Work Text:
“I swear to god, Jack, I was aiming for his dick,” were not the words Jack Pattillo wanted to hear first thing in the morning, with a headache pounding at her temples.
“What the fuck, Michael?” she mumbled into the phone. “What happened to the idea of laying low? You were fine when we left you at the bar last night!”
“Yeah, well, I moved on to another bar and the asshole bartender thought my ID was a fake so I mean, somehow he ended up with a hole in his knee,” Michael rambled, still slightly tipsy so he was speaking louder than he really needed to.
“Michael, Michael, shut the fuck up you know they listen in to these calls,” Jack admonished. She wiped her hand across her face. “You need a bail out?”
“Yeah,” Michael sighed. “I’m at the downtown station.”
“Okay, we’ll figure something out,” Jack promised. She ended the call and set her phone back down on the table, then turned to curl back up where she’d been against Jeremy’s side.
“Don’t you need to call someone or something?” Jeremy asked, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and hugging her closer despite his question.
“He can wait,” Jack replied with a smile.
*****
Michael had managed to snag a staple remover, a pen, and now had resorted to an unbent paperclip to scratch something crude into the side of his arresting officer’s desk. They’d tried to put him in holding, but he’d been able to make even more of a nuisance of himself in there, though that hardly seemed possible.
They’d cuffed him to the chair next to the detective’s desk, hoping that with closer supervision his area of destruction would be contained, at least until someone came in to bail him out.
“Jones?,” called the desk sergeant, getting Detective Demarais’ attention.
“Finally,” Demarais muttered, standing and waving to beckon over the man who stood at the sergeant’s desk. Demarais opened the drawer furthest away from Michael to retrieve his keys and turned to release the restraints.
Michael grinned at the detective and handed him the handcuffs, before the other man even had a chance to unlock them.
Detective Demarais sighed. He was new on the job, which is probably why he hadn’t recognized that he had one of the city’s most wanted in on assault with a deadly weapon and using a forged ID.
“Look, kid, your dad’s here to bail you out, don’t make me have to add escaping custody to the charges against you,” he said, his voice far too weary for his young age.
Michael froze for a moment, realizing that Jack had not come herself to bail him out as she usually did. Must have sent Geoff, he reasoned, and turned to tease his boss about being identified as his father.
Instead he was faced with another crew member weaving through the squad room toward Demarais’ desk. In ill-fitting jeans, a lumpy sweatshirt, ugly ass shoes and a worn red baseball cap, the Fake AH Crew’s most sadistic killer strode through a police station completely unnoticed.
Later, Michael would say it was the shock of seeing Ryan that came over him, but he couldn’t help the way he whimpered “Daddy” as the other man reached the desk.
Ryan gave him a glance when he heard, and Michael could see the smirk that pulled at the corner of his mouth, but otherwise he was all business. “Detective, what seems to be the issue here?”
Demarais stood, picking up the charge sheet and reading from it, “Well, Mr. Jones, your son used a fake ID to get into a bar or two, at least judging from his BAC, and then tried it again on another bartender who spotted it as a fake and turned him down.”
Ryan raised an eyebrow. “He’s been arrested for a fake ID?” he asked, his disbelief obvious in his voice. “Seems like overkill to me.”
“Well,” Detective Demarais continued. “Your son then proceeded to take out an illegal firearm and shoot the bartender in the knee.”
Ryan turned toward Michael and looked down at him, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow in a silent question.
Michael echoed his body language and crossed his own arms, sinking into the chair in a pout. Muttering under his breath, he said, “I was aiming for his dick.” He knew Ryan had heard him when a small smile flashed across the other man’s face. Pulling his chin up, Michael smiled at Ryan, adding a louder, “Sorry, Daddy.”
Ryan quickly hid the smile, but couldn’t hide the flush of his cheeks before he turned back to the detective.
“Look, surely this is just a case of boys being boys, right?” Ryan bluffed, doubling down when he saw the flash of disbelief on the detective’s face. “He’s a high spirited kid, you know how boys are! Is it really necessary to put this on his record?”
