Caught In The Act

Caught in the Act

Wesker: The MPFKA4 9 X19 mm with the three round burst trigger sub-machine gun was proudly given a final check ( and a press of wooden lips in a goodbye kiss ) before it was placed into the box with about twenty-seven of it's brothers and sisters.

"I'll miss yah Gagy, Gut dah green yer gonna ge rackin' in fer me is gonna soften dah heart ache I feel. " Scarface clanked it's wooden jaws triumphantly as Rhino slammed the lid down on the crate of guns, picked it up in his massive arms and finished loading the truck with a mild grunt. This was the third load of these little beauties today, and the wooden puppet figured one more load after this would get them transferred to his 'dealer'. A card shark of a man waiting across town just drooling to get these little numbers into the hands of some waiting and seedy clienteles.

"Aight, get yer gig tush movin' 'nd don't stop fer a gurger on dah way gack dis time. We got a schedule tah keep. " A wooden hand waved the big goon off. Rhino nodded with a grin, gave a " Yes Boss! " and climbed into the dairy truck they were using as a ruse.

"Don't you think this is kind of d-dangerous Mr. Scarface?" Arnold Wesker certainly didn't look like someone who would be trafficking illegal firearms. Not such a tiny little older man in his pressed tuxedo, bow-tie and derby. Impenetrable frames catching every inch of light in the dim warehouse. "I mean.. in the middle of the day? I don't agree with the guns in the first place, but the chances of getting caught seem a little too high of a risk with how much money you're investing in this venture."

"'nd dat’s why yer jog is tah stand dere 'nd look stupid, Dummy. " The wooden puppet rolled it's glass eyes and hit the garage door button so it would close after Rhino had driven away. " 'Cause I gots dah grains. You sees rights now I's got ten of our goys hittin' dah eighth national gank wit ah gomg threat, dat's gonna ge keepin' every donut eatin' pig in dah city 'ND dah Gatman gusy till Easter. No one's gonna give ah shit agout a milk truck. "

"Oh." The Ventriloquist sighed and rubbed his free hand across his forehead. It was a good plan, but it still made him nervous. He reached back down and adjusted the mussel on Scarface's Tommy Gun just for safe measure. "..and we're just going to wait here till Rhino comes back for another load? "

"Yep. Though I'm pretty sure no one is gonna ge knockin' on our door, I still wanna keep an eye on dah merchandize. Gut dat's why it's just us, Less goons means less suspicion. Now where'd dah paper go? I wanted to check dah horse races. "

Gordon: A lot of commissioners in other cities stayed in their nice cushy offices and managed from the tops of buildings. They were urban armchair generals, dictating their armies with a blind eye. James Gordon wasn't one of those commissioners, though. The gray haired man had once been out there on the streets himself, fighting off the hordes of criminals and hunting down murderers. Sure he was in charge of the bat-signal, but he didn't depend solely on it. He knew Gotham needed real protection from the police, because a man in a cape and cowl who only worked the night shift couldn't be relied upon for every single purse-snatching, drug deal, and jay-walking.

On his way to the National Bank, he caught a glimpse of a man in a very nice suit leaving a warehouse. And being that he was the above sort of commissioner with the experience to handle these sorts of situations, he slowed his car and traced the man's path to a large truck outside.

If he didn't know better, the bomb threat at the bank could have been a distraction. He hadn't put on his siren, his vehicle was plain and inconspicuous, modest even (yet more proof that he didn't consider himself too good to drive around in the same old POS's like everyone else did). They wouldn't notice if he pulled up to the restaurant across the street and parked. No, it wasn't out of the ordinary at all.

He sat there until the coast was clear. Calling the department away from a bomb threat on a false alarm could very possibly bring about a hearing for dismissal. That was something that he didn't want to incite. He wanted his position, not for the power, but for the good he could do with it. He needed to be sure before he called for back-up.

He slid out of the drivers seat and skulked across the barren street, long coat trailing the pavement as he hunched down to hurry over. Although his body was definitely still in good shape, the act of crouching to run made his knees ache slightly, and he was grateful to stand and press his back against the wall. He inched along it, creeping toward the front door, and then leaned an eye in to look around for any more suspiciously suited men.

None, but there were voices.

" 'Cause I gots dah grains. You see's rights now I's got ten of our goys hittin' dah eight national gank with a gomg threat, dat's gonna ge keepin' every donut eatin' pig in dah city 'ND dah Gatman gusy till Easter. No one's gonna give ah shit agout a milk truck."

"Oh., and we're just going to wait here till Rhino comes back for another load?"

Oh yeah, something's going down today, Gordon thought, before he drew his gun from his shoulder holster and flicked off the safety with his thumb. But what? I need to see.

He slipped down a small hallway, coming out behind the smaller tuxedo clad man. The Ventriloquist, should have recognized the voice. "Arnold Wesker! You're Under Arrest!" He shouted behind him. Oh, You probably should have waited. Too late now! He pointed the gun at the other man’s back and stepped further into the room.

Wesker: The turn of a newspaper sounded loud. The Ventriloquist indeed did have his back to the hallway the cop had made his way down. Honestly, if the man had tiptoed, he probably could have tackled the little man to the ground without a single fight. He did have his guard down, and Scarface had been so DAMN sure no one was going to figure out what was going on in here.

Turns out he was wrong.

Gordon's barked command made Wesker yelp out and the small man even jumped a bit. Free hand raised up, slim fingers spread in submission even before the criminal turned around. One could see the quiver already running up the Ventriloquists back. A cop is here! How did they find us? Mr. Scarface said it was a sure thing..

The newspaper fluttered to the ground, sprawling open to the sports page. A clank of wood sounded almost irritated. " Isn't dere somethin' more important you should ge checkin out on den a coupla mugs shippin' milk out, Coppah?"

Wesker's heels shifted as the small man suddenly did a full turn and the cop would find himself matching gun to gun with Scarface's own Tommy. While it was a small and an almost toy looking weapon, looks could be deceiving, and it was best not to point and laugh at it. It wasn't the size that counts, it was how you use it. Wesker's glasses shimmered almost violently as his vision came to rest on Gordon.

"Gut mayge yah needed some milk fer yer donuts or somethin’, John Coppah. " Scarface was more furious then he let on. His plan was gold. How dare this fucking single-man HERO come barging in here, thinking he could rain on the puppets parade?! There was going to be no arresting today. Scarface was just gonna have to make sure this Lone-Ranger paid the price for interrupting his business.

Wesker himself trembled at the gun face off. He hated violence. Lip was pulled between his teeth as he took in a few deep breaths. He knew this cop, It was the Commissioner. Had to give the man a little credit. Most people in his position indeed didn't do field work.

