Regular readers will recognize some of these characters. But it doesn't matter if you haven't read my stories before. This is a standalone.
Tess - O'Meter -- Green / Amber.
Trigger warning: Violence, threat and homophobic/racist language.
-X
"Martineeeezzzzzzzz. Looking good!"
Chris felt himself spin and when the chair stopped he opened his eyes. His face immediately lighting into a grin as he saw his reflection.
Phillipe was stood behind him looking pleased.
"Phillipe, it looks great. Wow, thanks." Chris turned his head this way and that, making the short dreads bounce as Phillipe held up a mirror behind him.
"Happy?"
"Yes, it always looks great, but yea. I love them."
Phillipe put the mirror aside and sprawled himself dramatically over Chris' shoulders, sinking one hand into the thick springy ropes. "I told you growing it out a little would help. You wanted something your man could get a grip of."
Chris' head tipped back as Phillipe tugged gently. "Yea, he's gonna love them too," his eyes laughed into Phillipe's.
They both turned as Phillipe's partner tutted loudly, before flipping a magazine page. They had very strong opinions on many things and were never afraid to voice their feelings.
"Don't you like them, Kaz?" Chris asked.
"Your locs look fine," Kaz admitted, they didn't approve of the words dreads, or dreadlocks. "It's your boyfriend who concerns me."
"You don't even know him," Phillipe pointed out.
"I've seen him. Needs to get some sun if you ask me," Kaz flicked their hair as Phillipe cursed.
Chris pulled the towel from around his shoulders and stood, stopping in front of Kaz. "Kaz, if I promise to use the word locs when I'm around you, will you promise to stop saying racist things about Curtis in front of me?"
Kaz's eyes flared, but Chris persisted. Laying a hand on his heart. "It hurts me Kaz. It hurts that you can't respect me enough to respect my choices."
"Oh, but sweetie," Kaz immediately relented. Pulling Chris into a hug. "I do respect you. I love you. I just worry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."
Chris hugged them back. "It's okay, but just enough, please."
"I'll be good. I swear," Kaz mimed zipping their lips and crossing their heart.
"Thank you." Chris paid and slipped to the back of the tiny salon to use the bathroom. Phillipe could only fit four people in at any one time, and as Kaz was usually there, that was one person in the chair and one waiting.
He nearly yelped when he exited the bathroom and came face to face with a stranger in the narrow corridor, "What?"
The man flashed an ID in Chris' face, he just registered the Metropolitan Police logo. "Expect contact. We're close," he whispered, hardly loud enough for Chris to hear, and then slipped out the fire exit.
Chris stood for a moment, startled, before pulling the door closed.
"What's that draft?" Phillipe asked when he walked back in and grabbed his jacket.
"The fire exit was open. I've shut it."
Phillipe turned and glared at Kaz.
"Sorry darling, I must have not closed it properly when I popped out earlier."
"You're meant to have quit," Phillipe accused.
"I don't smoke them," Kaz preened and fluttered their lashes. "I just light one up and have a little sniff."
"For fucks sake," Phillipe complained as Chris sniggered.
"I've gotta go. Thanks," he hugged Phillipe goodbye. "And you try to be good. Smoking will make you look forty in no time," he gave Kaz a squeeze and laughed as they batted him away, squealing.
"Don't say things like that. Don't be mean."
"Stop smoking then. For real," Chris suggested as he left. Kaz pouting behind him.
Chris crossed the busy street and headed back towards the tube. Deciding to go home via his friend's book shop and grab a coffee and a natter. Aiming for casual and unconcerned as he took his usual shortcut down a narrow alley that linked two busy roads.
Halfway down his journey was abruptly interrupted when a large man loomed out of a doorway and punched him hard in the stomach.
Shocked, and half sick, Chris's legs went from under him. He was hauled up and slammed against the rough brickwork.
He wasn't short, but with a slender frame, Chris wasn't any kind of match for the six and a half feet of pure muscle that had him pinned against the wall.
Then the other man appeared and Chris' heart started to race. This man he knew.
"We're going to need those plans soon, Martinez."
"I'm trying," he coughed. "It's not my project, I haven't been able to get close."
The 'heavy' casually slapped Chris. He seemed almost bored. Chris tasted blood in his mouth, as his ears rang.
"Try harder," was the cold suggestion. "We're watching you. If you don't want all your colleagues and friends to know what a perverted little faggot you are."
Chris sagged as he was released. Blinking away tears as he watched them leave the way he had come.
