Fic: Standard Procedure
Title: Standard Procedure
Author: Aspen (humanhosepipe@gmail.com)
Pairing: Lamb/Leo
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,704
Summary: "Sheriff Lamb, is this one of your officers? Is this how you run your department?" Yes, your honor. Yes, it is.
Warnings: Slash, non-con.
Spoilers/Notes: Spoilers for 1.16 ("Betty and Veronica"). This is for Katie, who loves Leo like no other, because I live to pervert her sweet dreams. And I hope you all have seen old episodes of Dragnet. Pop culture use can be tricky sometimes.
Trident smacking loudly between his teeth, Lamb veers into the Sac and Pac parking lot, and the first thing Leo thinks is that Lamb is stopping for doughnuts and coffee. The neon Sac and Pac sign is glowing green and red - OPEN - and inside the yellow-tinted windows, Wallace Fennel is standing behind the counter, flipping through a magazine. He gives a glance to the cop car as it rolls past, and Leo unfastens his seat belt. He's been on patrol with Lamb enough now to know that it's going to be him doing the purchasing. Lamb likes sugared bear claws and black coffee. It's on Leo's dime but it's still way better than a desk job.
Lamb doesn't pull into a parking space right in front of the store. He pulls off into the shadows where one flickering parking lot light won't reach.
"Go in and get a couple of bear claws," Lamb instructs unnecessarily. He doesn't have to tell Leo what to get anymore, but he still does, because he likes to give orders. Sometimes they're barking, angry orders, and sometimes they're lazy, drawling and uncaring.
"Sure, boss," Leo says, and exits the car quickly, shutting its door behind him and cutting off the noise of Lamb smacking on his gum. Lamb's recently given up smoking and all he can do to keep from lighting up again is chew gum.
Once inside, Wallace greets him with a friendly, "Hey, man."
"Hey. Everything quiet around here?" Leo asks, not paying much attention as he fills a couple of Styrofoam cups with coffee. Lamb's is black, but Leo has to have four packets of sugar in his. If it's one thing he'll never get used to about being a cop, it's the coffee. It's an acquired taste, they tell him, and Leo isn't even close to acquiring it. The best thing he can say for the Sac and Pac's coffee is that it's always hot, unlike the lukewarm pots sitting around the sheriff's office.
"Yeah, it's quiet! Too quiet," Wallace tells him, tossing down his Vibe with Beyonce Knowles on the cover. He seems pretty bored. There's a pyramid of empty cigarette boxes in the window behind him and Leo wonders if Wallace constructed it out of sheer boredom. Sac and Pac doesn't do a lot of business late Monday nights.
"Yeah, well... that's usually considered a good thing," Leo says.
From the stale doughnut selection that glows red under a neon bulb, Leo scores the only remaining bear claw and gets himself a lopsided cake doughnut with pink frosting and rainbow sprinkles.
"Take them all," Wallace advises him. "No charge. We just throw away the stale ones at the end of the day anyway."
Leo does. All that's left is another pink frosted one, an old-fashioned with crispy edges, and chocolate-coated one that gets Leo's fingers all sticky.
"Yum," says Wallace dryly, ringing him up.
"Breakfast of champions," grins Leo crookedly, sucking the chocolate off his fingers noisily then he digging out a few grubby ones and handing them to Wallace. "Keep the change."
Wallace smiles at him absent-mindedly and tosses the eleven cents back into the change drawer of the register.
"Thanks, come again," he repeats somewhat ironically, and sits back on his stool to get back to Beyonce. Seeing as it's the third time he's seen Wallace at the Sac and Pac in the last week or so, Leo's sure he will.
Back at the patrol car, Lamb's locked the doors and Leo has to tap on the window to get his attention. Lamb, the asshole, just looks at Leo for a long moment, standing there precariously managing to hold a box of doughnuts and two coffees. Leo can see his jaw working on that wad of green Trident. After an embarrassingly long moment, Lamb unlocks the door again, and Leo defies the odds of gravity by stacking the coffees and opening the door with one hand and his knee.
"Took you long enough," drawls Lamb, looking disinterested at the doughnuts Leo presents him with, though he takes the box and his coffee.
