YOU’RE NOT MY KIND
Police captain x informant male reader
Content warning: mature content [minors do not interact], sub bottom reader, significant age gap [mid 20s x mid 40s], power imbalance, brat taming, hand job, breath play, slight degradation, reader comes twice, clothed sex, brief hair pulling, a single mention of manhandling and of spanking, transactional sex, implied risky sex, sex without feelings, written in third person
Author’s note: First work here. I’m an amateur author who writes considerably poorly and produces third-class smut only. Did not proof read. Despite all of this, I hope some people can at least enjoy this a little. Don’t be afraid to give it a try. Second work: “Beast and the Harlot” I doubt anyone who does read this will notice it either, but I wanted to point out that the title is a reference to an homonymous song by 5FDP. Lyrics somewhat related to the story :)
Word count: >5800
The man’s office was different from the rest of the VFMP headquarters: darker and clinical, as if it belonged to an era when men still bled for their tenets and carried remorse in their hearts. Etched into the frosted glass of the front door, the inscription ‘Captain Silas Palmer’ was still discernible despite the few scratches.
The official sat behind his desk, the worn wood creaking under his weight as he leaned back in the chair. The room was a reflection of its owner, cluttered and tired, with stacks of papers and empty, disposable coffee mugs littering every surface. The only thing that stood out was a framed photo of a much younger Silas in uniform, filled with mirch and pride while standing next to the then-mayor. That had been a lifetime ago, before the city had chewed him up and spat him out.
The captain was just about to pour himself another finger of whiskey, a nightly ritual to numb the ache in his bones, when he heard the hesitant knock at his office door. He set the glass down with an exhausted sigh, voice coming out in a grunt, "Come in, it's open."
The door creaked open slowly, revealing a man in his early twenties. He was dressed in a way that was somewhere between fashionable and disheveled, with a leather jacket that had seen better days and a pair of jeans that clung to his frame in all the right places.
"Evening, Captain," the young man said, his voice a contrast to Silas' own, smooth and untainted by age. He stepped into the office, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
The older man leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he appraised the newcomer. "[Name]," he acknowledged with a nod, taking in the way the boy's jacket hugged his shoulders, the way his jeans rode low on his hips. He was a pretty, Silas could admit that to himself, too pretty for his own good. But there was a sharpness to him, a glint in those eyes that was both pretentious and calculating. “You’re late.”
The informant rolled his shoulders once, fingers finding the edge of his sleeve and worrying the fabric. The office felt smaller than usual, the air, thicker. "Not late," he said, voice steady and calm, meeting Palmer’s gaze directly. "Just on time. You said evening, and it's...", he glanced briefly at the old clock on the wall, "...nine o'clock on the dot. Got a lead," [Name] continued, unbothered with pleasantries. "Something bigger than the usual shit. Thought you might want to know."
The lad’s posture was relaxed, almost lazy, but there was a tension in his shoulders, a constantly unreleased energy. He didn't sit down, not until Silas told him to. "Gang activity's picking up in the 9th. The Hounds and the Drowned are at each other's throats again." [Name] shrugged. "Same old song. But there are new ones in town, calling themselves the Wraiths. Word is that they ain’t fucking around. Already took out two Drowned safe houses and the Hounds are scrambling to keep up with their narcotics. There's going to be a war for territory soon around the docks if someone doesn't step in."
"Haven't heard of them until now," Silas commented, leaning back in his chair. Smoke curled from the recently lit cigar between his fingers, drifting up to catch in the stale air of the office. "New players don't last long in this city."
"These ones might," [Name] countered. "They're not stupid, nor careless. They're not leaving tracks." He paused before adding, "Yet."
The captain tapped the cigar against the ashtray, watching the informant carefully. "You think you can find them before they notice you?"
[Name] shrugged, a slight lift of his shoulders. "Never said I couldn’t." He stepped closer to the desk, until he stood right in front of it, looking down at the older man. There was no hesitation in his eyes, only a quiet confidence that bordered on arrogance. “If I can find them," the informant said with an unraveling voice, "I can take them down before they become a real problem." He stopped, "For a price."
