Fiction: A Hard Line
Dec. 21st, 2009 02:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kethniName: A Hard Line
Pairing: Matt/Peter
Rating: 18
Warnings: Sexual, adult language, spanking
Note: Thanks![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
perdiccas for the prompt
Word count: 2456
Summary: pre-series AU where straight-laced beat cop Matt breaks up college boy Peter’s party and doles out some much needed discipline.
New York at three a.m. and the streets are jumping; the night people have reclaimed the streets from the rushing stresshead businessmen and the fat tourists shivering in t-shirts in the December chill. The homeless, numbed and hopeless, challenge him to move them on, dealers pause and watch warily as he passes, and the hookers on the corner blow kisses. Only blowing kisses for him, though plenty of the other officers happily demand ‘taxes’ of blow jobs and more.
Matt waves back and parks the car. He takes the thermos and the plastic cups from the backseat and wanders over to them. In general, a uniform is bad for business but it’s a quiet night and besides keeping the law sweet is a good investment.
‘Hey Parkman!’ Cherry calls. She’s the oldest of the group with ash blonde hair and a complexion like teak. ‘You gonna try the merchandise?’
‘Not tonight,’ he says, smiling back. It’s an old bit and they both know it. Matt hands Cherry the cups while he opens his flask, and the girls gather around, grateful for the warmth.
‘Look at you with your leather gloves,’ Cherry laughs. ‘You a fucking serial killer, Parkman?’
‘I’m an old man, I don’t have the same constitution as you young girls,’ he says lightly. ‘How’s tricks?’
‘They’re quiet,’ Cherry shrugs and sips her coffee. ‘It’s the cold, keeps the fuckers at home. That and the your damn vice squad creating all that hoo-ha in the park last night, freaks out the johns.’
‘Yeah it’s supposed to do that,’ Matt says cheerfully.
‘Well it ain’t no fucking help to us!’ Cherry snorts, tossing her hair over her shoulders.
‘Hey, no call to snit at me,’ Matt says. ‘I didn’t call the vice squad on you. You know that’s none of my business.’
‘Yeah, we know. Hate the fuckers. They make out like they’re helping us out but all they want to do is hustle us. Try telling them about some bastard who beat you or worse, they don’t give a shit,’ Cherry sneers.
‘Is that a problem right now, bad johns?’ Matt asks.
‘Not exactly,’ Coco says. She’s younger than Cherry, with silky black skin and close-cropped hair. She doesn’t speak much but what she says is meant and serious.
Matt waits, watching her gather herself together.
‘Tell him,’ Coco says to another, much younger girl Matt doesn’t recognise
‘What do you go by?’ Matt asks, looking at her more closely. ‘Street name, real name, whatever makes you comfy.’
‘’M Honey,’ she mutters. ‘Officer.’
‘I’m Matt Parkman, although most of your friends here call me Parkman or just plain old ‘hey you’.’
She giggles at that. Shit, Matt thinks, she can’t be more than seventeen.
‘Okay,’ she agrees.
Matt smiles at her. ‘So you had a bad turn, a bad trick?’
‘Kinda,’ she says, squirming. She glances at the other girls who nod encouragingly. ‘I got picked up by a couple of college boys. Rich ones, a big car. They took me to a frat party. Beta Omega house they said.’
Matt nearly sighs at the predictability of it. ‘Did they hurt you, Honey?’
She shrugs and gulps her coffee. ‘They tried, ripped my clothes, and blacked my eye. Said they wanted to play piñata with me. One of them gave me twenty dollars and threw me out of the house.’
‘They’ve been looking for other girls,’ Cherry says darkly. ‘Word’s got around.’
‘I’ll see to it,’ Matt says calmly. ‘Make sure it doesn’t happen again.’
Rich college kids, Matt thinks as his cruiser glides through the cold and dirty streets. They’re used to getting everything and they still want more. The richer they are the more they want and the more they think they can just take.
