PlayBall

Whether he liked it or not, Rashid would turn that policeman’s ass out for getting him in this position.

"So, what’s it gonna be fucker, your ass or his!?" Jack barked into Rashid’s ear.

Rashid was still sitting on the floor, his pants around his ankles with his hands cuffed behind his back. He was still fuming but that anger was directed at himself for having gotten in this predicament.

Looking up at that cop his eyes were narrow slits, his nostrils flaring as he breathed hard, holding back his first instinct to lash out, start kicking at his captor victorious above him.

Rashid couldn’t turn on his old friend, despite his drug dealing and the petty crimes his posse often orchestrated throughout the surrounding Towns, because Rashid knew his own street cred would be worth shit if he ratted out that crew. It didn’t matter how this scene played out, alone in the interrogation room with this flaco fag, he wouldn’t play that get-out-of-jail card.

Jack Harding stood looking down at this helpless boy, this strapping savvy B-Baller that he knew from watching him play on those street courts in the park under lights, giving a cool shake-and-bake to get free of slower defensive players.

He could feel the fury coming from that coiled body now trussed in a ball, crouching on that dingy, gray industrial carpeting.

If he wasn’t in those handcuffs, Jack wouldn’t want to be in the same room with this trapped animal, even more dangerous than when lopping down the court in long strides like a gazelle, leaping up as he sailed for that slam dunk.

He turned to the wall to shut off the speaker from the Interview Room, but also to pull up the shade on that two-way mirror, knowing if his partner stepped into the room behind that glass he might see this scene, it would be a lesson for how to take charge in an interrogation, in all ways.

The tension in the room was clearly visible in that mirror, the anxiety he clearly felt in the pit of his stomach reflecting in his face as well, held just behind those tight lips pulled in a forced smirk across his large, stained teeth.

Some on the force thought this was an expression of steely control but Jack knew he was merely slipping on that mask, protecting him from any questions, any doubts about his motives and any unforeseen outcome.

Looking at his reflection reassured him and he turned after turning off that intercom, wanting to watch this whole scene play out across that mirror in stereo. Jack liked the idea of seeing the response as he broke this prisoner, reflected in that mirrored wall, reinforcement of his own need to project only confidence and control.

He would have to break this boy, he needed to have any information on the drug action downtown and across the county.

Hearing that rustle of clothes, he turned to watch Rashid adjusting himself on the floor, now crouching on his knees, his legs spread wide, that thick tubesteak snaking between his legs, splayed across the floor.

Rashid stared up directly into his eyes, watching Jack like a predator, sizing his prey.The situation couldn’t be more absurd Jack thought, knowing he was now in charge, standing above this captive stud.

Still, Jack felt his lips tremble for just a moment before he walked across the room, undoing his gunbelt. He wouldn’t need this, even as he ran his hand longingly down the length of his billyclub, laying it on top the cabinet next to that gunbelt.

He didn’t notice that Rashid had taken this moment, as Jack had turned away from him, had his back to the entire room, to slip his cuffed wrists under his body, rolling back into a tight ball and pulled his wrists under his ankles. With a quick roll he was under the table, slipping out this other side, suddenly behind Officer Harding with his arms raised above his head.

A quick, hard blow and he might even get free but suddenly he had a different idea.

Rashid brought his arms down over Officer Harding's head, trapping Jack’s arms against his body as he lifted and spun this helpless cop around, landing him with a resounding crash face first on the table.

Rashid’s dick was grinding against those shiny worn blue regulation pants, slowly swelling as they wrestled against that tabletop, Captain Jack grunting in that bear hug. Neither noticed that the button on those regulation pants had popped off in the struggle, those pants slipping down Jack's hips, trapping his thrashing legs till both were laying across the table breathless, both with pants now around their ankles. With a quick flick Rashid stepped out of his loose dungarees.

Rashid’s dick was at full mast, jutting between Jack’s legs and bouncing against his balls wrapped in those cheap thin boxers, Jack’s own raging hard dick trapped down one leg of those loose briefs, grinding against the edge of that table.

"So wha’s it gonna be…my ass or yours!?" he sneered into Jack’s ear, hugging him tightly.

The only sound in that room was their ragged breathing, stock still as they lay wrapped in each others’ arms and legs.