Chapter Text
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Ezra cursed as he pulled over.
The flashing lights bathed the otherwise dark country road in shades of blue and red, the siren cutting almost as soon as it started. The cab of Ezra’s rust-chipped truck was chilly despite the humidity of the summer night. Fuck, where was his registration? In the glove compartment, right?
Ezra debated preemptively pulling it out but there was a tap on his window before he could do anything more than cycle through a moment of quiet, panicked indecision.
He rolled down his window, hesitantly looking through the gap. The officer who had pulled him over was maybe pushing thirty, fit, wearing the local uniform in steam-pressed blue. He was pale enough despite a healthy tan that he looked like a ghost in the glare of the cruiser’s headlights. His hair was short, bronze, slicked back. He smiled as he looked at Ezra, something easy and cloying, though the expression didn’t reach his midday-blue eyes.
Ezra took a deep breath.
It smelled like wet pine and rust-red summer mud.
“Officer,” Ezra nodded, feeling stupid as soon as he said it. Was he acting guilty? He didn’t have any reason to be—he hadn’t done anything wrong. Though then again, Ezra knew what kinds of things the police managed to get away with out in these parts.
“License and registration,” the officer said. He had one hand on his utility belt, the other gripping a small, black flashlight that he clicked on.
Ezra hesitated before turning and rifling through the old truck’s glove compartment and pulling out the creased paperwork there. Then, he carefully reached for his wallet—in the cupholder next to his cracked-screen phone and pack of Skittles he’d been working through—and pulled out his license.
The officer took them, saying, “Do you know why I pulled you over?” as he inspected the documents, flashlight shining on them.
“I—” Ezra’s eyebrows knit together. “I don’t know. Sir?”
“Are you aware of how fast you were going?”
Ezra’s full lips thinned. He’d maybe been pushing seven over, taking the backroads home from an evening spent fishing and shooting the shit with Tanner and Aaliyah. But the cop hadn’t come from a speed trap, instead following him for long enough that he’d started to get a sick feeling at the pit of his stomach and taken three right turns.
Only, he hadn’t been followed by some stalker. Instead, a cop.
There had to have been a mistake.
“Well?” The officer’s eyebrows raised as he tucked Ezra’s license into his palm.
“I—I’m not sure, sir, since I didn’t have my cruise control set—”
“Give an estimate, then.”
Alarm bells rang distantly. It didn’t feel right, but still Ezra found himself saying, “Maybe sixty?”
“The posted limit is fifty-five.”
“Well, everyone goes five over,” Ezra said, making a face before realizing that maybe he shouldn’t have said that. As he looked at the officer, he realized the man’s bodycam was… taped over. Possibly even turned off.
“You understand you’ve just admitted to breaking a law?”
“I—but I don’t know what speed I was going.”
The officer paused, looking back to Ezra’s license. “Ezra Yun?”
Ezra nodded, anxiety gnawing at his core. The cop didn’t know. How could he? Ezra was wearing a binder today, and anyway his ID had his correct gender. “Yes, sir.”
The officer shook his head. “Yun, I’m going to have to ask you to get out of your vehicle.”
“But—I wasn’t doing anything—” he protested, words pushing out before he could think better of it.
The officer’s hand drifted down to his gun. Ezra cut himself off fast enough that his teeth clicked audibly. His eyes stayed on the gun.
“Get out of your vehicle,” the officer said again, all humor gone.
Ezra protested as he was shoved against the side of his truck, able to see the cop in the reflection of his rear window.
“Stop! What the—“
“You have the right to remain silent,” the man said. “But please. Feel free to be as loud as you want. It’s not like anyone can hear you.”
Ezra felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He was roughly patted down before the man reached into his pockets in a way that felt more violating than thorough.
Ezra’s simply cut, shoulder length hair slid in front of his vision as his head tilted forward, straight and black as lines of ink. He made eye contact with himself in the window, and for a moment he was unrecognizable: Narrow, angular eyes, normally resin-brown irises turning coal in the low light, full lips with a beauty mark to one side, warm beige skin and a soft, curving jaw that had gotten harder with a year on testosterone. He looked male. Masculine, if not short and boney. He had piercings up both ears, both nostrils pierced as well and a decent amount of tattoos stretching down both arms, peeking above the collar of his shirt.
