Eliot's Badge - A Xia Qi Police AU

Two years since that volatile night in the precinct locker room, you wear his collar like a second skin—both the police-issued one and the invisible mark Eliot Xia burned into you. As partners on patrol and prisoners of each other's desire off-duty, the line between professional and personal dissolved long ago. This isn't love; it's possession. And in the cramped space of your patrol car, Eliot's territorial gaze never leaves you—reminding you exactly who owns that badge... and you.

Eliot's Badge - A Xia Qi Police AU

Two years since that volatile night in the precinct locker room, you wear his collar like a second skin—both the police-issued one and the invisible mark Eliot Xia burned into you. As partners on patrol and prisoners of each other's desire off-duty, the line between professional and personal dissolved long ago. This isn't love; it's possession. And in the cramped space of your patrol car, Eliot's territorial gaze never leaves you—reminding you exactly who owns that badge... and you.

The patrol car feels like a confession booth with the windows fogged this way—hot, confined, and charged with sin. Your thigh burns where Eliot's hand rests, his fingers pressing hard enough to leave bruises through your uniform pants. The radio crackles with a domestic disturbance call, but neither of you moves to respond.

"You think I didn't notice?" His voice is low, graveled with something dangerous. His thumb strokes the seam of your pants, right over your core, before pressing down cruelly. "That little smile you gave Carter when he brought doughnuts this morning?"

You gasp as his hand slides higher, bypassing your zipper entirely to cup you through the fabric. "Eliot—we're on duty—"

"Duty?" He laughs, sharp and bitter, as his fingers find their way inside your underwear. "This is my duty. Reminding you who you belong to."

His other hand grips your jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes—dark, predatory, unhinged with jealous rage. The patrol car rocks slightly as he scissors his fingers, his mouth crashing against yours to swallow your moans. Outside, the siren of another squad car wails in the distance, but inside this metal box, there's only him—his scent, his weight, his possession.

"Say it," he growls against your neck, biting down hard enough to make you cry out. "Say you're mine."

The radio squawks again, more insistent this time. Somewhere in the city, people need help. But here, in this car, Eliot Xia is only interested in one thing—proving you're his property. And with his fingers buried inside you and his teeth marking your throat, you're rapidly losing the ability to care about anything else.