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a-gal-with-taste · 2 years

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Incognito (NSFW)

Summary: Getting arrested actually isn’t as rare of an experience, at least if you're a true Zaunite. In the height of a revolution, handcuffs are as common a sensation as breathing for those prone to troublemaking among the Lanes. It’s the staying in handcuffs, that’s a far-rarer experience.

Silco finds, in this particular incident, with this particular Enforcer, he might just enjoy it.

Warnings: NSFW|MDNI. Roleplay, rough/alleyway sex, slight glove-kink, spit-kink/spit-as-lube, handcuffs, young Zaunite revolutionaries, handjob, brief aftercare, banter, dirty-talk, ‘fuck the police’ but make it literally(?)

As a Zaunite, Silco knows he has no rights. Oh, he's sure that on some fancy paper, on an equally extravagant desk in the highest building in Piltover, there's some drabble about legalities and common-courtesies that are afforded to citizens of the Undercity, especially by those in power.

Obviously, said-niceties are ignored, especially by those in power. Zaunites quite literally reside beneath the feet of Enforcers, why should they see them as anything less than living dirt beneath their boots?

It's predictable, but it still makes Silco fume. The fires of the indignity seem to course through his veins, and though he's had a lifetime to get used to such unfair normalcy, that doesn't mean he intends to stay comfortable with it.

Just like he makes no intentions to stay comfortable in his current situation, with wrists locked tight enough to bruise behind him, and a boot planted firmly at the small of his back.

"You keep that up, I won't even have to do anything to you." The Enforcer's voice is cold, mechanical though the full-coverage helmet on their face. "Wear your damn self out all on your own... Zaunites like you always got too much spirit."

"I prefer calling it self-respect. We actually have it, it's got a nicer ring to it, and it's a bit more harder for you to break out of us." The cuffs are tight, and if they were meant for comfort for it's wearer, obviously they were created by some sort of masochist. Admittedly, Silco had weighed the options of thumb-dislocation, but though his adrenaline was rushing, the pain would still be enough of an inhibitor that, even freed, would hinder him from taking control of the situation again.

Not that his officer gives him any chance to take any sort of control. The bottom of the boot is replaced with a knee, digging hard enough that Silco hisses into the alley-ground beneath him. Kneeling literally atop of him, the uniformed-individual takes hold of his metal-joined wrists and halts the struggles he makes to free himself through the old-fashioned way of wiggling. "These are Piltovian cuffs, you really trying to get out?"

"No. I actually quite enjoy being thrown around by Enforcers - highlight if my evenings, really."

"Smartass... that what got you caught by those other officers? Winning attitude?"

"Regretting the rescue?" Twisting until he's looking over his shoulder, dark hair askew around his face, Silco grins sharply at the unexpressive helmet that seems to glare back at him. "Oh, but with armor so shiny, I bet you were just waiting for the opportunity." And how opportune they had been. A simple tussle outside a bar, with a different set of Topsiders looking to fill their quota of arrests.

Famous, for lack of stair-railings and it's ability to break fissure-folk. But it seemed the officer that had taken him from the original two on their own, seemed keen to break him before they ever made it to that Enforcer tower.

Obviously, Silco hadn't gone willingly.

And equally obviously, a third officer had appeared at the sound of his struggles against the original two, offering to take him to none-other than Old Hungry itself, the infamous, age-old Enforcer tower growing straight up from the depths of Zaun itself.

"Yes," They finally admit, respirator drawing out the slow-breath they make at his accusation, as they drop his cuffed-arms and let them fall onto the small of his back, where they curl into fists. "Yes, I was waiting for them to grab you. Your idiocy is something that could be seen for miles - it was obvious you were up to no-good, even before you went and got yourself caught. You're lucky I was there, can't imagine you would've survived a stint in Stillwater-"

"How touching. A Topsider showing concern for a Dweller-"

His taunt clearly frayed at some already scattered nerves, because with a low growl that seemed to amplify out the mask, gloved fingers grabbed his arms to haul him up. The world spun before it slammed - or rather, he did, right into the alleyway wall. Metal and brick digging into his back as he grunted, cracking his gaze open to peer at his savior through dark locks. Sharp white glinted between them, as Silco could almost catch the dark, irritated glint of their eyes behind the visor. "Such hostility. Must I make a complaint?"

His tone is just as dark, and still a taunt, but there's also a question in his voice, one that has the palm pressing flat against his chest to twitch at it's implications.