Hopefully the officer didn’t clock him as trans. Ezra shuddered at the though, panic rising at the realization of how fucked he could be, considering how rural the area was. He came from a small town, but these backroads were downright country.
I’m not going to get arrested, he thought—hoped.
Then the officer pulled something out of Ezra’s pocket.
Fuck.
His heart dropped.
“And this is?” The officer raised a thin, marker-shaped object up to Ezra’s face.
“I—“ It was Ezra’s pen. His weed pen, some stupid fake designer thing that tasted like skunk and resin. He’d taken it with him out on Tanner’s boat while they’d fished and crushed PBR. Now, Ezra didn’t have a good excuse.
“You understand the prison term for possession can exceed a year?”
“It’s not mine,” Ezra lied stupidly.
“But it’s in your front pocket?” The officer asked it slowly like Ezra was stupid, side of his mouth tilting up. “I’m sure DNA evidence on the mouthpiece wouldn’t link back to you. Would it?”
“I…”
The officer didn’t give him time to formulate a response before there was a jangle of cuffs, then pressure on Ezra’s wrists. He was roughly cuffed before being frogmarched back to the cruiser, his mind numbingly blank as he was shoved in.
Then the cop went back to Ezra’s truck. Searching it. Ezra wasn’t too sure of the law, but he was almost certain that that type of search without consent or warrant wasn’t legal.
And then it hit him. He had a couple tabs of acid in the sunglass compartment.
“Fuck,” Ezra hissed, leaning his head forward onto the metal separating the front and back of the SUV.
He sat there, despondent and wondering if he’d need to call someone to post bail when the door jerked open. He looked up in time to see the officer lean against it. In the officer’s gloved hand was Ezra’s weed pen and the foil-wrapped acid.
Fuck.
“I don’t think I need to tell you how illegal it is to have this.”
“I—”
“Cut the shit. You’re getting booked for possession.”
Ezra’s eyes widened. He didn’t speak. Didn’t know what to even say. He waited for the officer to close the door and what, take him to the station? What about his truck? Would it get towed? His phone was in the cupholder. Ezra’s head spun.
Oh god. I’m going to jail.
The weight of it blindsided him. He’d be put in the men’s facility maybe. Women’s if he was lucky.
Ezra wanted to say something, to try to think his way out of the awful, spiraling situation but the only thing he could think was that he was going to go to jail over a shitty weed pen and some acid and Ezra didn’t even have his phone on him.
“Can I have my phone?” Ezra asked, feeling suddenly very desperate. The officer was still standing in front of the open door, inspecting the acid. It was a couple of gel tabs.
“No.”
“But, can you—can you at least close my truck door?”
“Do I look like I take orders from you?”
Ezra grit his teeth. “I don’t want anything getting into it.”
“I don’t care.”
“Well I do,” Ezra snapped, losing his temper. The officer’s eyes slipped back to him from where he’d been disassembling the pen.
“Is that any way to talk to a police officer?”
“It’s not against the law to ask you to close my truck door, man, please—”
“I’m tired of this conversation,” the officer said bluntly, tossing the drugs—which had gone into what looked suspiciously like a ziplock—onto the passenger seat. He slammed the backseat door and got in a moment later, starting up the SUV.
Ezra watched despondently as they drove away from his truck, heading down the red-dusted roads as pine and shagbark and oak and wisteria-choked snags loomed on both sides.
They drove, Ezra cursing his luck until the vehicle suddenly stopped. He looked up.
Only, they weren’t at a police station. Rather, they’d come to part at a dead end. The headlights illuminated the thick blooming brush ahead.
Before Ezra could question, the officer was getting out of the SUV, opening the backseat door.
“What… is happening?” Ezra said it slowly.
The officer smirked, not bothering to answer.