"Please.. no violence.. I'll g-go quietly!" Wesker's horse voice shook as he spoke. Scarface gnashed it's teeth hard together. "Dah fuck we're goin' anywhere, 'nd not quietly for dah matter either! Where's dah rest of yer goys, Coppah, You come 'ere alone? You dat stupid? You getter just turn yer old ass around 'nd walk dah fuck outta 'ere. "

Gordon: Despite the angry ramblings of the gun wielding dummy, Gordon kept his eyes fixed on Wesker. It was hard to identify them as a single person, especially with both personalities so different, so independent that the couldn't even be recognized as being related in any way. But if he were going to negotiate with either of them, or one of them, Wesker would be the one he'd have to talk to.

"I've already called for back-up," he bluffed. "You don't want to shoot me. You'll just get in bigger trouble than you already are. You're a sensible man, Mr. Wesker, you can understand that, right?"

A sensibly man wouldn't be holding a pissy wooden puppet with a tommy gun aimed at your chest, though.

"If you lower your weapon and go peacefully, Mr. Wesker, I'm sure we can take care of this with as little mess as possible." He extended a hand, the other still holding the gun. He kept his fingers stretched and open, offering to take the gun. "Please, Mr. Wesker, I don't want to see anybody get hurt, I've seen enough of that."

Even for a cop talking to a criminal, behind that stern visage was a gentle look. He really didn't want to hurt Wesker. Bullock would have sooner drug him out by the throat. Batman would have punched him unconscious and left him tied like a Christmas present for the cops to cart away. Really, Arnold should have considered himself lucky that it was the commissioner there instead of so many other people who’d have already done far worse by then.

God I hope they're wondering where the hell I am right about now, the mustached man thought to himself briefly.

Wesker: It was wise to treat Mr. Scarface and Mr. Wesker like different people. Even if they came from the same troubled mind, they were completely different. Wesker would have liked to just have Scarface drop the gun and go ahead and be arrested by Gordon.

It would probably be the nicest arrest I've ever had. He'd had some bad experiences with the law in the past. A foot started to slip forward, but Scarface would have none of that! The dummy was already super pissed that Gordon WAS talking to Wesker.

" 'EY! I'm dah GOSS! Talk tah me! Dummy you getter not even think agout doin' nutton gut holdin' yer goddamn ground! You make one move for my gun 'nd I'll pop yer fuckin' hand off! " The gun was continuously aimed at Gordon. Glass eyes rolled around the warehouse looking for a distraction. But asides from the boxes there was little more then the crane who's hook dangled over the cops head.

He's not going to shoot me. Mr. Scarface would shoot first. Oh god, he's going to get himself killed and it'll be all my fault. That look the cop was giving, his outstretched hand. It made Arnold feel... very sad.

"Yer gluffin' Coppah, 'nd even if yah did, a milk truck anit nothin' to a gomg threat. Yer screwed."

He's trying to make it easy, I don't want him to get hurt.

"No-no.. I can't!" The small man banked to that outstretched hand. "He's threatened me with d-dire repercussions!" Wesker backed away from Gordon, heels squeaking against the hard floor. He kept inching away till he ran right into the control panels of the crane. He felt a control stick jab him in the right butt cheek before it gave way and slid up...

... and the crane hook came whistling down, aimed right for the commissioner's head.

Gordon: The dummy's words ran cold in head, but then Wesker banked forward. He thought, for half a moment, he might have gotten somewhere with his leniency. That he accept that outstretched offering of peace. But then, he started backing away?

"No wait, Arnold!" -KONK-

Hair offered no protection against the heavy hook as it clanked down against his head. Had it hit any harder, it probably would have cracked his skull. Instead, it made everything burst into light in his vision, and even Wesker looked illuminated. The overhead illumination catching light and making a halo behind his derby.

His outstretched fingers made a weak grab for him as he stumbled, then he fell to his face, hard on the concrete floor. The ground seemed a thousand times brighter than normal, fuzzy without his glasses that were knocked from his face. Their rims gleamed obnoxiously at him.

Finally, his eyes rolled up and lids closed, welcomed darkness overtaking him as he laid there with his coat splayed out at his sides.

Wesker: "Way tah go, chickengutt!" Scarface clanked amused as they both watched Commissioner Gordon eat the pavement.

Wesker looked horrified for a moment. Oh my god, I'm sorry! I didn't mean for that to happen.. oh God... he's in so much trouble, and it's my fault. But Arnold didn't really have time to stand there and weep for Gordon's future, Scarface was already barking orders.

"I should just shoot dah shithead in dah head right now, gut what's dah sport in dat? " Wesker swallowed as he slowly approached the unconscious body. He hoped that crane hook hadn't hurt the cop too much. "Kick e's gun across dah room, Dummy 'nd roll dah coppah onto e's gack. "

Arnold did as he was told. He nudged Gordon's hand off his gun with his shiny shoe and then gave the item a little kick, sending it across the warehouse floor. The second command was a little trickier. For not only was Gordon a bit larger then Wesker, he had to roll the man one handed, and he didn't really want to touch him. You could hurt him more; if you move him.

"Do what's I told yah tah do, Dummy. "

" Yes.. Yes Sir. " Wesker got down on his knees and grabbed Gordon's belt loops in one hand, It took a lot of pulling and pushing, using his knees and his one arm, but he finally got the other man rolled onto his back. He tried to be as careful with his head as he could.

"There.. Mr... Scarface. "

" Good. Now sit on dah Fucker. "

Wesker shook in surprise. " S-sit on him, Sir?!"

" Did I s-s-s-s-s-s-stutter, Moron? Yer gonna sit on em till Rhino returns. I don't want dah pig walkin up 'nd makin' ah greak for it. When dah gig duffus gets 'ere I'll have em load em into dag truck wit dah last of the guns. I wants some time tah think agout dah gest way tah make e's last few hours a livin' hell. "

Oh god. Mr. Scarface was going to kill the poor man. Wesker felt like weeping, but the Dummy jabbed him in the gut with it's gun. "Stop stallin', Sit yer ass down on em....not like DAT.. FACE EM! "

Wesker sighed and turned a bit. He crawled over the down man. Legs were sprawled on either side of Gordon's hips and Wesker sat on his lower belly, just above the crotch. It was the flattest spot, and he didn't want to sit on the poor guys chest. Head hung as Scarface was settled in front of him, Gun aimed right at the cop's face.

Now they would just have to wait.

Gordon: He was at least easy to move in the way that when Wesker flipped him over, he was like a rag doll. His arms and legs put up no defense, merely dragged and flopped as his position was changed. And until he woke, his chest and abdomen rose in soft, rhythmic breaths, lifting the dummy up and back down.