"Shit!" he pressed his hand to his mouth and wiped the blood on his jeans. Shaking and tearful he made his way to the street. His heart plummeting when there was a whoop and a large police vehicle pulled up in front of him.
One of those seven seaters with blacked out back windows and lights flashing all over. That was all he needed.
A tall uniformed officer heaved himself from the driver's seat and lumbered around, eyeing the blood leaking from his lip. Of course, being London, there was an instant crowd and a dozen phones pointing in his direction.
Chris just wanted to sink to the ground and crawl away.
"Has there been some kind of altercation, Sir?" The officer asked. The 'Sir' laced with sarcasm, as he glanced up the alleyway.
"No, I tripped. All good," Chris tried a smile and winced. "Shit!"
"Step over to the car please."
"Seriously?" Chris' mood took a further severe dive. "I'm just walking down the street!"
"This way." He was tugged towards the car. "Can you tell me your name?"
Chris just glared.
"Is there a reason you don't want to tell me your name, Sir?"
"Chris Martinez."
"Christopher?"
"Yes."
"And you fell?"
"Yes."
"You seem uncomfortable. Did you hurt your stomach?"
"What? No."
"Are you concealing a weapon?"
"NO! Jesus!"
"Do you know where Charing Cross nick is, Mr Martinez?"
"Yes I do, but, listen." Chris huffed as the situation escalated out of his control.
"That's where I'm based. My name is Tom Gooding. I would like to search you for weapons. I believe you may have been in a fight. I believe you may be carrying an offensive weapon that is illegal under UK law. Do you understand Mr Martinez?"
"Are you arresting me?"
"Do I need to?"
"NO!"
"Would you remove your jacket please?"
Chris rolled his eyes and yanked his jacket off, thrusting it at the officer.
"Would you hold your arms to the side please, Mr Martinez?"
Hands moved expertly down his arms and torso. Chris tensed when they pressed his abs, and the officer flicked him a look. Then he crouched and moved up Chris' legs.
Chris was aware his skin was too dark to reveal a blush, but his face was burning nonetheless, as the officer straightened and leaned in close.
"And what might that be?"
"It's a chastity device," Chris forced out through gritted teeth.
"That what you people are into these days?" The officer absently turned his radio down when it squawked.
"You people? Would that be blacks or gays?" Chris asked and the officer smirked.
"I think we'll take this down the station. I will be seeking authority for a full search, Mr Martinez."
Chris just wanted to sit on the ground and sob.
The officer opened the back door. "Do I need to cuff you?"
"No."
"Get in the car."
Chris threw a filthy look at the police officer, but moved to the door. Wincing and holding his stomach as a large hand came down on the back of his head, his fabulous new dreads, and pushed him lower.
Obviously, he was British and Black. It wasn't the first time Chris had been questioned. Not even the second.
But he hadn't been put in a car before, and it felt so lowering.
And he was submissive. He enjoyed being dominated. But not like this.
The door slammed and Chris straightened, hissing and pressing his stomach. Jumping a little when he came face to face with Master Lo.
Lo held a finger to his lips, made the 'phone' motion to his ear, and then held out his hand, waggling his fingers.
Chris stayed quiet and handed his phone over as the officer got in and the car pulled away.
No one said a word as the car made short work of the journey. Lo put a finger to his lips again and slipped Chris' phone in his pocket.
'Are you hurt?' he mouthed.
Chris shook his head.
The awkward silence continued as they pulled into an underground car park and Chris followed Lo and the officer into the building.
The officer only said a few words. Nothing complementary.
Lo handed a slip of paper to the custody sergeant, who seemed amused by the other officer, and then Chris experienced his first booking in.
Name, address, date of birth, confirming his understanding of why he was there, the officer advising of his suspicions and intent for full search. All with very sarcastic Mr Martinez and Sir's. Logging his belongings, and an explanation of what would happen. His rights. He wasn't under arrest, he was there voluntarily.
Although it was clear if he stopped volunteering he would immediately be arrested.
It was incredibly intimidating.
Every time Chris glanced at Lo he got a reassuring smile.
Then his phone, but weirdly not his other belongings, were locked in a metal box.
Once that was done. "Nice costume," the older policeman smirked at the officer who had 'sort of' arrested Chris.
"Piss off, Jacksy," the man drawled and raised his middle finger. Then he tugged at the neckline and moved towards the door. "Forgot how much I hate being in uniform." He made a five-minute motion to Lo and disappeared.
