[ uh. a standard answer, one that most drivers under the influence give. uh, uh, uh like their brains won't fucking cooperate. gator's used to that - hell, the amount of dwis he pulls over in a week - but this isn't the same. this guy's been smoking it up, girlfriend or no. not that gator believes that bullshit story, but this is fun.
his lips pull into a faux-pout, and he takes a step forward, head tilting back as he stares at him, this little long-haired freak with a shitty van. his chin nods, a jerk, and he leans on the van, hand out near this man's head. he looks his face over, eyes wandering shamelessly, his lips curling upward. ]
It's deputy. Deputy Tillman to you, fuck for brains.
[ anything. gator likes the sound of that, always has. that's how he's been making exchanges for years, and this is the same. fucking for drugs, fucking to get out of tickets and warrants - gator licks his bottom lip before pulling it into his mouth for a firm suck. ]
Sorry. Sorry! Deputy Tillman. No disrespect meant.
[ Bullshit, and they both know it, but hey. Eddie's not above a little flattery if it means not ending the night in lockup. Or a lot of flattery, if that's what it takes.
Also: Fuck. Tillman. Like Sheriff Tillman? Fuck, he's so fucked now, his mind racing with ways he imagines his life is going from here. Drunk tank, van seized, searched. The trailer'll be next, and fuck, what if that implicates Wayne? Wayne's never did a fucking thing wrong and it'll all be his fault for bringing drugs in and -- oh.
There shouldn't be any hope in that, but it's all Eddie's got, so his knees hit the gravel on the shoulder of the road, pressing into his skin through the holes in his jeans. He presses his palms against his thighs, clammy, trying not to shake, and gazes up at Tillman, tongue flicking out over his lips. ]
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his lips pull into a faux-pout, and he takes a step forward, head tilting back as he stares at him, this little long-haired freak with a shitty van. his chin nods, a jerk, and he leans on the van, hand out near this man's head. he looks his face over, eyes wandering shamelessly, his lips curling upward. ]
It's deputy. Deputy Tillman to you, fuck for brains.
[ anything. gator likes the sound of that, always has. that's how he's been making exchanges for years, and this is the same. fucking for drugs, fucking to get out of tickets and warrants - gator licks his bottom lip before pulling it into his mouth for a firm suck. ]
On your knees.
no subject
[ Bullshit, and they both know it, but hey. Eddie's not above a little flattery if it means not ending the night in lockup. Or a lot of flattery, if that's what it takes.
Also: Fuck. Tillman. Like Sheriff Tillman? Fuck, he's so fucked now, his mind racing with ways he imagines his life is going from here. Drunk tank, van seized, searched. The trailer'll be next, and fuck, what if that implicates Wayne? Wayne's never did a fucking thing wrong and it'll all be his fault for bringing drugs in and --
oh.
There shouldn't be any hope in that, but it's all Eddie's got, so his knees hit the gravel on the shoulder of the road, pressing into his skin through the holes in his jeans. He presses his palms against his thighs, clammy, trying not to shake, and gazes up at Tillman, tongue flicking out over his lips. ]
I help you, you help me, right?