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gonerunningaway) wrote2012-08-30 05:01 am
gonerunningaway) wrote2012-08-30 05:01 am
Tide-Water Dogs, Chapter Eighteen
Title: Tide-Water Dogs, Chapter Eighteen
Fandom: The Departed
Rating: NC-17
Word Count (this chapter): 1,552
Warnings this chapter (highlight to view): Explicit sex, drunkenness, discussion of criminal activities.
Chapter Eighteen
Sean drives them back to Robert’s house from supper in pleasant quiet, Robert’s hand light on his knee and not venturing upward until he’s pulled into the drive next to Robert’s car. Then he slides it up Sean’s thigh to cup him through his pants.
“Coming in?”
“How can I resist that offer?” he asks with a smile. Robert smiles softly back and leans over to kiss him, slow and deep.
Inside, it’s just as slow and easy; Robert uses his mouth to roll a condom onto Sean and sucks him off, taking his dick deep and working his throat around him, the tightness good enough that he rocks his hips slowly. Then Robert pulls back and looks up at him to say, “I want to come with you.”
So instead they both lie down on the bed, facing each other, and kiss deeply before Sean slides down enough that his dick rubs against Robert’s, making him hiss a breath. Robert ducks his head to kiss him, and Sean grabs Robert’s ass and rolls his hips, same as Robert does, and Robert finally snakes a hand between them to grip their dicks, pressing them together, and pump hard and fast. Sean comes first, spilling between their stomachs, and Robert’s almost right after, grunting in pleasure.
Sean rolls on his back when he starts to soften, breathing deep. “I should clean up.”
“Early day tomorrow?” Robert asks after a moment.
“Gym, then meetings and shit. Date on Friday, right?”
“Yeah.” Robert turns his head and kisses Sean’s cheek, and Sean turns to kiss him back. “Dinner, my treat. I made reservations.”
It’s pointless to argue with him—Sean’s tried it a few times, and he always ends up losing. “Okay. I can stay over then.”
“Good.” Robert kisses him, lingering, before sitting up. “Want to shower?”
“Yeah,” Sean says with a smile, “let’s do that.”
The next morning, he hits the gym, going for weight machines. He gets plenty of cardio with running most mornings.
When he’s done, a good ache throughout his body and sweat soaking his back and under his arms, he heads for the locker room to find his towel and soap. He cleans up in one of the shower stalls and wraps the towel around himself before returning to his locker.
Figueroa’s a few over, talking to Miller. “Fox and Crow is tonight, right?” Sean hears Miller say.
Sean pulls out his clean clothes and finishes toweling off before he starts to dress.
“Yeah, at eight,” Figueroa replies. There’s a pause, and then he says, “Hey, Dignam.”
Sean glances over. “Yeah?”
“You want to get drinks tonight? A few of us are going to the Fox and Crow.”
Sean shrugs. “Ellerby going to be there?” He’s not drinking with that prick.
Miller makes a face. “Fuck no.”
Sean smirks and says, “Then sure.”
“Eight,” Figueroa says. “There’s a T stop nearby.”
Sean nods. “I know where it is.”
“See you there.” Figueroa buttons his shirt and fastens his holster before leaving.
“You should come out more,” Miller says. “You could tell us about working Costello.” Miller’s not bad. He and Sean went through the academy together, and they got along decently.
“Get a few beers in me and I might do that,” Sean agrees. “You really want to know about it?”
“Costello’s mythical, and you actually know him. If we’re going to work him, we should know.” Miller grins. “Besides, it sounds fucking interesting, and you scored two convictions with your first time testifying. You’re a good cop, even if some guys have a problem with you.”
“Thanks.” Sean shrugs on his shirt. “See you tonight.”
“Yeah, see you.” Miller leaves, and Sean does the same a moment later.
The last time he went drinking with a group, it was the crew. Not exactly the same as drinking with a bunch of cops, but this is different in a good way.
Sean gets to the Fox and Crow just before eight, and Figueroa is already there. He has a couple of tables pushed together, and he nods at Sean. “I’ll get a pitcher soon,” he says. “They have some pretty decent beer on tap, not just Bud and shit.”
“You want anything to eat?” Sean asks.
“A burger, if you don’t mind.”