Silas’ eyes narrowed slightly, but his expression didn't change, gaze puncturing the lad all the same. He studied [Name] for a long moment. The silence stretched between them, heavy and charged. “You're getting greedy," the captain blurted.
[Name] didn't falter. Didn't look away. He just met Palmer’s gaze head-on. "Greedy?" he repeated, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I prefer the term 'ambitious'. Besides, I thought we had an arrangement. I brought you what you need, now you should keep me safe and well-paid." He tilted his head slightly while a faint smirk played at the corner of his mouth. "Or have you forgotten our little deal?"
Silas took a long drag of his cigar, holding the smoke in his lungs for a moment before exhaling slowly. The acrid scent filled the air between them, but [Name] didn't so much as cough. He just stood there, staring down at the captain, waiting. “No one's forgotten anything," Palmer admitted finally. "But these aren't your usual bottom-feeders. If these Wraiths are as smart as you say, they're not going to be easy to flush out."
He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, hands clasped. His eyes bored into the informant, searching, assessing. "And you want more money for it. More than our usual deal. Tell me, boy," Silas stated imperiously, "what makes you think you're worth it? What makes you think you can do something my own, official men can't? Because from where I'm sitting, you're just a kid playing in a man's game. A brat who's in over his head." The captain’s voice dropped to a near whisper, but it was no less threatening. "And I’m having a hard time believing a little punk like you is the key to shutting down a gang that's flying under the radar of the entire VFMP after you were nearly caught last time."
“But I wasn’t.” [Name] interjected, mischief in his eyes as he fixated on the older man’s hard stare. "And I’m not a kid when you're balls-deep inside me, Cap. I think that proves I'm not just some random little punk."
Palmer’s eyes flashed, a flicker of surprise and something darker, more primal. His jaw clenched, the muscles in his cheeks tightening as he fought to maintain his composure. The air between them grew heavier, charged with a sudden tension that had nothing to do with the threat of the Wraiths.
[Name] stood his ground. "I'm not here to blow smoke," he proceeded still calm but with an undercurrent of something defiant. "I'm here to make a problem disappear before it becomes your problem, and I’m damn good at what I do.”
The informant rested his palms on the the edge of the desk, slender fingers sprawling. “I've been doing this since before you promoted half your men to sergeant. I've got a nose for this shit, and you’re well aware that I know how to use it. I'm not afraid of some new gang wannabes with big goals and small brains.” He leaned forward slightly, face inches from his superior’s. "I'm not a punk, and certainly not a toddler. I'm your best fucking asset in this city and you better remind yourself of that. So what's it going to be, Cap? Will you keep underestimating me, or will you let me do what I do best and watch these Wraiths burn in exchange of a few more bucks?"
Palmer’s face stayed hard, but his expression had a small change, something indicating a feeling that wavered between anger and respect. “Cocky bastard," Silas muttered, but there was no real heat behind the words. His eyes took in the set of [Name]’s jaw, the challenge in his eyes. He couldn't deny the kid — no, not a kid, the man —had balls. He'd give him that much. “You've still got that smart mouth on you… and a head full of shit if you think I don't know what you are." Silas inclined his torso forward causing his nose to nearly touch the informant’s own. "But you're right about one thing, you are good at what you do."
[Name] crossed his arms over his chest, his posture casual. “I'm not here to fuck up, Cap. I'm here to get the job done. And I always do. I've never given you a reason to doubt me before, so don’t start now."
Palmer had to admit that all that arrogance was nothing more than hard-won confidence, something [Name] earned it. He'd watched the informant claw his way up from nothing, watched him take on jobs that would have broken a lesser man. And he'd delivered, every single time. Closed cases, brought in intel, kept the gangs in check and kept Veridian Falls from descending into complete chaos.
And through it all, he'd kept coming back to Silas’ office, to Silas’ bed, with a hunger that never seemed to be sated. At first, the captain had told himself it was just a stress relief, a way to blow off steam after a long day of dealing with the city's endless problems. But he couldn't deny the attraction that had been evoked right in beginning, the way [Name]’s wit and sharp tongue had set his blood on fire in a way no one else ever had in the moment they met.