The call comes through as he’s driving down Broadway. Looks like the Christmas Bondage Ball just let out; the streets are full of leather and rubber, men and women in chains, on all fours or tottering along on platform thigh-high boots. It’s all basques and masks as far as the eye can see. Matt stops to let them flood across the road, watching with a twinge of envy at their freedom. More than a twinge. He’s curious, always been curious, but no. That’s not him. But these people are just going all out for it. Some of them glance warily at the car, doubtless some asshole in a uniform hassled them at one time or another with the happy assurance that all ‘weirdos’ deserve it. Some of the others are cheerfully calling obscene suggestions and making pornographic gestures at him. Matt smiles and waves. He’s not in the business of causing trouble and besides, these are his people: the night people, the freaks, the perverts, and the weirdos, and he has all the time in the world for them. The self-proclaimed ‘decent’ folks, they’re the ones that cause the trouble.
‘One-twenty-eight Charlie, come in please,’ the radio crackles.
‘One-twenty-eight Charlie, go ahead control.’ Matt keeps an eye on the road as the last of the revellers cross over.
‘We have a 415 in progress, multiple reports. Family name of Petrelli.’
‘Copy control,’ Matt agrees, pulling forward as the last of the revellers disappear. ‘What’s the locale?’
High end of town. The part of the city Matt only ever sees at a distance. All brownstone townhouses and those ice cold WASP families. Matt exists in the dirty streets with the pimps, the prostitutes, the dealers, and users. Other guys, guys who mind their P&Q’s, who have the right manners, they get the ritzy end. They spend their time tut-tutting someone’s pride and joy scandalising the neighbours by playing Mozart too loud, or some damn thing. So why would they be sending Matt to this?
‘It seems to be a college party,’ the female voice continues. ‘Reports of underage drinking.’
Well, duh, Matt thinks.
‘Copy control.’
‘It’s the third time this week,’ the female voice says, sounding a little tense. ‘Watch Commander requests that you take a hard line and ensure there are no further complaints.’
Ha! So that’s why they’re sending him and not the pussyfoot patrol. Well, Matt has no problem taking a hard line, especially not with some bratty, drunken college students.
The music can be heard thumping from two streets away. In a less ‘polite’ part of town one of the neighbours would’ve put their shoe through the sound system by now. All along the street, bedroom lights are on and curtains twitch as Matt’s car glides along the road. He parks up and gets out, walking to the house with all the lights blazing, sound screaming out, and a couple of drunken girls in the front garden. One of them is beyond talking and the other, clearly underage, is crying, her blouse around her waist and her makeup smeared across her face.
‘You okay, Miss?’
‘I dropped my g...glass,’ she sobs. ‘And when I bent over everyone laughed!’
‘Oh yeah?’ Matt asked, bemused.
‘I forgot I wasn’t wearing any panties!’
Matt nods and thinks how fortunate it is she didn’t end up in a frat house. ‘I’m sure everyone will forget pretty soon,’ he lies. ‘Whose party is this?’
‘Peter’s,’ she sniffles. ‘Peter Petrelli. He’s g...great.’
‘What does Peter look like?’
‘Oh he’s... lush,’ she says dreamily. ‘Really lush.’
Well, Matt thinks, that’s helpful.
Inside is heaving with stumbling, sniggering youths who tug at his clothes, grab at his nightstick, and gun.
There are at least three hundred people in the main room and nobody is owning up to being the ‘lush’ Peter Petrelli. Matt could fire his weapon in the ceiling, could make a drama, and risk a crisis. But weapons discharge means paperwork in triplicate at least and there’s an easier, simpler way to get the kid to make an appearance.
Matt yanks the sound system right out of the wall and heads for the back door. He ignores the roar of displeasure and walks toward the car. Halfway there he’s overtaken by a dark-haired, dark-eyed prettyish youngster waving his arms and bellowing.
‘Whoa! Whoa man! What’re you doing?’
‘Officer.’
‘What?’
‘Officer,’ Matt repeats, continuing to the car. ‘Not man.’
‘That’s my sound system! You can’t just steal it!’
‘Really, because the security tag says ‘Mrs Angela Petrelli’, that you, is it?’
‘That’s my mom,’ he says, balling his fists.
‘So it’s not yours, it’s hers,’ Matt says, locking it in the car. ‘I’m not stealing it, I’m confiscating it. Who’re you exactly?’