When his eyes finally opened, he half expected to be at home in his own bed. He expected to see his familiar ceiling above, with all the cracks and crevices he knew too well. Instead, he found his eyes welcomed by alien fluorescents, the edges of boxes stacked high, and the top of that crane.

Smart James. That was really smart.

His eyes wondered down finally, and were welcomed by a dark tunnel, the barrel of the Tommy gun pointed at his face.

Scarface is on you! He tensed up, bucking up his hips slightly in resistance to the weight baring down upon him. No, not just Scarface, he realized as the weight on his hips was far more than he was expecting. Wesker was sitting on him, holding that dummy with it's gun aimed threateningly at his face.

Wesker: Yes, Indeed. Gordon woke to a little extra weight baring down on him. The jarring did little to distract Scarface's gun, but the buck of hips made Wesker squeak a little. " He's awake!"

"I can's see's dat Moron!" Scarface nashed it’s nasty chompers and then clicked it’s glass eyes to stare directly at the groggy commissioner. "Wakey Wakey Coppah, you are so totally up shits creek wit outta paddle. Gut yah can thank me later fer extendin' yer life.. " The Dummy's free hand batted James' tie.

"..Fer a little while dat is!"

He's head's probably killing him. I wish he hadn't waken up. " I'm ..s-sorry about this, Mr. Gordon. " Wesker said softly. He leaned forward a bit, chest pressing to Mr. Scarface's back as he stretched his free hand past Gordon's head. For a moment his rear lifted and the weight left Gordon's body.

There was the sound of clinging glass and light metal as those slim fingers closed around Gordon's glasses and the Ventriloquist sat back again. With a downcasted mouth he set the glasses back on Gordon's face and then returned to his former position.

"Since I'm damn sure you were gluffin', we's progagly gots a good half hour 'fore Rhino gets gack wit dah truck, so mayge's you’d like give me a few ideas on hows I should ice yah off. Yah wanna ge dropped inna dah river? Thrown off a guilding, hell I'll even let yah ge dah foist person to taste dah lead of my new 'toys' dat will soon ge all over dah city. " Wooden brows wiggled devishly. "I'm choke full of neat ideas."

Gordon: "Not sorry enough to let me up, I assume," Gordon responded quietly to Wesker's apology. He sighed heavily. Yeah, this was a really nice mess he'd gotten himself into. Perhaps being one of those armchair generals wouldn't have been so bad. Just stay in his city hall office and-

Wait for Mr. Freeze to turn it into a glacier?

Well, of all the things that could have possibly happened to James Gordon, he could have done worse. He could have definitely done better. Especially considering the other villains that Gotham had available to- What's he doing? The reintroduction of the glasses made him blink, fuzzy face of the dummy coming into clearer view now.

And when Wesker resumed his seat, he became more aware of where he was sitting. The man's ass was pressing down over his head within his pants, causing the limp organ beneath to get an abrupt surge of blood. One that, for the moment, the commissioner could ignore, as long as the Ventriloquist didn't move around too much.

That would be sort of an embarrassment, if cops did show up. Having a huge boner with a major villain squirming around on your Johnson.

"I don't know, auctioning me off to the highest bidder has always been my favorite. Sure I don't get Batman's price, but I get to listen to people argue about how much I'm worth."

He kept his hands limp near Wesker's knees, and stared down the barrel of that gun.

Wesker: "I .. I would let you go if it was in my power.." Wesker sounded monotoned, like he'd rehearsed it. He must of told a lot of people this before Scarface killed them. He'd even told Fats Malone He 'actually quite liked him' a second before Scarface had made the tubby man a swish cheesed sandwich.

How long had he cried that night? All night. Sitting in the damn bathtub. Violence made him sick. He just hoped Gordon could be smart and figure a way out of this. Wesker wasn't the controlling personality, and like hell was Scarface just going to let Wesker run off.

"Ey I likes dat idea, Have yah tied up ‘nd gagged, Invite all of dah gurgs notorious memgers dat you've busted at one time or another. Peck-Pecks always cawing gout how you've ruined e’s schemes more den once."

The Dummy pressed the muzzle of the Tommy into the cop’s nose for a second. "Croc probably eat you in one chomp. Guuuuuutttt.. I get dere's a sick n happy clown dat would just love to get e’s hands on ANOTHER Gordon." Yah, Scarface was just being MEAN. The Dummy didn't like Gordon.. at all. And making him suffer was going to be fun.

"T-that's a horrible thing to say Mr. Scarface." Wesker sighed and looked down at the Dummy's fedora, before he randomly wiggled his nose. Umph, what in the world? He'd felt something change just a tad about his seat, and unfortunately for Gordon, the small man did suddenly scoot a bit. Trying to find a place for his ass to sit that wasn't so uncomfortable.

He also wiggled a bit more when Scarface shot that free wooden hand up and popped him in the nose for his statement. "Yer just a pussy, shud yer mouth 'nd sit dere. I figured you'd enjoy sittin in some Johns lap, stead yer actin' like a whiny gagy."

Gordon: Seething hostility was returned in the face of the captive. I've gotta get out of here. He doesn't give a damn if Wesker gets put away for life or not. The prestige of killing the commissioner of police is too great for hiIIIIIIM. He took a very audible breath and his eyes widened at the shifting of the criminal. Surely the puppet would think that it was a sign of fear, that the commissioner was truly intimidated by his threats. But instead, he was finding his cock sandwiched between cloth covered ass cheeks.

"You really shouldn't take that from him, you're bigger than him, you know. Ngg." Oh no. He throbbed beneath the weight of the other man, becoming more conscious of himself now. Which meant, if he knew it was there, undoubtedly Wesker probably was noticing it as well.

Fuck, what if they did come in right now! I'd have a hell of a time explaining away why I'm grinding.. up.. against..

He bucked up against Wesker slightly, his hips jerking involuntarily despite the protests of his mind, stomach tensing beneath Scarface as he did.

Yeah, to the puppet, the commissioner breaking out in a sweat, voice breaking, tensing up, he looked real damned nervous. He was on the verge of breaking out into an all out blush, though. God please, let him stop wiggling around, his mind pleaded.

Wesker: "Y-you don't understand... I'm.. not a violent man.. Mr. Scarface.. he has a gun.. he's the Bo--" Wesker's voice trailed off as the Ventriloquist himself suddenly became away that his 'seat' had seemed to develop a rather hard lump and it was nudging right up between...

Under those impenetrable frames, Wesker's eyes widened, his brows lifted and disappeared into the brim of his derby. Mouth opened and another audible squeak left him.

Oh my god! He's got a hard-on! He's got a hard-on and it's jabbing right into my butt! It was doing more then that actually. With legs spread to have knees on either side of Gordon's hips and his body leaning slightly forward, he could feel the other's clothed cock pressing right up against his perineum and then right between his ass cheeks. Wesker paled.. but for only second, because the whiteness was quickly replaced by red.

