, rooting him to the spot. He wanted to run, shout, help his friend, but his body wouldn’t let him.
Coyle pushed himself off the wall and sauntered over to his fallen friend, her chest rising and falling in stuttered breaths, like she’d been struck in the ribs. He lifted her chin with the end of the prod, the electricity no longer running through the weapon, angling her limp head this way and that- examining his bloody work.
He looked way too damn proud, seeing her expression shift to pain and the prongs nicked her skin. Candy made eye contact with Salmon, there was no fight left in her, no light, none of her trusty temper and undying will. This godforsaken police officer beat it out of her like a dog mauling a cat.
It quelled Salmon’s fears, a state of overcalm bathing his heart, and he took a step towards the two, “Officer, please let her go. She doesn’t deserve this.” He pleaded, his hands raising in surrender, desperate for her to be okay.
He released her head and turned back to the doorway, “Like hell she doesn’t. Her kind are always suspicious characters, I mean hell- she’s the reason why this country can’t have nice things.” He sucked some smoke from the cig, blowing upwards. The reagent noted with disdain how the cop's hand drifted lower towards his crotch, and it gave him an idea. One he hated, but anything to save his friend.
In one swift movement, the boy harshly dropped to his knees, placing his hands behind his head just as he had done so the last time they encountered each other, “I’ll suck you off again if you let her go, sir. She won’t cause you any more trouble, she’ll leave here right away."
His knees ached from the harsh fall, crunching on something broken, but he ignored it in favour of looking the officer in the eyes. The man was grinning like he just won some big fight, or that he caught a fish with a well placed lure. It was a look that made his skin crawl and stomach churn.
“You tempting an officer of the law?” He questioned, yet came forward anyways, stepping in front of the caught fish, his chin being held by the- still warm- tip of the prod, “Well honey, I can’t ignore that sweet beggin’ from you’s.”
There was silence again as the cop seemed to think it over, huffing and puffing smoke. The reagent glanced between Coyle and his friend, who was beginning to shift behind the fountain. Her right leg was clearly broken, bent at two odd angles.
He should’ve come for her sooner…
“Alright. You got a deal, if this provocative coloured woman gets the hell outta here, then you’s and me will have a sweet time.” It was said so.. Softly. That southern drawl made him seem almost gentle and kind, a persona sweetened by honey- if he wasn’t actually a fly in disguise.
“Go on Cancy, get back to the shuttle.” Salmon urged, hands gripping the back of his hair as his heart began to pound once more. He didn’t want her to see him like this. Never like this- on his knees for another man- much less a murderer.
She heaved herself to her feet, whimpering in pain as she hobbled to the door, using the wall for support. She looked down at him with pity and… and he couldn’t meet her gaze anymore than that, forcing himself to look at Coyle’s now straining erection. Fuckin’ perve.
Once she had managed to make herself scarce, Salmon reached for Coyle’s belt only for his hands to get slapped away by scarred hands, “No, no. You made me soil myself earlier. You’re gonna be a good boy an’ clean me up.” The man’s hand came behind his head and grabbed a fistful of hair, shoving his face up to said soiled pants, nose deep in denim. Salmon blinked a few times, questioning internally what he meant, but deciding to get to work lest he be beaten with the prod.
He darts his tongue out experimentally, kitten licking the clothed hard on, focusing solely on the small discoloured patch that resided on the tip. Only utilizing more of his tongue when Coyle tightened his grip. His scalp burned with the force, but the pain sent…. Something going south, which also went ignored. The reagent flattened his tongue and worked along the cloth- thanking the lord he wasn’t granted a sense of smell, and although the taste of the soaked denim left much to be desired, at least it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been.
Coyle groaned above him, body relaxing against the wet mouth before pulling the man off, “You did such a fine job.. Now go on- have your treat little fag, you deserve it for being so compliant,” He chuckled darkly, amusing himself with watching Salmon undo his pants for him with shaky fingers and trembling hands.
Once the belt was successfully undone, the younger man dragged the zipper down, along with his boxers, doing the same technique and hooking the band underneath the older man's balls to gain access. The cock was rock hard and flushed, dripping pre-cum like a leaky faucet, the skin so red it looked swollen and angry, matching the man it belonged to. The salt and pepper hairs were thick and damp, with sweat or precum, Salmon had no idea and he was once again thanking the lord for being blessed with the inability to smell.
