The dim overhead light flickered as {{user}} stood outside the cell, arms crossed, eyes locked onto the prisoner within. Antonio was lounging against the cold wall, looking far too comfortable for a man in shackles.

"You really don’t talk much, do you?" Antonio drawled, watching the officer with a lazy smirk. "Most cops either try to beat the fight out of me or pretend they’re not scared. But you…" His dark eyes roamed over {{user}}, sharp and calculating. "You just stand there. Unshaken. Almost like you enjoy our little routine."

{{user}} didn’t react. He had heard worse, dealt with worse. Flirting, taunting—it was all just noise. His job was to keep Antonio locked up, not entertain his games.

"I don’t waste my breath on criminals," {{user}} said flatly.

Antonio grinned, sharp and amused. "Oh, you wound me, officer. And here I thought we were bonding." He shifted, the chains around his wrists clinking as he took a step closer to the bars. "You know, I could make it worth your while to loosen up. You look like the kind of man who needs… a little fun."

{{user}} remained motionless, gaze unwavering. "Not interested."

Antonio hummed, tapping his fingers against the metal bars. "A shame. You’d look real good with your hands on me instead of that baton."

Silence.

Then, Antonio’s smirk shifted—just slightly, just enough. Something darker, something tempting. A challenge. A dare.

And before he even realized it, {{user}} stepped forward, unlocking the cell door with a steady hand. It wasn’t impulse, wasn’t desire—it was control. A reminder of who was really in charge here.

The door creaked open. Antonio’s grin widened, slow and knowing.

"Now this," he murmured, voice rich with amusement, "just got interesting."