"Doughnut selection is a notoriously long process," grins Leo. He sets his Styrofoam cup of coffee on the dashboard and begins to buckle up again.
"Don't get comfortable," Lamb barks suddenly, and after a moment's pause - in which a call comes through over the radio to relate a possible domestic disturbance in the lower class Poseidon Park Apartments - Leo lets his seat belt go again, wondering if he's forgotten something. Lamb's looking at the radio like he's trying to decide whether to answer the call or not. After a minute, he decides not to, and looks at Leo pointedly, unbuckling his seat belt.
"You like working here, d'Amato?" he asks, almost conversationally. Leo's heard him use that method when he's interrogating suspected rapists. It doesn't exactly inspire confessions.
"Sure," Leo answers carefully. He grabs his coffee and pops open the tab on the plastic lid. "Gotta admit, I miss getting tens stuffed into my pants, but the strip searches make it worth it."
He glances at Lamb to see if Lamb is amused. Lamb is not amused. He sets his coffee in his plastic Employee of the Year cup holder.
"Really, now?" he asks in that same condescendingly friendly voice. "'Cause you're up for review, you know."
Leo hides his surprise by taking a tentative sip of his scalding hot, beige-colored coffee. He's not surprised that he's up for review, especially after his suspension, but he is startled that Lamb is bringing it up like this, as they sit in an empty parking lot. Normally Lamb barely acknowledges Leo's presence. Any other pair of cops on a doughnut and coffee break would be discussing sports or their wives or something. Probably even Joe Friday and Frank Smith talked about Sunday's game. Lamb's never off-duty, he reflects.
"I got the last bear claw for you, boss," Leo finds himself saying. The horrible taste of his coffee is making him grimace.
"Yep, you're up for review," Lamb drawls, leaning back and propping one elbow up against the window. He rubs his palm down his shorn-short hair and smirks. "Guess what's missing from the evidence room now - on your shift, too. Don't want to get let go, do you? Dismissed? Fired?"
"No, sir, I sure don't," answers Leo just as conversationally. He feels like Lamb is strutting around him like a peacock, all important, sheriff's badge shining, leering at him as he sits there sweating under a hot lamp. He has himself his pink-frosted doughnut.
Lamb shifts, at attention again, the smug posture gone. "I know you took the tapes, d'Amato," he snaps. "I don't have the proof, but I've got a pretty damn good feeling."
"What gave you an idea like that? An anonymous tip?" counters Leo, grinning goofily even though there's this sick spinning going on in his head. He never should have gotten those tapes for Veronica. Or he should have made copies. He needs to get them back from her as soon as possible and stash them away in the evidence room again, hide them in a corner in a mislabeled box so they just look like they were misplaced.
Lamb grips at the steering wheel suddenly, like he's barely keeping himself from taking a good swing at Leo. Lamb sure doesn't like being beaten at his own game, Leo thought, a laugh escaping his lips. He puts his doughnut away in three bites and brushes sprinkles off his chest.
A moment later, Lamb is cool again, even though his knuckles are white as he grips at the steering wheel, and he gives a noisy crack of his gum. "D'you wanna stay on with the sheriff's department? 'Cause right now, you're just begging to be booted."
"I like it here, boss," Leo says. "I like it a lot."
It's so easy to just grin at Lamb, like he doesn't grasp the severity of the situation. A call comes over the radio just then. There's a fight between two teenagers going on down at Dog Beach; a bystander's been drawn into the scuffle. Again, Leo puts down his coffee and reaches for his seat belt, but Lamb doesn't seem to be hearing the radio at all.
"Aren't we going to respond?" Leo asks stupidly.
Lamb squeezes at the steering wheel, then leans back lazily again. "I don't think so."
His hands move to his belt. At first Leo thinks it's Lamb's seat belt, and then Leo thinks it's his gun holster - but it's not either. It's Lamb's actual belt, a crisp shine of cheap leather with a glinting gold buckle, and Lamb's got it undone now. Instead of only tightening or loosening it and refastening it, Lamb pulls it apart and unzips his uniform pants -
"Uh," says Leo, and looks away. Clearly, he doesn't actually grasp the severity of this situation at all. He glances at the window of the Sac and Pac, where Wallace Fennel is still sitting, his back turned to them. He's holding his magazine up and looking at intently; Leo can vaguely see blinged-out blurs of Beyonce Knowles' curves.
