Word on a Wing
The car speakers blasted David Bowie's Station to Station, the highway was empty except for the occasional oncoming headlights, and the yellow lines seemed to extend all the way to the stars. Casey drove with the window down, the wind cool enough to keep him alert, despite the dime bag he had split with Ned. Everything was elastic and free, and Casey couldn't imagine a more perfect night. His fingers tattooed a rhythm against the steering wheel, and he murmured along with the well-known lyrics, singing under his breath, soaring higher with each verse.
Casey thought he could drive forever. He was almost tempted to do just that. He had a full tank of gas, a wallet full of hundred- dollar bills, and enough pot under the seat to get him through the week. If he did keep driving, nobody would notice he was missing. The wheels humming against the pavement kept time with the music, hypnotizing him into his own daydreams. By dawn, he could be on the other side of the state. By the following night, he could be hundreds of miles from the shitty town he called home, from his shitty family, from his shitty friends.
Knowing he could drive straight into the rising sun made him feel good. Calm, even. Ned always got super paranoid when they were smoking. He saw cops around every corner. And those cops morphed into faceless monsters the more he smoked. He couldn't even leave the house. He never seemed to have any fun. Casey didn't get that. The world made the most sense when he was floating five feet above everything. It gave him perspective. Made him feel stronger. He wasn't just some stupid kid, some stupid fuck-up embarrassing his family.
And all he had to do was keep driving. Play David Bowie on an endless loop. Stop only when he had to.
Casey's mind drifted further, and he pushed harder on the accelerator. The speedometer in his little Mazda crawled over numbers, creeping into the dangerous zone that he recognized but didn't really care about. He was going to reach those stars.
Until flashing lights brought him crashing back to earth.
Casey's heart stopped and his stomach dropped. Fuck, fuck, fuck. A speeding ticket wouldn't be bad. Driving under the influence. Carrying enough pot to stick him with an intent to sell charge. Those would be bad.
"Keep it together. Just keep it together. Keep it together. Turn down the music." Casey slowed gradually, and the lights seemed to flash brighter, illuminating everything in his car. He could do this. He could keep it together. It wasn't the first time a cop had caught him speeding, and he had always lived to tell the tale.
Casey managed to stay calm until he saw just who was exiting the cop car and approaching his window.
Dublin, Georgia's own Sheriff Finn Kirkland.
Casey's blood turned to ice water. There was no bullshitting Finn Kirkland. When it came to the sheriff, the best thing to do was stay out of his way. Fuck.
The man wasn't smiling. Then again, Sheriff Kirkland never smiled. He stared at you with those chilling black eyes, his square jaw solid and set, and everything inside you shriveled up. Ned claimed he'd seen the sheriff shoot a drunk in the kneecap just for pissing on his shoes. Casey believed him. Fuck, he didn't think the sheriff needed even that good a reason to put a bullet in someone. He'd do it just because he was bored.
His knuckles went white around the steering wheel. Deep breath.
The shadow in the sheriff's hand lifted as he approached the window. Casey looked up in time to be blinded by a sudden, piercing light. He winced and lifted a hand to shield his eyes.
The brilliant illumination from the flashlight disappeared as quickly as it had come.
"Mr. Eller." Kirkland's deep voice emanated from the darkness. "Step out of the car."
Casey had been pulled over enough times to know stepping out wasn't standard operating procedure. More importantly, he wasn't convinced he could stand without swaying. "What seems to be the problem, Sheriff?"
"Looks like the problem's with your ears. I told you to step out of the car, Mr. Eller. I won't tell you again."
Casey didn't want to be pulled out the window, and Kirkland was certainly strong enough to do it. He didn't wait for a third demand to open the door. As he fumbled with the handle, he prayed his legs didn't betray him and send him crashing to the pavement.
He had to look up to see Kirkland's face. He hated the way the bastard used his size to intimidate people.
"Yes, sir?" The words almost choked him, but Casey didn't see the harm in playing it safe.
Kirkland didn't speak. The several inches he had on Casey's five-nine loomed even larger with the hard set of his broad shoulders. Behind them, his squad car's headlights provided the only light for miles, casting half his face in shadow. His heavy brow heightened the ominous effect. Anything lurking in his eyes was hidden from view as they swept over Casey.