Then he also removed his shoulder mic and—
And his bodycam.
Ezra suddenly got a very, very bad feeling.
“That’s not right,” Ezra said, watching as the officer watched him, eyes dark in the shadows from the headlights. “I—”
He wasn’t even sure what he was going to say. One moment Ezra was speaking, the next, he tasted metal and numbness. He reeled, blinking at the aftershocks of light that mottled his vision.
He realized a moment later that he’d been slapped.
Before he could do more than open his mouth, Ezra was being shoved—hard—further into the backseat.
Ezra’s head banged against the far window at the force of the shove-drag that left him flat in the backseat, ankles hanging in empty air. He hissed as light sparked through his vision before resolving unpleasantly into the form of the man above him. He’d gotten close, leaning into the vehicle.
“I’m sure we can work something out though.”
The officer smiled, hand going to press on Ezra’s stomach through his shirt. The pressure made him groan as the cup holder cut into his back and wrists, rubbing along his spine like digging fingers. The space was too warm, dizzying, and his mind insisted that the world was at the wrong angle for this kind of thing. Cops searched people upright. Cops didn’t force people onto their backs. He’d already been searched.
Something was wrong.
—work something out—
He was about to be hurt, wasn’t he?
“Get off me,” Ezra said, staring into the officer’s too-close face. The officer got a predatory smile in return, the hand on Ezra’s abdomen pressing harder.
“Get your fucking hands off me.” Ezra said it louder, wriggling futilely.
“Why?”
“‘Why’? What do you mean ‘why’? Because even a kindergartener knows to keep their fucking hands to themselves, that’s why!”
It took Ezra a moment to realize the slurry way his vision momentarily went was caused by a hit. He stared up in disbelief. Then he fought.
Ezra kicked, panic manifesting as a dumb desperation. His arms hurt, bent wrong behind his back with unpleasant pressure sucking at his shoulder sockets.
“Get the fuck off me!” He yelled, everything snapping back into focus. The officer grinned, pinning him down like it was all a game. The air in Ezra’s lungs hitched as the man climbed into the backseat fully and bore down, crotch pressing into Ezra’s thigh.
He was hard.
The officer was hard.
The officer was hard and he was on top of Ezra and they were in the middle of nowhere and this was going to be a lot worse than a routine traffic stop, wasn’t it?
Ezra stilled as he felt a hand move to his neck, touching at the cheap choker necklace there.
The officer hovered. His eyes were curiously flat even as he stared down at Ezra. Then he squeezed, hand closing around Ezra’s throat with building pressure. It took Ezra a beat—two—before he realized that he was being choked. His chest heaved, mouth dropping open stupidly. He felt a burning in his lungs and his brain came back online as panic blared, making him automatically jerk as he tried to dislodge the larger man.
But the fighting was useless. Ezra’s hands were still cuffed behind him and he couldn’t manage to get leverage for his legs, not with the way the officer had moved to shove between them. The man settled more heavily on Ezra, crushing him into the seat.
“Fuck! Fuck, get off me—!”
“Like I said—“ the officer’s voice was saccharine pleasant. “—feel free to be as loud as you want.”
“No,” Ezra said, his heart hammering in his throat. “No.”
Ezra froze when he felt a hand on his thigh. The officer sat back, other hand grabbing Ezra’s groin roughly.
And paused.
Ezra felt like he was going to vomit. The officer grabbed harder, moving his palm around before saying, “Is that a fake ID you gave me, or do you have the smallest cock known to man?”
“My ID isn’t fake,” Ezra spit, panicking. His binder dug uncomfortably into his left armpit. He’d worked hard to get that ‘M’ on his license, specifically because he’d been worried about the cops once he started taking T.
The officer unceremoniously pulled Ezra’s shirt up. Ezra made a strangled sound as his binder was bunched up beneath his armpits a moment later.
The officer gave a low whistle. “Damn, you’re a tranny?”
“Eat shit, you fucking—”
Another slap sent his head sharply to the side. Ezra grit his teeth, tasting blood.