Sean orders two burgers with fries, and the bartender says, “I’ll start your tab. I trust cops.”
Apparently, the other guys come here pretty often. Either that, or the bartender just knows cops when he sees them. Some bartenders have that sense.
The bar isn’t too crowded on a Thursday. The others trickle in slowly. Miller gets the pitcher and eight glasses, and he sits by Figueroa. Sean’s a couple of seats away. They’re joined by Easley, of all people, who grins at Sean. “Never would have figured you for the social type, Dignam.”
“Wouldn’t have thought you’d have friends already,” Sean returns.
“I did before Van Kais. I might have disappeared for a while—”
“We didn’t know what happened to you for four years,” Figueroa interjects.
“—but I still knew them when I came back.”
That makes sense, even to a friendless bastard. Sean pours Easley a beer and hands it over when he sits between Sean and Figueroa.
Clark and Von Bryant join them, and when a woman Sean vaguely recognizes—Levy, he thinks her name is—shows up, she gets another glass and sits by Miller, instantly giving him shit that he returns. The tables are filled out with another Sean doesn’t really know, Fischer, and then it’s a crowd of cops passing pitchers of beer and ordering food. It feels like part of the experience he sort of wanted when he originally applied for the academy, and it’s been six years in the making, but that’s fine by him.
“So Dignam,” Figueroa says when they’re most of the way through their third pitcher, “what’s Costello really like? Jim said you’d talk.”
Sean shoots Miller a look and gets an innocent expression in response. “Fucked the hell up,” Sean says. “He’s a real bastard to everyone but French and usually Gwen, his… I don’t know what the fuck she is, common-law wife, I guess. But he cheats on her all the fucking time, usually with high-class whores. He fucks with his crews—tells them they’ll be doing something and switches at the last minute.” He shrugs. “What else do you want to know?”
A lot, as it turns out, but they at least ply him with good beer as they question him. It’s like a friendly interrogation without the recordings or one-way mirror. He describes how the crews function, how French is Costello’s second-in-command and best friend in one, the way drug dealing works from the inside, what bookies and debtors are treated like, how Costello manages his money-laundering businesses, everything he knows. He’s almost surprised no one’s taking notes. It’s probably because most of them work with him and Queenan, excepting Easley now, and they can prod at him anytime they need to. Easley focuses most on the money laundering, asking him for more about that. Fucking White Collar. And nobody at all asks about current undercovers.
They move on eventually, bullshitting about the job, families. Miller and Figueroa are the first to stand, looking fairly steady. “I’m leaving,” Figueroa says after putting cash on the table, a move Miller mimics.
“My stop’s near yours, I’ll come with,” Miller says.
The rest of them say their goodbyes, and then Sean gets up. “I’m off. Early morning.”
Easley gives him a knowing look that he ignores; the rest of them murmur goodbyes and promptly go back to their conversations. Sean tosses down money for his part of the tab and heads out of the bar, mostly steady on his feet.
He calls Robert when he gets home, and when Robert answers, says, “Sorry, it’s late.” He’s proud that he’s not remotely slurring.
“I was awake anyway. How are you?”
“Kind of drunk,” Sean admits. “I got invited out with some other cops.”
“Hey, that’s good. You don’t do it enough.”
Sean shrugs to himself. “Probably not. Tomorrow night, you and me?”
“Right. Reservations are for seven-thirty, but I can probably push them back if I need to.”
“I’ll be home. Or I’ll meet you.”
“No, I’ll pick you up,” Robert replies. “If you’re coming back here, anyway.”
Sean leers at nothing. “Yeah, I’m coming back.”
Robert laughs. “I feel like there was supposed to be innuendo in there.”
After a brief pause, Sean says, “There was.”
“It failed. Do you want me to come over?”
“I can handle being drunk,” he says with as much dignity as he can manage.
“Okay then. Don’t be too hungover to work.”
“I’m not that drunk.”
“Good. I think your captain would kill you.”
“Maybe. Goodnight, Robert.”
“Goodnight, Sean. Drink water.”
Sean hangs up and goes to take Robert’s advice, downing several glasses in a row. Then he takes a couple of aspirin; he has no idea if they do any good the same night as getting drunk, but they don’t seem to hurt.
