ADDITIONAL TAGS: Ball-squeezing On Camera, Ballbusting Talk, Ballbusting Reminiscing, Sexy Latina Detective
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Sandi City: Bus Stop Butcher
The tinny drone of a late-night cable buzzes from the television bolted to the hospital wall, offering the only light in Room 412. Clicking the hospital bed remote, the old tv flickers with static with the volume low, thanks to the flirty Asian nurse who’d been in earlier.
Beach Blues News' late-night broadcast flashes on screen: Breaking News, Rainstorm Takedown: Notorious 'Bus Butcher' Apprehended And BUSTED!
Aerial footage of police lights reflecting off wet asphalt fills the screen. The beautiful dark skinned news anchor, Janeese Grey, with long blonde box braids and deep cleavage in a cute blue dress suit began her voiceover:
"...Detectives Darwin Spooner and Alyssa Michael brought a violent reign to an end tonight. The elusive 'Bus Butcher,' responsible for a string of gruesome, female targeting murders along Beach Boulevard, was caught earlier this evening amidst a heavy rainstorm. How was evil busted this time, you may ask?"
The camera cut to a live shot of the last crime scene: Sandi police officers in blues and blacks swarming the area, evidence markers scattered around a city bus. The anchor continues:
"Witnesses describe a dramatic confrontation between the infamous killer and detectives. Details are scarce, but sources confirm the suspect's capture was nothing short of heroic."
The TV shows footage of Detective Alyssa Michael, dick-throbbing latina expression ice cold and stern dark brunette with dyed blonde highlights damp from the rain, escorting the handcuffed Cesar Stanly towards a police vehicle with one hand hidden down the back of his pants, strangling his thick testicles like a pair of hostages tied in a noose.
“A-Augh! Stop it you—AHH! Ok! I’m going, I’m Going!”
The Bus Butcher squeals, ashamed and trying to seem tough in front of all the red and blue lights and cameras. He wanted to be remembered as defiant and feral. He’s a dangerous killer who can never truly be taken down.
That is until now…all thanks to his stupid nuts.
Cruuunch!
The muffled sound of vulnerable nuts being grounded flat in the hands of a pissed off woman can be heard as the news cameras zoom in on the two.
“Shut up and walk straight estúpido! Pull a stunt and I’ll crush…you know what.”
Alyssa seethes between clenched teeth, her threat loud and clear even with all the commotion of officers pushing back the growing herd of nosy civilians. She was never good with being on camera.
There’s another angle on Stanly as he yelps from the unseen ball squeezes. His eyes are puffy and red from his previous screaming and crying. He’s got buzzed blonde hair and is a towering six-two beast with muscles. And yet he's walking with his knees crossed with a pleading look in his eyes.
A few officers winced, knowing Alyssa’s reputation around sensitive balls that were bound to be manhandled.
“P-Pleaseee! I-I’m sorryyyAIII!!!”
He grits his teeth and struggles to keep his eyes open as news reporters and nightcrawlers snap candid photos of him and Alyssa for the next morning front page no doubt.
“Keep moving!”
Alyssa twists her hidden wrist and the begging bitch boy clams up and walks faster on his tippy toes before it cuts to another wide shot of the beautiful and bleak Sani City sky.
There’s no mention of how Alyssa almost destroyed the Bus Bucher’s testicles when his back was turned to her in that warehouse. When he was about to put Darwin and her six feet under…
The scene shifts to an ambulance, where twin ginger sister paramedics carefully load a man in a stretcher. A closer look reveals Detective Darwin Spooner, his curly brown hair and summertime red Hawaiian shirt drenched in blood from his shoulder. His caramel face looks pale and his handsome eyes are closed.
"Detective Spooner was transported to Sunnyside Hospital with undisclosed injuries. His condition remains unknown at this time. Please. Pray for his safe recovery…"
The camera cut back to Detective Michael, who ignored reporters' rushed and frantic questions with a middle finger and disappeared into the ambulance as backup cops took over and loaded the killer to the station.
