Supe squad fanfiction all day every day
The rookie was really starting to get on my nerves. Sure, he was good natured enough, but that only made it worse. His attempts at getting on my good side were grating-- his attempts at conversation even more so. I could see him out of the corner of my eye, his chin resting on his palm; he was looking out the window, watching as the scenery moved past. A good looking kid, blessed with natural charm and charisma-- he shouldn't have been here. The world was too dark a place to waste the vibrance of youth in a place like the Supe Squad. But he never complained, not once-- that got on my nerves, too.
We were supposed to watch a shack on the outskirts of town, rumor had it that gobs were running a meth lab out of it. Gobs and meth together didn't surprise me, the level of organization however, did. It meant that someone else was pulling the strings here, a concept I was all too familiar with. Maybe a wizard, or someone else that had something to gain by stringing Gobs up on a ton of meth.
When we arrived, the shack looked vacant... I moved around the outside, trying to see if anything could tell us about the person (or people) behind all of it. Only a dumpster full of plastic bottles and other debris. Inside, the lights were off, and a quick peek through the dirty windows revealed a giant mess, but no Gobs.
Looked like we had a stakeout on our hands. I shot a warning look back at the car-- Karl caught it and paled slightly. Last time we had to wait something out, the kid fell asleep. Sure, it had been eight hours, and he wasn't getting any conversation out of me, but that didn't give him any right to fall asleep. Especially not when he ended up nestled against my shoulder, drool dripping down the side of his chin obnoxiously. Even in his sleep he was good-looking, and I felt a strange stir as I watched him. I could remember touching the side of his face gently, and thinking that all that bullshit with Marty O'Brian was just an old man trying to salvage what was left of his long-dead career.
"Looks like we're waiting this one out," I told him when I climbed back into the driver's seat; the warning in my voice was clear.
He gave me a look, one that I could tell I was going to get tired of. It made me feel insanely guilty, like I'd just kicked a small dog. It didn't look right on his attractive, boyish face, and I felt like a dick for being the one that put it there. I did what was becoming a routine for us, I took it out on him.
"What?" I snapped.
"Is there any particular reason you always insist on being an asshole?" God, that pout on his lips, I couldn't take my fucking eyes off them.
"Is there any particular reason you always insist on not doing what you're told? What about breaking procedure on a stakeout?" I shot back, venom in my voice. Something told me this was going too far, that I was about to cross some kind of imaginary line.
Karl's face colored and he stuttered a few half-assed excuses at me before settling on a glare.
"Real mature kid. I'm too damn old to babysit..." That had been it, the line had been crossed. Whatever thread that was holding Karl back snapped and he lunged for me, pressing my back into the door behind me. I let out a growl and squirmed in his grasp. His hands held my upper arms with bruising force, more than I thought he was capable of; and he leaned in close with a snarl.
"What the /fuck/ is your problem, Markowski?" His voice was low, dangerous.
"/You're/ my fuckin' problem, rookie. You better watch yourself, it only takes one report and your ass is off the squad." I said, my voice equally dangerous. It was a battle of will, one that I was determined not to lose. Though, in the end, I guess it didn't really matter /who/ won out, the result would have been the same.
I thought he was going to say something smart-assed back, but instead, he let go of my arms and sat back, looking like I'd just smacked him. When he spoke again, his voice came out lower, and without as much bite. "What did I ever do to you? Is it because of O'Brian?" It was like a child asking his mommy if her divorce was his fault-- I felt it tug at my heart in the most unmanly of ways.
He must have noticed a change in my facial expression because he continued on, "what I told the board was the goddamn truth. Hell, even the crime scene didn't match up with his bullshit story! But hey, who's gonna believe a fuckin' rookie upstart. Better off playin' basketball, that's what they said."
It was the truth, sure no one said it out loud-- but there was always going to be rumors in the force, Supe Squad or not. I felt bad for him, he tried his best and got set up with an asshole like O'Brian. Now, that cloud that hung over him tainted him-- stuck him in the Supe Squad forever, like some kind of black tar.
