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Duncan woke up at 4:15am sharp for his first day at the SugarRush Talented Police Department, aka STPD
He scuffled out of bed, picking sprinkles out of his hole.
He headed straight toward the kitchen, eager for a steamy cup of Joe. It was going to be a rough first day, and he needed to be awake and ready.
He took a quick shower before reapplying his frosting, then got dressed and headed out the door.
Once he arrived, he was greeted by the Chief officer, who introduced him to his new trainer: Wynnchel.
What a stupid fucking name.
“Pleased to meet you, rookie,” Wynnchel said, holding out his hand to shake.
“It’s Duncan,” he corrected. “Nice to meet you too.”
Wynnchel raised his eyebrows. “We’ll see.”
What a prick.
Duncan smirked. “I guess we will.”
Once they got through the tour, Wynnchel took him on his first drive.
“We’re just checking for speeders, rookie, don’t get too excited.”
“It's Duncan.” Duncan glanced at him and saw Wynnchel already looking back at him. They both turned towards the road. Duncan cleared his throat. “Is this all you do? Just sit around, waiting for someone to litter?”
“You couldn’t handle half of what I do all day.”
“Try me.”
Suddenly, a car zipped past, clearly way over the speed limit.
Wynnchel, in a swift movement, pressed the large red button with his long, slender fingers, turning on the lights and sirens and shifted the gear shift swiftly with his dada hands, trailing after the criminal.
Duncan couldn't help but notice how sexy Wynnchel looked like this, his gaze intense, his muscles flexed and sweating. His maple frosting glistened under the hot sun.
They zipped through traffic before finally cornering the perpetrator. Wynnchel threw Duncan a glance before stepping out of the car. “Time to show us what you’re made of, rookie.”
“Duncan,” he mumbled under his breath before following after him.
Wynnchel got him pressed up against the car, and it was like time was in slow motion. Beads of sweat dripped from Wynnchel's forehead. He looked beautiful.
“Rookie, cuffs, now!” Wynnchel shouted.
Duncan broke out of his trance and fiddled with his handcuffs, unable to remove them from his belt. He cursed under his breath.
“Use mine!” Wynnchel called, not bothering to hide his frustration.
Duncan reached towards Wynnchel’s waist, using one hand to hold him in place while he grabbed his handcuffs with the other.
He locked the handcuffs on the perpetrator, not realizing his other hand was still on Wynnchel’s waist.
Duncan looked up for approval, only to be met with Wynnchel’s sickening dada aura. His throat went dry. Wynnchel scoffed. Duncan noticed. The sting of rejection hit him, so he tried overcompensating.
“You wanna know what I’m made of? All-purpose flour and sugar,” Duncan said smugly, hands on his hips.
Wynnchel just shook his head and lead the perpetrator to the backseat of the police car.
After locking the criminal in jail, Duncan suggested they get ice cream to cool off a bit.
They arrived at one of the many ice cream parlors by the police station. Duncan ordered vanilla with sprinkles, which Wynnchel scoffed at. He muttered "cannibal" under his breath. “I bet you drink coffee, too.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Duncan asked, furrowing his brows.
Wynnchel sighed and shook his head. “Lookie, rookie. For centuries, our kind, donuts, have been stripped of our identities and subject to the overconsumption and the normalization of coffee dipping, due to the social construct that is donuts and coffee. Like, come on! Your name is Duncan! You should know this already.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Are you serious? …Duncan? …Dunkin’? Like… Dunkin’ donuts? The place known for donuts but ALSO known for coffee. Whole thing’s a load of coffeeganda. It is literally named after the act of us being dunked in coffee. And that’s your fucking name, rookie.”
“Is that why you’ve been calling me rookie?
A smile tugged at the corners of Wynnchel’s mouth. They shared a look for a brief second before they got interrupted.
“Vanilla with sprinkles and pistachio!” The worker called out.
Duncan laughed. “Pistachio?”
“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”
Duncan can think of a lot of things he wants to try as Wynnchel takes a lick of his ice cream with his long, throbbing, wet tong-
Woah.
Slow down.
Duncan felt a sting of cold drip down his fingers.
Ice cream. Right.
Duncan started eating his ice cream as they exited the store.
They ran into a little Reese’s candy crying. Her ice cream was melting into the cracks of the pavement below them.
Without a word, Wynnchel went back into the store and bought her a new cone. He bent down to her level. “Here, sport. Fuck that ice cream cone.”
The girl smiled. “Yeah. Fuck that ice cream cone.”
Wynnchel gave her a pat on the back and she skipped away.
Duncan’s jaw was still open.
He’s so good with kids. Fuck.
“Didn’t know you had any compassion under that hard exterior,” Duncan said.
“Why are you thinking about my hard exterior, officer?”
Duncan’s face turned bright red. “W-w-what?” He stuttered. “No, I-”
“I’m just giving you shit, rookie. Relax,” Wynnchel said, placing a grounding hand on his shoulder. Duncan shuddered at the contact.
Once they made their way back to the police station, Duncan followed him into his office.
Wynnchel sighed. “Do you need something?”
“Back there. During the arrest. You… you scoffed at me. Why?”
“Because,” Wynnchel said, standing up. “The cuffs. They were loose. Way too loose.”
“There was nothing wrong with my cu-”
Wynnchel spun him around and pinned him against the desk.
Duncan gasped. Before he could process what was happening, he heard the clicking of handcuffs and felt the cold sting of metal against his wrists.
Wynnchel hovered close to his ear, his breath ghosting Duncan’s ear. “Like that. Tight.” Wynnchel pulled back, his eyes still locked on Duncan’s.
Duncan swallowed, dazed and confused, as Wynnchel opened the door to leave. Duncan jumped up, grabbing his wrist, hands still cuffed. “You’re just going to leave me like this?”
Wynnchel paused in the doorway before turning back around. “Well, what would you like me to do?” He asked, guiding Duncan back towards the desk, locking the door behind him.
“Do what you want with me,” Duncan whispered.
“Speak up.”
“Do what you want with me,” Duncan said, raising his voice.
“Good,” Wynnchel said, pushing himself into Duncan’s hole. "Fuck, you're so tight."
Duncan moaned, his hole slick with frosting as Wynnchel slid in and out of him with deepening thrusts.
Duncan grabbed Wynnchel’s face and kissed him, smearing their frosting–-a mixture of vanilla and maple–-across their tongues.
Duncan glided his tongue across his mouth to savor the taste of them mixed together. Wynnchel groaned at the sight, his thrusts growing faster and sloppier until Duncan was a shaking mess underneath him.
“I know you’re a fan of vanilla, so taste mine,” Wynnchel called, moaning Duncan’s name as he slid out, releasing all over Duncan’s stretched, fucked-out hole.
Wynnchel’s boston creme covered Duncan’s face and gaping hole. They were both panting.
Wynnchel pulled back, took the handcuffs off, and kissed his forehead. “Not too bad for a rookie.”
“Fuck off,” Duncan said, laughing. “And can you knock it off with the rookie thing? I know you like saying my name. You moaned it.”
Wynnchel blushed before clearing his throat. “So… how did it taste?”
“Not enough sprinkles.”