The dummy on the other hand had NO idea what was going on, and was rather enthralled in a vicious delight as it appeared the commissioner was rather intimidated and traumatized by it's words. "Yah you'd hate dat wouldn't you? I think I might just hold off an auction 'nd give yah to dat lipstick wearin' freak as a act of charity. Ahahaha!"

Wesker was trying to do his best to ignore Gordon's erection, even if it was digging into him. He could do this, it was just like a lumpy seat right? Oh god he's jerking!

The Ventriloquist tried to muffle the second squeak that bubbled right out of his throat as his body was pushed lightly upward. Ignore it! But it was kind of hard to ignore.. something that HARD. Or the fact that it send a fucking shock of sensation right through his body.

"Stop movin' around so much gack dere, Dummy! John Coppah you's anit a fuckin' seasaw I'm ridin' 'ere Stop dat..." Scarface's own glass eyes slowly snapped to the side as it tried to look back at Wesker without taking it's vision off Gordon. "Dummy dat getter not ge what I THINK it is pokin' me in dah gack!"

The Ventriloquist bit his lip and gave Gordon a look that just screamed WHAT-IS-WRONG-WITH-YOU? YOU'RE-GOING-TO-GET-US-BOTH-SHOT! and then just tried to turn his brain off.

God.. but wanted to wiggle again.

Gordon: The look that Gordon returned echoed Wesker's. Hell, he didn't want to die here in a warehouse, with a huge hard-on because Wesker was squirming around on his groin at the hands of a homophobic puppet. Moreover, it would probably be Bullock of all cops walking in on this if they noticed him gone.

He looked back at the puppet and cleared his throat. "You wouldn't dare!" he said in response to the comment of giving him to the Joker as a gesture of good faith. Sweat trickled down to the tip of his nose as he spoke, skin still shimmering and beaded up from his arousal.

Why was he even being so aroused? This was the Ventriloquist sitting on his groin. There were millions of other people that-

Well, it had been a very long time since Gordon had gotten turned on by anyone. Not since the death of his wife. Not since the days of nightly massages with baby oil, or candle lit dinners ending with sex in front of the fire. You know what? Thinking about this isn't helping matters at all. In fact, it was making him harder.

His stomach tensed up and he found himself grinding up against Wesker again. Dammit Gordon stop that! He started it by wiggling. Blood must be abandoning his brain to redistribute itself. He was reducing himself to five-year-old logic.

Wesker: Oh god it's getting bigger! Why is it getting bigger? Wesker could feel the swell of the organ that was still pressed tightly between his ass cheeks. It wasn't helping either of them ignore the budding ..no scratch that.. roaring sexual attraction that harmless wiggling was producing.

"It's not my fau..UPH!" Arnold tried to defend himself against Scarface knowing the cat was out of the bag, (at least on Wesker's part) but then came another grind right up into his ass again.

This one produced not only a surge of sensation, but a very good one at that. One that ran right up his spine and made his own cock harden even more. It made sweat appear on his temples, it made his insides ache for something he hadn't had in a good long while.

Stop that! Don't think about it! This is a cop! And he's Mr. Scarface's hostage! See that look he gave you, it's nothing he can control.. they why is he grinding? God that feels.. Stop thinking about it... But even as his brain screamed at him, the criminal grinded his ass back down against the cop's clothed cock. A stifled moan slipped past clenched teeth.

And yes. Mr. Scarface had figured out what was 'up' so to speak. After all, Wesker's response to Gordon's hip grinding was pressing into the puppet's back, and the wooden mob boss was about to have a shit fit!

"You FUCKIN' FAGGOT! You's getter start thinkin' agout some fat groad on dah toilet or somethin' cause I'm given yah ten seconds tah quit pokin' me or I'm gonna SHOOT it off!"

Another grind. Wesker tried desperately to stop moving, but he couldn't help it. ".. I'm s-sorry. I c-can't help it." And he couldn't think about a fat naked chick, all he could think was that this cop's cock would probably feel pretty damn wonderful doing the same grinding without clothes in the way.

"GODDAMIT DUMMY. I'll GREAK YER FAG NOSE! " For a fatal moment, Scarface completely forgot about the cop and its head spun a one-eighty, an arm jerking to hit Wesker.

Gordon: For an excruciatingly blissful moment, the world closed in on Gordon, much like it had the moments after he felt that hook crack down on his head. Funny, he should have felt the effects of that more. Instead, though, he was far more aware of the villain edging backward to avoid a vicious attack from the wooden dummy, pinning his cock under that soft ass and head right up under the nutsack he knew to be there.

Shit! You're actually THINKING about what you're pressing up against under there. Don't think about that, you're the commissioner of police! The commissioner of police, And the puppet just turned his head to scold Wesker! He remembered all those reports left from previous captures of Wesker. They usually involved Batman or on the off chance Bullock snatching away that dummy and flinging it. Behind his wooden armor, the Ventriloquist was gentle as a lamb, always cooperative in the interrogation room.

So, with the back of the Dummy’s head bared to him rather than those spite-filled glass beads of eyes, he lurched his hand up from Wesker’s knee and smacked the puppet hard in the shoulder, dislodging it from Wesker’s manipulating fingers and sending it clattering off of his chest. Free! Finally!

What a report to give. 'He was threatening me with his wood and I distracted him with mine!’.

He sat up, eyes fixing on Wesker from behind his wire frames, his jaw set tightly. His glare fixed directly on the face of the other man, nose about six inches away from his own. That wriggling, taunting, evil little man who nearly let that puppet shoot him.

Wesker: Moments before Gordon had made his preemptive strike, Wesker wasn't sure what he was more worried about. The fact that the cop still had his cock digging up into his ass, or that Mr. Scarface had turned it's head toward him, preparing to strike. Would he really do it? Would he really shoot me? He's shot at me before. Oh God! I'm sorry I can't help it!

But before the Dummy could lay one of those hard wooden fingers on him, Wesker suddenly found the weight of his little Boss swiped right off his hand! Gordon! Oh Crap!

"What dah Fuck! Goddammit! You son of a Gitch!" Scarface's voice followed it's body off to the side where it clankered and rolled, ending up about three feet from where the criminal and the cop were. Body sprawled and twisted, but it's head now facing the scene again. "You sneaky rat! Dummy! Get me! Get me!"

But Wesker couldn't move. He suddenly found himself just sitting on Gordon, his protection gone. Scarface had been knocked out of his hands! Usually the tiny man would make a frantic dive for the puppet. But.. Gordon was staring at him. Scowling. Oh god he looked so angry.