The cop let out a breathy sigh from above, fingers near gentle as they stroked Salmon’s scalp, clearly pleased with being released from the cloth prison. His sigh deepened when the reagent started lapping at the tip, tasting the bitter and salty precum, licking and sucking along the underside of the head and shaft, taking care not to grace the sensitive skin with his teeth. He traced the veins with his tongue and moved back up to the flushed head, gathering saliva in his mouth before swirling his tongue around it and taking it into his mouth.
“Oh yeah Honey, such a good cocksucker.. Fuck..” Coyle groaned, his head tipping back as he blew out some smoke, “You gotten’ even better than last time, you suckin’ off other boys? I should.. Ah.. I should arrest you for that..sinful behaviour,” His tone was soft and gravelly, no real threat behind those honeyed words- though it did strike a prick of fear into the poor boy’s heart. He sucked harder, taking the cock deeper into his throat as he hollowed out his cheeks. He returned his hands to the back of his head, using only his throat muscles and tongue to throat Coyle down.
“Mmpfh!-” He startled when a bolt of pleasure and pain shot up his spine. He moaned around the dick, taking his eyes off the Police to look down. A scuffed leather boot had been placed right onto his own cock.. And it dawned on him that he, too, was hard.
Harder than he’d ever been for a woman, if his memory serves him any justice.
Salmon tried to pull off Coyle’s dick, only for the man's hand to hold firm, forcing his head further onto the slick penis; he swallowed and gasped around it, fighting for air as he opened his mouth further to ease the slide. The girth intrudes in mouth, filling out his throat as it scrapes along his palette before touching the back. He gags for a moment when the head brushes against his uvula, then settles back into the rhythm of breathing through his nose.
“Christmas has come early this year.. By god the things you’re doin’ with that mouth..” Coyle murmured, “.. I know you’s harder than a stud in a cow pen, go on, fuck my boot and whine like the dog you are.”
Feeling said boot bear down harder on his cock, and feeling such pleasure rise through him, coiling like a hot snake in his stomach, Salmon obliged. It was slow at first, grinding his cock against the textured bottoms of his leather boots, whining around the hard cock in his mouth, feeling intense pleasure from both ends. It was driving him insane.
As he humped the boot, he kept on deepthroating Coyle’s dick, listening to him moan and pant every time he pressed his nose flush against the man’s pelvis, feeling the appendage throb inside his throat. Salmon looked up into the officer's sunglasses, feeling the tears pool into the corners of his eyes with every choke or gag around the dick.
“Mmf..” He moaned around the cock as he was forced off of it, stilling his hips as he looked up the older man with an open mouth. He’s so glad he can’t see his reflection- he's not sure he’d like what he’d see. The dripping penis was smacked against his lips a few times before resting against his heated cheek, the saliva and pre-cum mix felt sticky and thick against his skin, and he’s gonna scrub the hell outta that spot when he gets back to the sleep room.
“I’m gonna fuck your throat. I’m gonna fuck you and you’re gonna take every fuckin’ thrust until I come. Got it, fag?”
Salmon nodded, and Coyle seemed unsatisfied, open palm slapping him.
“You’re gonna use your goddamn words like good whore. Understand?” Now his tone was a threat, and Salmon eyed the baton with fear as his cheek stung. It reminded him of another man, someone who often yelled and doled out punishments by beatings and yelling. It hurt.
“Yes sir! Yes Officer Coyle, sir. I understand, I’ll let you use my throat however you and i’ll swallow every last drop!” He was half repeating the instruction and half begging for his life. Heart pounding once again with fear of the officer- as if he ever stopped being afraid, even if his own traitorous dick was hard. He hated being so afraid, he hated how his voice broke as he begged for his life.
Thank god Cancy didn't stick around to see this whimpish behaviour.
Surprisingly, the hand became gentle again and ruffled his hair, massaging the scalp ever so kindly, “Such a good boy. I always wanted myself a dog. Now open your mouth nice an’ wide. And no teeth, you hear?”
Salmon obeyed readily, opening his mouth wide and ready, nodding fervently. God he just wanted this done and over with- he wanted to go home.
