Arrested

Bail

This is for Jen and everyone else I talked to about Arrested needing a sequel.

Mitch comes out to the waiting room looking only mildly disheveled; his clothes are just as just as obnoxiously expensive, but they sag on his shoulders, the lines not pressed and sharp after being kept in storage. He's remarkably fresh-faced, his cheeks slightly pink, subtle shadows darkening the skin under his eyes, and Scott realizes this is the first time he's seen Mitch without makeup. All the red carpet events, all the paparazzi photos of Mitch out on the town, all the images Scott has looked up online to fuel his lust—Mitch has always been coiffed and made-up and impeccably styled. A tendril of excitement snakes through Scott's stomach. Not many people get to see Mitch like this.

The haughty set of Mitch's shoulders is just the same, though. Scott watches him sign his release papers and gather his things, looking bored by the whole process. When he's done, Scott puts down his magazine and stands up, clearing his throat to draw Mitch's attention.

It takes Mitch a few seconds to recognize him. Scott's off-duty, out of his uniform, so he's actually pleased that Mitch recognized him at all.

"Thought you wanted me to look you up, not the other way around," Mitch says with a grin.

"Didn't trust you to follow through."

"You're sweet, but..." Mitch's gaze makes a slow sweep over Scott's clothes—ripped jeans and a flannel shirt with cut-off sleeves, a simple tank top underneath. Scott stands tall and waits for him to make his assumptions. "Listen," Mitch says, "I'm no hooker, but you can't afford me."

"You expect a certain standard of living?"

Mitch comes closer, shifts his baggie of personal effects to his right hand, and drags his index finger slowly down Scott's chest. "You wanna be my bit of rough? I'm sure my dad would love that. Especially right after I get out of jail."

Scott smiles slowly. "I'm the one who posted your bail."

He's watching closely enough to see Mitch's expression freeze. There's a flicker of confusion in his eyes, and his gaze slips back down, as if confirming that Scott is dressed like a slob. He recovers quickly, though his smile is unsure when he says, "Really? Well aren't you just full of surprises. Got some deep pockets, big daddy?"

"Maybe I do," Scott replies with a nonchalant shrug, "or maybe I just really wanted you to owe me."

Mitch bites his lip and the teasing seductress persona settles on his shoulders, looking even more natural than the expensive clothes. "Still got those cuffs?"

Scott's smile stretches into a grin. He shrugs. "If I need 'em. Come on, let's go."

***

Scott drives them back to Mitch's apartment. Mitch is a skilled liar and manipulator, and Scott wants to be extremely careful about what information Mitch is privy to; witnessing Mitch's realization that he's perhaps bitten off more than he can chew was delightful, and Scott hopes for a few more of those moments tonight.

Mitch's posture relaxes when he steps through the door—newly fixed; someone's been taking care of the place while Mitch has been away—and he immediately starts stripping off his clothes. He leaves them on the floor on the way to the bedroom: his boots, his pants, his jacket leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for Scott to follow. Mitch pauses at the bedroom door and rests his hand on the wall. His shirt is long enough to skim his thighs, and the sleeve extends over his palm. He looks surprisingly feminine, even with a few days' worth of stubble on his chin.