And there Wesker sat. Ass still pressed down over the budging cloth. The front of his own tuxedo pants, no longer hidden behind the nasty Mr. Scarface, tenting and obvious in full view of the other's face.

Glasses hid the wide eyed expression the Ventriloquist held, but did little to dull down the fact that he had paled considerable, that sweat was cooling on his face. Mouth was parted, lips trembling. And when the cop came inches from his face with that sudden sit-up the small man squeak in his throat--

-which turned into a stifled groan becausse the movement slid that covered length against his perineum again.

Oh god. He's so angry! He's going to beat me up for being an involuntary cock tease! I didn't mean it! I couldn't help it!

"DUMMY!"

"..... I..."

Gordon: He couldn't decide what to do. Punch Wesker? Knock him out and call for back-up? Cuff him and escort him out himself? He definitely couldn't let him go for that dummy- Oh god, he's moving again.

The pressing down made the commissioner hiss between his teeth, below his wooly mustache. Lower lip pressed against his incisors at the end of the hiss, changing the sound into a letter. Then a word. Then two words. The only two words that were cascading repetitively in his gray head.

"Fuck. Me." He demanded decisively, before he pressed a hand to the back of Wesker's head and pushed their lips together, moaning.

Really, it was Wesker's own moaning after that shift that had clenched the deal. It was just a little too much for one old, lonely commissioner to handle. To have someone, who at his very core should hate you, be so very turned on by you even at a moment that it was positively dangerous for either of them to be. What if the cops came? What if the goons came? What if they came and every-fucking-body had arrived? It didn't matter anymore as long as some cumming was involved.

He parted his lips, deepening the kiss almost immediately and making a pining noise as his own tongue searched for the tip of Wesker's. He tasted good, too.

Why was the dummy still talking again?

Wesker: There was quite a few things Wesker had expected to happen in those odd tense moments. A blow to the face. For the cop to shove him as hard as he could off him and possible put a shoe into his ribs. Maybe a switch of positions and he would have found that familiar feeling of metal latching to his delicate wrists as arms were pulled behind his back sharply.

...but those sudden hissed demanding, nasty words; words that he should have bank at or gone tearing across the floor away from this man, but instead, they only made his cock throb harder. There wasn't even time to fully moan out loud to that, mouth was pulled against the other's and it was lost against the commissioners bristled mustache and searching lips.

The Ventriloquist's body did stifle for a moment, shocked. W-what are you doing? What is he doin- No you know what he's doing. You can't do THAT here! Rhino will be back soon! Cops could come. MR. SCARFACE IS WATCHING!

But oh god he wanted too. The taste of the other's mouth, the ache in his own pants. The still monstrously hard lump pressing up against his ass. It was all screaming yes. Even as the Dummy let out a panicked screech of:

"NOOOOOOOOO! What dah FUCK?! DUMMY! Stop dat! Fucking FAGGOTS! STOP DAT! YER RUINING EVERYTHIN'!"

Wesker's own brows flurried at that, almost angrily for a moment. He never lets me do.. anything.. I want.. His body was screaming for the puppet to fuck off, and mind suddenly agreed with it!

A hard gasp of "Yes!" was groaned into the cops mouth and Wesker pressed back hard into that kiss. Lips parted willingly and tongue swiped the others. Hips jerked consciously this time, and even hands were reached up and snagged into the cops lapels.

Gordon: He sat up more to wrap his arms around Wesker. He'd definitely be rethinking his logic later, but there was almost a certain satisfaction in passionately kissing the flesh and blood man in front of his bitter wooden other self. His finger's tangled in sparse strands of gray hair and he moved with the motion of the other.

He moved his other hand to Wesker's ass and shifted to his haunches, before bucking up against him harder. His kisses came quick and frantic, having to pull back for air desperately after a few glorious moments of indulging in the smaller man's delicious tongue.

"Do you have anything?" he asked, moving against him.

Were Scarface not so shocked, he could have probably seen the many opportunities this provided; blackmail material, keeping Gordon further distracted until the return of Rhino, creating a bigger scandal than the warehouse of guns had the potential of doing. Luckily for Gordon, though, those glass eyes were far too blinded by the desperate act of two old lonely gentlemen in need of some good company and a little lube.

His hands ran up the back of Wesker's shirt and tuxedo jacket, slipping underneath the hem and up toward his shoulder blades. He kissed the Ventriloquist's jaw line as he waited for his answer, hips moving up against him and strong arms holding him close against bare skin.

Wesker: Yes, imagine the rumors that would fly though the underground if Scarface wanted such a thing to get out. The old cop wouldn't be able to walk into Arkham without some derange lunatic whistling at him and making some kind of disgusting comment. If Scarface didn't pride in his reputation so damn much, this could REALLY turn out poorly for both of these men at the flapping jaw of that wooden menace.

But all Scarface was doing was a continues clankering of "FAGGOTS!" "FUCK!" "GODDAMMIT!" "DUMMY!" "STOP IT!" "EWWWWWWWW!"

The Ventriloquist didn't even seem to hear Scarface. Even if the dummy’s screaming was making his throat vibrate low. He threw the dummy's voice, but the muscles were still working. Mouth was working harder. Sucking, kissing, even nibbling a bit. Fogged up glasses clinking together till the cop finally pulled away and gasped his question.

What? It was hard to make his mind work with those strong hands roaming over his back. Soft skin under those double layer of clothes was becoming sticky with sweat, it seemed every dry thrust up against(each rewarded with a grind down)was making more beads appear. Wesker gasped and tilted his face upward as he tried to get his mind to work. Glasses reflected the harsh florescent lights burning above them.

Anything....oh!

A hand was peeled off the cops shirt to dive into the inner pockets of his tuxedo jacket; rummaging through the pocket. While he searched his own still covered cock dug into the cops hard tummy.

A handful of items were pulled out in a small sweaty fist. Bottle of pills to keep his paranoia down prescribed by Arkham, a slip of paper with an address on it, lens cleaner, and the only thing that really REALLY mattered.

A small bottle of hand lotion. Everything else was let clatter to the hard floor.

Wesker used it on the calluses on his puppet hand, but it could be applied to other 'needy' areas.

The Ventriloquist groaned as he rubbed his lips against Gordon's mustache. "Mh..w-where?"

Gordon: Gordon shifted his gaze, looking around for a place, when his eyes caught sight of the paper. The Dealer! Remember that name! Because, Wow it's incredibly hard to concentrate at the moment. It indeed was hard to be a cop, with the perfectly distributed weight of the 'dastardly' Arnold Wesker writhing against him. Sure, to look at him you wouldn't think of the mousy man to be much of a sexual creature, but to Gordon, at that moment, he was as skilled and erotic as any exotic dancer.