A hospital bed creaks softly as the viewer shifts. It’s none other than Detective Darwin Spooner himself. He gazes at the TV, baby blue eyes fixed on the replaying footage of his partner escorting the Bus Butcher away.
The crunch of that man’s balls losing a battle against Alyssa’s steel toe cop boots rings through his memory and sends a shiver up his spine.
How the hell did he manage not to barf right there on the spot? When Alyssa wants to break something…she usually finds a way to do it.
Spooner's bare chest rises and falls steadily beneath the hospital blankets, his expression a mix of relief and pain. They’re still alive and the bad guy isn’t going to hurt anyone else.
“The rainstorm…washes away more than just the city's sins. It can bring…justice. A change that comes with…a heavy price.”
He mummers to himself, remembering an old poem his mother used to read to him when he was younger.
Outside the open third-story window, Sandi City is alive and loud. The midnight air is a perfect contrast. Heavy with tropical-like weather but cut by a cool ocean breeze rolling off the bay. The rain has finally stopped and the chase for a perverted killer can finally rest.
It’s exactly the kind of atmosphere Darwin loves. The kind that makes his chaotic life feel normal.
Real…
But right now, sitting in a sterile bed with his left shoulder wrapped tightly in heavy white gauze, the room feels lonely. The adrenaline from the warehouse has evaporated, leaving behind a deep, throbbing ache and the heavy reality of how quiet a room gets when the rush just…stops.
That is until the heavy wooden door clicks open, throwing a wedge of green hallway lights across the white linoleum floor. Alyssa steps back in, her arms cradling a pathetic bounty.
“Still up, Spoon? I got us dinner.”
When you’re a cop, you learn to love a vending machine like a best friend. It doesn't judge the hours you keep, and it’s always open when the rest of the world is asleep.
Not waiting for his words, she walks over to the bedside table and sets down two bags of stale pretzels, Cheetos, and two plastic-wrapped honeybuns. She holds up a sweating, aluminum can of Orange Crush.
“Here.”
It’s freezing cold. He can see the condensation dripping down her knuckles.
"They were out of the diet stuff," she says, her voice a low, gravelly rasp from the warehouse chase and the screaming.
She presses the cold can gently against his uninjured right cheek before Darwin takes it, a faint ghost of a smile touching his lips.
"Hey…thanks."
“Don’t mention it.”
Alyssa doesn't sit in the vinyl visitor's chair. Instead, she drifts over to the open window, leaning her hip against the sill. She pulls a soft pack of cigarettes, Peach Hills, and a disposable blue lighter from her brown leather jacket. A habit she only ever picks up when a case pushes her past the breaking point.
She strikes the flint, the orange flame momentarily illuminating the sharp lines of her tan face, the dark smudges of exhaustion under her darker eyes, and the lingering smear of dried blood on her collar.
Darwin’s blood…
She takes a slow drag, blowing the smoke out into the warm Sandi night, watching the traffic crawl along the highway below.
Looking at her silhouette against the city lights, Darwin feels a familiar, heavy distance settle between them. For the past four years, they’ve perfected the art of having barriers. He’s been the cold, guarded senior detective; she’s been the witty, drop dead gorgeous and crazy, untouchable partner.
He’s locked his feelings behind a badge and a strict adherence to protocol because it was the only way to survive working three feet away from her every single day.
He’s made himself a fortress.
But as Alyssa stares out at the city, she isn't seeing the traffic. She’s seeing the muzzle flash. She’s hearing the deafening bark of that rifle, and she’s seeing Darwin spin and collapse into the dirt. She even remembers feeling the give in the killer’s ballsack when she punted his fat nuts from behind but the dark truth still hangs over her head.
I almost lost him tonight. Truly, permanently lost him…
Looking at him now, pale and bandaged under the flickering glow of a television screen, the old memories she has spent a decade suffocating come roaring back.
She remembers the academy. She remembers the taste of cheap beers and Spooner’s soft lips. His thick manhood pressing against her smooth pelvis. She remembers the humid heat of his cramped apartment and long nights in bed. All ten years ago, the terrifying, overwhelming, weight of how he used to look at her.