‘Peter,’ he says, and pushes the hair out of his eyes. ‘You can’t just take my stuff!’
‘I can confiscate it if it’s used in the commissioning of a crime,’ Matt says, turning around to face him. ‘You on something, Mr Petrelli? You look like you might be. You want to knock that off. It won’t help your school work any.’
‘This is bullshit!’ Peter says, poking Matt in the chest. ‘What fucking crime?’
Matt catches his hand easily. ‘Disturbing the peace. Mind your language and do not poke me. I’ll give you a receipt and Mrs Petrelli can come and claim it back in the morning.’ He lets go of Peter’s hand and walks back toward the house.
‘Does this make you feel like a big man?’ Peter demands, running after him.
‘Doing my job?’
‘Where are you going?’ Peter asks, grabbing at Matt’s arm.
‘Don’t grab at me Mr Petrelli,’ Matt says shortly. ‘I won’t tell you again.’
‘Damn it!’ Peter whines as party-goers stream out of the house. ‘Where’re you all going?’
‘No tunes no party, man,’ someone yells out.
‘You see what you did Mr Fucking Pig?’ Peter demands.
Matt can’t spell ‘indicators of incipient violence’ but he spot them. As Peter lunges forward, fist swinging, Matt steps easily aside. Peter slams into a wall and sprawls over into a puddle. Matt rolls his eyes and walks into the house leaving Peter behind him. He sweeps into the main room and climbs onto a chair.
‘Everyone out! The party is over. If I see anyone trying to drive I will arrest you, do not doubt it for a minute.’
Peter fights through the crowds. ‘Do you know who my parents are?’ he demands.
‘Don’t you?’ Matt asks, and gets down off the chair. ‘Well don’t worry, it’s doesn’t have the same social stigma anymore.’
‘I’ll tell my dad on you!’
‘You do that,’ Matt says, pushing past him up the stairs and tripping over the beer bottles and discarded clothes.
‘Now what the hell are you doing?’ Peter demands, scrambling after him.
‘Well Mr Petrelli, I’m going to roust the people having sex,’ Matt says with glacial patience. ‘And if any of them didn’t give consent I’m arresting you as an accessory.’
‘You don’t know who you’re messing with,’ Peter says sulkily. ‘You’re going to be sorry!’
Matt finds a post-coital couple in the main bedroom, two naked and asleep on the bathroom floor, and three boys in football uniforms daisy chaining in the guest room. Matt cards them all, checks they’re all alright, and sends them on their way.
‘Aren’t you going to arrest me?’ Peter asks, folding his arms. ‘Come on, big man. Drag me away in fucking irons why don’t you?’
‘Keep up the attitude and I’ll put you over my knee,’ Matt snaps.
Peter smirks and moves closer. ‘Oh yeah? Would that turn you on?’
‘Little boy, when will your mommy be home?’
‘Two weeks, they’re in Antigua.’ Peter pushes the hair out of his eyes. ‘Bet you couldn’t afford that if you saved until next Christmas.’
Matt just stares at him until he looks away. The house is empty now, with all the streets full of twenty-something’s either tottering home or calling cabs.
‘My parents know your captain,’ Peter says as Matt turns away.
‘Good for them,’ Matt snarls. ‘I don’t care if they know Santa. No more noise.’ He stamps out of the main room and just as he reaches the front door, sound blasts out from behind him.
Matt stops, shakes his head, and turns around.
In the living room, Peter has MTV on the television with the volume turned full up. He smirks and waggles his eyebrows. ‘Oops, sorry Officer.’
‘What’re you studying Mr Petrelli?’ Matt asks coldly.
‘Medicine, why?’
Matt pulls out a small pocketknife and cuts the power cable cleanly in two. ‘Operate on that.’
Peter takes a deep breath. ‘I’m Slim Shady, the real Slim Shady...’ he bellows.
Right, Matt thinks, that is it. He grabs Peter by the hair and drags him over to the couch.
‘Nooo...’ Peter wails.
Matt cuffs Peter’s hands behind his back, balls up his leather gloves and gags Peter with them. He rips the belt out from Peter’s trousers, drags down both trousers and underpants, and sits down, trapping Peter’s legs between his own.
