on deck

“Yeah a lot of cops aren’t exactly protect and serve guys. But a lot of us also are, like myself, and my partner. We’re willin’ to help as much as we can, from robberies to just getting a kitten down from a tree. Though, that’s more Aryn’s job since I’m terrified of heights. Though, big man like me has to kinda be scared of that, y’know? It’s a long damn way down” He laughed and took a sip of his coffee, wincing a bit at the bitterness but decided to say nothing about it. “That’s true, I know how Jae loves t’blather on about us and shit, but… I’ll save your ears unless there’s specific stuff y’wanna know.” He laughed.

“I respect that, man; the abuse of power is simply unacceptable, though. -- but what if I want you to get me down from a tree? What if I’m drunk as hell and I see a beautiful woman on the tree tempting me to go up there? Ah, speaking of which, I think I should your number on speed dial because I don’t want the 911 operators hearing about my dumb ass antics. -- I mean, I bet they’re already aware of that already, but I don’t want it to be on record for them to play over and over again for a gag,” spilled Dave with hands flying through and fro in gestures, wild in his rambling with his drink almost spilling on his shirt as so. “But you guys are cute! Too  cute, it’s almost disgusting. Why can’t I have a love story like that, man? -- how’s Mina by the way?”

“I don’t think there is anyone on this earth I hate more than I hate you so just to spite your ass, no. Eat my ass.”

“Oh, honey, you know how like it. Talk dirty me more, babe: yes! Nasty! I love it when you talk to me like that, baby! Let me say grace at least before I delve into god’s bounty.” David struggled unceremoniously to get up from the couch, kicking and thrashing through his words, not minding where he would hit Seth. “Just so you know, hate is a form of love, and your interest my ass is a testament to it,” he spat on his way to the kitchen to retrieve his phone, nose crunched up in faux disgust at his friend. “Do you think the Domino’s guy will deliver condoms if we ask him to?” 

“Your protest is certainly making a difference. The pages were probably rather thin, though, cheaply made seeing what the year and publishing house were. There’s a convenience store around the corner, maybe you can show off anti-establishmentarianism over there.”

“Oh, cheeky! Unless you know how to use jolly ranchers as rolling paper, I’d be very content here. Besides, you need to be careful. You just became an accessory to the crime by enabling and encouraging me to steal; you wanna be locked up with me in a little room? -- It’s the bad boy vibe, isn’t it? Never fails.”

“Well, if you do that, then you’re grossly misusing the purpose of books, and pretty much spending more money than you would on actual rolling paper. But, who am I to judge?”

“That’s implying that I actually have the intention of paying the 95 bucks; you can say this is my take on anti-establishmentarianism. If you tell me which book you don’t like, I’ll take them out for you and reintroduce them to nature. So, please, be my guest and judge accordingly.”

“Yo, don’t be rude as fuck to me because I’m a better imaginary baker than your ass could ever be. But as a side note, I’m definitely feeling pizza. Extra cheese. Clog these arteries.”

“Boy, the only thing rude here are your sideburns and beard; why don’t you try imaginary shaving those off huh? I liked you better when you were clean-shaved, babe. -- Ah, man I left my phone on the kitchen counter, can you get it? I’m too into this sofa to try and fuck up our relationship.”

CAN’T STOP WISHING / IRISH & DAVID — @dxvidward​

Irish didn’t want to have to need David. She didn’t want to have to go to his place asking for him, didn’t want to be so desperate. But, here she was anyway. She was desperate and a little lonely, too. What was the use of being so independent if the world around independence moved while independence remained exactly where it was? Everyone that Irish knew was either married, having kids, or moving up a step up in life — and here she was. With nothing. She’d peaked in high school, and perhaps, that was all she was ever meant to do. Loneliness was her best friend now; her old ones had their separate lives to live. David was about as close to comfort as she could have. As she knocked on his door, Irish knew she was stooping as desperate as she could get — but she had to have him. Even if only for the night.