[Name] smirked smugly, resting his elbows on the desk. "You know, Palmer," he purred lowly, "you've got that look on your face again. The one that says you're trying to figure out if you want to maul me or fuck me senseless."
Silas had always known the brat was a smart-ass, but he'd never been one to mince words, especially not when they were alone like this. And god help him, but the older man found that infuriating bravado of his the hottest fucking thing in the world. He took another long drag of his cigar, holding the smoke in his lungs for a moment before exhaling slowly. "Careful, kid," the captain snarled, “Keep talking like that, and you might just get what you're asking for."
Palmer, despite his words, knew that he was giving in. Knew that as much as he tried to deny it, as much as he told himself he was just a man with needs and desires like anyone else, he couldn't ignore the fact that [Name] brought something out in him. A hunger, a desperation, a feeling of being seen and wanted in a way no one else ever had. Silas had fucked the informant more times than he could count, had buried himself inside that tight ass and lost himself in the sounds of pleasure he could coax from that clever mouth of his. And every time, he'd told himself it was just detached sex. But he couldn't deny the way thr young lad looked at him, with that mix of respect and awe, like he saw something in Palmer that no one else ever had. His savior. And nothing in the world could get the captain as hard as that look of admiration in [Name]’s eyes.
The informant smirked wider. "Is that a promise or a threat, Cap?" he asked polished. "Because I gotta say, I'm not scared of either one." [Name] reached out, bold as brass, and plucked the cigar from between Palmer’s fingers. He took a long, slow drag, his eyes never leaving Silas’ as he did. The smoke curled from his lips as he exhaled, a haze of gray that seemed to blur the room.
"You know, you're not as tough as you used to be. Or maybe..." [Name] leaned in, his breath hot against Silas’ ear. "Maybe I'm just not as afraid of you as I once were." His hand came to rest on his superior’s thigh, fingers splaying over the fabric of his pants, stomach laying across the desk. The young man could feel the heat of the captain, the solid muscle beneath the cloth. He could feel the way Palmer’s breath hitched, just slightly, at his touch. Tentatively, [Name] threw the cig to the ground and pressed his thumb down on that sensitive spot on the inside of Silas’ thigh, applying just enough pressure to make the older man twitch.
At that, the chief groaned. Palmer knew the little shit was enjoying this, relishing in the way he could make the big bad captain of the Veridian Falls Metropolitan Police lose his composure with just a touch and a few well-chosen words.
Just then, Silas’ hand shot out, grabbing [Name]’s wrist in a grip tight enough to make him wince, then yanking him forward until the younger man stumbled, stomach slamming against the surface of the desk. The informant let out a grunt at the impact, but Palmer didn't give him a chance to recover, his other hand already fisting in the hair at the nape of the lad’s neck. He used his grip to pull [Name]’s head towards his lips before leaning in and devouring his mouth in a brutal kiss.
The captain’s tongue pushed past the boy’s lips, claiming every inch of that playful mouth that had been taunting him moments before. He kissed him like he wanted to consume the man before him, to make him forget his own name let alone any foolish boldness. [Name] moaned breathily into the kiss, the sound vibrating against Palmer’s lips, spurring the older man on. Silas used the grip on [Name]’s hair to pull him further over the desk, until the young man was bent in half, ass tilted up perfectly for anyone who dared intrude on the captain’s office.
The brusque move had [Name]’s cock stiffening rapidly in the confines of his jeans. The rough fabric rubbed against his sensitive flesh as he squirmed beneath the captain's iron grip on his nape, the friction sending jolts of pleasure shooting up his spine. He could feel every ridge and groove of the wooden desk pressing into his gut as the hard surface contrasted with the molten heat building in his kernel.
[Name]’s hips began to move on their own, grinding his clothed erection against the desk as he kissed Palmer back with a desperate fervor. He couldn't help it. The captain's touch, the taste of nicotine in his oral cavity, the sheer dominance of him, it all combined to set the informant’s blood on fire, to make him ache with need and his hole to clench around air. He just knew he needed more of Silas’ touch, more of the way he made [Name] feel alive in a way no one else ever had, with utmost pleasure.