‘Stop squirming you little brat,’ Matt growls. He doubles up the belt and brings it down on Peter’s exposed buttocks with an audible crack.
Peter’s wail shifts to a soft whine as the belt comes down again and again.
‘You like that?’ Matt asks, a strange hot feeling pooling in his stomach. ‘You do, I know you do. I can feel your hard-on.’
Matt drops the belt as Peter tries to buck forward. He gently stokes his hand over the bruised, reddened flesh and Peter whimpers.
‘Shush,’ Matt says softly. He pulls Peter up by the hair and dries his eyes, then pushes him down onto the carpet. ‘Still hard?’
Peter, his pupils huge and hair tousled, nods and rubs his face against Matt’s knee.
Matt grabs him by the hair again with one hand and takes him in hand with the other.
Peter moans frantically, pleading incomprehensibly and trying to squirm. Pre-come glistens on his cock as he tries to grind against Matt’s hand.
‘Stay still and be quiet,’ Matt whispers.
Peter stills and goes quiet, his face strained and tense as he stares at Matt desperately. Matt watches him start to shake and then come, roaring through the makeshift gag. He collapses sideways, breathing heavily through his nose, heavy eyes half-lidded.
Matt ungags him, removes the handcuffs, and stands up. He undoes his trousers and pushes them down with his shorts. As Peter blinks and looks up at him, Matt takes out his cock and strokes himself.
Peter’s still flushed, the semen drying on his skin. The lashes of his dark eyes are glittering with tears and bruises are braceleting his wrists.
Matt licks his lips, stroking himself faster, his breathing getting quicker. Peter rolls onto his back just before thick ropes of semen spurt across his body.
Peter trails his fingers through and tastes it. ‘What do you call that?’
‘Taking a hard line.’
Matt/Peter - pre-series: Matt's a straight-laced beat cop, Peter is a hedonistic college student. Matt goes to break up a party at Peter's apartment. One thing leads to another and he spanks Peter for being such a naughty boy.
Pairing: Matt/Peter
Rating: 18
Warnings: Sexual, adult language, spanking
Note: Thanks
perdiccas for the promptWord count: 2456
Summary: pre-series AU where straight-laced beat cop Matt breaks up college boy Peter’s party and doles out some much needed discipline.
New York at three a.m. and the streets are jumping; the night people have reclaimed the streets from the rushing stresshead businessmen and the fat tourists shivering in t-shirts in the December chill. The homeless, numbed and hopeless, challenge him to move them on, dealers pause and watch warily as he passes, and the hookers on the corner blow kisses. Only blowing kisses for him, though plenty of the other officers happily demand ‘taxes’ of blow jobs and more.
Matt waves back and parks the car. He takes the thermos and the plastic cups from the backseat and wanders over to them. In general, a uniform is bad for business but it’s a quiet night and besides keeping the law sweet is a good investment.
‘Hey Parkman!’ Cherry calls. She’s the oldest of the group with ash blonde hair and a complexion like teak. ‘You gonna try the merchandise?’
‘Not tonight,’ he says, smiling back. It’s an old bit and they both know it. Matt hands Cherry the cups while he opens his flask, and the girls gather around, grateful for the warmth.
‘Look at you with your leather gloves,’ Cherry laughs. ‘You a fucking serial killer, Parkman?’
‘I’m an old man, I don’t have the same constitution as you young girls,’ he says lightly. ‘How’s tricks?’
‘They’re quiet,’ Cherry shrugs and sips her coffee. ‘It’s the cold, keeps the fuckers at home. That and the your damn vice squad creating all that hoo-ha in the park last night, freaks out the johns.’
‘Yeah it’s supposed to do that,’ Matt says cheerfully.
‘Well it ain’t no fucking help to us!’ Cherry snorts, tossing her hair over her shoulders.
‘Hey, no call to snit at me,’ Matt says. ‘I didn’t call the vice squad on you. You know that’s none of my business.’
‘Yeah, we know. Hate the fuckers. They make out like they’re helping us out but all they want to do is hustle us. Try telling them about some bastard who beat you or worse, they don’t give a shit,’ Cherry sneers.
