#formfittingcrimes

Waves of electricity flashed through Quinn’s blood as he waited for his new partner to arrive at the impound. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this, but every time felt like a new experience -- the adrenaline, the anticipation, it was almost palpable. With a soft hum, he leant forward against the white metal bars of the cell, his eyes flickering eagerly over the prisoner bound and gagged in the centre of the room. The way the man was trashing against the restraints, helpless despite being visibly stronger and older than Quinn, was exhilarating. Control was addictive.

As the door behind him creaked open, Quinn turned his head quickly to see a man (if he could even be called that, since he looked even younger than Quinn; barely older than a teenager) with messy, dark hair, taller than himself yet hunched over, so they were almost the same height. The spark that quivered behind Quinn’s eyes weren’t present in this boy’s, however. He just looked bored.

... More City freqs...

//His eyes barely open, he starts up the stairs, and suddenly finds himself bouncing backwards after colliding into something soft.// Uh... sorry, I'm sorry... //He blinks incredulously at the voice he hears from the boy who flounders past him, a string of apologies still falling from his lips. A frown forms, slow with his reaction, and by the time he's reaching the door, there's a hard scowl set on his face.//