Soon enough, Palmer felt the rocky movement of the informant’s body against his desk, the rhythmic grinding of his clothed penis against the wood. He pulled back from the kiss, his grip on [Name]’s neck tightening as he took in the sight of the boy wantonly rutting against his desk, desperate for friction.
The captain grimaced. “Greedy little brat. Is that all you can think about? Getting your dicklet wet?" He punctuated his words with a sharp tug on [Name]’s hair, forcing the younger man's head to tilt to the side, baring the slender column of his throat. "You think you can just take what you want, when you want it? Hump against my desk like a bitch in heat?"
[Name] didn't let the admonishment deter him, not when his cock was throbbing so hard it ached, not when the desk below him seemed to be the only thing holding him back from losing control and throwing himself over Silas like a frenzied five-dollars harlot. He turned his head slightly, just enough to catch Palmer’s earlobe between his teeth. He bit down hard enough to break skin as he, simultaneously, rolled his hips again, scrapping his shaft against the desk with an obscene moan.
"Well, if the captain would rather I grind on his own cock instead… I'd be more than happy to oblige." He emphasized his words with another roll of his pelvis, a smirk tugging at his kiss-swollen lips as he saw Palmer falter. "Though I suppose this is a nice preview of what's to come. Isn't that right, sir?"
"And to think I've been trying to teach you some discipline." Silas snarled before licking a stripe up the informant’s throat, teeth grazing his skin before he bit down, hard enough to drawl blood. Without warning, he released [Name]’s hair and stepped back. "Don't move," he commanded, leaving no room for disobedient remarks. He waited just long enough to ensure the brat would comply before he rose from his chair with a creak of leather and wood.
[Name] couldn't suppress a shiver of anticipation as he watched Palmer stride around the desk with purposeful steps, wicked thoughts filling his mind and making his length throb painfully.
Silas came to stand behind [Name]’s bent form, his broad frame looming over the informant, casting him in shadow. Without ceremony, the captain grabbed the waistband of the younger’s trousers and underwear, grip unyielding. With a sharp, jerky motion, he yanked them down over the curve of [Name]’s ass, the fabric catching for a moment before settling on his upper thighs, leaving the globes exposed.
The informant’s breath hitched as he felt the first brush of Palmer’s calloused palm against the soft skin of his exposed ass. The captain's hand seemed to linger reverently, as he caressed the curve of the right cheek, fingers sinking into the pliant flesh. But before [Name] could lose himself in the sensation, a sharp crack split the air as a strong hand suddenly pulled back and smacked hard against his rear. The informant gasped at the sudden sting body jerking forward at the impact before settling back onto the desk.
[Name]’s eyes fluttered shut as he felt the captain's hand wrap around his aching shaft, Silas’ thumb rubbed firm circles over the sensitive head of his cock, teasing the slit, the ridge, the weeping tip until the younger man was squirming with need. At the same time, the chief’s clothed dick pressed against the cleft of [Name]’s ass, and it didn’t take long for the captain to rock his hips forward, rubbing his virile member against the cheeks with a deliberate grind that made the informant's toes curl in his shoes.
With a feral growl, Palmer pressed two fingers against that tight and puckered hole that clenched around air, rubbing firm circles around the entrance until [Name] was pushing back against him, silently begging for more. Without warning, he thrusted his fingers inside, sinking knuckle-deep into the clutching heat of the lad’s ass. The informant let out a choked cry, back arching as he was suddenly filled, stretched around the intrusion. But he wasn’t given time to adjust, Silas’ fingers pumping in and out of his anus in a relentless rhythm that had him seeing stars.
At the same time, the chief never let up the punishing pace of his hand on the little prick’s cock. Silas could feel it throbbing, pulsing in his grip, the head a slick mess. He rubbed his thumb over the slit, smearing the pre-cum around the swollen head, using it as lubrication as he jerked his subordinate off with ruthless efficiency, paying little mind to the testicles.