‘Is that a problem right now, bad johns?’ Matt asks.
‘Not exactly,’ Coco says. She’s younger than Cherry, with silky black skin and close-cropped hair. She doesn’t speak much but what she says is meant and serious.
Matt waits, watching her gather herself together.
‘Tell him,’ Coco says to another, much younger girl Matt doesn’t recognise
‘What do you go by?’ Matt asks, looking at her more closely. ‘Street name, real name, whatever makes you comfy.’
‘’M Honey,’ she mutters. ‘Officer.’
‘I’m Matt Parkman, although most of your friends here call me Parkman or just plain old ‘hey you’.’
She giggles at that. Shit, Matt thinks, she can’t be more than seventeen.
‘Okay,’ she agrees.
Matt smiles at her. ‘So you had a bad turn, a bad trick?’
‘Kinda,’ she says, squirming. She glances at the other girls who nod encouragingly. ‘I got picked up by a couple of college boys. Rich ones, a big car. They took me to a frat party. Beta Omega house they said.’
Matt nearly sighs at the predictability of it. ‘Did they hurt you, Honey?’
She shrugs and gulps her coffee. ‘They tried, ripped my clothes, and blacked my eye. Said they wanted to play piñata with me. One of them gave me twenty dollars and threw me out of the house.’
‘They’ve been looking for other girls,’ Cherry says darkly. ‘Word’s got around.’
‘I’ll see to it,’ Matt says calmly. ‘Make sure it doesn’t happen again.’
Rich college kids, Matt thinks as his cruiser glides through the cold and dirty streets. They’re used to getting everything and they still want more. The richer they are the more they want and the more they think they can just take.
The call comes through as he’s driving down Broadway. Looks like the Christmas Bondage Ball just let out; the streets are full of leather and rubber, men and women in chains, on all fours or tottering along on platform thigh-high boots. It’s all basques and masks as far as the eye can see. Matt stops to let them flood across the road, watching with a twinge of envy at their freedom. More than a twinge. He’s curious, always been curious, but no. That’s not him. But these people are just going all out for it. Some of them glance warily at the car, doubtless some asshole in a uniform hassled them at one time or another with the happy assurance that all ‘weirdos’ deserve it. Some of the others are cheerfully calling obscene suggestions and making pornographic gestures at him. Matt smiles and waves. He’s not in the business of causing trouble and besides, these are his people: the night people, the freaks, the perverts, and the weirdos, and he has all the time in the world for them. The self-proclaimed ‘decent’ folks, they’re the ones that cause the trouble.
‘One-twenty-eight Charlie, come in please,’ the radio crackles.
‘One-twenty-eight Charlie, go ahead control.’ Matt keeps an eye on the road as the last of the revellers cross over.
‘We have a 415 in progress, multiple reports. Family name of Petrelli.’
‘Copy control,’ Matt agrees, pulling forward as the last of the revellers disappear. ‘What’s the locale?’
High end of town. The part of the city Matt only ever sees at a distance. All brownstone townhouses and those ice cold WASP families. Matt exists in the dirty streets with the pimps, the prostitutes, the dealers, and users. Other guys, guys who mind their P&Q’s, who have the right manners, they get the ritzy end. They spend their time tut-tutting someone’s pride and joy scandalising the neighbours by playing Mozart too loud, or some damn thing. So why would they be sending Matt to this?
‘It seems to be a college party,’ the female voice continues. ‘Reports of underage drinking.’
Well, duh, Matt thinks.
‘Copy control.’
‘It’s the third time this week,’ the female voice says, sounding a little tense. ‘Watch Commander requests that you take a hard line and ensure there are no further complaints.’
Ha! So that’s why they’re sending him and not the pussyfoot patrol. Well, Matt has no problem taking a hard line, especially not with some bratty, drunken college students.
The music can be heard thumping from two streets away. In a less ‘polite’ part of town one of the neighbours would’ve put their shoe through the sound system by now. All along the street, bedroom lights are on and curtains twitch as Matt’s car glides along the road. He parks up and gets out, walking to the house with all the lights blazing, sound screaming out, and a couple of drunken girls in the front garden. One of them is beyond talking and the other, clearly underage, is crying, her blouse around her waist and her makeup smeared across her face.