The radio gives off static and another call about Dog Beach, and Lamb smacks his Trident and says, "Time to prove it, Deputy."
Leo looks over again, and Lamb's knees are spread, his zipper and trousers gaping, his knuckles now taut and white over his remarkably pink cock. He's leaning back against his seat, headrest pushed back, and he has that mean smile on again.
"Uh," repeats Leo.
"Go on," drawls Lamb. "Show me how much you wanna work for me." His hand, which seems small against the long rigid pole of his cock, strokes over himself tightly, squeezing the spear-like head into his grip. Leo can literally see him getting harder and harder.
For an unreal, fractured moment, Leo is totally speechless. Finally, he begins, "I'm pretty sure this isn't standard proced--"
But his words skid to a halt, because Lamb grabs the back of his neck and yanks him down. Leo has his mouth crammed full of cock before he even realizes what's happened. For a long dark moment that burns itself into the back of Leo's brain to be replayed every time he kisses Veronica, Leo can't breathe or even think. His tongue is flattened against the side of Lamb's cock, which is hot and thick in his mouth, and all he can smell is that musty sort of smell all of the cop uniforms have, and the musky heat of Lamb's thighs. He can feel a crinkle of hair scratch against his chin, and Lamb's fingers tight and forceful on the scruff of his neck.
Then his throat closes up and he chokes, gagging wetly around the head of Lamb's cock which is pushing at the back of his throat and blocking his airways - but Lamb won't let him up - instead he's hissing and pushing Leo down hard against his belly, and Leo struggles blindly against him, tears pricking in his eyes, one hand desperately pushing at Lamb's knee.
"What's the matter, Deputy?" huffs Lamb, shaking Leo's head with the hard grip he has on Leo's hair - Lamb's cock slides and thumps wetly against his inner cheek. "Don't wanna work here anymore? Rather be delivering pizzas?"
Leo gasps for breath, trying to suck it in around the prick filling his mouth. This earns him a grunt from Lamb, and suddenly - Leo gets it. With his fingers clawing into Lamb's knee, he manages to close his lips around Lamb's cock and pull up it slowly, wetly. The saliva in his mouth is thick and profuse, and Lamb's cock is leaking warmth on his tongue. As a third call comes in over the radio about the Dog Beach disturbance, Leo closes his eyes, and Lamb's hand eases on his head.
"Oh, yeah," the sheriff groans, instead tightening his fingers into Leo's hair and giving it a squeezing tug. Leo can't help a muffled noise in his throat. His whole head is beginning to pound, what with Lamb's insistent hair-pulling, his jaw stretching widely around a cock that accurately reflects the size of Lamb's ego, and the way blood is surging around inside him desperately, stinging his cheeks and pooling in his belly. For a minute he wonders, horrified, what Veronica would think of this, as he sucks clumsily and timidly on Lamb's hard cock, there in the shadows of the Sac and Pac parking lot. He wonders if Wallace can see him out the store's yellow window, or even hear Lamb's grunting breaths or the wet slippery choking noises Leo is making.
Then he wonders if he could get a promotion out of this.
"Fuck, yeah - suck it, bitch," gasps Lamb, then, as Leo doubles his efforts and slides his hand in along Lamb's thigh to press at his balls through his pants. "You like that, huh? You like having a mouthful of dick, Deputy?"
Leo thinks must have a natural talent or something. Giving a blow job is the definitely most uncomfortable thing he has ever done, but he manages to keep his eyes squeezed shut and ignore the way his jaw is beginning to ache sharply, trying to work over Lamb with his tongue and rub at his balls at the same time. The bitter, salty, powerful taste of Lamb's cock is not entirely unfamiliar, and in a way it was almost preferable to the bitter, nauseating, dirt-sweetness of coffee.
There's static next to Leo's ear and it's another call about Dog Beach - and this time, Lamb grabs the mouthpiece off its hook and gasps, "I'm on it! Over!"
