Luther Wainwright hates being the good guy sometimes. Hell, sometimes he hates that he even thinks that he is a good guy. Cops walk the fine line between morality and depravity every day. He knows that. That's why when his confidential informants slides an envelope across the desk, he almost wants to grab it and toss it at the candle sitting in the middle of a table. The name inside is one he's familiar with.
O'Laughlin is a former dirty cop serving time for an attempted robbery. The fact that he seems to be the missing piece in Luther's case is frustrating. He and O'Laughlin have always had a contentious relationship. They grew up on the same street, went to the same high school. Of course, Luther was on the chess team while O'Laughlin cut English class to smoke and fuck his girlfriend behind the bleachers. They were opposites in every way. No one was more surprised than he was when they ended up being rookies together.
The sound of music streams past Luther, slowly pulling him away from his reverie. He glances at his watch and rolls his shoulders, suddenly thankful for his appointment with his chiropractor this morning. With a heavy sigh, he knocks back the rest of his drink, wincing as the burn hits his throat.
Fifty minutes later he's walking through the metal detector at the penitentiary after calling in several favors. The case is relatively straightforward. Missing drugs. It's part of a wider case into the police corruption scandal of '09. The same one that O'Laughlin was caught up in. Luther's been catching some heat for being on the task force but they all know that this is the only way he can prove he wasn't in on it too. It's personal too. That O'Laughlin is the one who stole three kilos of bad coke - and sold it on the streets - which really pisses him off.
It's this anger that he channels when O'Laughlin shuffles into the stuffy visitor room, clad in a blue prison-issued jumpsuit. There's a bruise around his right eye and his hair is frizzy and unkempt. Luther barely refrains from rolling his eyes. Cops in prison is the one thing that’s always irked him. Always clashed so brutally with his desire to always do things by the book.
"Protective custody must be working out really nice for you," he starts as O'Laughlin sits across from him. Luther nods at the guard who quietly slips out of the room.
"Yeah, guess you could say that," O'Laughlin replies. "What can I do for you, husband?" Luther grits his teeth. There it is. His life's mistake thrown back in his face. An ugly reminder of how blinkered he was. How O'Laughlin took him in so easily. Charmed him back when they were beat cops. Fucked him when they both became detectives, married him when he finally got the Special Agent In Charge title.
"Don't call me that," he snaps. "And sign the fucking papers." They're married in name only these days. They have been since before the scandal. Although Luther hasn't exactly been a hundred percent rational around Craig O'Laughlin. That's what love does; it drives you crazy and makes you stupid. Doubly so in Luther's case.
Craig smirks. "You say that now but I know you don't want a divorce. You don't want to sever our bond, do you, Lu?" Luther winces at the pet name. He reaches into his briefcase and pulls out the file. He slides it across the dreary grey table.
"You ready to rat some more?" He spits the words out.
It’s nothing new.
Prisoners trading information for favours, special treatment, and survival. Still, it’s worse when you’re a cop. He knows that O’Laughlin hates it, because his eyes narrow each time he comes here. Each time Luther leaves with a vital piece of information, Craig hates him a little more. And that’s what he wants. He needs that. He needs to be free of Craig once and for all.
“I’m not telling you shit, you asshole,” Craig spits out. “I still get my ass kicked on a weekly basis. Protection, fuck that.” Luther tries not to react to that. There’s no room for him to feel anything -sympathy, pain - nothing. Craig made his bed and he’s lying in it now.
“You should have thought about that before you tried to steal from that company,” he says softly. At this point, stern words and raised tone won’t get through to Craig, there’s always some--
“We get shit pay, shitty benefits - heck, it’s a surprise that more cops don’t steal,” Craig retorts. “We don’t do any good, Luther. We’re glorified thugs in suits.”
There it is. The excuse.
Luther snorts and shakes his head. “Craig, we grew up on the same street. Your dad was a top lawyer - and you know damn well he wouldn’t be happy to see what’s become of you. You’ve created this false sense of being and I have no idea where you got it from. We did okay for ourselves.”
“Right, we had a nice house, flatscreen TV, gym memberships that we didn’t use, all kinds of fancy shit that we just happened to own. The job was 24/7. We oppress people and the higher ups oppress us. I don’t know about you, but I got tired of it. We can’t all be an uptight goody two shoes like you.”
Luther holds his hands up in a conciliatory manner. “It’s your life, man.” There might be a hint of resentment in his tone, but it’s not unexpected. He was stupid enough to marry a selfish, self-obsessed man. Stupid enough to still be in love with him; and stupid enough to be sitting here.