Demarais looked for a moment like he wanted to agree, but then countered with, “I’m not so sure, I mean, shooting someone is kind of extreme…”
Ryan pushed him a little further. “Well, sure,” he said, his voice starting to take on a bit of a Southern drawl. “I’m sure his Momma and I indulged him a bit, should have taken him over my knee more often,” which got a raised eyebrow from Michael, “but this is his first offence, and he’s got such a bright future! We could settle with the gentleman who was injured, make sure his hospital bills are paid and all. Michael here can work off the debt.” He reached down and patted Michael on the shoulder, his large hand warm even through Michael’s hoodie and shirt. The weight of it against his shoulder made Michael all too aware of how much Ryan could do to him if he wanted to.
Detective Demarais was nodding. “Yeah, I mean, I suppose...as long as the bartender is taken care of and all,” he agreed. “And the gun and the ID have been confiscated.”
“Great,” Ryan said, extending his hand to shake the detectives. “I’d appreciate the name and address of the gentleman, so we can contact him to exchange insurance information.”
“Uh,” the detective paused, setting down his file and pawing through the other papers on his desk. “Yeah, sure, give me one second, I’ll get that for you.”
While Demarais searched, Ryan turned toward Michael. “Got anything to say for yourself?” he asked, using his best Disappointed Dad voice.
Michael grinned wickedly. “Sorry, Daddy,” he repeated, catching the flush cross Ryan’s cheeks again at the words. So it wasn’t a coincidence, then. Michael rolled that fact around in his head while Ryan typed the bartender’s information into his phone.
“See that you stay outta bars,” Detective Demarais said as Michael stood. “Keep your nose clean, I don’t want to see you back here again.”
“Yes, sir,” Michael said, unable to keep the edge of sarcasm out of his voice. Ryan gestured toward the door for Michael to go first and followed behind him as they worked their way back to the door.
“You just couldn’t stay out of trouble for one night?” Ryan asked as they went.
“He deserved it,” Michael replied, shooting a glance over his shoulder at the taller man. “You gonna punish me, Daddy?”
Ryan reached forward and clasped his large hand over the back of Michael’s neck. “Boy, you know I can make it so you can’t sit for a week,” he growled, propelling Michael a bit faster past the desk sergeant and through the wall of glass doors into the lobby of the police station.
“Is that a promise, Daddy?” Michael asked cheekily, spinning around and stopping Ryan in his tracks.
“Come on, Michael, the car’s outside,” Ryan asked, trying to push past him, but Michael stood fast.
“So,” Michael prodded. “Daddy, huh?” Ryan looked around, checking to see that no one would overhear them when Michael grabbed his face and pulled it down a couple of inches to press their mouths together.
Ryan groaned as he melted against Michael, who was putting a great deal of effort into driving Ryan insane with only his tongue. Michael’s hands fisted in Ryan’s hair when he felt Ryan’s hands slide over his hips and around to rest just above his ass.
Breathless, Ryan pulled his mouth from Michael’s. “We should stop,” he panted.
Michael smiled, not yet letting go of his hold in Ryan’s hair. “Oh yeah?” he goaded. “You wanna take me somewhere private to give me a spanking, Daddy?”
“No,” Ryan said, taking Michael’s hands and lowering them. “I just don’t want that desk sergeant to call CPS on me.”
“Oh shit,” Michael bit out, leaping back as though Ryan had burned him. He looked left, through the glass doors where the desk sergeant was squinting at them.
Grabbing Ryan’s hand, Michael moved toward the door and out into the mid-morning sunshine. “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath. “Where’s the car?”
Ryan led him to a dark green SUV that Michael didn’t recognize, and they got in.
“You know the worst part?” Michael complained as they put on their legally required safety belts and Ryan turned the key on the ignition. “That was my actual legal ID. It wasn’t even fake. My goddamn baby face. And now I don’t have any legit ID.”
“Well, maybe,” Ryan said. “I swiped it when he wasn’t looking.”
Michael’s eyebrows nearly disappeared in his hairline. “Awesome,” he said. With a smirk that hinted at all manner of dirty things, he added, “Such a good Daddy.”
“Well,” Ryan returned. “I said I have it. I think maybe you need to earn it back.”
“Oh?” Michael replied. “And how exactly am I supposed to earn it?”
As they pulled out onto the highway headed out of town, Ryan took Michael’s hand and placed it on his upper thigh. With a wicked grin of his own, he suggested, “Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of something.”