Then he sniffed.
"Care to tell me where you've been tonight?"
"Sure. At my sister's house."
"A little late to be visiting, isn't it?"
"Nah. We ate dinner and watched a movie. It was fun, you know. Relaxing. Maybe you should try it sometime."
His sarcasm went ignored. "What movie?"
"More of an Easter movie, don't you think?"
"It's never the wrong time of the year for Charlton Heston. He seems like he'd be your type."
"So dinner. Charlton Heston. Any other details you want to add to your story before you forget what it is I asked you in the first place?"
Casey stared at Kirkland, and for a moment, it seemed like the larger man was moving away. Not just moving. Gliding. Like he was on a pair of rollerblades. But that couldn't be right. Casey blinked and shook his head, and Kirkland returned to his rightful place.
"Dinner at my sister's place, followed by Charlton Heston. We had hamburgers."
"And brownies, I'll bet." But there wasn't a shred of humor in his tone. "Walk to the rear of your car, Mr. Eller."
It wasn't brownies, but Casey bit his tongue. Volunteering that info would not make his life easier. But moving to the rear of the car so Kirkland could search him wouldn't make his life easier, either.
"Don't you have anything better to be doing tonight? I was just on my way home."
"Better than teaching you a lesson? No, I don't." For a split second, the headlights caught his eyes, obsidian glinting in mockery though Kirkland's lips never twitched. "Turn around and put your hands on the hood of the car. Oh. Wait. I forgot. Your ears are giving you problems tonight."
For such a big guy, Kirkland moved fast. His hand was on Casey's shoulder in a blur that left behind a fuzzy trail. He dug his fingers into the muscle, his broad thumb pressing painfully against Casey's collarbone, and whipped Casey around to shove him face first into the back door.
"You stink of it." Kirkland's mouth was at his ear. Hot breath wafted beneath his shirt collar as he tightened his hold on Casey's shoulder. "How stupid do you think I am, boy?"
For a split second, it wasn't the bastard sheriff's body pressed against his back. Casey couldn't relax, but that didn't stop him from being distracted by the heat, the pressure, the solidity. The car's cold metal only made Kirkland's flesh seem hotter. He held himself perfectly still and could almost see the air flowing in and out of his mouth.
"I'm guessing you don't want me to answer that."
"Not if you want to keep your dick attached to your scrawny carcass." Without abandoning the pressure against Casey's back, Kirkland kicked the driver door further open and turned his flashlight back on to sweep it across the interior. "You need a better class of friends, Mr. Eller. Your buddy Ned gave you up before I ever laid a hand on him."
Fucking fuckity fuck. "Look, you've already got one tonight. It's not like you have a quota to fill. Why don't you call the night good and let me go with a warning?"
"Who said I didn't throw him back? Sometimes, it takes a little fish to catch a big one."
Cool steel clamped around one of Casey's wrists. Panic surged through him, but rather than help him twist away, it only succeeded in making him stumble harder against Kirkland's powerful body. The second cuff snapped into place.
He was helpless to stop the sheriff from leaning into the front seat. Within seconds, Kirkland straightened with Casey's stash dangling from his fingers.
"Just takes the right bait."
"Well, congratu-fucking-lations." He was already fucked. There didn't seem to be any reason to be fully cooperative. "I guess you'll win tonight's dick measuring contest at the station."
Kirkland tossed the baggie onto the roof, inches from Casey's face. "This is your second bust, isn't it? That'll make you a repeat offender."
You can count to two. I guess that's why you're the most qualified to be sheriff. "Yes, sir. I'm…is there any way we can work something out? I wasn't going to deal. I've never been busted for dealing."
"And I should believe you because you haven't been lying to me since I pulled you over?" Kirkland stepped closer, invading personal space, invading breathing room, consuming Casey's senses until he had to turn his head away in order not to be overwhelmed. "I don't like being lied to."
"I'm not lying. You know my record. I'm not a dealer." Casey spoke fast, though he wasn't at all convinced Kirkland cared. Why should he? He'd get his bust, and he'd get lauded for taking another dangerous user off the street. Even so, Casey didn't stop talking. "Look, I'm not asking that you let me go. But an intent to sell…please, I can't have that on my record."