Typically - and the good lord knew how realistically he had used the word ‘typically’ - any man would be delighted to have a woman rasping on his door, knowing her intent and with the intention of giving it to her; however, typically, in David’s life, not everything goes typically as they should. His tone faltered with his greeting, eyes wild in watching the wind catch soft fabric. “Baby, you always know when my aunts are asleep, don’t ya?”  He licked his lower lip and chased the sensation with his teeth -- biting, restraining, weighing; the crack on the door wide enough to only exposed half of his person -- body language, body silent. 

The door never did open wider as David started to slide out of the kitchen door and out to the open backyard, sneaking out with careful steps and careful breaths, reaching to let flesh touch flesh in an intimate embrace in a very unintimate place. He swayed with their foreheads touching, palms on the expanse of Irish’s soft-clothed skin, whispering half-assed sweet nothings to distract her, because typically - and the good lord knew this to be true - he would already have Irish fucking Payne in his bed, instead of incorrectly humming Redbone as they swayed into the night, if he didn’t already have a girl sleeping up there. God damn timing. “How about we play it slow tonight, huh?” he asked through a whisper, kissing places he already knew would earn him a whimper.

Only the good lord knew how much of a bad porno his life truly was.

She gave another roll of her eyes, this time adding a small unlady like snort at his drawings. How mature of him. “I wonder how Grandpa would react seeing this dick drawings all over important papers in his clinic.” Isabelle didn’t often see her grandfather at work, with them both being busy at their own patients, but when he does see her he tends to observe her more than the doctors in the clinic. Well, her and David, more than anyone else. “Well, we both know you don’t cover anyone’s shifts unless you’re asking for something in return.” She scoffed, “Competition? You make it sound as if we’re on the same level.” It was a joke, she thinks David is a rather good doctor – an immature one at that, but a damn good one though.

“I believe he would be very impressed.” Creases on the leather from where David had slumped himself on did not regain their former form, wrinkled and warm; his white coat not in a state too far at all. He stood to cross the room and go to the kitchen, retrieving a glass of apple juice and a cookie he knew wasn’t meant for him ( solely because there was a huge note that read ‘ DAVID DO NOT TOUCH THIS ’ that looked very similar to his aunt’s ), then started to pick up the conversation as he sat next to Isabelle. “Granpa spent thousands of dollars to send us both to med school; pretty sure he’d be ecstatic to find out that one of us actually learn something out the curriculum. David 1 - Isabelle 0. You need a ladder to get up to this level, girl.” His lips pursed into his own personal triumph as he sipped his drink and exhaled in relief -- but mainly just to see creases on Isabelle’s brows; smiling when he spotted them and relieved that one of them was gonna start looking older and it wasn’t him -- and he did not shy way from letting his cousin know of his thoughts at all. “You want a cookie, grandma?”

“I’ve been binge watching the Great British Baking Show on Netflix for the last day and a half and I’ve got to say, this show basically qualifies me as a kick-ass baker now. I mean, I hardly know what an oven looks like but I’ll bake the fuck out of some Baklava.”

“I’m already immune to this bullshit. Should I call for pizza or thai?” 

“How hard is it to return a book to the library?” She spoke, half to herself, as she sat at the front desk of the building. “This person has accumulated 92 dollars in library fines for a book about the greatest hockey story ever told. That’s just– that’s so stupid.”

“Are you talking about me or is there another person here who likes taking out hockey books to use the pages as rolling paper?”

“Hey.. don’ worry ‘bout it. She’s friendly, I promise.” Ettie flashed a wide smile at the other as she began petting the goat in front of her. “Her name’s Esteban. M’friend’s brother found her and thought she was a boy. Dunno how he picked the name, really. But she’s a sweetheart. Y’wanna pet her?”

