Hey! Could I request a continuation of the shitty cops fic where one/both of them come out to the other? I really like their dynamic + how you write them :)
I mean, if you must... /j
Okay okay I kid. I still hate Sam Sweetly, but the shitty cops shippers have found me, so... Here's to living peacefully?
"Nah, y'know, I don't think you'd have been the only one to ralph after seeing that shit."
Sam smirked like his cocky edge had never been lost. "What's the matter, Oliver? Scared of a little blood?"
Bailey rolled his eyes. In confrontation with Sam, he found it best to rely on his instinct to keep him going. Sam didn't have the necessary number of braincells to actually think about a response, so often it was just best if he didn't think either. "I'm not the one of us who got a weak stomach over some kid." He said, matter-of-factly.
Sam lost his cool then. He'd had enough of this shit from Farris before he left the scene, which was the main reason why he hadn't told Bailey. Because Bailey was an absolute bastard for this kind of senseless drama, and he knew he'd turn it into some kind of huge deal.
So, he turned on him, grabbing both lapels of his leather jacket and digging his fingers in deep. In a couple of lengthy strides, he had him pinned against the wall, inches away from that stupid face of his. "Listen to me good, fucker. You don't get to say shit about me, cos I know you're nothing better. Think you're all high and mighty, but you're nothing more than a shit scared little pansy."
Bailey smirked as he felt his back collide with the wall, gazing intently into Sam's icy cold eyes. "You don't have shit on me, you greasy fucking rat."
"Wanna bet?"
"Go on, then. What've you got?"
"You didn't do that case last year in that old fuckin' house, cos you can't stand the thought of ghosts. Fucking ghosts! They're not even real!" He scoffed, pushing harder and really selling the point of driving him into the wall.
Bailey's head ended up inches away from slamming into the wall, and for a moment, his smirk faltered, but he managed to regain his edge. He had him with that one, though how he'd found out was another matter entirely. "Doug didn't go either. What, you gonna accuse them of some bullshit claim like being scared of ghosts too?"
"How the hell d'you know they didn't go, huh?"
"Cos I was here all day, wise guy. So were they."
Sam heard footsteps behind him. Bailey watched Shapiro walk down the corridor and stop just behind Sam. He had the gall to nod at her, forcing Sam to scowl.
"Sweetly, Bailey... If you're gonna fuck each other on work hours, at least keep it private, huh?"
Immediately, Sam flushed a violent shade of crimson red. Bailey laughed so hard he snorted, and managed to shift when Sam's guard dropped enough that he loosened his grip.
"The hell you mean, fuckin'?!" Sam growled, turning his gaze. "Him?" He nodded over his shoulder to an amused looking Bailey, but didn't seem to catch his expression. "I've got standards. This ain't it."
"That's a bar you'd have to jump over just to meet," Bailey retorted, one eyebrow raised. "And even then, you wouldn't come close."
"Shut the fuck up you cocky bastard." Despite the way his tone hadn't changed, there was a part of Sam that was rather glad for his pissed off front right now, because he was quite surprised to have been proven wrong in his assumptions.
Bailey was very much the kind of man who would loudly protest he wasn't into men if that was the case. The fact that his comment was only followed by another- albeit laced in more smugness- sparked a certain curiosity. He looked right into Bailey's eyes and watched the fluorescent lights dance in their depths.
Oh no. Not today. He hadn't had a proper kick at romance since he was seventeen. It was a kid's game. He was not going to start again today.
Besides, Bailey's eyes couldn't even decide whether they wanted to be green or brown. It was stupid. Probably for the best that he wore those shades so often...
"Make me." Bailey muttered in a way that almost made him blush harder. He knew what was going on here, he could see it in the way Sam's cocky demeanour broke.
Sam let go, but not before one last shove, about as hard as he could manage. Then he stormed off, leaving Bailey trying to get his breath back, and Shapiro still standing in the corridor, watching him go.
"He's a... Fucking mess," he heaved. The laugh that followed sounded pathetically weak, but he supposed he did tell Sam to make him shut up, and he didn't seem the type to man up and kiss the breath out of him. He stood up and straightened himself out. "God, you could... Smell the whiskey on that fucker."
Shapiro raised an eyebrow. "Are you into that, Oliver?"
Bailey stopped dead in his tracks, and shot back a glance that looked twice as offended as he felt. Maybe he could find himself into it, but god forbid, he wasn't going to admit that, especially not to Shapiro of all people. "I have standards too, y'know..."
"Sure you do, Bailey. Sure you do..."
"Hey! you don't seriously think I'd go after that bastard, do ya? He should be the one comin' after me." His shoulder blades felt tense after being slammed so fervently against the wall, but for some reason, he couldn't say he hated the feeling.
It only took him a few minutes to get his breath back, but his shoulders ached for a good hour afterwards. Long after he walked away, long after he tried to make a plan to avoud Sam as much as physically possible... It wasn't going to be easy in such a small space, but god was he going to try.
Because if there was one thing he knew about Sam Sweetly, it was that, if there was a bar for standards, he would work his cocky ass off to vault that bar.
And there was a damn good chance that he'd clear it too...
That was not something he was going to think about. That was something he couldn't afford to think about.
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