A.N.: I've just been working on... branching out, I guess. 8D Writing slash that isn't angsty hormonal boys, but still has a bit of what made me infamous. XD;; Haha, I'm stroking my own ego here. But, yes. I'm going to shut up now and let you enjoy! 83

“Possession Of”

R.M. Sanders 011207

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“Suspect on foot.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to concentrate on driving and registering the words coming from the piece of shit radio at the same time. I could barely understand Chandra, our dispatch, because the stupid walkie-talkie-thing was so goddamn old.

“Where at?” I asked into the radio. If it wasn’t near me, I wasn’t worried. But if it was, then you bet your ass I’d take it. This would be my time to prove to the older officers that I could do this. And do it right.

“On the corner of 5th and 13th,” Chandra answered back.

Good, I thought. That was only two blocks away from my position.

“I’ll be there in a second, Chan. Officer 6638 over.” I veered to the right, turning on my siren (that made me feel oh-so important), and heading for the suspect. Cars pulled over onto the sidewalk as I pressed the pedal to the metal.

And that’s when I saw him. Baggy pants, black shirt, bandana, long hair. I knew this would be the best experience of my life. Catching a suspect without the aid of the superior officers. The new guy would bag a drug dealer. Maybe he would be some underground, hugely well-known (yup, hugely well-known) heroin dealer who had been on the run for ten or so years.

I pulled parallel to the sidewalk (like in the movies, where it’s skidscreecherrrhcrash), and flung open my door, yelling “stop!” at the top of my lungs.

He looked back, disinterested. I noticed that his bright blue eyes were lined with black kohl, and they stood out against his extremely tan skin. I pulled out my gun and aimed it at him. Of course, it was supposed to be only used in an emergency, but I didn’t know about this guy. He could’ve been some sort of psycho.

“STOP!” I screamed again. This time, he knew that I was talking to him. His eyes narrowed and he took off, running surprisingly fast for wearing pants with tons of chains and straps on them.

So, what’s a guy to do but run after him?

“Stop running!” I growled as I ran, watching as he swiftly scaled a fence and plopped down on the other side. He apparently stunned himself for a second, because I was at the fence (and climbing it) before he got up. “Just give up!”

He looked up at me, smirking. I stopped climbing as I noticed his bright eyes on me, stunning me, too. But, no. I had to keep moving.

While I was momentarily paralyzed, he got up and pumped his legs harder, taking him farther away from me. I reached the top of my climb and jumped, landing with my legs outstretched, and squatting underneath me to cushion the fall.

But then I was up again, sprinting after the suspect’s thin back. I could see where his pants just barely covered the top of the mound of his bum, and where his hair hit between his shoulder blades (which were, themselves, poking out of his tight shirt). And, finally, I got close enough to tackle him.

We were a tangle of limbs, sweat, and heavy breaths as I hit him, full-force. He immediately crumbled beneath my 160-pound weight, cursing as he landed heavily. I thought I heard a crack, too, as we tumbled to the ground. But as he scrambled underneath me (knocking me in the face a few times), I didn’t think too much about it.

“What the fuck?!” He screamed, thrashing.

“You’re under arrest!”

“For what? I don’t have anything on me!”

I plunged my hand between us, looking for his pocket (which was a pretty broad thing, considering his pants had a total of maybe fifty pockets). I had gotten the call about a young man buying drugs earlier in the afternoon, but he had disappeared shortly after that. But then Chan got a call about a man matching the description of the drug-buyer, and that’s when I went in.

“Whoa, dude!” He shoved me as my hand continued to search for the little packet of cocaine that I knew he had on him. “Watch where the fuck your hand is! And I’m telling you that I don’t have shit on me!”

I ended my search for the baggie as I got him underneath me, successfully pinned down by my weight on his stomach. “Just hand over the drugs, and it’ll all be over, kid.”

He arched his neck, and spat on me.

“I don’t have shit.”

My hand collided with his face as anger bubbled in my stomach. That wasn’t exactly the protocol in which I had been taught, but what the hell. He spat on me. And it pissed me off.

He made a stomach-churning sound as I hit him, blood spattering onto the grass. That would teach him to spit on a man of the law.

“Just hand it over.”

“Fuck you,” he snapped, pushing himself onto his elbows. Well, elbow. His left hand was cradled in his lap (or, well, the space between where his body met mine), hanging limply. So that was the crack that I heard as we fell.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” I said back. It wasn’t exactly what an officer in my case should do, but… I was new. I could blame it on that. “You’re under arrest for possession of an illegal substance.”

He smirked, perfectly sculpted, rose-pink lips tugging to part his features. I was no fag, but he was beautiful. Like… girl-pretty. “I don’t see you finding anything on me.”

Oh, so he wanted to play like that.

“We’ll see about that.” I tugged the handcuffs off of my belt loop, making sure that he got a long, hard look at them. I saw his eyes widen for a split-second, a flash of fright sparkling. Yeah, get a good look at these, kiddo. I reached down and grabbed his broken wrist.

He cried out in pain and agony, writhing underneath me. In an attempt to get away, he clawed at the ground and yelled at the top of his lungs.

“FUCK! Let go of me, you crazy bastard! Aah!”

I shut the metal around his limp wrist and let go of it. He finally calmed down a bit, panting, but glaring at me.