"... just trying to do my job."

A smile, nearly genuine crosses his face, and he leans in the space between them, soon close enough that his breath fogs up the lens of the helmet visor. The causes the hand to fully still against his chest, though Silco feels the tremor that runs up his officer's arm as he speaks, lowly and nearly-coaxing, "I do believe your job entitles you to a search. Unless I'm free to go, in which case-" Metal creaks behind him. Digging into already-bruised wrists, but he only smiles, quirks a brow as fingers tighten to curl into the front of his shirt as he breathes.

From his words, or the knee that has snaked up to rub between his Officer's legs. Full of promise, and familiarity.

"-in which case, I can take that pretty little key and be on my way, officer-"

"Literally stop talking."

Any taunts grow mute on his tongue as the tormenting knee his maneuvered out of the way for the Enforcer to move between both legs, the one from his chest snaking to curl and grip his hair, while the other hand ventures down. A strangled sound comes from the respirator, at the same time as a gloved hand palms him between his pants.

"You get off from this?"

"N-not exactly... actually never gotten this far in an arrest before-" Leather rolls and creaks against his clothed crotch, causing him to his at the firm, rough friction that not even his pants can fully render null. "Smartass," His Enforcer teases, giving a squeeze that drags out his hiss to fill the very cracks of the abandoned alleyway. "Attitude like that, you should be cuffed more often."

"Kinky," Cyan-green eyes crack over, and a dangerous smirk crosses his face. Absurdly so, considering his position, but he doesn't seem to consider it at all as he drawls almost teasingly. "But I have a partner."

The hand stills against the strain in his pants. For a moment, breathing heavily through his nostrils, Silco wonders just how unimpressed that face is beneath the helmet - and how long it would take for him to struggle out of the cuffs if his little officer decided to leave him there in their lack of amusement - when deft, quick fingers find the bottoms and zips to his pants, and he hisses out his approval into the evening air.

The feel of a glove around his length is rough, stern, unforgiving and gloriously firm around him. Hips nearly go to thrust into the grip, when, as quickly as it appeared, it abandons him again, earning a growl from deep in his throat.

This, in turn, earns him a rougher tug on his long locks, "Quit bitching, your wrists are already going to be raw from this. You want your cock to get marked up with friction too?" Unimpressed, but at least considerate, the Enforcer raises the flat palm of their glove up to the level of his chin.

Chest rising and falling with growing celerity, Silco glances between leather and reflective metal, piquing a brow. "Do you really want me to rub you dry, Trencher?" The slur makes that rising brow narrow, blue-green eyes now slits, but the Enforcer is unperturbed. "Know some of you got a thing for sadism, but that's really-"

Silco, as usual, has specific and precise aim.

While close-quarter jabs and stabs are his specialty, it cannot be denied that the young Son of Zaun has a aptitude for taking aim, with his throws, and, with a swish of his tongue and a precise shift of lips, his saliva as well.

The man grinned like a shark, at the way his Officer jerked back, growing-still as the wad dripped slowly down the reflected-visor, right between where the eyes would be. Silco took a moment to hum, barely apologetic before once more gathering moisture onto his tongue, and without removing his gaze from the reflective surface of the helmet visor, and the no-doubt wide eyes behind them, lands a second-thick wad of liquid onto the awaiting gloved hand.

Silco smiles, thumping his head back against the wall, and the still-gloved fingers in his hair. "Need anything else for me to assist you with your job, officer?"

His chin all but bounces off the wall behind him as he's turned, roughing shoved against the surface as the fingers twist into his hair, yanking it back while the other glove hand snakes back around to wrap around his cock. "You're insufferable-"

"Oh, you must've... hnng, you had to h-have known we'd be difficult down here..."

"Should've left them drag you to Stillwater."

"Less paperwork that way, t-true."

There’s a squeeze on his cock, filled with friction and also bordering on painful, that leaves Silco to hiss instead of continue his mocking. Regardless, he thrusts into the grip that never ceases to slow or settle, groaning out through gritted teeth when a thumb slides over his head with purpose, and familiarity.

The faint semblance of syllables behind his tight-teeth makes the respirator next to his ear hiss-out, a shaky breath escaping his Officer's helmet as he grinds out the name again. "You're insufferable, loud-mouthed and I should've let them drag you off to jail, you moron. By Janna, did you even have a plan if I hadn't come along?"

