Young Writers Society

When the counter turned back on in Winslow’s head, he was still dancing with the sailor in his arms and his pants unbuckled. He suddenly realized that they must have been in the back room for nearly an hour. It was so pleasant to be under the spell of James and reminded him of the awkward swaying he did in dance halls in his teens. He lifted up James’ jaw to kiss him deeply before explaining, “I think that we need to get going or my partner is going to question me on how long it takes to do an interview.”

“Oh, was this an interview? I personally thought it was more of an interrogation from the way you had me begging on me knees.”

The sailor’s nervous jitters had disappeared behind his cool composure. It was the neat little facade that Winslow had first seen when they walked into the barroom. And it was clearly a key part to the clever flirts that James had started with. It was made even more clear to Winslow that he would enjoy breaking this lieutenant commander many more times in the future.

“Yes, it was an interview. And I am going to take you home for the more intense interrogation,” Winslow said as he took another kiss from James. He re-buckled his own dangling belt and then began fixing the mess that he had made of the sailor. There was an obvious wet spot forming in the young man’s pants that Winslow was going to need to take care of later with the favor that he needed to repay.

“Now for this next little step, my darling, I think I might have to have you walk out of here in bracelets. And I have the feeling that the wet spot in your shorts is going to get even damper as I put the cuffs on you.”

Either to mock Winslow or prove his point right, the lieutenant moaned as Winslow tightened the cuffs. Perhaps when they were in a more relaxed environment the detective would be able to cuff his sailor to something else.

A visible smirk was on James’ face as he noted, “I would thank you for being so gentle with me now, but I think we both know that is going to change in however long it takes to get back to your apartment.”

Winslow gave him one last peck on the cheek and asked, “Are you ready to do this?”

“Oh, absolutely, sir.”

With James Morton smiling and neatly locked in handcuffs, the duo calmly walked through the barroom. Winslow heard some of the insults and some of the chuckling as he was once again addressed as the Traitor. They had nearly made it to the end of the room when a tall lady dressed in neon colored furs stepped out of the darkness with a cigarette in her hand. The detective could make out the traces of a shadow at the top of her jaw, but they were mainly covered by the excellent craftsmanship of her makeup.

Without missing a beat the detective asked, “Is there anything that I can help you with ma’am?”

In an attempted falsetto voice she answered, “Well your exit does bring up some concerns.” She dropped it to a deeper tone as she continued, “Is James leaving here of his own volition or are you going to charge him with something?”

Before Winslow had a chance to answer, James spoke for him and explained, “If I’m understanding the terms and conditions correctly, Madeline, this nice detective is going to take me back to his apartment and have his way with me. And unless you’re not a fan of this sailor getting taken by a spy’s cock, then it’s perfectly alright.”

Madeline wasn’t at all taken aback by James’ crudeness. She must have seen this sort of behavior from the sailor on more than one occasion but Winslow doubted it had ever been a “spy’s cock” before. And he also couldn’t remember telling the lieutenant that he was a spy at one point in his life. Either he made a jest while the man’s lips were wrapped around his cock or they had met somewhere before.

“If it’s consensual and what you really want,” Madeline started with a deep sigh. “Then it is my responsibility as the mother hen of this place to let you go out with this pig.”

She lightly touched Winslow shoulder and added, “No offense intended, my dear. But the clucking hasn’t stopped since you walked in here and we don’t take kindly to that kind.”

“No offense taken, ma’am. Most of my coworkers are pigs and have been since 1935 when I started working for the government,” he paused for a slight second to drum his fingers against his thigh. The tick was still showing through as he continued, “Few can imagine the fact that the police force in place now is more hateful that the United State government in the mid 1930s.”

In the barroom several things were happening in response to Winslow’s statement. He knew it was bold when he said it and he knew that many of the people in this room were most likely government employees. And at least a quarter of them were veterans.

“Was it something I said?” Winslow asked with a mock look of surprise on his face.

Madeline shifted her hips in tune to her grimace. Several of the stools pulled away from the bar with a hard scratch and others just turned with an uncomfortable squeak. He studied Madeline’s face between looking around the room at all of the different slight movements going on. The detective had been in similarly tense situations during the war, but back then the other patrons of the drinking establishments tended to have guns aimed at his skull. It was a nice change to know that now everyone just had switch blades and their fists - this was something that he could handle.

The Mother Hen spoke before any chaos could ensue though, holding up her fur covered arms to the occupants of the barroom.

“Please my gentlefolk. While this young man might remind us of all the hatred that we have felt over the years by our different oppressors, we should not be hurting our siblings. If you want to take his occupation against him then you should re-examine your own careers.”

A few of the suits in nearby booths stood up and Winslow could see the glint of shields on their hips. So he wasn’t the only pig that attended places like this, but he could still understand the frustrations from the table of lesbians.

The detective tipped his hat to Madeline and the rest of the bar while intertwining his fingers with James’. There was the slightest spark that passed between them as the pair stepped out the door. Winslow knew that he was leaving unfinished business inside the barroom, but he didn’t want to get into anything that he wouldn’t be able to handle. It was one step away from the fight he had been expecting from the very beginning. And Winslow was not up for lying in a morgue for the second time today.

“Hey! Winslow, where the fuck have you been this entire time?”

Norton was leaning against one of the pillars, talking with the patrons who decided to smoke where the air was just a little bit clearer. There had been plenty of people smoking inside. The cloud of smoke they were dealing with outside was nothing compared to the toxic fumes they had been facing inside the establishment.

To his frustrated partner Winslow explained, “I have been investigating. And what exactly have you been doing, Billy?”

The younger detective stepped up to him, wiping his finger against Winslow’s cheek and leaning in to say, “The next time you’re busy investigating, please make sure that you wipe the suspect’s spit off of your chin.”

Billy stepped back to open the door to their squad car and pulled the sailor along with him. James was smirking at Winslow as he ducked his head inside the car, blowing a kiss to the detective still standing on the side walk.

“Are you coming, Winslow?”