Chapter Text
Downtown was a massive maze that Coyle found difficult to navigate. He always dreaded being away from his comfortable environments; he hated how much he lacked control here. He’d lost track of Franco a while ago, and he’d yet to hear any gunshots; as far as he knew, all the reagents were still alive. That little runt had run off without him, left him all alone in this criminal’s playground.
He heard the clicking of nearby footsteps against the pavement, and he tightened his grip on his electric prod. He spun around quickly and directed his prod at the approaching sound; it was just Franco. “The hell are you doin’ sneakin’ up on me for?” Leland barked. “Quit bein’ so damn jumpy,” he had one hand behind his back. “Got somethin’ there?” Leland tried to look behind him, and Franco shifted out of the way.
“Wanna see what baby found on one of those whore mannequins?” Franco shook whatever was behind his back, and Leland could hear a faint jingling sound. “I gotta bad feelin’ ‘bout this,” the cop crossed his arms. Franco moved his arm before Coyle and presented a black, leather collar; a small, silver tag dangled off of it.
“Guess they’re accessorizin’ the sluts now,” he chuckled. Leland’s eyes focused on how the shiny tag twinkled against the street lights; he rubbed his neck with his leather clad hand, thinking about how it would feel to have the leather collar wrapped tightly in place. Franco looked him up and down as the officer’s complexion reddened, and he fidgeted anxiously with his hands.
“Ooh, I get it,” Franco grinned. “You want this,” he shook the collar between his fingers like he found treasure. “I don’t want nothin’ from you,” he stared down at his own feet; he couldn’t look at that brat, and he couldn’t look at the collar. “Come on, sweetness,” he stepped closer. “I know you wanna be a good boy,” he unlatched the collar.
Leland reluctantly looked at him again; he tossed his cigarette to the pavement and snuffed it out beneath his boot. “You tell anyone ‘bout this, and I swear to God I’ll rip off that useless li’l cock of yours,” he snarled. “C’mere,” Franco crooked his finger; Coyle obediently leaned in close.
He latched the collar around Leland’s neck, and the officer took a shaky breath. “Look at you,” he grabbed Leland’s jaw to keep him still. “Fuckin’ mutt,” he teased; this was sick, perverted, and Leland hated that it aroused him.
“Clothes off,” Franco let go of him. “Only thing I wanna see left on is that collar,” he tapped the tag. “You’re askin’ me to strip?”
“I thought that was pretty damn clear,” he shrugged. “Dogs don’t wear people clothes, so take it off, mutt,” he tugged the colorful wires that covered the cop. “Don’t make baby get the gun.”
Leland felt his cock twitch between his legs at the idea of taking orders; he was so fucked. He slowly untangled the wires and removed his jacket; he yanked off his tie and unbuttoned his bloodstained shirt. By the time he reached his trousers and boots he was moving quicker, far too eagerly. God, he doesn’t know where he went so wrong. He used to lock up bastards like Franco, now he was happily playing the role of his pet.
Coyle’s body was covered with a variety of blistered burns, and Franco’s mind started committing them all to memory. He was such a damaged man, inside and out, but he still did something for Franco. He didn’t understand why he was so drawn to the officer, but he was glad to know it was at least mutual apparently.
“Excited?” Franco mocked; Leland stood naked before him, his arousal on full display. “Shut up…” Leland mumbled. “On your knees,” Franco sat his gun down; he wanted to see if he could get what he wanted without any threats. “That ain’t fuckin’ happenin’,” Leland growled. “Down, doggy,” Franco snapped and pointed down.
Coyle’s legs instantly turned to jelly and he lowered to the pavement; it was rough against his bare knees. “Such an eager whore,” Franco stared down at him; it was always such a welcome surprise to be in a position of power over a person like Coyle. “I might just leave you like this,” he simpered. “Bet you’d stay if I asked you to, wouldn’t you?” Leland didn’t answer, because it was true.
“Ain’t you gonna say somethin’?” Barbi leaned down. “Whatever angle you’re playin’ at, just get on with it,” Leland snapped. “Not until you ask nicely for some attention,” the mobster removed Leland’s sunglasses; he squinted at the light. “Beg for me like a good dog, pretty boy,” he tossed the sunglasses to the ground.
Leland had a scale in his mind, and he tried to weigh the options between pleasure and embarrassment. He knew that he shouldn’t give in so easily; he should just bite the runt- show him a real dog. Yet, it wasn’t even a real contest, he knew wanted this, and, even worse, he wanted to beg. He wanted to be submissive; pride be damned, he wanted this so badly.
“Just fuckin’-“
“That ain’t very nice,” Franco wagged his finger. “Bad doggy’s don’t get treats,” he ridiculed. “Please,” Leland finally choked out. “Say it more sincere,” Franco giggled. “Fuck you,” Leland groaned. Franco straightened his stance in response, acting like he lost interest. “Okay, wait,” Leland spoke frantically; he grabbed Franco’s leg. “Please, please,” he pressed his cock against Franco’s leg. “What’re you doin’ exactly?” Franco shook his leg, but Leland tangled his fingers in the fabric; he stared up at him, his hips trembling.
“I’m tryna get your attention,” he whined; he began to grind his exposed cock against Franco’s leg. “Quit that, fuckin’ pest,” he pushed Leland by his head, but he only doubled down and continued to rub his cock against the mobster’s leg. “You st-started this,” Leland whimpered. “Treatin’ me like a f-fuckin’ dog.”
“So, you decided to prove me right by humpin’ my damn leg?” Franco raised his voice.
Coyle buried his reddened face against Franco’s leg. He shook his head, but he made no effort to stop the officer; it was strangely arousing seeing him come so undone. “Goddamn mutt,” Franco hissed. “Fuck-“ Leland was muffled against the fabric as he finished against the mafioso’s trouser leg. “Get offa me,” Barbi finally kicked him away. “Eugh,” he glanced to the sticky stain on his trousers.
Without another word, Coyle gripped Franco’s trousers and he licked the fabric; the taste was salty and bitter, and he recoiled. “Tryna prove you’re a good boy now?” Franco chuckled, but his ears burned; he didn’t even have to ask anymore and that pig fell in line. He sucked on the fabric in an effort to remove the stain; oh, Franco had ideas about that mutt’s mouth.
“Knock it off,” Leland pulled away, and wiped spit from his mouth. “I got bigger plans for you, doggy,” he began undoing his belt. “Hold on,” Leland held up a hand in protest. “What? You think you can just get off and call it a day? Nuh- uh, this ain’t ‘bout you, sweetness,” he moved to the ground with the other man.