"Because you're a shining example of what's so right in our society today? I don't think so. The way I hear it, there isn't a sin you haven't committed. If you're not intending to sell now, you'll do it tomorrow or the day after that instead." Kirkland caught both Casey's wrists in a single hand and used the cuffs to pull Casey upright. His other hand came to the front of Casey's throat, but he didn't squeeze. He just rested it there. Warm. Calloused. Ready to do whatever he wanted. "Begging for mercy only works if you've got something I want, boy. What is it you think you can offer that could possibly be worth getting your sorry hide off my streets?"
"What do you want?" There were rumors the sheriff was gay. A person couldn't fuck around in a county this size and not expect people to talk. Casey had a friend who admitted he had sucked Kirkland's cock. "Please, I'll do whatever you say."
"Only because you think you don't have a choice." His mouth was back at Casey's ear, and the pull on the cuffs meant both Casey's hands and Kirkland's rested against his ass. "You don't respect me. You're afraid of me, and of getting in trouble, but there isn't an ounce of respect for me anywhere in that."
Casey's eyes widened. If Kirkland wasn't interested in playing games, he would have slapped Casey upside the head and pushed him into the back of the cruiser. That gave him a bit of hope. But the very same hope was dashed as he realized he didn't understand what the sheriff wanted or what he was playing at.
"I respect you, sir. I respect you."
"Words again. They don't mean the same as what a man does." His fingers tightened infinitesimally on Casey's throat. It didn't block his air, but it damn well reminded Casey what a vulnerable position he was actually in. "You can offer anything you want, but I'll bet you'd rather cut off your left nut than make the same offer when I didn't have the power to take you in." Something wet dragged across the skin below his ear. Fuck. Did Kirkland lick him? "I'm not interested in taking something from you, boy. What I want is for you to give it to me."
Casey opened and closed his mouth, unsure of how he could prove it-prove anything-to Kirkland. The words wound around his mind, chasing themselves, until he almost forgot how the beginning of his speech started. What a man does. Kirkland wanted action. But he was immobile, incapable of doing anything to prove himself.
"I'll give you whatever you want, sir. Uncuff me. I can show you if you uncuff me."
"And now we're back to you thinking I must be stupid. You must love circles, boy. You keep going in them."
When Kirkland abruptly let him go, Casey slumped forward, his balance well and truly fucked now. He struggled to remain upright, barely aware of Kirkland taking back his stash, then reaching in to remove his keys from the ignition. The door slammed shut and the reverberations rubbed against his cock. With the keys and pot in hand, Kirkland walked behind him and toward the patrol car.
"Come on, Mr. Eller," he said without looking back. "And don't try running. I'll shoot you the first step you take in the wrong direction."
Casey didn't doubt Kirkland's word. He did, however, doubt his ability to put one foot in front of the other. What if he fell on his face? He hoped Kirkland would help him up again, rather than run him over or just shoot him and be done with it. Sudden fear clenched him. He was going to die on the side of the road and who would know or care? Nobody. The sheriff isn't going to kill you. But how did he fucking know that? He didn't.
Despite his fear, he kept moving, stumbling forward until he reached the hood of Kirkland's car.
Kirkland tossed the pot through his open window, followed by Casey's keys. The face that turned toward him was as closed as ever, but there were other changes, other ways to tell that he wasn't as unaffected by what was happening as he let on. Though it could have been a trick of the shadows, there was a bulge in the front of his pants, thick and long where his cock had hardened against his thigh.
"Your legs giving you some trouble, boy?"
"No, sir." Casey straightened and took another half step forward. "The ground is a little uneven, that's all."
"You have an excuse for everything, don't you?" Oddly enough, he didn't sound annoyed, not as much as he had before. "But we weren't talking about that. We were discussing your desire not to get locked up for the next three to five."
Casey moved to stand directly in front of Kirkland, but something told him that he didn't want to make direct eye contact. That might have just been a desire to hide his bloodshot eyes, but he didn't want to do anything to provoke a more severe reaction from the bigger man.
"I know you won't believe me if I say it won't happen again." He licked his dry lips. His tongue rasped across the skin like sandpaper.
"You're right. But I think we might be able to come to some kind of arrangement. You have to prove to me you can do it, though."
