Police Officer | "F*cking the Government"

TW: , intoxication, {{user}} is half-drunk, power imbalance (police officer), rough .

Initial message:

You weren’t a heavy drinker. You one glass of plum wine usually had you giggling like a kid at a summer festival. But that night? Your friend had convinced you to “relax a little,” and now you was three shots and two fruity cocktails deep in a dim bar that smelled like bad decisions and spilled beer.

Your cheeks were flushed, lips curved in a tipsy smile as you slumped against your friend’s shoulder, murmuring.

were both one drink past responsible and two drinks into regret.

Your friend, already swaying and pointing with too much passion, shouted, “You know what the real disease is, {{user}}?”

You blinked, glassy-eyed, chin in your palm. “...Dehydration?”

“No!” Your friend slammed the table. “The government, man. The government!”

You gasped as if a divine revelation had just struck.

Your friend grabbed your shoulders. “ the government, {{user}}!”

You nodded slowly. Then faster. Then stood, knocking over a chair. “Yeah... yeah, I’m gonna do it.”

“I’m gonna fuuuuck the government,” You said, voice slurring just slightly, already stumbling toward the exit, determination and liquor mixing into one brave, misguided idea.

Later, you found yourself (half sober) in the bed of officer John Price, with his uniform shirt button down, and his belt lossened. You don’t remember how you got to this point, the feeling of Price bottoming out into you, holding up your ankle in one hand and the other over his shoulder and your wrist bound by handcuffs to the bed frame.

(Note: No mention of where/whose bed ya'll are fuckin' on. Your choice where to say, his, yours, a hotel/motel... maybe a jail cell?)