Then he felt hands on the cusp of his shorts, unbuttoning them before hooking in the waistband and shoving them down.
Ezra felt blood flush to his face. He fought, cursed, writhed as much as he could with his hands still bound. It was useless. His shoes were shoved off, shorts tossed somewhere behind the officer.
Ezra looked up, making eye contact with the man above him. Tears threatened; he shoved them back viciously.
The officer smiled, lip quirking up at the side as he positioned himself better between Ezra’s legs.
I’m about to be raped.
The thought struck him like another hit. Ezra couldn’t comprehend it.
Then there was a hand at the vee of his legs and his brain went static.
“Stop,” Ezra said, voice going thready as he shied away from the violation.
The officer didn’t stop. He followed Ezra’s paltry attempt at retreat and touched his cunt, gloved fingers prodding in a perfunctory manner before one shoved its way into him. Ezra keened—it burned, unlubricated because he wasn’t turned on.
“Wait, stop—” Ezra heard himself saying, somewhere to the side. His lungs felt like they were imploding. The man above him laughed, fussing in the space between them and Ezra managed to catch a glimpse of his cock right before something hot and hard lined up with his entrance.
“Fuck you,” Ezra felt a sudden spike of adrenaline at the sight. This couldn’t be happening. “Fuck you, get off me!”
“I like it when they’ve got a little fire,” the officer said, and before Ezra could respond he felt roughness, burning like a dry tampon going in but only bigger—much bigger.
“Fuck,” Ezra breathed, lungs loosing air.
Hands were on his hips, insistently pulling him down, down, down onto the hard, too-large cock.
Ezra grunted, biting his bottom lip viciously so as to not make a sound. He didn’t know vaginal sex could hurt so bad.
“You’re so tight,” the officer said after he bottomed out. A beat. “That shut you up, huh?”
Ezra was breathing hard. A hand had made its way up to his chest, playing with a pierced nipple. He wanted to vomit. Instead, he turned his head to the side, forcing himself to not respond.
“You should be happy I’m taking the time to let you adjust,” the officer said pleasantly. “Otherwise, this could hurt.”
“Do you get off on hearing yourself talk?” Ezra ground out, all attempts at being quiet going out the window.
“Yeah, never mind about that.”
Ezra shouted as he was shoved up the backseat, head smacking into the door again. His ears rang and he felt his breath crystallize as the cock suddenly left him. A moment later Ezra was manhandled to his front.
His face was shoved into the worn leather seat, neck at a painful crick. His arms were waking up from their numbness with lit-sparkler shots of pain. A hand gripping the cuff between his wrists while the other—
The other lined up the officer’s cock.
Ezra made a muffled, bitten-off noise as he was penetrated. His waist was gripped, and he yelped as the man forced himself to the base in one swift, brutal movement.
Then the thrusting began.
It was like being sawed in half. Like being fucked through, the way the officer was putting his full force into every movement.
Ezra panted, blinking back tears as he was shoved forward on the seat, unable to brace himself. It hurt, hurt even as his cunt began to slick up with the stimulation. Ezra yelled, tried to kick his legs, anything. He managed to throw the officer off his rhythm, but all that did was earn a punch to the back of the skull that had colors bursting in Ezra’s vision.
“Ah—shit—you fucking piece of shit—“ Ezra hissed, trying to breathe. Trying to be angry, stay angry. It wasn’t working very well—not with all the pain. His crotch was a place of radiating agony.
Panic made him dizzy and weak, but still he struggled right up until the man on top of him began to lose pace.
That’s when the awful realization hit him.
He was on T but he hadn’t had surgery and morning after was banned in the state.
“Wait—“ Ezra’s struggles renewed. “No—not inside, stop it, pull out you fucking shithead!”
The officer gave a breathy laugh. “Nah, I think you need to be reminded what you’re good for.”
The thrusting stopped.
The feeling of warmth spreading inside, the twitching of the man’s cock, left Ezra numb. He laid there, chest heaving and cheek pressed against the body-warmed seat. The outside air had made it's way into the cab and now it was muggy, his thrumming heartbeat drowned out by the cacophony of nighttime wildlife.