It only took a matter of moments before [Name] let out a guttural moan, body seizing up as his orgasm crashed over him like a tide. His dick jerked and spasmed in Palmer’s grip, thick ropes of cum splattering across the captain's palm. Silas felt the hot, sticky essence of the brat’s release coating his fingers, some of it dripping down to pool on the surface of the desk. With his lips curling, he pulled his fingers from [Name]’s member, bringing his hand up to the informant's face.
"Look at this mess you've made," Palmer mocked amusedly. "You should wear a red clown nose, considering how often you make a spectacle of yourself." He rubbed his slick, cum-stained fingers under his subordinate’s chin, smearing the seed across the younger man's skin. Then with a casual, almost dismissive motion, he wiped his fingers clean on the informant's shirt, smearing the sticky essence across the flimsy material until it was nothing more than a damp patch on [Name]’s chest.
The sensation of his shirt suddenly clinging to his skin seemed to partially pull [Name] off his high. "My, my, Captain," he let out in a breathless rasp, "if you wanted to get me out of my shirt too, all you had to do was ask.” A soft tsk sound left his lips as his hands came to rub at the semen left on his lower face, “Of course, I suppose I should be grateful you didn't just shove that magnificent fist of yours into my mouth to clean up the mess properly.”
Before [Name] could so much as think about straightening up, Palmer’s hand was back on the nape of his neck, gripping tight and manhandling him into place, keeping him bent over the desk. "Save it,” the captain growled, a sound that seemed to vibrate through the informant’s very bones. "Don’t even think about moving. This isn't over yet."
He leaned in closer, his breath hot against the shell of [Name]’s ear as he spoke, his words dripping with promise, making the informant's spent cock give a valiant twitch of interest. "You do your best work when you've been thoroughly fucked, when your ass is still loose and sloppy, your hole gaping. When the memory of my cock rearranging your guts is still fresh in your mind. Do you understand what that means, boy?”, Silas said with a sharp roll of his hips, erected penis being felt by the tender flesh of [Name]’s cheeks. “It means that, with the possible shitstorm that might brew itself with those Wraiths due to your actions, it’s better that you are properly treated like the little slut you are before you risk yourself in a suicidal venture”.
“Why have you been taking so long to get your cock out, then, captain?”, [Name] questioned slyly. "If you want me at my best, why wait until now to give me what I need? Unless..." A wicked smirk curved his reddened lips. "Unless you're getting old, and it takes you longer to get it up nicely these days. So you just remain half hard, no matter what, which also means your fingers and maybe your tongue are the few useful parts of you left. I've heard that happens to men in their... what are you again? Forty-six?"
Silas’ forehead was instantly adorned with a wrinkle, irritation visible on his eyes at the informant’s ceaseless attempts of pressing his buttons. Without warning, he wrapped a strong hand around [Name]’s throat, squeezing just enough to make breathing a challenge and have the young man hissing. At the same time, he used his other hand to undo his belt, the clink of the buckle opening sharp in the charged air between them. The informant’s eyes widened as he felt the heavy ridge of Palmer’s erected dick pressing insistently against his tender hole, the captain's pants still mostly done up, but his rigid shaft springing free from his boxers and slapping against the split of his cheeks.
The captain grunted at the contact, compressing [Name]’s windpipe a bit tighter in response. “Try to breath”, he commanded leaving no room for indiscipline. At the same time, his other hand gripped the lad’s hips hard enough to bruise, and with one sharp thrust, he buried himself balls-deep in the exposed ass, the informant's tight heat enveloping him like a vise.
[Name]’s eyes rolled back, the breath he had left in his lungs rushed out of him in a gurgle, his throat constricted by Palmer’s punishing grip. His thighs quivered and trembled, the muscles jumping and fluttering wildly as they struggled to keep him upright, pinned as he was by the captain's relentless thrusts. Each drive of Silas’ hips pressed mercilessly against that sensitive bundle of nerves deep inside [Name], his prostate screaming in overstimulated bliss as it was battered again and again, feeling every ridge and vein of the thick cock filling him up.