Back then, she panicked. She saw a future mapped out by someone else's intensity, and she put the flame out before it ever got a chance to build.
She chose her shield over him. Now, he feels cold towards her. Guarded. A man who protects himself by letting her get close, but never close enough…
Except he took a bullet for me, she thinks, her chest tightening until it hurts to breathe. He threw his life in the dirt. For me…fuck.
"You're quiet," Darwin says from the bed.
His voice is gravelly, breaking her train of thought. He hasn't opened the soda. He's just holding the cold can against his palm, his eyes tracking the movement of her shoulders. Alyssa takes another slow drag, keeping her back to him for a second longer so he can't read her face.
"Just thinking about how much paperwork an officer-involved shooting takes."
"You're a terrible liar, Michael."
She lets out a soft, humorless laugh and finally turns around, leaning her back against the window frame. The cool breeze catches her hair.
"Yeah? How’d you know?"
“Oh it’s easy,” Darwin says, his voice gaining a bit more strength as he shifts against the pillows.
“You’ve always been a mediocre liar. You get this little twitch in your left eyebrow when you’re trying to play it cool. You’ve got it right now.”
Alyssa instinctively reaches up to brush her brow, then freezes, realizing she’s fallen for the bait.
“Oh shut up,” she cracks a smile.
“You’re a disaster, Detective,” Darwin murmurs with sarcasm, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.
“That’s the ‘I’m hiding something’ look. So, how about a do-over? Give it another shot. Why are you actually being so quiet?”
Alyssa stares at him, the peach flavored cigarette glowing orange between her fingers. The silence stretches, filled only by the distant hum of the city and the rhythmic thwack-thwack of the ceiling fan. She looks at the man who had just played human shield for her, then thinks of the absolute carnage she had wrought upon Stanly’s manhood.
A strange, sudden lightness bubbles up in her chest, cutting through the lingering dread of the shooting.
“Honestly?” Alyssa sighs, the smoke curling around her head like a grey halo.
She looks down at her steel toe boots, the heavy black leather still smelling faintly of gunpowder and warehouse grime.
“I’m just annoyed. I really thought I felt a nut pop on that second kick. But as I was cuffing that prick, he was still trying to sneer at me through tears! It’s frustrating.”
Darwin recalls the look she had on her face when she pounded her foot into Stanly’s nutsack twice. Even through the pain of being shot, he didn’t miss the fierce glee his partner carries whenever she gets to bust a baddie.
“—So I reached down his pants and felt them both when handing him over. You know, just to check and…I didn’t break a single one of his stubborn eggs.”
Darwin gulps, the Orange Crush frozen against his cheek, helping cool himself. He blinks, the sheer specificity of her disappointment momentarily overriding the throbbing pain in his shoulder.
He’s seen Alyssa in a dozen different states. Professional, manic, devastated, and feral. But her preoccupation with the structural integrity of a man’s gonads is always a special kind of intensity.
She was a lot like this even in our academy days.
The memory of a younger but still curvy Alyssa slamming her sparring partners flat on their backs thuds through Darwin’s head. Back when he'd fallen for her intensity he never knew a tall latina girl with a fit frame, big boobs, and a round butt could so easily make a man tap by diving for the jewels between his legs.
She was the first one to ever show him the truth behind a man’s source of strength…
To this day he still couldn’t forget the sight of Alyssa’s shit eating grin growing when she balanced herself on her knees and his stomach one time, pinning him beneath her. And God, the horrible pain that followed when she shoved both hands between his thighs to trap his vulnerable, saggy carmel balls in a cage of egg-cracking fingers.
She’s been a pain in my sack since then…
Darwin lets out a sharp, sudden cough that rattles in his chest, the motion sending a jolt of electricity through his wounded shoulder and his waking cock…
"Look," he wheezes, his voice barely a whisper, "I'm sorry your precision was off. Truly. My heart bleeds for the Butcher’s poor boys. But you caught him Alyssa…that’s all that matters."