Casey wanted to jump into action. "Tell me how to prove it." He took a deep breath and realized he was close enough to catch a whiff of aftershave "I'll do whatever I can, sir."
"Oh, we'll see about that," came the low response.
Casey nearly jumped when Kirkland pressed him closer to the car, holding his breath as the sheriff reached around to touch his wrists. The cuffs fell away, tossed to join the keys and pot on the front seat, but Casey resisted the urge to move his arms too much. Kirkland still stood there with his hands now resting against the edge of the roof, pinning him in place without laying a finger on him.
"I'm sure you've heard the rumors," Kirkland said. "But just because I've let one boy suck me off to get out of running a red, doesn't mean I'm going to let you do the same."
Playing stupid would not be a good idea. Kirkland wouldn't buy it-he'd probably take it as an insult if Casey tried. That was a risk he couldn't take. Especially since the sheriff's scent was filling his head and making him more than a little dizzy. His shirt was open at the collar, exposing his tan throat and a hint of dark hair emerging from behind the material. A slow, shallow throb at the base of Kirkland's neck helped him focus.
"What will you let me do, sir?"
He snorted softly. "I've got a little favor you just might be able to help me with. But all that hinges on how good you ride cock."
Casey was half-hard before, but the thought of riding cock made him fully erect. Kirkland had to feel the nudge of Casey's arousal against his thigh. "Do you want…a demonstration?"
"I'm not about to unleash you until I know." He bent his head, his mouth grazing across Casey's temple. His shoulders nearly blocked the sky. "Take me out, boy."
Casey flexed his fingers. He felt like he had sausages tied to his hands. He was just relieved Kirkland's body was keeping him from falling flat on his face. He knew the pot would wear off eventually-but by then, he'd probably be in a prison cell if he couldn't keep his shit together. Despite the thickness of his fingers, he sought out the zipper beneath Kirkland's heavy belt. He pulled the fly down and shuddered as soon he came in contact with the sheriff's fat cock.
Beads of pre-come already gathered at the slit. Instinctively, Casey ran his thumb over the broad head, but when his hand tightened around the length, the sheriff grabbed his wrist and held him still.
"I didn't say you could play with it." His grip was painful and unyielding. "If you can't take orders, you're no good to me."
"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir." Casey relaxed his hand, hoping that would prompt Kirkland to do the same. "I can take orders."
"Good. Get your pants off."
Casey tried to look over Kirkland's shoulder to the highway. Just because they were all alone out in the middle of nowhere didn't mean that they would stay on their own. Anybody could pass by at any time and see him pantless and high, pinned to the car by the sheriff. On the other hand, if anybody did pass by and see that, he wouldn't be the culpable one. Embarrassed, yes. Culpable, no.
Casey ripped the buttons of his jeans open without protest and then pushed the pants down to his feet.
Kirkland's thick lashes dipped. The tip of his tongue appeared between his lips and swiped swiftly over the lower one in obvious hunger.
"You just might do after all," he said huskily. His gaze returned, just as heavy, just as dangerous. "I'll bet I'm not the first one to think you might have a knack for this."
Casey's hands closed into fists, his nails digging into his palms. "No, sir. You're not the first one."
"So you give it up to anyone with a hard-on?"
Casey's ass clenched. "Yes, sir."
"So you're a slut as well as a pothead."
"Yes, sir." Casey studied Kirkland's face, trying to gauge what he wanted, but he seemed to be moving away again. He blinked and looked away. "A slut. A whore."
"Well, tonight, you're my whore, you got that, boy?" Kirkland nudged his hips forward. As their erections rubbed against each other, he grasped both of them in one hand, squeezing them together.
Casey gasped. "Yes, sir. Yours." He wasn't sure how this was going to save his ass. Kirkland had implied that he needed Casey for some other purpose, but what that purpose was, Casey didn't know or care. If the sheriff wanted him to be his little whore, he would do it without question. "Your whore."
Slowly, Kirkland stroked their cocks, never venturing near the heads. The tilt of his hips smashed their balls together, too, and the hard teeth of his zipper cut into the tops of Casey's thighs. "Whores know when to spread them." His nostrils flared. "But seeing as you're having problems with your legs, I'm willing to help you. Just this once."