‘You okay, Miss?’
‘I dropped my g...glass,’ she sobs. ‘And when I bent over everyone laughed!’
‘Oh yeah?’ Matt asked, bemused.
‘I forgot I wasn’t wearing any panties!’
Matt nods and thinks how fortunate it is she didn’t end up in a frat house. ‘I’m sure everyone will forget pretty soon,’ he lies. ‘Whose party is this?’
‘Peter’s,’ she sniffles. ‘Peter Petrelli. He’s g...great.’
‘What does Peter look like?’
‘Oh he’s... lush,’ she says dreamily. ‘Really lush.’
Well, Matt thinks, that’s helpful.
Inside is heaving with stumbling, sniggering youths who tug at his clothes, grab at his nightstick, and gun.
There are at least three hundred people in the main room and nobody is owning up to being the ‘lush’ Peter Petrelli. Matt could fire his weapon in the ceiling, could make a drama, and risk a crisis. But weapons discharge means paperwork in triplicate at least and there’s an easier, simpler way to get the kid to make an appearance.
Matt yanks the sound system right out of the wall and heads for the back door. He ignores the roar of displeasure and walks toward the car. Halfway there he’s overtaken by a dark-haired, dark-eyed prettyish youngster waving his arms and bellowing.
‘Whoa! Whoa man! What’re you doing?’
‘Officer.’
‘What?’
‘Officer,’ Matt repeats, continuing to the car. ‘Not man.’
‘That’s my sound system! You can’t just steal it!’
‘Really, because the security tag says ‘Mrs Angela Petrelli’, that you, is it?’
‘That’s my mom,’ he says, balling his fists.
‘So it’s not yours, it’s hers,’ Matt says, locking it in the car. ‘I’m not stealing it, I’m confiscating it. Who’re you exactly?’
‘Peter,’ he says, and pushes the hair out of his eyes. ‘You can’t just take my stuff!’
‘I can confiscate it if it’s used in the commissioning of a crime,’ Matt says, turning around to face him. ‘You on something, Mr Petrelli? You look like you might be. You want to knock that off. It won’t help your school work any.’
‘This is bullshit!’ Peter says, poking Matt in the chest. ‘What fucking crime?’
Matt catches his hand easily. ‘Disturbing the peace. Mind your language and do not poke me. I’ll give you a receipt and Mrs Petrelli can come and claim it back in the morning.’ He lets go of Peter’s hand and walks back toward the house.
‘Does this make you feel like a big man?’ Peter demands, running after him.
‘Doing my job?’
‘Where are you going?’ Peter asks, grabbing at Matt’s arm.
‘Don’t grab at me Mr Petrelli,’ Matt says shortly. ‘I won’t tell you again.’
‘Damn it!’ Peter whines as party-goers stream out of the house. ‘Where’re you all going?’
‘No tunes no party, man,’ someone yells out.
‘You see what you did Mr Fucking Pig?’ Peter demands.
Matt can’t spell ‘indicators of incipient violence’ but he spot them. As Peter lunges forward, fist swinging, Matt steps easily aside. Peter slams into a wall and sprawls over into a puddle. Matt rolls his eyes and walks into the house leaving Peter behind him. He sweeps into the main room and climbs onto a chair.
‘Everyone out! The party is over. If I see anyone trying to drive I will arrest you, do not doubt it for a minute.’
Peter fights through the crowds. ‘Do you know who my parents are?’ he demands.
‘Don’t you?’ Matt asks, and gets down off the chair. ‘Well don’t worry, it’s doesn’t have the same social stigma anymore.’
‘I’ll tell my dad on you!’
‘You do that,’ Matt says, pushing past him up the stairs and tripping over the beer bottles and discarded clothes.
‘Now what the hell are you doing?’ Peter demands, scrambling after him.
‘Well Mr Petrelli, I’m going to roust the people having sex,’ Matt says with glacial patience. ‘And if any of them didn’t give consent I’m arresting you as an accessory.’
‘You don’t know who you’re messing with,’ Peter says sulkily. ‘You’re going to be sorry!’