"Well, fuck that," the venom was back. "I didn't get pulled into the Supe Squad-- I came here on my own. And I'm not fuckin' leaving, especially not when I can't even get my own goddamn partner to trust me."
I wanted to console him, maybe try to patch things up a little. But, all that came out was a strangled, "Get over yourself, kid."
If I had crossed the line before, this was something akin to pissing on it and dancing over it. Karl flew at me, this time his fist was raised. I managed to miss most of the hit, taking the brunt of it across my lower jaw. The crack sounded sick, though it was probably a whole lot better than him getting my nose. I took both of his hands and forced him back onto the seat, banging my hip on the steering wheel in the process. He growled at me and I pulled back my fist, hitting him square in the nose. Karl cursed loudly, blood dribbling down his upper lip and chin.
I had one knee between his legs, the rest of his body awkwardly laid out before me, too tall to really fit all that well across the length of the front seat. We were both breathing heavily, rage having settled into both of us. It was a game to see who would make the first move, who would throw another punch. In the end, neither of us did-- Karl made sure of that. Long, surprisingly elegant fingers wrapped themselves around my tie and jerked me forward. My first thought was that he was going to try to choke me out with my neckwear, but that thought flew right out the window as a pair of soft lips crushed themselves against mine. Our teeth clacked and I could taste blood, more than likely his, on my tongue. I should have been repulsed, or at the very least had the brains to pull back, to keep him on the other side of the car and forget this ever happened.
But, I didn't. I groaned (that's right, I fucking /groaned/) into his mouth and jerked him up more by the lapels of his coat. Karl let go of my tie in favor of threading his fingers through my hair, a gesture that was nearly too intimate for me. I didn't have time to think about it too much before the kid moaned against my lips-- and fuck if it wasn't one of the hottest things I'd ever heard.
The tension between us was tight, threatening to snap any moment. It was a bowstring drawn back to a dangerous degree, all electricity and force. I realized a little late that I'd started moving my knee against him, ripping little whines from him. He clawed at my back, gorgeous blue eyes fluttering shut. I heard my name a few times, breathy and damn near /awestruck/. Leaning down, I bit an exposed section of his neck, working on a steadily growing mark. Then another, and one more, and one more... He was hard beneath me, and I couldn't deny the effect it was having on me as well. Images assaulted me, mostly of me pinning Karl down in the back seat or over the hood of the DeSoto and fucking him senseless.
But...
"Karl..."
He looked damn near ready to break. I stopped moving, trying to even out my breathing, before this went somewhere... Bad. Somewhere that people only wrote about in trashy novels-- a lot like the ones Sefchik hid in his desk.
Karl's blue eyes met mine, his mouth was open, blood smeared everywhere. He was a goddamn mess, a beautiful mess. I'm pretty sure at this point my face looked the same, though I'm sure it wasn't quite as handsome.
"St-Stan I..." He looked terrified. "I'm sorry, I don't know what--"
I shook my head to silence him, watching as he brought a trembling hand up to touch the steadily drying blood above his lips. There was some kind of unspoken agreement when we locked eyes again. A line had been crossed, indeed.
Skip forward a few weeks, we hadn't talked about the incident at the Gob's cabin at all. We'd separated like two positively charged magnets, focusing all of our energy on the stakeout. But time couldn't erase what we'd done. The next night at the station, Aquilina teased Karl about the marks I'd left, thinking of course he'd scored with some pretty young thing that fell victim to his charms. If only she'd known...
Karl had blushed and stammered out something about being "too drunk to remember" and thankfully, Aquilina let it drop there with a comment about 'wishing she was that young again'.
Since that night, our working relationship had improved, surprisingly. Even though the awkward memory of that night hung around, I was finding it easier to talk to him, to open up. I was rewarded with more about the kid than I probably needed to know. He was so enthusiastic about everything, it was contagious.
Maybe this kid would work out alright after all.