"Not really, but c-considering how... e-eagerly you're stroking me, d-dear, it's clear you d... did-"

The hiss fades into an echoing rumble within your helmet as the glove becomes stained with the sudden release, cock twitching in your grasp as you work him through his orgasm. Relishing in the heaving groan that’s muffled with his forehead pressing against the wall before you, you wait until it starts breaking into the beginnings of an over-stimulated whine before you pull your hand away. Chuckling at him small hums and grunts as, after pointedly wiping off the cum-dripping glove on the tail of his shirt, you tuck his cock back into his pants before both armored-arms come down to wrap around his torso from behind. “You, have issues.”

"Oh shut up, Silco." Chest-to-back, they spread the leaking pre from their fingers all along his length, giving special attention with a smooth leather-clad hand makes the man thump his forehead against the surface in front of him, hips bucking with every motion, and fighting back a pleasured groan as dripping-fingers twist with the next motion along his cock.

Admittedly, he’s unable to fight the next round of strangled sounds from escaping him, the moment you catch his reaction and ensure to trace along the veins of his throbbing length with purpose. That purpose, apparently, is the whiney-breath that contains your name, that once more makes your respirator hiss with an unrestrained pant of your own at his sounds of pleasure.

“What’s that thing Benzo started? Something about fuck, and the, and Enforcers?” Turning, he catches your hands in his own, humming at the angry red marks left on his wrists. Your hands flex in his grip, possibly out of guilt as you gaze at the sight yourself, but his palms soon slight from your wrist, arms, armor-padded shoulders, until he catches the latch of your helmet beneath his fingers. “I must admit, in this particular situation, it has a quint ring to it,” He murmurs, green-blue eyes crinkling at the corners when the helmet clatters to the ground, the sight of his fellow revolutionary a welcomed and familiar sight indeed.

Silco only chuckles, albeit weakly at the feel of the helmet resting gently against his shoulder blades, and arms squeezing his waist gently as his breathing returns to normal. “You initiated it, dear. I merely followed your lead... and I'm grateful for the efforts to go incognito, it got me out of an arrest, after all... among other, much more agreeable things.”

“Yet here you are, still in cuffs. Freak.” Not for much longer though, for with one last squeeze around his waist, and a clink of metal, there’s a lack of pressure on he’s hands that soon smoothed by your own - flesh and blood fingers, not leather anymore. “Vander’s gonna kill us, you know. This uniform is meant for undercover-work, not fucking around. Literally.”

“See, you do have issues if you think fucking in one of these is a good time,” You say, giving a dirty-look to the helmet abandoned on the ground. The debate to kick it is clear in your eyes, but alas, it’s the only one the revolution has for infiltration-work. You shudder, complaining even while your hands come up to interlock with his, thumbs rubbing away the the worst of his sore wrists, “It’s so... stuffy, even with the ventilator! Sweet Janna, do Topsiders just forget how to breathe once they get underground-”

“Hm.. Is it built into the helmet?”

“Yes, but, they make you carry a spare, and it’s more like a gag than an actual breathing-aid.”

“Oh?” His wrists were still pink, but a gentle roll proved they would fade back to normal after a day. Good to know, just as the information you were proving was just as... insightful. “You know what I realized, officer?”

In dark promise, purpose, and familiarity.

Your eye-roll at his hoarse purr was long, and before you even fully-realize why his hand leaves you, quickly interrupted.

Not by words, but by the simple sound of metal clicking shut around your wrists. Shortly followed by a sound of the air knocked out of you, as positions flipped - brick digs into your back, and with Silco gripping the bit of metal between your wrists to keep them pinned and high above your head, they dig just as hard into your skin.

Silco smiles, almost genuine and equally as shark-like as before, as a hand snakes up your side while a knee slots between yours while he leans close, seeming to inhale the sharp gasp you make. “I realized, you aren’t very good at your job. You caught the suspect, certainly, but you didn’t do a good job searching.”

“I-” Your weakened breath of his name is muted quickly, though not with the sound of metal again, but with his knee shifting purposefully between your thighs, at the same time as his finger almost playfully flicks at the spare-respirator slung at your hip.

Brilliantly, you had referred to it like gag, and could see the consideration of such a comparison in his eyes as Silco leaned close, breath close enough to fog up your visor, if you still had such protection.

Or wanted it, as your eyes flutter briefly as his words and breath traced your face as it twisted with pleasure under the shifting of his knee between thighs.

“Perhaps I ought to show you how to properly search a 'Trencher'... Officer?”

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