“Right, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to go back to my cell,” Craig snaps. “It’s better than listening to your shit.”
Luther refrains from snapping back with a harsh comment of his own. He needs to make some headway with this case or his boss will be breathing down his neck come morning. “I need your help. Please. Just look at the file and point out the guys that were part of your little corruption crew.”
“Corruption crew - that’s cute,” Craig says. He sighs heavily and flexes his arms. “Look, like I said, the protection I get means fuck all. You know the terms of my help, Lu. And I know how badly you need that job. Your daily supply of validation. Your chance to put on a suit and play the big man.”
Luther groans inwardly. “I’m not going to sleep with you, Craig. I meant what I said last time.”
Fuck him and his 'terms'. The way that he indulges Craig is almost like some form of sick punishment. They do their back and forth; he resists, Craig persists and they always end up pressed together as regret looms over them. It’s bullshit but as he glances at his watch, he realises that he might as well give in quickly - before Craig can charm him, wear him down and make him feel.
It’s just...hate sex.
“You meant it the time before,” Craig adds after a lengthy pause. “It’s a pity that you didn’t request a spousal visit. A bed would be nice.”
“Just...take off your pants.” Luther can hear how resigned he sounds but he knows that Craig doesn’t care. If he’s not being selfish, he’s thinking with his dick. What he ever saw in the man is a mystery to him.
Craig gives him a sharklike grin and something in Luther snaps. This feral, dark need to show Craig that he's not some pushover. He watches as Craig almost falls on his ass in his desire to get his jumpsuit off. He stands there in his cheap prison issue vest and briefs. There's an obvious tent and Luther hates that it's affecting him; stirring up all of the feelings he's worked so hard to clamp down.
"Take everything off," he says. His voice is gravelly and harsh like he's just downed half a bottle of whiskey. "We're going to play a game."
Craig smirks as he's pulling off his vest. "Vanilla Wainwright wants to play a game. Where was this all those years ago?"
"You were too busy fucking anything that moved and I was busy trying to provide a life for us," Luther says coldly. "Sex is all you were good far." Craig seems pleased to hear that despite the words not being a compliment. Again, that's not new. Craig always reveled in others anger. He got off on it.
Craig inches the briefs down slowly, his cock bobbing up and down with the movement. It's painted angry red and just as pretty as Luther remembers. It's almost regretful that he's not going to feel it pressing inside him again. Well, not today at least. Today, he's taking a leaf out of Craig's book of manipulation and deceit. He's leaving this room with answers whether Craig likes it or not. That's a hard resolve to maintain when he stares at Craig and thinks about how much he wants to climb him like a tree. It's so stupid.
"Open yourself up." Craig's hand reach around and Luther holds a breath when Craig's fingers disappear from view. He watches on for a few moments before he taps on the door. The guard enters within seconds, eyes widening when he catches Craig bent over the table with his hand inside his ass.
"Can you tell the commissioner to turn off the tape and bring it to me?" he asks. "I wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong idea about O'Laughlin." The guard nods and practically runs out of the room just as Craig starts yanking at his underwear and desperately trying to cover himself. He turns to glare at the location of the camera and then back at Luther. His nostrils flare angrily but he remains wordless.
Luther opens the file. "Let's try this again, shall we?"
Fifteen minutes later, Luther has his suspects and an extremely pissed off husband in front of him.
“You’ve got everyone fooled with your boy-next-charm, but don’t forget that I know you,” Craig rants angrily when Luther is writing some notes in his pocketbook. “I remember all that you told me. The difference is that I’m not a coward, Luther.”
Luther smiles to himself as he packs up his briefcase. “Hey, and it looks like my cowardice has kept me out of prison. What did I always tell you? Think smart. Act smart. Not turning off the security cameras in that building wasn’t a mistake. Someone sold you out and then cut a deal with the DoJ.”
That's the problem with dirty cops. They're not smart and they're not trustworthy - to anyone.
Craig laughs bitterly. Despite his anger, his cock is clearly still erect and clearly visible through his hastily pulled up clothed. And fuck, why is Luther even looking --“Oh, this fable again. My lawyer said that was a bullshit.”
“Your lawyer doesn’t have the securing clearance that I do.” Luther swallows as Craig finally notices what he’s looking at.
“See something you like?” Craig asks with an extremely unnecessary swivel of his hips. “Better get your fill now because after today I’ll sign your damn papers. I’m done with you.” Luther walks around the table slowly, knowing fully well it’s an empty threat. Hell, he might tell himself he wants the divorce but he knows that once it happens, there goes the rest of his case.