Then he slams the thing back, but it doesn't stick and falls onto the floor of the car with a loud thump. Lamb is groaning and gripping at Leo's head with both hands now. Leo's working so hard he can scarcely think, his chin sticky with the spit and precome that escapes his clumsy mouth.
"Fuck! Taaaake it," Lamb breathes, moaning under his breath, and his seed makes Leo choke again as it pumps into his throat in hot, forceful gobs, sliding down into Leo's belly ticklishly slowly. Leo really can't breathe now, and tries to back up - Lamb lets him. Leo sputters and his badge gets smattered with a few errant drips of spit and come. The first thing he does is lean forward and grab his coffee, taking a swig and washing the stickiness down. It definitely tastes worse. He slumps back, looking like a dark mirror of Lamb, who is slumped back next to him, breathing hard, face red and eyes glinting cold and furious.
Leo looks for Wallace again. Wallace is checking out some customer, and Leo groans softly. There's a convertible parked right in front of the store now - he cranes to see if there's anyone else sitting in it. Lamb doesn't seem to care. He just leans there, jaw working lazily at the gum in his mouth, looking like he really wants a cigarette.
"Are... we going to Dog Beach?" Leo asks with his throat raspy and thick, shifting uncomfortably. He's slightly hard in his cop trousers, but he doesn't want to admit it or provoke it. He hopes it goes away soon. He has another swig of coffee.
Lamb finally buttons his pants, but he leaves his belt jarringly undone. "Nah."
He offers no further explanation, other than lifting the lid of the doughnut box and selecting his bear claw. Confused, Leo considers picking up the radio mouthpiece and calling in to cancel Lamb's confirmation, but he's not allowed to touch the radio, so he leaves it on the floor. The convertible roars out of the parking lot and Leo is certain that they were going way, way above the speed limit. But Lamb doesn't blink an eye. He rolls down the window, spits his gum out into the parking lot, then takes a bite of his bear claw, blinking thoughtfully. Leo wipes his badge off.
Then Lamb asks, "See Sunday's game?"
And Leo can, very loudly, hear the Dragnet theme in his head.
- Fin
Author: Aspen (humanhosepipe@gmail.com)
Pairing: Lamb/Leo
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,704
Summary: "Sheriff Lamb, is this one of your officers? Is this how you run your department?" Yes, your honor. Yes, it is.
Warnings: Slash, non-con.
Spoilers/Notes: Spoilers for 1.16 ("Betty and Veronica"). This is for Katie, who loves Leo like no other, because I live to pervert her sweet dreams. And I hope you all have seen old episodes of Dragnet. Pop culture use can be tricky sometimes.
Trident smacking loudly between his teeth, Lamb veers into the Sac and Pac parking lot, and the first thing Leo thinks is that Lamb is stopping for doughnuts and coffee. The neon Sac and Pac sign is glowing green and red - OPEN - and inside the yellow-tinted windows, Wallace Fennel is standing behind the counter, flipping through a magazine. He gives a glance to the cop car as it rolls past, and Leo unfastens his seat belt. He's been on patrol with Lamb enough now to know that it's going to be him doing the purchasing. Lamb likes sugared bear claws and black coffee. It's on Leo's dime but it's still way better than a desk job.
Lamb doesn't pull into a parking space right in front of the store. He pulls off into the shadows where one flickering parking lot light won't reach.
"Go in and get a couple of bear claws," Lamb instructs unnecessarily. He doesn't have to tell Leo what to get anymore, but he still does, because he likes to give orders. Sometimes they're barking, angry orders, and sometimes they're lazy, drawling and uncaring.
"Sure, boss," Leo says, and exits the car quickly, shutting its door behind him and cutting off the noise of Lamb smacking on his gum. Lamb's recently given up smoking and all he can do to keep from lighting up again is chew gum.
Once inside, Wallace greets him with a friendly, "Hey, man."
"Hey. Everything quiet around here?" Leo asks, not paying much attention as he fills a couple of Styrofoam cups with coffee. Lamb's is black, but Leo has to have four packets of sugar in his. If it's one thing he'll never get used to about being a cop, it's the coffee. It's an acquired taste, they tell him, and Leo isn't even close to acquiring it. The best thing he can say for the Sac and Pac's coffee is that it's always hot, unlike the lukewarm pots sitting around the sheriff's office.