Sure enough, he doesn’t really have a hangover in the morning, just a slight headache. He tosses back a couple more aspirin and a cup of coffee and heads for the office.
Fandom: The Departed
Rating: NC-17
Word Count (this chapter): 1,552
Warnings this chapter (highlight to view): Explicit sex, drunkenness, discussion of criminal activities.
Sean drives them back to Robert’s house from supper in pleasant quiet, Robert’s hand light on his knee and not venturing upward until he’s pulled into the drive next to Robert’s car. Then he slides it up Sean’s thigh to cup him through his pants.
“Coming in?”
“How can I resist that offer?” he asks with a smile. Robert smiles softly back and leans over to kiss him, slow and deep.
Inside, it’s just as slow and easy; Robert uses his mouth to roll a condom onto Sean and sucks him off, taking his dick deep and working his throat around him, the tightness good enough that he rocks his hips slowly. Then Robert pulls back and looks up at him to say, “I want to come with you.”
So instead they both lie down on the bed, facing each other, and kiss deeply before Sean slides down enough that his dick rubs against Robert’s, making him hiss a breath. Robert ducks his head to kiss him, and Sean grabs Robert’s ass and rolls his hips, same as Robert does, and Robert finally snakes a hand between them to grip their dicks, pressing them together, and pump hard and fast. Sean comes first, spilling between their stomachs, and Robert’s almost right after, grunting in pleasure.
Sean rolls on his back when he starts to soften, breathing deep. “I should clean up.”
“Early day tomorrow?” Robert asks after a moment.
“Gym, then meetings and shit. Date on Friday, right?”
“Yeah.” Robert turns his head and kisses Sean’s cheek, and Sean turns to kiss him back. “Dinner, my treat. I made reservations.”
It’s pointless to argue with him—Sean’s tried it a few times, and he always ends up losing. “Okay. I can stay over then.”
“Good.” Robert kisses him, lingering, before sitting up. “Want to shower?”
“Yeah,” Sean says with a smile, “let’s do that.”
The next morning, he hits the gym, going for weight machines. He gets plenty of cardio with running most mornings.
When he’s done, a good ache throughout his body and sweat soaking his back and under his arms, he heads for the locker room to find his towel and soap. He cleans up in one of the shower stalls and wraps the towel around himself before returning to his locker.
Figueroa’s a few over, talking to Miller. “Fox and Crow is tonight, right?” Sean hears Miller say.
Sean pulls out his clean clothes and finishes toweling off before he starts to dress.
“Yeah, at eight,” Figueroa replies. There’s a pause, and then he says, “Hey, Dignam.”
Sean glances over. “Yeah?”
“You want to get drinks tonight? A few of us are going to the Fox and Crow.”
Sean shrugs. “Ellerby going to be there?” He’s not drinking with that prick.
Miller makes a face. “Fuck no.”
Sean smirks and says, “Then sure.”
“Eight,” Figueroa says. “There’s a T stop nearby.”
Sean nods. “I know where it is.”
“See you there.” Figueroa buttons his shirt and fastens his holster before leaving.
“You should come out more,” Miller says. “You could tell us about working Costello.” Miller’s not bad. He and Sean went through the academy together, and they got along decently.
“Get a few beers in me and I might do that,” Sean agrees. “You really want to know about it?”
“Costello’s mythical, and you actually know him. If we’re going to work him, we should know.” Miller grins. “Besides, it sounds fucking interesting, and you scored two convictions with your first time testifying. You’re a good cop, even if some guys have a problem with you.”
“Thanks.” Sean shrugs on his shirt. “See you tonight.”
“Yeah, see you.” Miller leaves, and Sean does the same a moment later.
The last time he went drinking with a group, it was the crew. Not exactly the same as drinking with a bunch of cops, but this is different in a good way.
Sean gets to the Fox and Crow just before eight, and Figueroa is already there. He has a couple of tables pushed together, and he nods at Sean. “I’ll get a pitcher soon,” he says. “They have some pretty decent beer on tap, not just Bud and shit.”
“You want anything to eat?” Sean asks.
“A burger, if you don’t mind.”
Sean orders two burgers with fries, and the bartender says, “I’ll start your tab. I trust cops.”