It turns out that being married to a manipulative bastard has made Luther one himself.
He stops behind Craig, pushes at his jumpsuit slowly and allows his fingers to ghost on the bare skin on display. He teases the opening of Craig’s hole, pulling away when the other man gasps. “You know, if you were nicer, you might just get what you want.” Luther bites at Craig's shoulder; his skin tastes of sweat and salt and Luther can feel his self-control ebb away.
“Please,” Craig practically whines, malice and anger gone suddenly. “Don’t fucking tease me, Luther. You want this as much as I do.” It’s true. He does. He hates that he does, but there's no denying it now. He lets his clothed erection brush against Craig's ass as he deliberates. There's a small tube of lube and condoms in his jacket pocket, but once they're out, there's no going back.
It takes Craig moaning obscenely and working his free hand up and down his shaft to break Luther's resolve. He's human, dammit.
"Turn around." Craig does so reluctantly and bends back over the table. Luther finally retrieves the items. He slicks his fingers and works on opening Craig properly. This might be hate sex, but he's not cruel enough to hurt him. He works his way up to three fingers quickly, bending them in an attempt to maximize the stretch. It feels so fucking good that he almost forgets what this is. That they don't have unlimited time.
"Dammit, Luther, I'm not some teenager on prom night," Craig gripes, as a thin sheen of sweat covers his body. "Just do it." Luther pulls back and pulls his zipper down slowly. He doesn't pull his pants down all the way, just enough to free his cock. He slides on the condom and coats it with a liberal amount of lube before lining himself up. He nudges against Craig's opening slightly but doesn't penetrate. Craig almost whirls around angrily but Luther pushes him back and slides in hard with one swift movement. Craig clenches around him and someone moans. It might be Luther but he doesn't care. He slides out roughly and pushes back in hard. Soon they build up a rhythm. In and out. The slip slap sound of his balls hitting Craig's ass fills the room, along with Craig's garbled moans. Luther pushes harder and harder, drinking in the heady feeling and the way fire burns in his chest. Craig comes before he does, spilling messily all over the floor. Luther pumps his hips a few more times before he follows. He slumps forward, his head on Craig's back. He breathes in his scent and stifles a sob. This is all they have left, fumbles in a jailhouse interview room.
"You fucking idiot," he murmurs. He's still inside Craig and he ignores the way he doesn't want ro leave and pulls out. He's not surprised when he sees that the cuffs are off. Craig turns to look at him and they stare at each other for what seems like an eternity. After a while, Craig springs into action. He pushes Luther onto his abandoned chair and straddles him. The kiss is unexpected but Luther returns it. It's brutal and unforgiving, and he's sure that his lips will be bruised for the rest of the night. Craig nips at his lip and kisses him even harder like he's trying to break Luther from the inside out.
Eventually, he pulls back and grabs at Luther's cock roughly and lines it against his ass. He sinks down onto it effortlessly, groaning in ecstasy as he does. Luther follows suit because it's been too long since they've had this. Rough, bump thrusts bleeding into a steady rhythm. The tightness, the way Craig clenches as Luther hits the right spot over again. He rubs his hands over sweaty skin and hard nipples, exploring and touching in a way he's been dreaming about since he was last here. Luther almost wishes the tape was still on, hell, it just might be. Prison is no better than the damn banking system. Everyone's out to make a quick buck. Even Craig, who's starting to tremble as he grows louder. He comes first and Luther follows suit. He stays there for a few moment before he pushes Craig gently, grimacing when the other man squeezes one last time before he slides off. Luther takes a breath. Nice and deep. In and out. With quick movements, he pulls his boxers and pants up and does his fly.
He glances at his watch.
"Think I might grab a pepperoni pizza tonight. Deep dish, just the way you like it." Craig laughs breathlessly but doesn't respond. Luther knows what's coming next. An apology, a plea for him to come back. The same song and rhyme they've been doing for two years. Luther's not really ready to hear this time. Not when something inside him is already unequivocally broken.
It's too late for them.
"I'll be seeing you, Craig," he calls as he gathers his papers. "Tomorrow. To do this ID properly. And if you refuse, movie time is going to a special feature of you fingering your own ass until you do."
Craig doesn't even look surprised, although that might be down to his hazy post-orgasm state. Instead, he chuckles and says, "Guess you did learn something from me after all."
Luther raises an eyebrow. "Nothing good."
All Craig says is, "I'll see you tomorrow, Luther."