The dick slid in hard and fast with no warning, his nose quickly squished against the man's flexed pelvis, digging into the pubic hairs. He choked on it immediately, tongue working on the underside of the shaft as it plunged in and out of his mouth like a wet sleeve. Strangely, it felt so good- turning his mind all fuzzy from the lack of oxygen. The boot had also returned, crushing the flagged penis and forcing it hard again.
Salmon let out a moan from the pressure, pleasure making his thighs shake and twitch as he grinded against the leather, feeling the front of his pants from a wet patch from precum. Shit- he was really feeling good from this, even though he didn’t want to. It was like being trapped within his own body, forced to ride out sensations he didn’t want to feel.
Salmon didn’t want to feel good. Salmon just wanted to go home.
But the pleasure didn’t cease, the coil in his gut getting hotter and hotter, more intense the longer time passed. The heavy shaft in his mouth would relent either, with Coyle’s balls smacking against the underside of his chin, saliva dripping out of his mouth. He could feel the officer's own impending release, as his thrusts got faster and harder, scraping against his palette even as the boy swallowed around him.
They both moaned and groaned in tandem with one another, sweat beading on the boy's brow, his scalp becoming all tingly and numb with how harsh the older man was gripping onto it. Like he was ready to rip out chunks.
“There.. Agh.. there you go slut.. Haha… you little fuckin’ faggot- hah.. Take it all,. Every. Last. Drop.” He punctuated each word with a thrust before spilling deep inside the boy’s throat, his pelvis pressed against his nose. Salmon choked around the semen as it flooded his throat, becoming blindsided by his own orgasm- pleasure became hazy as his hips twitched, and he fought to swallow all of Coyle’s cum.
He was still recovering from the aftershocks of his own orgasm when Coyle’ pulled out his mouth with a lewd pop, saliva still dripping off of the tip. Without bothering to dry himself off, he tucked himself back into his boxers and pants, doing up his fly and belt.
There was that strange silence again, aside from the subtle crackle of a still burning cigarette. Salmon, on shaky legs, forced himself up almost toppling over with how twitchy his muscles still were. Strangely enough, he was caught by the officer- whose hands held firm against the boy's waist.
They looked at each other for a breath, then Salmon averted his gaze and stepped back, wincing at the ache in his knees, “Thank you.. Sir. For letting her go.”
“Get the hell off this property.” Came the.. Gentle? Soft?? Non-aggressive response.
Salmon nodded, swiftly exiting the bathroom without looking back this time. He didn't care to see those sunglasses ever again.
He never. Never. In a million fucking years- wants to this shit again for nobody. He feels filthy and disgusting, like maggots were crawling under his skin because of hidden rot.
Salmon could feel the tears slide down his cheeks, scalding and wet, as he quietly slunk out of the orphanage and towards the shuttle gates.
.
Cancy was waiting for him, her broken leg wrapped in some makeshift splint as he rested, an empty roll of bandages by her side. Hearing him approach, her eyes snapped open and she hastily climbed to her feet, taking care of the wounded appendage.
“Salmon I-”
“Keep your fucking mouth shut.”
She blinked a few times, taking in his wide, hateful eyes, tears that continued to run rivulets down his cheeks. The guilt that had been gnawing a hole through her heart like a pack of starving rats, had something new to feast upon. The woman wrapped him in a hug, bracing his shivering body against hers.
“... I’m sorry. I’m grateful. I’m an asshole. I owe you.” She whispered, clutching him tightly as he quietly cried into her shoulder, soaking her bruised and bloody skin. She owed him more than words could say.
“... yeah.. You do.”
.
Officer Leland Coyle was no nancy. His mama never raised him to be one. He stayed on the oath of the righteous and true all his life, and now he was stuck feeling sappy and mushy feelings in his heart. A softness he couldn’t quite place- or rather he could and simply didn’t want to. It was easier to shove it under the rug, easier to ignore it and make it someone else’s problem.
Looking at that sexy bitch now, from so far away, hugging that coloured commie, it made him want to rip that man apart and piece him back together with his own two hands. It made him want to bend that boy over and fuck him from sundown ti’ll sunup. It.. made him want to feel what a kiss would feel like on those rosy lips, and how it would feel to be the big spoon. It was.. should've been disgusting.. yet, to protect and to serve- it’s been his duty to the country and its people. Surely that fish- Salmon- is included in that list.
He’ll catch that slippery fish one way or another, he just needs to use a better lure.