Apparently, the other guys come here pretty often. Either that, or the bartender just knows cops when he sees them. Some bartenders have that sense.
The bar isn’t too crowded on a Thursday. The others trickle in slowly. Miller gets the pitcher and eight glasses, and he sits by Figueroa. Sean’s a couple of seats away. They’re joined by Easley, of all people, who grins at Sean. “Never would have figured you for the social type, Dignam.”
“Wouldn’t have thought you’d have friends already,” Sean returns.
“I did before Van Kais. I might have disappeared for a while—”
“We didn’t know what happened to you for four years,” Figueroa interjects.
“—but I still knew them when I came back.”
That makes sense, even to a friendless bastard. Sean pours Easley a beer and hands it over when he sits between Sean and Figueroa.
Clark and Von Bryant join them, and when a woman Sean vaguely recognizes—Levy, he thinks her name is—shows up, she gets another glass and sits by Miller, instantly giving him shit that he returns. The tables are filled out with another Sean doesn’t really know, Fischer, and then it’s a crowd of cops passing pitchers of beer and ordering food. It feels like part of the experience he sort of wanted when he originally applied for the academy, and it’s been six years in the making, but that’s fine by him.
“So Dignam,” Figueroa says when they’re most of the way through their third pitcher, “what’s Costello really like? Jim said you’d talk.”
Sean shoots Miller a look and gets an innocent expression in response. “Fucked the hell up,” Sean says. “He’s a real bastard to everyone but French and usually Gwen, his… I don’t know what the fuck she is, common-law wife, I guess. But he cheats on her all the fucking time, usually with high-class whores. He fucks with his crews—tells them they’ll be doing something and switches at the last minute.” He shrugs. “What else do you want to know?”
A lot, as it turns out, but they at least ply him with good beer as they question him. It’s like a friendly interrogation without the recordings or one-way mirror. He describes how the crews function, how French is Costello’s second-in-command and best friend in one, the way drug dealing works from the inside, what bookies and debtors are treated like, how Costello manages his money-laundering businesses, everything he knows. He’s almost surprised no one’s taking notes. It’s probably because most of them work with him and Queenan, excepting Easley now, and they can prod at him anytime they need to. Easley focuses most on the money laundering, asking him for more about that. Fucking White Collar. And nobody at all asks about current undercovers.
They move on eventually, bullshitting about the job, families. Miller and Figueroa are the first to stand, looking fairly steady. “I’m leaving,” Figueroa says after putting cash on the table, a move Miller mimics.
“My stop’s near yours, I’ll come with,” Miller says.
The rest of them say their goodbyes, and then Sean gets up. “I’m off. Early morning.”
Easley gives him a knowing look that he ignores; the rest of them murmur goodbyes and promptly go back to their conversations. Sean tosses down money for his part of the tab and heads out of the bar, mostly steady on his feet.
He calls Robert when he gets home, and when Robert answers, says, “Sorry, it’s late.” He’s proud that he’s not remotely slurring.
“I was awake anyway. How are you?”
“Kind of drunk,” Sean admits. “I got invited out with some other cops.”
“Hey, that’s good. You don’t do it enough.”
Sean shrugs to himself. “Probably not. Tomorrow night, you and me?”
“Right. Reservations are for seven-thirty, but I can probably push them back if I need to.”
“I’ll be home. Or I’ll meet you.”
“No, I’ll pick you up,” Robert replies. “If you’re coming back here, anyway.”
Sean leers at nothing. “Yeah, I’m coming back.”
Robert laughs. “I feel like there was supposed to be innuendo in there.”
After a brief pause, Sean says, “There was.”
“It failed. Do you want me to come over?”
“I can handle being drunk,” he says with as much dignity as he can manage.
“Okay then. Don’t be too hungover to work.”
“I’m not that drunk.”
“Good. I think your captain would kill you.”
“Maybe. Goodnight, Robert.”
“Goodnight, Sean. Drink water.”
Sean hangs up and goes to take Robert’s advice, downing several glasses in a row. Then he takes a couple of aspirin; he has no idea if they do any good the same night as getting drunk, but they don’t seem to hurt.
Sure enough, he doesn’t really have a hangover in the morning, just a slight headache. He tosses back a couple more aspirin and a cup of coffee and heads for the office.