Each squirm was a beckoning tease, making his shaft ache to be permitted past those clothes. He had no idea where that ass that was taunting him had been, either. The lotion alone was a god-send.

Normally someone should have been turned off by the vibrating of Wesker's throat. Yet in his state of indulgence, Wesker and Scarface were two decisively different people in Gordon's mind, and Scarface was just a petty annoyance squawking at them from his vantage point in the floor.

He pulled his hands back from feeling the soft, beading skin beneath the shirt to tug at his sleeves behind his back, slipping his heavy coat from his shoulders. Where? It doesn't matter where! How long has it been since I've felt this way. It seems like forever. I actually thought I'd never be able to want someone this much again.

"The boxes. We've got boxes." He pressed his lips against Wesker's again, nibbling his lower lip and throwing his coat over the dummy on the floor.

Wesker: "Thank God. I did NOT wanna have tah watch dis!" Did Scarface actually sound relieved, suddenly muffled under that heavy trench coat? Wesker would have to remember to scoop him out from under that coat when this was over. But now.. oh god, he couldn't think of anything else except:

God I want him. I want him bad. How in the world am I wanting this man this bad? A bit ago he was going to arrest me and now we're about too..

"Boxes!" Wesker gasped back. Tongue dragged over that fluffy spiny mustache. Ass shifted again and the Ventriloquist saw stars. God he was turned on. Maybe it was the situation, maybe it was the danger. Maybe it was because he knew Scarface HATED what he was doing. It felt good to disobey the puppet for once..

..and it didn't help that despite his age, Gordon was damn handsome. Strong, sure he was a cop. Maybe that had a bit of an alluring pull to it. But whatever the case was, Wesker wanted Gordon, and he wanted him bad.

Puppet hand snapped down between them to tug at the cops belt and then his fly. With a groan the Ventriloquist finally slid off the cops lap, letting off the pressure that had been holding the cops cock down for such a long time. Wesker slid to his knees before the other and mouth finally dragged away from that tickly mustache.

He'd forgotten everything by this point. Scarface under the coat, the papers on the ground. Everything as he pulled down the zipper on the other's pants making a loud grind of metal against metal that echoed around the warehouse.

How they would get from the floor to the boxes would be the cops intuition, for now, Wesker was determined to not be a cock tease any longer. Callused hand reached into those brown pants and tug out the tormented piece of flesh.

Gordon: He certainly was in excellent shape. There was no denying that. Unlike so many other city officials, Gordon kept active and involved, and was in better shape than many of his own officers (one could be named in particular). Though for being such a good cop ordinarily, he was acting much like a bad one now. Consorting with arrestees? A definite no-no in the official rule-book.

Arrest, though, was the furthest thing from his mind as Wesker's nimble fingers slipped into his trousers. His thighs tensed as his shaft sprung free, a sudden rush of cooler air embracing it after the heat from it's enclosure had been released. He's very good with those hands. Must be from operating that puppet for so long- He banished the reminder of Wesker's criminal history from his mind and set about looking for a place to take him.

Scarface better have been grateful for the sudden obscurity, because the Commissioner of Police had no intention of stopping now, not with his cock throbbing pleadingly in Wesker's grip. His own hands, less speedy about fighting with the other's fly than the treatment his own pants had received, started working to unbutton and fight with the zipper blocking him from his goal. "Th-" he panted, "-there's a low box over there." He nodded his head toward a box that was just even with Wesker's hips if he were standing. One that held straw and ammunition boxes within.

Sort of an amusing thought, were the warehouse not busted, Boxy could have received a box full of rounds with a nice coat of semi-translucent liquid.

Once he had Wesker's pants undone, his caught his thumbs in the tidy trousers belt loops and started tugging them down over his hips. Not too far, though, they still had to make it to the box, but far enough so that he could slip his hand inside the heated fabric and pull Wesker free enough to stroke, clasping his hand around what had been taunting him out of visibility moments before.

~*~*~

"Where the hell is he? They said he left the station a half hour ago, he shoulda been here by now," Bullock bitched as he walked away from a patrol car holding a botched robber inside, checking his watch.

"These guys weren't really well organized," Montoya mused. "It makes me wonder. I think radio the commissioner and mention this."

"Forget it!" Bullock said, leaning against his car. "I think the old bird is stuck in line at the coffee joint. No one's been able to get his ass on the horn." He lit up a cigarette and took a hard drag off of it.

Montoya looked at him in shock. "And no one's been bothered by this! Goddammit!" She crouched into the drivers side and picked up the radio, turning it on to talk to. "Dispatch! Alert all units to keep an eye out for Commissioner Gordon's car. We're having trouble getting in contact with him."

"You’re gonna regret it. Like you said, these guys are easy and he's probably doin' something important. Ten bucks says he's gonna be pissed we're interruptin' him with whatever he's wrapped up in."

Wesker: Whatever the commissioner was wrapped up in indeed. Well he wasn't in yet. There was still a bit of preparation that was needed before that. Arnold tested slim calloused fingers against the heated overly teased flesh he had freed from Gordon's pants. Thumb trailing over the drooling tip.

Impressive. I'm going to feel this. Thank god I had some lotion on me. He flushed at his own thoughts, wondering if he was going to be able to keep quiet enough that someone didn't come running into the warehouse. Like Rhino.

That would be something he could never explain away. The big goon returning, hearing Wesker yelping, yah, Rhino would play the big 'hero' rushing to save his 'boss' from whatever was 'hurting' him and probably drop from the massive heart attack he’d no doubt suffer spotting the commissioner of the fucking GCPD banging the living hell out of his boss over the fucking merchandise with Scarface bitching on the floor. Yah..

It was hard to keep thoughts straight with his own pants being tugged down slightly over his hips and ass. A hand pulling out his own arousal with defiant strokes. Wesker let out a hard groan and jerked against the other's palm. Box? What box? Low box? Eyes rolled to their corners and he twisted his spin slightly to try and spot which box the guy was talking about.

Oh that one. "O-okay.." Arnold gasped, but first he popped the cap off the lotion with his free hand and squeezed a good amount of the white goo onto the other's cock. For Gordon's sake, it was pleasantly warm from being on the inside of the Ventriloquist's tuxedo coat.

While he slathered it out evenly to the hilt he leaned forward to catch the other's lips again. Panting, yearning and even nibbling lightly. Rushed? Fevered? He hadn't been this urgent before. Had it really been so long? Or was this random needy attraction this bad?

Maybe it was both.

Wesker felt a whimper bubbling up as he finished with the lubing and finally pulled away from the other's stroking hand and heat. Pressing the none-lotion smeared hand on the ground to push himself standing with a bit of a groan. The movement hurt his knees but he didn't care. He backed up away from the cop, much like before, the same movements, but his face certainly didn't have that scared, worried panic look as if Gordon was going to eat him.