"Yeah, it's quiet! Too quiet," Wallace tells him, tossing down his Vibe with Beyonce Knowles on the cover. He seems pretty bored. There's a pyramid of empty cigarette boxes in the window behind him and Leo wonders if Wallace constructed it out of sheer boredom. Sac and Pac doesn't do a lot of business late Monday nights.
"Yeah, well... that's usually considered a good thing," Leo says.
From the stale doughnut selection that glows red under a neon bulb, Leo scores the only remaining bear claw and gets himself a lopsided cake doughnut with pink frosting and rainbow sprinkles.
"Take them all," Wallace advises him. "No charge. We just throw away the stale ones at the end of the day anyway."
Leo does. All that's left is another pink frosted one, an old-fashioned with crispy edges, and chocolate-coated one that gets Leo's fingers all sticky.
"Yum," says Wallace dryly, ringing him up.
"Breakfast of champions," grins Leo crookedly, sucking the chocolate off his fingers noisily then he digging out a few grubby ones and handing them to Wallace. "Keep the change."
Wallace smiles at him absent-mindedly and tosses the eleven cents back into the change drawer of the register.
"Thanks, come again," he repeats somewhat ironically, and sits back on his stool to get back to Beyonce. Seeing as it's the third time he's seen Wallace at the Sac and Pac in the last week or so, Leo's sure he will.
Back at the patrol car, Lamb's locked the doors and Leo has to tap on the window to get his attention. Lamb, the asshole, just looks at Leo for a long moment, standing there precariously managing to hold a box of doughnuts and two coffees. Leo can see his jaw working on that wad of green Trident. After an embarrassingly long moment, Lamb unlocks the door again, and Leo defies the odds of gravity by stacking the coffees and opening the door with one hand and his knee.
"Took you long enough," drawls Lamb, looking disinterested at the doughnuts Leo presents him with, though he takes the box and his coffee.
"Doughnut selection is a notoriously long process," grins Leo. He sets his Styrofoam cup of coffee on the dashboard and begins to buckle up again.
"Don't get comfortable," Lamb barks suddenly, and after a moment's pause - in which a call comes through over the radio to relate a possible domestic disturbance in the lower class Poseidon Park Apartments - Leo lets his seat belt go again, wondering if he's forgotten something. Lamb's looking at the radio like he's trying to decide whether to answer the call or not. After a minute, he decides not to, and looks at Leo pointedly, unbuckling his seat belt.
"You like working here, d'Amato?" he asks, almost conversationally. Leo's heard him use that method when he's interrogating suspected rapists. It doesn't exactly inspire confessions.
"Sure," Leo answers carefully. He grabs his coffee and pops open the tab on the plastic lid. "Gotta admit, I miss getting tens stuffed into my pants, but the strip searches make it worth it."
He glances at Lamb to see if Lamb is amused. Lamb is not amused. He sets his coffee in his plastic Employee of the Year cup holder.
"Really, now?" he asks in that same condescendingly friendly voice. "'Cause you're up for review, you know."
Leo hides his surprise by taking a tentative sip of his scalding hot, beige-colored coffee. He's not surprised that he's up for review, especially after his suspension, but he is startled that Lamb is bringing it up like this, as they sit in an empty parking lot. Normally Lamb barely acknowledges Leo's presence. Any other pair of cops on a doughnut and coffee break would be discussing sports or their wives or something. Probably even Joe Friday and Frank Smith talked about Sunday's game. Lamb's never off-duty, he reflects.
"I got the last bear claw for you, boss," Leo finds himself saying. The horrible taste of his coffee is making him grimace.
"Yep, you're up for review," Lamb drawls, leaning back and propping one elbow up against the window. He rubs his palm down his shorn-short hair and smirks. "Guess what's missing from the evidence room now - on your shift, too. Don't want to get let go, do you? Dismissed? Fired?"
"No, sir, I sure don't," answers Leo just as conversationally. He feels like Lamb is strutting around him like a peacock, all important, sheriff's badge shining, leering at him as he sits there sweating under a hot lamp. He has himself his pink-frosted doughnut.