“Where’re the drugs?” I asked him, trying to keep my voice calm. His yelling had effected me in a way that I didn’t expect it to. Just hearing the raw emotion in his voice made me emotional. “Just tell me and I can get you help faster.”

His eyes pierced right through me.

I glared right back at him, giving him about three minutes to answer. But that three minutes was occupied by heavy breathing (from him), more glaring (from us both), and a bit of struggling (from him, again).

When he decided that he wasn’t going to talk, I clicked on my little radio that was attached to my shoulder. “This is Officer 6638, I need an ambulance at 5th and 13th. I have a suspect in custody with a broken wrist.”

“Roger, 6638. Bus is on its way.”

The radio made a cchk sound, then was silent. I was prepared to turn him over, cuff him, then wait patiently for the bus, but… that plan was shattered as I noticed him staring at me.

“What?”

He gaped for a second, closed his mouth, and then reopened it. “I thought you were just going to cuff me and take me in.”

I sighed, “Your wrist is broken, kid. It would be extremely rude of me not to call an ambulance.”

His mouth made a tiny ‘o.’

“Now, let me ask you a question,” I looked deep into those bright blue eyes of his. He grunted. “Can I get off of you without you running like a madman?”

Slowly, he nodded.

“Good,” I smirked to him, swinging my leg over his torso and onto his right side. It was rare that I had to get physical with suspects, and I hated doing it. It made me uncomfortable (especially with women), and I just all-around didn’t like it.

I plopped down beside him and he sat up, cradling his limp hand. The handcuffs were still attached to his wrist, and I wondered (if only for a brief moment) whether or not I should cuff him the rest of the way or take them off.

“So what’s your story?” I asked, glancing at him out of the corner of my eyes. Now that I looked, I noticed that he had pretty long bangs that swooped off to his right side, and his bandana matched the colour of his eyes.

“Why do you want to know?” He looked at me, too. But his gaze was so… dead. Like he didn’t have any emotion behind his gaze. But… oh, hell, you get the idea.

I was caught off-guard by his question, too.

“I mean,” he went on. “You’ll fill out a report about me, take me down to the station or whatever, put me in a cell, and go about your activities. Maybe praise yourself at the water cooler or whatever. All I am is another statistic. So why do you want to know anything about me? Get attached?”

It, honestly, took me a while to answer. Why did I want to know? Everything that he said was right. He was just another statistic. But, he was different in my eyes. For one, he was hurt. And that had never happened to me before. For two, he was the most beautiful guy I had ever seen. For three, he was really young (well, to me) and he was already dealing drugs and probably doing them, too. For four, I just wanted and needed to know.

Was that such a bad thing?

In answer, though, I shrugged.

“Y’know, that tells me a lot about you,” he muttered, bright ice eyes staring at me. I shifted uncomfortably. “You don’t like to answer things definitively. You give yourself an out, no matter what the question is.”

I turned to him, quite done with him psychoanalyzing me, “If you’re done…”

He quirked an eyebrow.

“…What?” I didn’t like the way that he was looking at me. Like I was under a microscope. Like he could see every one of my flaws. Like he was testing me… or something.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

I was taken aback. Grimacing, I sucked in a breath to tell him off.

He just smirked, “I thought so.”

“What gives you the idea that you can just… say whatever you want to me? I’m an officer of the law, for fuck’s sake!” I yelled, turning my body towards his. The handcuffs were still dangling around his wrist. All I had to do was grab the other side, pull his hands behind his back, and be done with it. He’d be screaming bloody murder, writhing in pain, and shutting the hell up.

He took in a breath to say something, but was cut off by the wailing siren of an ambulance. His ambulance. He turned his head sharply, eyes widening at the sight of the bus. Inwardly, I smirked.

I won.

“That’s your ride,” I muttered, standing. “Let’s go.” Roughly, I pulled him up by his gork-arm. He grunted, but I thought that that was what he deserved.

I tugged him toward the ambulance as the medics hopped out, running to the gate.

“What’s wrong with him?” Medic #1 asked me, scanning over the kid as I unlatched the gate (like the boy couldn’t have just opened up the gate as he was running).

“My wrist is broken because of this fatass,” he spat, playfully glaring at me out of the corner of his eyes. Part of me wanted to smack him upside his head. The other part of me wanted to smirk to him, knowing that I was in on the joke… and that I didn’t mind him half as bad as I seemed to.

The medic looked at me, his eyebrows raised. I waved him off.

“Well, we’ll take him in and set his wrist,” the medic led the kid over to the ambulance, with me following close behind. “Would you like to come along?”

It took me a moment to realize that the medic was talking to me.

And part of me wanted to go. To find out more about this kid. To make sure that he was okay.

But I shook my head. I’d call another officer to do a follow-up. Something in me told me that if I pursued this case any further, I’d let my emotions take over and I wouldn’t be able to fufill my duties as I should.

Because there was something about this kid. Something that I really, really liked.

The medic nodded, loading the kid into the back of the bus. He shut one of the doors as I backed away, regretfully smiling.

As the med was closing the second bus door, the kid stopped him. I had turned around at this point, but I stopped when he said.

“Hey, Officer 6638.”

I faced the kid and looked into those amazing blue eyes.

“My name is Milo. Milo Thompson. Maybe if I don’t go to jail, we could go out for coffee?”