His free hand slid around the back of Casey's thigh. Casey tensed to help him once it became evident what he was doing, but Kirkland lifted him off the ground with ease, using the car at his back as leverage long enough for Casey to wrap his legs around Kirkland's hips.
As soon as his feet left the ground, the world tilted hard enough to make his stomach lurch. He wrapped his arms around Kirkland as well, clinging to him with his ass spread and waiting for Kirkland's cock. Heat poured off the man, and his belt and holster dug into Casey's flesh. Their mouths were closer to even, and he briefly wondered what the sheriff's would taste like-what it would feel like. Especially since now he was close enough to see there was dark stubble ringing the firm lips.
"My whore," Kirkland muttered. Letting go of their cocks, he lifted his hand and pressed two fingers into Casey's mouth. At the first suck to get them wet, the sheriff made a sound that would've been a groan if Casey had heard it from anybody else. "You do have a sweet little mouth, boy. Once I test your ass, I might have to see if it works as good as it looks."
Casey kept sucking, his tongue winding around both fingers. The taste of salt was amazing, and he felt every single line, every single swirl on the fingertips. He had never been more aware of the taste and texture of another person. His heart thudded in his ears, almost loud enough to obscure Kirkland's words.
He whimpered as the sheriff pulled his hand away, but the whimper stilled as soon as he realized Kirkland was seeking his tight hole. He teased the flesh, circling the opening until Casey's breath came in rough gasps. Without warning, Kirkland thrust his hand forward, burying both fingers in his passage. "Fuck!"
"Not yet." Kirkland twisted his wrist, almost as if he was trying to screw his entire hand into Casey's ass. "But soon enough."
Each thrust and twist prompted another shout from Casey. There was more pain than pleasure, but Casey could barely tell the difference between the two. He had the feeling the sheriff wanted him to shout-and would keep pushing until he got what he wanted if Casey didn't give it freely.
The hand holding his thigh disappeared, and through the haze, he felt Kirkland rummaging around in his pocket. He gritted his teeth when a third finger was added, squeezing his eyes shut, but a light slap across his cheek, with something sharp scratching at him, made him open them again.
"Put your hands to good use." In front of his face, Kirkland held up a condom between two fingers. "You don't want me to stop stretching you to do it myself."
Casey plucked the condom from Kirkland's fingers, and for a moment, was at a complete loss. The foil package was far too small, his fingers far too long, and the world spinning far too quickly. The pot made things difficult-the fingers buried in his ass made things impossible. He blinked, took a deep breath, and then tore at the foil, hoping it would work. To his surprise, it gave easily, freeing the latex in his palm. Once that obstacle was gone, Casey felt much better about sliding the condom down Kirkland's impressive length.
It seemed the rubber was all Kirkland waited for. His fingers slid free of Casey's channel, and he brought his palm up to his mouth and spit on it before rubbing it over the condom. Hitching Casey a little higher, he angled his cock between Casey's thighs, unerringly finding the tight ring. The blunt head pushed at the opening. As soon as the head was lodged within the muscle, Kirkland grasped his hips and pushed him the rest of the way down.
Casey dropped his head back, the shout stuck in his throat. He wanted to scream as Kirkland tore into his ass, but he didn't have the breath, or control over his lungs. The car was hard against his back, the window insanely cold against his hot skin. He didn't have the chance to catch his breath before the sheriff pulled out and then slammed forward. Casey didn't think he could handle more, but he didn't think Finn Kirkland would give him a break.
"Look at me."
The order was incontestable, even though Kirkland didn't raise his voice. Casey dragged his attention back to find those black eyes boring into his. Kirkland cupped the back of Casey's head, his fingers digging into the scalp as he forced Casey to stay in that position. No looking away. He got it. Why, he had no idea, but the sheriff was in charge here. They were playing by his rules.
Every time his eyes darted away, to look over Kirkland's shoulder, or up to the stars, the sheriff tightened his grip. His head was beginning to throb, like the rest of his body. Once, he thought he saw approaching headlights, and he tried to tell Kirkland, but he seemed to think Casey's attempt to speak was just an invitation to pound harder. Casey felt boneless, like nothing more than a rag doll. An easily disposable rag doll Kirkland could just toss aside when he was done, indifferent to the fresh bruises and the growing ache in his flesh.