Lamb shifts, at attention again, the smug posture gone. "I know you took the tapes, d'Amato," he snaps. "I don't have the proof, but I've got a pretty damn good feeling."
"What gave you an idea like that? An anonymous tip?" counters Leo, grinning goofily even though there's this sick spinning going on in his head. He never should have gotten those tapes for Veronica. Or he should have made copies. He needs to get them back from her as soon as possible and stash them away in the evidence room again, hide them in a corner in a mislabeled box so they just look like they were misplaced.
Lamb grips at the steering wheel suddenly, like he's barely keeping himself from taking a good swing at Leo. Lamb sure doesn't like being beaten at his own game, Leo thought, a laugh escaping his lips. He puts his doughnut away in three bites and brushes sprinkles off his chest.
A moment later, Lamb is cool again, even though his knuckles are white as he grips at the steering wheel, and he gives a noisy crack of his gum. "D'you wanna stay on with the sheriff's department? 'Cause right now, you're just begging to be booted."
"I like it here, boss," Leo says. "I like it a lot."
It's so easy to just grin at Lamb, like he doesn't grasp the severity of the situation. A call comes over the radio just then. There's a fight between two teenagers going on down at Dog Beach; a bystander's been drawn into the scuffle. Again, Leo puts down his coffee and reaches for his seat belt, but Lamb doesn't seem to be hearing the radio at all.
"Aren't we going to respond?" Leo asks stupidly.
Lamb squeezes at the steering wheel, then leans back lazily again. "I don't think so."
His hands move to his belt. At first Leo thinks it's Lamb's seat belt, and then Leo thinks it's his gun holster - but it's not either. It's Lamb's actual belt, a crisp shine of cheap leather with a glinting gold buckle, and Lamb's got it undone now. Instead of only tightening or loosening it and refastening it, Lamb pulls it apart and unzips his uniform pants -
"Uh," says Leo, and looks away. Clearly, he doesn't actually grasp the severity of this situation at all. He glances at the window of the Sac and Pac, where Wallace Fennel is still sitting, his back turned to them. He's holding his magazine up and looking at intently; Leo can vaguely see blinged-out blurs of Beyonce Knowles' curves.
The radio gives off static and another call about Dog Beach, and Lamb smacks his Trident and says, "Time to prove it, Deputy."
Leo looks over again, and Lamb's knees are spread, his zipper and trousers gaping, his knuckles now taut and white over his remarkably pink cock. He's leaning back against his seat, headrest pushed back, and he has that mean smile on again.
"Uh," repeats Leo.
"Go on," drawls Lamb. "Show me how much you wanna work for me." His hand, which seems small against the long rigid pole of his cock, strokes over himself tightly, squeezing the spear-like head into his grip. Leo can literally see him getting harder and harder.
For an unreal, fractured moment, Leo is totally speechless. Finally, he begins, "I'm pretty sure this isn't standard proced--"
But his words skid to a halt, because Lamb grabs the back of his neck and yanks him down. Leo has his mouth crammed full of cock before he even realizes what's happened. For a long dark moment that burns itself into the back of Leo's brain to be replayed every time he kisses Veronica, Leo can't breathe or even think. His tongue is flattened against the side of Lamb's cock, which is hot and thick in his mouth, and all he can smell is that musty sort of smell all of the cop uniforms have, and the musky heat of Lamb's thighs. He can feel a crinkle of hair scratch against his chin, and Lamb's fingers tight and forceful on the scruff of his neck.
Then his throat closes up and he chokes, gagging wetly around the head of Lamb's cock which is pushing at the back of his throat and blocking his airways - but Lamb won't let him up - instead he's hissing and pushing Leo down hard against his belly, and Leo struggles blindly against him, tears pricking in his eyes, one hand desperately pushing at Lamb's knee.
"What's the matter, Deputy?" huffs Lamb, shaking Leo's head with the hard grip he has on Leo's hair - Lamb's cock slides and thumps wetly against his inner cheek. "Don't wanna work here anymore? Rather be delivering pizzas?"
