Prompts: Exhibitionism/Voyeurism | Degradation | Gun Play | Against a wall
Rape/Non-Con, Police Violence
Chapter tags: Credence Barebone/Percival Graves, Police Officer Percival Graves, Police Corruption, Police Violence, Abuse of Authority, Homophobic Language, Homophobic Slurs, Threats, Coercion, Degradation, Groping, Gun Play, Crying, Painful Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Wall Sex, Wetting, Humiliation, Anal Sex
Read it on AO3!
“Come on, let’s go.”
Credence turns, startled by the heavy, gloved hand which has clamped down on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, sir – officer,” he amends, taking in the man’s crisp uniform and the badge pinned to his belt, right next to his holstered gun. The patch on his vest reads P. Graves. A flutter of fear sweeps through his chest. The officer is broad, strongly built, his expression firm and unamused. Credence was just handing out leaflets and he knows it’s a nuisance, but it’s not against the law. He doesn’t know what he did wrong.
“Soliciting is illegal. You need to come with me.”
Soliciting? Credence’s brow creases in confusion, and he looks down at the leaflets in his hands. “Oh – I’m not selling anything, officer, the leaflets are just for a meeting -”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.” Graves’ eyes sweep over his body, and Credence feels the leer in his gaze. His cheeks burn with shame, finally catching on to the implication. He doesn’t understand, does he really look like the kind of man who would…?
“I… n-no, I don’t -”
“No? Then you won’t mind if I conduct a little search.”
“Search?” Credence asks, voice small. His body wants to run, but he knows that’s the worst thing he could do.
“That’s right. You whores always have condoms or drugs or some shit. We can step off the street, I’ll give you a little pat down, and if you’re the good boy you claim to be you can go on your way. Or, if you don’t want to play that way…” His eyes narrow, growing sharp and cruel. “I’ll cuff you, take you down to the station for a strip search, and throw you in the cells naked for the rest of our felons to do god-knows-what with while I take my sweet time drawing up the charges against you. Your choice.”
Credence can’t breathe. He can’t believe this is happening to him. His throat has closed up, his heart is beating wildly, and he can’t think over the rushing in his head. He just nods, mute and trembling.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
Graves’ grip on his bicep is painful as he’s pulled into an alley off the street. His feet move automatically, mind numb, and though he tries to keep up he trips and stumbles into the rough brick wall when Graves gives him a shove. It winds him, leaving him painfully lightheaded, leaflets spilling from his arms to litter the ground at their feet.
“Hands up,” Graves orders, and Credence complies. He presses his palms flat to the wall, trying to use it to steady himself, but it feels as though the ground is tilting sideways. A rough hand presses into the middle of his back, pinning him in place.
Something cold and hard presses into the nape of his neck, and Credence freezes. His heart is going to beat out of his chest.
“Uh huh, you won’t be any trouble,” Graves says, stroking the barrel of his gun along the side of Credence’s throat. “Fag like you.”
Ice washes through Credence’s veins. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the filthy wall. His lungs still won’t work right, and the edges of his vision have gone a dull grey.
Graves touches him everywhere; hands run down his sides, his back, over his hips and ass – Graves squeezes, kicking his legs apart. “Filthy slut,” he sneers, and Credence wants to protest that he’s not, he’s not a slut or a whore or a fag, but the only thing on his lips is a choked-off sob. Graves’ left hand reaches around to grab his crotch, cupping and fondling his soft dick through his pants, and with his other hand he presses his gun between Credence’s legs, nestling the muzzle right behind his balls.
The hard metal takes up his entire focus. He doesn’t dare resist, doesn’t protest anything; the terror is a solid mass congealing in his chest.
“You know,” Graves says conversationally, “some fags get hard from this. They fucking love it, drives ‘em wild to feel gunmetal between their legs. Some of the bitches start begging to be fucked about now. But you…” Graves rocks the gun against him, pressing it into his soft flesh, and when he speaks again it’s a low growl against Credence’s ear. “You’re a special kind of fag, a real fucking whore. Yeah. You hate it, but you’re too much of a pathetic, sniveling slut to stop me. You’re gonna let me do whatever I fucking want.” Credence can feel Graves’ smirk, and his skin crawls having the man pressed so close against his back. “Aren’t you?”
Credence nods frantically, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Y-yes sir – officer – sir, please, a-anything you want.” He spreads his legs wider, trying to show his submission, and Graves laughs. The next thing Credence knows Graves’ hands are on his belt, gun gone, and with a few quick tugs he pushes Credence’s pants and underwear halfway down his thighs, exposing his bare ass right there in the alley.
Graves’ fingers dig into his flesh, spreading him open and stroking a thumb over his tight pucker, and the drag against his tender rim hurts; his stomach lurches with the humiliation of being looked at there. He yelps when something cold and slippery drips down his ass, prompting a harsh laugh from Graves.
“Trust me, fag, you should be on your knees with gratitude that I decided to spend a packet of lube on you. Coulda raped your hole dry.”
Without ceremony or hesitation Graves plunges two fingers deep into his body. Credence’s scream is cut off by the gloved hand which clamps over his mouth, reducing him to whimpers, ragged breaths, and choked sobs while he’s stretched, those thick fingers pumping in and out of him, his hole spasming in protest. It’s an awful, gut-wrenching feeling. He holds still and takes it.
“Keep your fucking mouth shut,” Graves snaps. “You want an audience while you’re raped? Maybe that’s the kind of fag you are… you want them lining up to fuck you after I’m done.”
The terror is an all consuming buzz in Credence’s mind, numbing his thoughts and paralyzing his body. He just takes pained breaths, and doesn’t respond.
Graves pulls his fingers out too quickly, making his insides burn, but they’re quickly replaced by the fat head of Graves’ cock. Credence can’t think, he can’t breathe – nothing makes sense anymore, and he’s left with only the searing burn as he’s speared on Graves’ cock. He sags against the wall, held up only by Graves’ weight pressed his back and the brutal snaps of his hips, shoving him painfully against the unforgiving brick.
He’s being fucked in an alley by a stranger, and all he can do is take it. It doesn’t feel real, even as each thrust makes him feel like he’s being torn in half. Graves’ penetrates him so deeply it’s as though his insides are being rearranged, hollowed out to make a space for his dick. Surely he’ll never be the same after this, his body will never go back to how it was before, he’s for fucking now, Graves is turning him into a fag and a whore –
His entire body gives in, muscles going slack in Graves’ arms, and on a particularly hard thrust he feels his bladder release. Hot piss runs down his legs, soaking his pants where they’re bunched around his thighs, and tears of humiliation stream down his cheeks. Graves fucks every last drop out of him.
At long last Graves slams in for the last time, groaning while he pumps load after load of come into Credence’s ass. He steps back with a satisfied sigh and Credence falls, crumpling under his own weight. He just lays there unseeing on the filthy ground, pants around his knees, soaked with piss, ass leaking come. He trembles.
Above him Graves is putting his uniform back in order, slow and unhurried. Credence feels his gaze once more, and he curls in on himself, cowering against the wall.
“Yeah,” Graves drawls. “Not a bad fuck. If you weren’t a whore before, you sure will be now.”
His footsteps echo on the pavement as he walks away.
Mercurial Tenacity 