As ass pressed to the top of the low box, Arnold Wesker's face said come and get me, copper!

"What's goin' on? Why'd it get so quiet?" Scarface grunted low from under the trench coat.

Gordon: As Wesker backed up, Gordon followed him closely, not letting the man get too far from him. He wasn't accustomed to feeling this way. Especially after so many years of being married, then widowed, he hadn't wanted to even be with anyone, very well want someone so badly as he did right then. He smirked at the beckoning look and put his hands on Arnold's pale hips, encouraging him to lean back onto the box with his hands.

Once he was on it, he tugged the Ventriloquist's pants down the rest of the way over his legs. He lifted the other’s legs in the air, tugging the fabric all the way down to his ankles. Then he ducked under the fabric and up between the other's legs, feet behind the Commissioner's back.

Gordon didn't answer Scarface, instead he busied himself with running his fingers over his better half's exposed cock, thumbs resting lightly under the sac to lift it so he could see where he was about to enter. He pressed his slathered cock in between those cheeks that had been so cruelly taunting him earlier, veins finally placated in having no cloth between the hard, pulsing shaft as it slid in and the aching warmth that welcomed it.

If the wooden puppet wanted it's answer, it would get it in the initial thrust of Gordon's hips into Wesker's body, one of his rough hands shifting to hold Wesker's white thigh in place, the other to encircle the cock again and give another stroke in time with Arnold's own internal embrace. The commissioner gave an appreciative groan as another bead of sweat dripped down his nose.

Wesker: Wiggling bare-assed onto the top of a box wasn't something Arnold Wesker would have figured he'd be doing today. Pft, he hadn't expected to be as turned on and about dripping beggary for the Commissioner of the Police to take him instead of running away like the smart thing to do would have been either. But Wesker wasn't thinking about that.

As Gordon dipped down under his pulled down pants and reappeared. All Wesker could think about was that hard cock that was properly positioned under his balls about to...

Yes if Scarface wanted an answer to his question, Wesker could give it also as he felt the cop slid his way inside that tight heat with a very audible yelp of approval.

Lips parted with a gasp and the Ventriloquist arched against the box, shoes and feet locked like shackles by his own trousers pressed against the small of the cops back and urged him into the rhythm. God that felt.. so.. good. Better then good. It was so worth all the shit Scarface was going to give him for this. Mismatched hands gripped to the boxes edges and he shifted slightly pudgy hips to more eagerly accept the cops thrusts. And oh god how he tried to be quiet. But he just couldn't, it felt too good.. been too long.

And to make it worse? "Aww god fucking dammit! You fuckin' faggots! Imma ge sick.. Sick all over yer fag jacket!"

-

Outside the engine of the milk truck was kept running, and Rhino scratched meaty fingers into his black hair. He was sitting outside the warehouse. He'd been sitting there for a few minutes and the Boss hadn't opened the door yet. What gave? Didn't he have another load to pick up?

A big foot kicked the door of the truck open and Rhino stepped out of the truck. Neck was cracked as he took a few steps toward the metal door that was still closed. Mr. Wesker must be reading the Editorials again. He likes thos-

Rhino's big feet stopped. He squinted and pressed an ear to the metal door. He could hear.. whimpers? And Scarface yelling.. What the hell?

Boss was in trouble?! The big guy pulled his gun and went to kick the garage door in.

Gordon: Slightly pudgy hips were approved of as the commissioner's weight bounced against his ass. With almost every thrust, Gordon grunted, his head dizzy with anxious desire and his cock throbbing inside the other's body. He would never have pondered there was a very concerned very LARGE thug about to bust down the door and come clamoring in to his bosses rescue.

"G-god, you feel so good," he said, voice breathy from all of his activity, and he looked down at the cock he pumped in his hand. Ever stroke he saw himself give Wesker reminded him of the glorious jolt of sensation he got with every thrust inside.

~*~*~

"We've got a 10-107 outside the old Muumuu Hawaiian Milk warehouse on Main," a uniformed officer said from his patrol car as he drove by, watching Rhino prepare to kick down the door. The young man's eyes then wondered across the street. "The commissioner's car is here, too!"

He hit the siren, just for a moment, to make it squawk loudly at the enormous man brandishing his sledgehammer of a foot at the door, before parking in front of the commissioner's car.

Wesker: "T-thank you." Wesker actually managed to breath out between thrusts. They were starting to take their toll. Each one seemed to be aimed perfectly, hitting that spot that made him groan a little harder, sweat a little faster, Arch his hips and back against the cop and the box to take it even more. He was trying to relish every second, every thrust.

Who knew when this would happen again. With anyone, if it ever happened at all. Shoes tugged against Gordon's back, Wesker lifted one hand off the edge of the box and latched onto the cops shoulder with it. He couldn't hear Scarface anymore, he was pretty sure the puppet was still complaining, He couldn't hear anything but his own heart and Gordon's grunts. He didn't even hear the squawk of the siren outside.

-

Rhino had shot behind the truck. Gritting his teeth and growling. Fucking Cops were here! How the hell did they managed to find out about this place? He knew he had to get inside and get to Mr. Wesker and Mr. Scarface, but he was going to have to take out that fucking flatfoot.

"You anit takin' me in, fucking coppah!" Cliché as always, Rhino leaned around the truck and began popping rounds off at the cop car, shattering glass and taking out a tire...

--

.. but the gunshots! Wesker heard those, even as he felt the beginnings of his orgasm threatening in the pit of his stomach. Oh god no, not right now.. please not right now.

In his stress, the ventriloquist tightened for a moment and his spine quirked. He knew that with something going on outside, they should stop.

They should get redressed, tucked away and run. He could be arrested.

But it felt too good. So instead he curled up, Face went into the cops neck and both arms curled under Gordon's armpits. Sweaty fingers clutched into damp shirt cloth. He clung. "don'tstop!" whimpered out.

Gordon: "417 in progress!" the officer screeched into the radio before ducking out of the way of the fire. "Freeze! Back-ups on the way!" the small man yelled as he scooted out the passenger side of his car and ducked behind the protective metal frame, fighting with his own weapon to pull it from his holster.

~*~*~

When Gordon heard the shots, he was prepared to pull out, blood beginning to abandon the girth of his cock. Then Arnold's body stiffened around him. It caught another throb of thick blood filling him up, collecting within his shaft once again.

Pale, jacketed arms encircled the commissioner's torso. He felt his heart pound, for more than merely the act. The sound of gunfire and shouting was lost in the delicious memory of holding someone close again, feeling their warmth. He was about to be caught in the arms of a criminal, but he could care less about his reputation, and more about how he felt. Well, it may have been merely his penis thinking for him-

"Don't stop!" he heard the words ricochet off of his neck.