Matt finds a post-coital couple in the main bedroom, two naked and asleep on the bathroom floor, and three boys in football uniforms daisy chaining in the guest room. Matt cards them all, checks they’re all alright, and sends them on their way.
‘Aren’t you going to arrest me?’ Peter asks, folding his arms. ‘Come on, big man. Drag me away in fucking irons why don’t you?’
‘Keep up the attitude and I’ll put you over my knee,’ Matt snaps.
Peter smirks and moves closer. ‘Oh yeah? Would that turn you on?’
‘Little boy, when will your mommy be home?’
‘Two weeks, they’re in Antigua.’ Peter pushes the hair out of his eyes. ‘Bet you couldn’t afford that if you saved until next Christmas.’
Matt just stares at him until he looks away. The house is empty now, with all the streets full of twenty-something’s either tottering home or calling cabs.
‘My parents know your captain,’ Peter says as Matt turns away.
‘Good for them,’ Matt snarls. ‘I don’t care if they know Santa. No more noise.’ He stamps out of the main room and just as he reaches the front door, sound blasts out from behind him.
Matt stops, shakes his head, and turns around.
In the living room, Peter has MTV on the television with the volume turned full up. He smirks and waggles his eyebrows. ‘Oops, sorry Officer.’
‘What’re you studying Mr Petrelli?’ Matt asks coldly.
‘Medicine, why?’
Matt pulls out a small pocketknife and cuts the power cable cleanly in two. ‘Operate on that.’
Peter takes a deep breath. ‘I’m Slim Shady, the real Slim Shady...’ he bellows.
Right, Matt thinks, that is it. He grabs Peter by the hair and drags him over to the couch.
‘Nooo...’ Peter wails.
Matt cuffs Peter’s hands behind his back, balls up his leather gloves and gags Peter with them. He rips the belt out from Peter’s trousers, drags down both trousers and underpants, and sits down, trapping Peter’s legs between his own.
‘Stop squirming you little brat,’ Matt growls. He doubles up the belt and brings it down on Peter’s exposed buttocks with an audible crack.
Peter’s wail shifts to a soft whine as the belt comes down again and again.
‘You like that?’ Matt asks, a strange hot feeling pooling in his stomach. ‘You do, I know you do. I can feel your hard-on.’
Matt drops the belt as Peter tries to buck forward. He gently stokes his hand over the bruised, reddened flesh and Peter whimpers.
‘Shush,’ Matt says softly. He pulls Peter up by the hair and dries his eyes, then pushes him down onto the carpet. ‘Still hard?’
Peter, his pupils huge and hair tousled, nods and rubs his face against Matt’s knee.
Matt grabs him by the hair again with one hand and takes him in hand with the other.
Peter moans frantically, pleading incomprehensibly and trying to squirm. Pre-come glistens on his cock as he tries to grind against Matt’s hand.
‘Stay still and be quiet,’ Matt whispers.
Peter stills and goes quiet, his face strained and tense as he stares at Matt desperately. Matt watches him start to shake and then come, roaring through the makeshift gag. He collapses sideways, breathing heavily through his nose, heavy eyes half-lidded.
Matt ungags him, removes the handcuffs, and stands up. He undoes his trousers and pushes them down with his shorts. As Peter blinks and looks up at him, Matt takes out his cock and strokes himself.
Peter’s still flushed, the semen drying on his skin. The lashes of his dark eyes are glittering with tears and bruises are braceleting his wrists.
Matt licks his lips, stroking himself faster, his breathing getting quicker. Peter rolls onto his back just before thick ropes of semen spurt across his body.
Peter trails his fingers through and tastes it. ‘What do you call that?’
‘Taking a hard line.’
Matt/Peter - pre-series: Matt's a straight-laced beat cop, Peter is a hedonistic college student. Matt goes to break up a party at Peter's apartment. One thing leads to another and he spanks Peter for being such a naughty boy.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-12-22 04:38 am (UTC)Thank you perdiccas for giving Kethni that awesome prompt!!
Yummy!! Loved this!! <3<3<3
no subject
Date: 2009-12-22 06:04 am (UTC)Thanks hon, glad you enjoyed it! <333