David exclaimed openly as he petted the goat, smile wide and hands in a frenzy of the familiar petting ritual he had with his dogs -- scratching the ear and rubbing the creases by the forehead. “I had a really, really bad encounter with goats when I was younger,” he shared as he continued petting the animal, amazed with the smooth short fur, “they really don’t kid around when they tell you that goats will literally eat anything.” A small laugh passed through his words, then recounting to the woman how had sneaked into the Patchy’s farm during his high school days and a goat had tried to bite his hand. “But this one’s a great little goat -- aren’t you, little girl? Oh! -- I have a name for her! -- Goaterella!”

“Who says I want your dirty dick mug?” she teased, moving to stand next to him before bumping him with her hip. “Everything else you said was fine—and I expect you to buy me a beautiful dress too. Non-negotiable.” She winked at him. “How did those teenagers even know where you live? You haven’t been involved in anything dirty, have you doctor? Because that would be very unbecoming for someone of your status.” She bumped him with her hip for a second time, studying him with dramatic skepticism. 

“Hey, hey, hey -- “ feigning a berating, David held his pen up and shook it in faux dismay, “dedication to save lives does not rest solely on fashion, my dear. You need a good car too, so red or white? Also my dick mug isn’t dirty, okay? Just because it’s a mug with a dick on it doesn’t mean it’s gonna be dirty.” A little shrug here and a little laugh there; and with that, David winked back before turning the page of the paper to play sudoku yet never missing a beat with Mariana. “If I did something dirty, would you help me clean it up?” The second time the nurse bumped him he could her by the waist and whispered lowly, bedroom eyes donned to full effect the little gag “Would you, Ms. Alvarez, be willing to get your hands dirty with my dirty?” Upon his release David collected his things and settled on the worn settee by the window, counting minutes ‘til the start of his doom -- his shift. “I think it would be weirder if they didn’t know where my house is. They need to recognize who it is who truly deserves that pumpkin king title during last year’s Halloween party .”

“Y’know… it’s funny. Most people think police officers are harsh assholes who just eat donuts and brutally beat people but it’s quite the contrary. Especially in my case. I fucking hate donuts, I’ve never had to beat anyone up, and I’m probably the sweetest guy you’ll ever meet, just ask my husband.” Abbott leaned back a bit in his chair as he sipped at his coffee. “I don’t know where they get those stereotypes…”

God knew David loved his iced teas with extra sugar and god knew David loved good stories -- his brows furrowed in interest, his hands wet from the condensation of his drink that he had already almost forgotten. “Hey, man, you know how the world works - it’s obsessed with spotlighting the that really shaped my opinion that cops aren’t always all about ‘to protect and serve’” Truth spilled made his throat heavy, taking sips of his watered down drink. “Ah, hey but that doesn’t mean that’s how I see you, though. I know everyone’s different --,” and in a effort to bring the mood lighter, he asked about the cop’s husband with quirky smile and a giggle. “You know you don’t have to tell me about your husband because he already talks about it too much, but feel free to retell how you got together. I love a good ol’ love story.”

He was honestly a bit baffled when the other didn’t pick up at first that he was talking to him. His ramblings were something that he didn’t really expect, and it made him pause for a moment as he tried to figure out what to say next here. The grimace and the smiles made him a bit confused on if the other was upset if he snapped, so he resorted to a sort of soft speaking instead. “I was talking to you, but… I didn’t really mean to say it like that.” This was just awkward.

“Oh, of course, of course,” complied David through playful bites of his hard candy, shifting to the far end of the bench, “no offense meant, man. You’re not the first person to tell me to shut up; pretty sure you won’t be the last.” Light humour occupied his tone and truth spilled with them. He had found times wherein he had to ask himself to shut up; it wasn’t rocket science that his chattiness often got the best of him; restraint never had been his strong suit. And so he sat through the faux silence, the sound of joggers running past as he watched the day bleed. He held his tongue, through the breeze and through little kids falling down out of nothing ( good lord, it was hard not to laugh ). The silence b a r e l y lasted for three minutes. “You like lollipops?”