She furrows her eyebrows at him. Stripping away the partner persona, the bickering, and the ten years of safety mechanisms they’ve built, the space between the hospital bed and the window suddenly feels entirely too small. Too heavy with everything they've spent a decade refusing to say.
Ever since I broke things off back then…he’s been a stubborn egg to crack too.
“…You shouldn't have done it, Darwin," Alyssa says softly, her voice dropping the detective edge completely.
"You know the playbook. You should have stayed in cover."
Darwin’s thumb traces the rim of his unopened drink. When he speaks, the rigid, professional armor he usually wears is entirely gone, leaving only the raw truth of the man who ran into the gunfire.
"Yeah well, the playbook doesn't account for you.”
Alyssa feels her heart skip a beat and she glares down at the glowing tip of her cigarette, the smoke drifting out into the night. For all the walls she has built and all the sarcastic remarks she throws around the precinct, she feels just as unsure as Darwin sometimes. She makes navigating this partnership look easy, like water rolling off a windshield, but it isn't.
Every single day for four years has been a quiet, exhausting tightrope walk between who they used to be and who they have to be now.
She stubs the cigarette out on the metal window frame, tossing the butt into the night, and finally turns away from the city lights. Ignoring the flickering television and the cheap vending machine snacks on the table, she walks over to his bedside. Her movements are slow, deliberate, and entirely stripped of her usual restless energy.
Darwin watches her approach, his breath hitching slightly. When she stops right at the edge of the mattress, the faint light from the news catches her face, highlighting the deep, striking contrast between them. Her beautiful, warm brown eyes locked entirely onto his piercing baby blues.
The quiet tension in the room is thick, so heavy that the sounds of the traffic outside seem to fade away, leaving only the steady, rhythmic hum of their own breathing and the quiet thud of their racing heartbeats.
Without asking, she reaches down, taking the sweating can of Orange Crush from his steady right hand. Her fingers brush his, sending a familiar electric jolt through his cock again, making it hard and long beneath his thin hospital blanket.
“Hey…”
He begins to protest but with a sharp, metallic pop, she opens the soda for him and she doesn't hand it back.
Instead, she sets it on the overbed table and leans in close, her shadow draping over him, bringing with her the faint scent of rain, smoke, and the uniquely familiar vanilla scent on her skin.
"Making bad decisions is my job, Spooner," she murmurs, her voice dropping into a fierce, ragged whisper.
"You're the one who knows better..."
Darwin looks up into her eyes, his jaw tightening slightly as he holds her gaze.
"I guess I'm picking up your bad habits, Michael. Sorry about that."
It is a classic Darwin defense, a reminder of the stubborn, unyielding compatibility that has kept them alive on the streets of Sandi City for nearly a decade. They are two immovable objects, constantly pushing against each other but always perfectly aligned when the world starts shooting.
But as she stares down at him, the stubbornness in Alyssa’s face suddenly cracks. A single, silent tear escapes her eyelashes, tracking a clean line through the dried grime and sweat on her cheek. The sight of it hits Darwin harder than the rifle round Stanly caught him with.
Before he can speak, Alyssa places her palm flat against his uninjured right chest, right over his heart. Her hand is trembling, but her grip is firm, pressing down as if she needs to physically feel the proof that he is still breathing, still warm, and still here.
"Don't you ever do that again," she chokes out, her brown eyes blazing through the tears. "Swear to me, Darwin. Swear to me right now that you'll only take risks that save both of us. Not just me…I’m not letting you die for me."
Darwin reaches up, wrapping his fingers over the back of her hand, pressing her palm even deeper into his chest. The guarded, cold fortress he spent four years building completely crumbles under the weight of her touch.
He looks straight into her eyes, leaving no room for doubt, no room for the old academy ghosts, and no room for professional distance.
"I promise," he says softly, his voice thick with a decade's worth of unsaid truths. "Both of us. Always."
As they sit in that shared promise, the physical distance between them is completely gone…