Buckle (Down)

Author: Livia Penn

Original Story: Unbuckle by Zvi

Summary:

Rating: R

Fandom: Fastlane

The squad room is cramped, six pairs of desks all shoved up against each other like obstacles in a course. Sergeant's desk makes lucky thirteen. Overloaded file cabinets slump against each other, lined up along the peeling walls. The carpet smells like corned beef, and Deaq's computer is a piece of shit. Somebody's talking but he's not paying attention.

"I said how's that report coming?"

Deaq looks up. Boss man isn't half as decorative as Billie, either. But then, few are.

"Not coming yet. Just breathing hard." He frowns and glances away when he realizes he's waiting for someone to laugh. Someone particular.

"Can I see you in my office?"

Damn.

*

He tips his head to the side and plays like he's paying attention. Instinct serves him well, lets him give people just what they want, and then they mostly let him be. Except there's no end to this trip, no sting. He's not getting pulled out. Ever. And maybe it's fucked up that playing at being Deaq the regular cop feels less real than any of the undercover shit at the Candy Store. Like it's easier to be a pimp or a drug dealer or a forger than here living his regular damn life. Deaq's not thinking about common denominators or missing puzzle pieces or how one of these things isn't like the fucking others. He's a cop. This isn't a game.

"All part of the game," Van had said, standing there in Billie's office with his fingers sliding rough against Deaq's chin. Tried to push Deaq's head back around, but he could still see Billie smirking. He knocked Van's hand away.

"Let go of me."

He walked out of the Candy Store with his badge in his hand and a sour taste in his mouth. He still thinks he did the right thing. Billie was just fucking with his head, playing on some bitch power trip, and Deaq doesn't need that.

*

The parking garage gets cold at night. Deaq's got a car out of the motor pool till he can find time to pick up something used. Fuckin' piece of shit, and for a second, digging in his coat pocket for his keys, he lets himself think about the garage at the Candy Store, everything all lined up and glittery like pretty things in a display case at Tiffany's. But screw that. Man's gotta have his self-respect, and Deaq would rather drive a lemon and have a captain who doesn't really give a shit than be back at the Candy Store under a captain who gets some kind of thrill out of playing with her men like they're goddamn Ken dolls.

He finds his keys, and then there's a hand on his shoulder, turning him, pushing him back up against the car. Van's eyes gleam in the dark. He's so close Deaq can smell him, hot leather and sweet like whatever he puts in his hair.

"Miss me?" Van. His smile is sharp and then he's up on Deaq, his mouth hot and wet. Their bodies jerk against each other, Van matching him push for push. Deaq tries to say 'punk ass bitch' as a prelude to 'what the fuck?' but when he opens his mouth Van's tongue licks in. His breath is hotter than anything Deaq's felt in a month, stubble and facial hair scraping across his chin and jaw.

"Fuck *off!*" Breathing hard, Deaq gets a grip and shoves him away. Van just smiles as he turns to go. Deaq's mouth tastes like candy.

He leans back against the car. In the distance, the low purr of a tricked-out custom motorcycle slowly dies. Games. He's out and they're still playing games. Shouldn't surprise him, really. Van plays like a motherfucking pro.

[end]

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to their owners/creators/copyright holders. This fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.