He gasped when Kirkland slid his other hand between their bodies and fisted Casey's cock. The wet tip had already smeared once across the sheriff's shirt, and Kirkland tilted it sideways in order to get it inside Casey's loose T-shirt.
"You don't come on my uniform," he said.
Casey wanted to snap that maybe Kirkland should've thought of that before getting him so hot and bothered, but then the man started pulling at his cock, long sure sweeps from head to balls that made the back of his thighs quiver, and Casey forgot completely what he'd been about ready to protest. Strong guys always gave the best handjobs.
He wasn't going to last long. He never did when he'd been smoking. And he didn't have a chance against the double assault of Kirkland's cock and fist. Even though the sheriff had Casey's entire future in the palm of his hand, he couldn't be sorry Kirkland had caught him. Not at that moment, when his black eyes bored straight through Casey, and his body carried Casey toward greater and greater pleasure.
Kirkland gave a good squeeze that made stars explode in front of Casey's eyes. That was it. That was all he could take. He slammed his head back as his cock erupted, and hot pain rushed through him as he connected with the car. That wasn't enough to distract him from the fingers that pulled and squeezed every drop of come from his body, though.
The world tipped around him as Kirkland jerked his head back up. Casey opened his mouth to protest, but the seal of Kirkland's hard mouth, his tongue driving forward as hungrily as his cock, stifled his words. Casey clutched at his rigid arms, unsure in the throes of his orgasm just what to do. It took several seconds of pounding and tasting and then Kirkland's teeth nipping at his lower lip for Casey to respond.
Kirkland grunted into the kiss. His hips slammed upward one more time before his entire body went hard, practically vibrating as he shot deep inside Casey's ass.
Casey didn't break away from the kiss. He didn't dare lean back until Kirkland finally released his mouth. He didn't know if he should say anything-or if he had anything to say. His ass burned and though Kirkland had softened, his length was still buried in Casey's body. A breeze picked up, blowing across his damp skin and making him shiver. "Sir?"
Kirkland didn't speak. His hands released Casey, both cock and head, and while Casey fought the new wave of vertigo, the sheriff pulled out-more gently than he would have expected-and set him back on the ground.
That made his vertigo even worse.
"Get your pants on." Pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket, Kirkland wiped off his sticky fingers. "I'm putting you in lock-up for the night for driving impaired."
Casey opened his mouth to protest, but decided against that. Putting him in lock-up for the night didn't necessarily mean Kirkland planned to charge him with anything. And he couldn't drive anyway. Everything was still spinning wildly, his stomach was rolling, and Kirkland had his pot.
Moving very carefully, he bent and held the material as he stepped into the pants. He moved just as slowly as he straightened, securing the jeans over his hips. When he straightened, the sheriff still watched him with inscrutable eyes. Kirkland could have been satisfied with fucking Casey, or he could have been furious, or annoyed, or ecstatic. There really was no way for Casey to know.
"You know how to use a camera?"
Casey blinked, trying to filter the words through his brain. He didn't think Kirkland meant right at that moment, so he nodded. "Yeah, I can."
"Good. You'll need that for my little favor. I want you to get video of you and an old friend of mine. I want proof of him buried in your ass. Even better if you can get him on his knees sucking you off. Do that, and I'll forget about intent charges."
All Casey heard was forget about intent charges. That was all that mattered. He didn't even allow the rest of Kirkland's deal to process before blurting, "I'll do it."
For a second, it looked like Kirkland's mouth moved. Like he was going to smile. But Casey knew that was impossible, knew it was just the pot fucking with his head because Kirkland never smiled about anything, let alone a kid agreeing to some stupid plan.
"Get in the back seat." Kirkland sounded different, too. Quieter. Not quite so mean. Casey realized he must be more tired than he thought. "I'll have one of the deputies come around and bring your car back to the station for you in the morning."
Casey had been in the backseat of a cop car many times, but never without cuffs. He didn't want to give a reason to slap the bracelets on, so he quietly ducked through the door Kirkland held open. A part of him began to doubt any of this was really happening, but the pain in his ass and head was enough to keep him grounded. That was very, very real.
Casey just wanted to go somewhere quiet and sleep it off. Hopefully, things would make sense in the morning.