Each whimper coming out from the body under him, each choked gasp and broken moan, only served to stoke the flames of Palmer’s own arousal. An approving groan rumbled in the captain’s chest as he felt [Name]’s clench around his pistoning cock. The obscene sounds of flesh slapping against flesh filled the office, mingling with the young man’a whorish sounds and the captain's own grunts of pleasure.
The hand around [Name]’s throat tightened, squeezing, constricting, until Silas could see the tendons standing out in stark relief, could feel the informant’s racing pulse fluttering wildly against his palm. Just as he felt the lad’s struggles begin to weaken, just as he sensed that sweet line between pleasure and pain blurring, he loosened his grip. Barely enough to allow a shuddering breath to fill [Name]’s lungs. Enough to keep him teetering on the knife's edge of consciousness.
The young man let out breathy mewls, his mind shorting out from the overwhelming pleasure radiating from where they were so brutally joined. His tongue lolled out, drool dripping down his chin as he was fucked into incoherence, reduced to a needy hole for Silas to use. "P-please, cap..." [Name] slurred, though he wasn't even sure what he was begging for anymore. More? Less? Faster? Harder? It all blurred together into a litany of broken pleas spilling from his lips.
Palmer’s thumb traced the column of the informant’s neck, feeling his pulse and the bob of his Adam’s apple. His informant, his subordinate, his plaything of countless nights, always so prickly, so sharp-witted, so ready and eager for his touch, his cock. The thought of it, the reality of it, made his hips surge forward with doubled vigor, pounding into [Name] with enough force to rock the wooden desk beneath them, for certain making enough noise that even Detective Rhodes could hear from the evidence room right under them.
Both men could feel their release building, pleasure cresting. Silas held it at bay, determined to wring every last drop of ecstasy from [Name]’s pliant body before he allowed himself that shattering moment of bliss.
Finally, the informant’s body convulsed as his orgasm crashed over him, vision whiting out as pleasure exploded behind his eyes. A strangled moan tore from his throat, back arching sharply as he came for a second time, untouched, his cock spurting weakly against the desk. His hole clenched and rippled around Palmer’s dick, gripping him as [Name] rode out the intense ecstasy.
Feeling that ass spasming and milking his cock thoroughly, Silas left out a loud exhale followed by a moan of his own. His shaft throbbed and pulsed as he hilted inside the informant, hot semen erupting from the tip to paint [Name]’s inner walls. Thick spurts of cum pumped into him as the chief emptied himself, marking the informant as his, filling him up until the young man could feel the heat of it sloshing inside him. Palmer’s grip on the boy’s throat loosened as the last waves of his release ebbed, chest heaving with exertion as he caught his breath.
Palmer tucked himself back into his pants, the sound of his belt buckle clinking as he fastened them with efficient motions. The captain reached down and fisted a hand in [Name]’s hair, gripping the strands tightly as he hauled the informant's head up by the roots. He leaned in close, his face mere inches from the lad’s, and studied the debauched visage before him. [Name]’s eyes were glazed and unfocused, his lips shiny with drool, cheeks flushed a ruddy red. Yet, even in such a state, a smirk tugged at the corners of the little prick’s mouth, his tongue lolling out to wet his lips in a provocative gesture.
"It wasn't that hard, was it?" [Name] teased, words caming out slightly garbled but still infused with a hint of his signature impertinence. "I mean, all you had to do was squeeze my throat and fuck me like you meant it. Not exactly rocket science, Captain."
Silas couldn't help but huff, a sound caught between amusement and exasperation, as he listened to the cheeky remark. Even now, even after being so perfectly used and filled, the brat still had the nerve to run his mouth. He shook his head, releasing the sweaty hair to allow the informant's head to flop back down to the desk with a dull thud.
"And now, I suppose you're going to tell me that all you need is a little walking around money before you toddle off to play hero with those Wraiths?"