Leo gasps for breath, trying to suck it in around the prick filling his mouth. This earns him a grunt from Lamb, and suddenly - Leo gets it. With his fingers clawing into Lamb's knee, he manages to close his lips around Lamb's cock and pull up it slowly, wetly. The saliva in his mouth is thick and profuse, and Lamb's cock is leaking warmth on his tongue. As a third call comes in over the radio about the Dog Beach disturbance, Leo closes his eyes, and Lamb's hand eases on his head.
"Oh, yeah," the sheriff groans, instead tightening his fingers into Leo's hair and giving it a squeezing tug. Leo can't help a muffled noise in his throat. His whole head is beginning to pound, what with Lamb's insistent hair-pulling, his jaw stretching widely around a cock that accurately reflects the size of Lamb's ego, and the way blood is surging around inside him desperately, stinging his cheeks and pooling in his belly. For a minute he wonders, horrified, what Veronica would think of this, as he sucks clumsily and timidly on Lamb's hard cock, there in the shadows of the Sac and Pac parking lot. He wonders if Wallace can see him out the store's yellow window, or even hear Lamb's grunting breaths or the wet slippery choking noises Leo is making.
Then he wonders if he could get a promotion out of this.
"Fuck, yeah - suck it, bitch," gasps Lamb, then, as Leo doubles his efforts and slides his hand in along Lamb's thigh to press at his balls through his pants. "You like that, huh? You like having a mouthful of dick, Deputy?"
Leo thinks must have a natural talent or something. Giving a blow job is the definitely most uncomfortable thing he has ever done, but he manages to keep his eyes squeezed shut and ignore the way his jaw is beginning to ache sharply, trying to work over Lamb with his tongue and rub at his balls at the same time. The bitter, salty, powerful taste of Lamb's cock is not entirely unfamiliar, and in a way it was almost preferable to the bitter, nauseating, dirt-sweetness of coffee.
There's static next to Leo's ear and it's another call about Dog Beach - and this time, Lamb grabs the mouthpiece off its hook and gasps, "I'm on it! Over!"
Then he slams the thing back, but it doesn't stick and falls onto the floor of the car with a loud thump. Lamb is groaning and gripping at Leo's head with both hands now. Leo's working so hard he can scarcely think, his chin sticky with the spit and precome that escapes his clumsy mouth.
"Fuck! Taaaake it," Lamb breathes, moaning under his breath, and his seed makes Leo choke again as it pumps into his throat in hot, forceful gobs, sliding down into Leo's belly ticklishly slowly. Leo really can't breathe now, and tries to back up - Lamb lets him. Leo sputters and his badge gets smattered with a few errant drips of spit and come. The first thing he does is lean forward and grab his coffee, taking a swig and washing the stickiness down. It definitely tastes worse. He slumps back, looking like a dark mirror of Lamb, who is slumped back next to him, breathing hard, face red and eyes glinting cold and furious.
Leo looks for Wallace again. Wallace is checking out some customer, and Leo groans softly. There's a convertible parked right in front of the store now - he cranes to see if there's anyone else sitting in it. Lamb doesn't seem to care. He just leans there, jaw working lazily at the gum in his mouth, looking like he really wants a cigarette.
"Are... we going to Dog Beach?" Leo asks with his throat raspy and thick, shifting uncomfortably. He's slightly hard in his cop trousers, but he doesn't want to admit it or provoke it. He hopes it goes away soon. He has another swig of coffee.
Lamb finally buttons his pants, but he leaves his belt jarringly undone. "Nah."
He offers no further explanation, other than lifting the lid of the doughnut box and selecting his bear claw. Confused, Leo considers picking up the radio mouthpiece and calling in to cancel Lamb's confirmation, but he's not allowed to touch the radio, so he leaves it on the floor. The convertible roars out of the parking lot and Leo is certain that they were going way, way above the speed limit. But Lamb doesn't blink an eye. He rolls down the window, spits his gum out into the parking lot, then takes a bite of his bear claw, blinking thoughtfully. Leo wipes his badge off.
Then Lamb asks, "See Sunday's game?"
And Leo can, very loudly, hear the Dragnet theme in his head.
- Fin