The officer pulled out a moment later. Relief.
There was the sound of rustling, a packet being opened, then pants being zipped. Next, warm hands roughly handled Ezra’s wrists. He laid there a moment before he realized he was being freed. He shakily tried to get upright, finding his arms uncooperative.
It took a couple tries.
When Ezra turned to sit up, not yet sure if he could stand, the officer tossed a couple crumpled up wads at him. They landed on the ground. Ezra had distantly begun trying to right his binder and shirt and barely heard when the man spoke.
“Clean yourself up.”
Ezra stared at the used wet wipes uncomprehendingly. Then it clicked that the asshole wanted him to use them. Not even bothering with clean ones.
“Fuck you,” Ezra said, though his voice was raw and crackling. Like rust, like chipping paint, corroded at the edges with emotions that he couldn’t name even if he wanted to. And he didn’t want to. He wanted to curl up and die. He wanted to get in his truck and drive. He wanted to be anywhere but in his body right then.
“We can fuck again,” the officer said, easy as anything. He looked incredibly unbothered. His hair wasn’t even disheveled. “Now out. I have work to do.”
Ezra’s mouth dropped. He pulled his shirt down and stumbling out of the back of the SUV as a wave of static threatened to submerge him. Static. That was a good way to put it. It felt like everything was unreal, unpleasantly fuzzy, like steel wool on skin.
“You raped me.” It was the only thing he could think to say. Ezra bent over to pick his shorts up, back spasming at the sudden movement. His boxers were nowhere to be found. He gave up looking in favor of pulling up the shorts.
“And?”
Ezra’s mouth dropped open. He just—he fucking. He needed to go to bed. Or maybe go peel his skin off. “I’m going to report this.” Stupid thing to say. But he’d said it.
“Sure.” The officer smiled. “You understand you’re getting off without being charged with possession? That’s a life-ruiner type of sentence. Especially for a pretty piece of ass like you. I’m sure the boys in prison would have a good time with you.”
“I—“ Ezra didn’t know how to even begin to respond. The officer’s hand was on his utility belt. “I’m going to get you fired.”
The officer shrugged. “You can try, sweetheart. Make sure to tell the boys down at the station that Officer Tillman gives his regards. I’m sure it will all get worked out before you have to go to court for those possession charges.”
Ezra felt his mouth go dry. He was being blackmailed. And a place like this—they wouldn’t believe him. If they did… he was trans. They’d probably think he deserved it, or asked for it, or did it with someone else and—
And Ezra was fucked.
“You’re a monster,” he hissed.
“Most people call me Jake.”
Ezra didn’t bother responding, instead taking the shoe he’d been trying to fit on and throwing it at Jake.
The officer caught it, his expression losing its humor. “Yeah, you can walk back to your truck.”
“What? No, you can’t just—“
Ezra stepped back, tripping over himself as Jake got in his face.
Carefully, the man gripped Ezra’s jaw. “I can do whatever I want. And what I want is for you to get moving. You’ve got about three miles south, and you don’t want to be caught out here by some good ol’ boy on his way home from chasing tail, do you?”
The fingers flexed for a moment. Ezra’s heart pounded.
“I asked, do you?”
“No,” Ezra said. It was like chewing on broken glass. He wanted away.
“Good. Then get moving. Oh, and—“ Jake bent down, grabbing Ezra’s other shoe. “I’ll be taking that. Next time don’t act like such a fucking cunt, yeah?”
And then he shoved Ezra out of the way as he slammed the SUV’s back door shut, got in the front and drove off.
Barefoot, Ezra watched the cruiser pull away down the road until he was wholly submerged in the darkness of the night. Overhead, the stars sprawled like an oil spill. In the brush, something moved, loud enough to be heard over the din of bullfrogs and night creatures. A firefly flared in front of his vision. The night was hot and thrumming and far too alive.
Ezra swallowed, wrapping his arms around himself, before taking a step south.
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