He wrapped his arms around Wesker's back, shoving hard up into him as his lungs made it increasingly harder to breath. "I can't," he panted. "I want you too much," the breathy words oozed from his lips against Arnold's skin.

Wesker: "Goddd..we're all goned!" Scarface was heard to mutter from under the jacket amidst groaning, panting enemies turned lovers and gunfire.

...but Wesker couldn't pay any attention to the outside world either. Not with those strong arms holding him close and the delicious feel of the other's cock shoving hard now inside him.

But it was honestly the words that got him off in the end. I want you too much. It probably hadn't meant to be like that, how they'd turned a random uncontrollable horny moment into something different. Something they'd both needed. All Hell was about to come raining down on them, and they just weren't going to stop till they were satisfied.

He tried to warn, tried to verbally announce he was there, but all he managed to gasp out hotly into the others neck was "Co-" before his spin jerked and he tightened everything. Fingers, ankles, around the other's cock. Mouth parted with a high gasp and he guaranteed Gordon would have to get his coat back with a wash of hot wet.

--

"FUCK!"

Rhino ducked down again as the cop got out of his car. Not that it would do the big man much help, but he dropped to his hands and knees after firing off a few more shots. His gun was nearly empty and he could hear sirens coming. FUCK! More cops. There was only one thing to do now.

Royce was in the back, he was going have to get to the back, rush inside, get the boss and hit that car like nobodies business.

So the big goon took off on his hands and knees around the side of the building, till he was sure he was out of sight before he stood up and ran like a bat out of hell toward the alley. Coming Boss! He was Coming!

Seemed like everyone was, really.

Gordon: Everyone was coming indeed. All over Gordon's shirt, given how tightly pressed their bodies were together. Then, deep inside of Wesker, with the commissioner's body shuddering despite the sudden wet seeping feeling he felt in his shirt. He hugged him tightly against his body as he released into him, voice shuddering out a slight cry at the nerve-wracking orgasm.

He was so shocked as the pleasure washed over him, he could only cling for a few moments. The sound of the hateful sirens started to sink into his ears, though, and he pulled back from the Ventriloquist to look at his face. His cock slipped spent from inside of him.

Wow, you really wanted him. You might still. So what do you do now James? Arrest him? Send him to jail after you just buried yourself to the hilt inside of him? Or do you let him go?

The time he spent pondering those options was brief. "Please don't make me regret this," he muttered, reaching down to fasten his pants, before leaning forward and pressing his lips against Wesker's again in a parting kiss.

~*~*~

Bullock got out of his patrol car almost before Montoya had stopped it, actually stumbling from the sudden wave of inertia. "The Rhino's headin' around back!" he bellowed at the other officers, waving for them to look.

"Get behind the car!" Montoya yelled, ducking and getting out her side. "We don't know how many of them there are- Bullock! Where are you going!" She screeched abruptly, standing.

Not that it did much good yelling after him, the trench coated portly cop was already off after Rhino like a dog at the races, as if he stood a chance of facing off with the big lug.

Wesker: The hot warmth spreading inside him, the lingering press of lips. He'd probably mess whatever he was sitting on later and piss more people off, but could Wesker care at the moment, god no. He just didn't care. He felt so good, so good, he didn't want to let go of Gordon, he didn't even care if he arres-

He's letting me go? After all Wesker had done. Had him bonked on the head, had Scarface shoved in his face, had TEASED him into a ragging boner.. and he was letting him go?

Lips clung for as long as they could before he had to pull away. (Once Gordon had slipped out and pulled back.) to get his pants back up, tugging them over slightly sore hips now. God was he gonna feel this for days. Worth it. "I .. won't.." Wesker husked out.

He about fell as he scampered for Gordon's coat. Mismatched hands gripped the tough fabric and he threw it too the cop. Immediately he was greeted with:

"Done gettin' yer ass pumped out, faggot? LET'S GET OUTTA 'ER-UMPH!" Wesker slapped a hand over Scarface's mouth as he picked up the dummy, making sure to keep the Tommy gun pointed away from Gordon. He looked over a the cop for just a second. "T-thank you."

A small grin and then he scampered toward the hallway that lead out back. Leaving pills, bottle of lotion and that lone piece of paper on the floor.

"UMPH!" Rhino about knocked Wesker over halfway down the hallway. "BOSS! YER OKAY! COPS ARE HERE!"

"Tell us somethin' we don't know, genius! Stop fuckin' howlin, turn yer ass around 'nd lets get dah fuck outta 'ERE!-- SHIT IT'S THE FAT COP!!"

Rhino pretty much ran right over Bullock as the entire Ventriloquist mob came pouring out the back of the warehouse. Scarface laughed and Wesker actually apologized as he stepped on Harvey's gut. They piled into the Royce and took off with a squeal of tires.

Gordon: Bullock rolled onto his front, holding his gut. Apology or no, that hurt like hell. Wesker's small foot had managed to find that nice point in his body that made him hurt all the way down to his nads.

"Bullock?! Are you alright?!" a familiar voice chimed up, and he glanced toward the back door of the warehouse to see the commissioner, clutching his coat tightly around his midsection.

"Sir!" he said, face a bright crimson from the pain. "It's you!" He tried to steady his voice as he forced himself up to his knees, not willing to admit that a little runt of a man such as the Ventriloquist could impact him so greatly without use of a weapon or even a purposeful strike. "Yeah, I'm fine," he wheezed with his rising effort. "How about you? You hurt?" He nodded, indicating the way the commissioner was clutching his coat around himself.

"Ah, me? Yeah! Yeah I'm fine." The commissioner squeezed the coat tighter though. "There's a whole shipment of weapons in there, but there's no one else. They were going to ransom me off, but they heard the cops and split."

Bullock looked him over again. "Are you sure you're alright?" he asked, his voice returning to normal. "We've got ambulances on the way just in-"

"I'm fine!" the older man snapped, making the heavy cop balk a bit. "Now, I've got to go back and file a report." He started to walk around the warehouse.

Bullock stared at his back after he left. "Either he was in on it, or they did a hell of a number on him," he mused aloud to himself.

Wesker: Wesker held his bleeding nose. "Sorry Mr. Scarface."

Scarface popped him again. "And Dat ones for pokin' me in dah gack, you getter pray tah god my stocks safe. We lost dem flat foots yet?"

"Not yet Boss!" Rhino called back.

"Fuckin' Hell, when dis day get so fucked up?"

Wesker just smiled. Worth it. It was.. worth it. Then winced as Scarface popped him again.

Still worth it.

The End.

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