[Name] let out a breathless chuckle in agreement, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he savored the pleasant ache that had settled into his bones. "You know me too well, Silas," he agreed in a sated rasp. He pushed himself up slowly and uncoordinated, his muscles protesting the movement, and began to button his jeans with fingers that still trembled slightly. The informant made no move to clean the semen that had dripped down his thighs or that was leaking from his hole, leaving the evidence of their coupling to dry on his skin.
Palmer raised a brow, both amused and somewhat incredulous at the other man’s brazen lack of shame. "Not bothering to tidy up, I see," he remarked, his tone laced with a mix of exasperation and grudging admiration. "Leave it to you to wear another man's cum like a badge of honor."
[Name] flashed his superior a youthful grin, "Don't you worry, Captain. You know there ain’t no momma of mine around to be scandalized by the state of her baby boy's boxers. 'Sides," he added with a shrug, tugging his leather jacket closed over the shirt that had been used to wipe the remnants of his own seed from Silas’ hand, "even if she was, I reckon she'd be proud of me for puttin' the assets I inherited to good use." [Name] punctuated his statement with a wink, looking like the very picture of unrepentant sin.
Silas just shook his head, entertained. Without a word, he reached into his wallet by the drawer and pressed a wad of cash into the informant’s hand, the bills crisp. "Here," he said gruffly, "this should be enough to keep you in bullets and Band-Aids for a while." The captain paused, his gaze turning more serious as he fixed the younger man with a hard stare. “[Name]. I know you've got a habit of diving headfirst into the shit without lookin' first, but with these Wraiths… if you are being truthful about their potential danger... don't be a fool. For fuck's sake, don't go lookin' for trouble." There was an undercurrent of genuine concern in Silas’ voice, an unguarded moment slipping through his usual cold detachment. The brief mirch in the room had vanished completely in less than a minute.
[Name] blinked, momentarily taken aback by the captain's words. His expression changed swiftly and composed itself just as quick: a flicker of something akin to surprise, or perhaps even vulnerability, flashed across his face before he quickly shuttered it behind a acrid smirk. "Well,” he drawled, half-bitterly, "I guess that means you actually, finally, give a shit about me, then," he mused, only to dismiss the notion just as swiftly with a soft shake of his head. "Nah.” He tucked the money into his jacket pocket and turned to leave, throwing a casual "Later, Captain" over his shoulder and stepping out of the dark office before his contractor could respond.
An unfamiliar tightness settled in Silas’ chest as he watched [Name] stride out of his office, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality that left an unsettling emptiness in its wake, not bothering to hold the lad back. It was a sensation he couldn't quite name, this strange tugging in his gut, and one he had no intention of examining too closely. Palmer was not a man given to introspection. His relationship with the young man was simple, or so he told himself. Merely an exchange of favors, a mutually beneficial arrangement that preserved the little order left in a city that had long since lost its moral compass.
But somewhere throughout the years, the lines had blurred. When had it happened? He couldn't say. Perhaps it had been gradual, until one day Palmer found himself standing on the precipice of a realization he had no desire to acknowledge. He pushed the thought away, his jaw clenching as he reached for his cigars, the pack now nearly empty. Just an arrangement, he told himself, taking a bitter drag, nothing more.
But even as he tried to convince himself of that lie, he knew it rang hollow. There was a reason he kept [Name] close, why he went to lengths to protect the informant even as he used him. It wasn't just about the intel, the inside knowledge from gangs that kept his precinct afloat in a sea of corruption. No, there was something else.
Silas leaned back against the desk, admiring the obsidian-black sky outside his window, the crescent moon high. The city’s street lamps were a dying ember, the light fading from the historical district, while the captain was left to hold the pieces together. With [Name]. Him and his informant, two broken things that fit in the rot, trading heat and secrets in equal measure.
He sighed. This was too much, too close to something that resembled sentiment, and he had no use for that. Not in Veridian Falls, specially not as captain of the VFMP. Sentiment was a luxury he couldn't afford, not when he had a job to do, not when the city needed him to hold the line with his steadiness instead of weakness.
Silas Palmer was one of the only constants in Veridian Falls, one of the couple unyielding pillars in a rotting city. And he would be damned if he let some dirty street-runt break him. Not now. Not ever.
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Veridian Falls