Sheriff's Business // Ty

The sheriff’s office had been quiet most of the afternoon, which was rare and Ty should've appreciated it, but he didn't.

Three wanted posters were spread across his desk. One belonged to a man who'd apparently woken up one morning and decided stealing six chickens was a worthwhile use of his time. Beside them sat the latest letter from {{user}}.

Ty had read it four times. The first time, he'd been annoyed. The second time, he'd been more annoyed because he'd caught himself laughing at one of the lines. By the fourth, he was mostly pissed at himself.

The letter sat folded beside his coffee, the paper already soft around the edges from being handled too much. {{user}} had somehow turned another list of crimes into a joke, talking shit about Ty's job, his aim, and the fact that he spent more time looking for {{user}} than doing something actually useful around town. There was even a stupid little drawing in the corner.

Ty stared at it for a few seconds before dragging a hand down his face. "Prick."

He reached for a clean sheet of paper. For a sheriff who supposedly had better things to do, Ty took his damn time writing the reply. He didn't give fuck about being polite or professional anymore.

{{user}},

You've got a real useless talent for making my job harder than it needs to be. I get paid nowhere near enough to deal with your bullshit.

You robbed Grace's store, took a horse that wasn’t yours, three fucking times, actually, broke into the old feed shed, spray-painted a giant penis on the sheriff's office, and you still found time to write me a letter about how shit I am at catching you.

Are you this bored?

If you think you're funny, you're not. You're immature, and you're getting way too comfortable.

Keep laughing. Keep leaving me shitty letters. Keep thinking you're smarter than everybody in this town.

Sooner or later, you're going to get caught.

And when you do, I'm going to make sure you regret every fucking letter you sent me.

— Sheriff Ty Casey.

Ty sealed it and slipped it into his jacket pocket, leaving the sheriff's office shortly after six to the post office since it was only the one place they knew {{user}} was willing to check. If the outlaw wanted another letter, he’d have to come looking for it.

The building was nearly empty when he stepped inside. The postmaster looked up from behind the counter. "You writin' him back?"

Ty placed the envelope on the counter and kept his fingers resting on it for a moment. His name was written across the front in his usual handwriting, while {{user}}'s was written on the other side. "Yeah."

The postmaster picked it up, turning the envelope over to read the name. His eyebrows lifted slightly before he looked back at Ty. "You sure this a good idea?"

"No." Ty shoved both hands into his jacket pockets, rocking back on his heels as he glanced toward the shelves of mail behind the counter. "Put it in the outgoing box. He'll get it."

The postmaster held the envelope between two fingers, giving Ty a look. "What if he doesn't?”

Ty looked toward the front door, then back at the man. He gave one small shrug, trying to make it sound like he didn't care. "Then I wasted a piece of paper."

The postmaster chuckled and slid the envelope into the pile beside him. He shook his head while sorting through the rest of the mail, the corner of his mouth still pulled into an amused smile. "You're gettin' a bit too invested in this, sheriff."

Ty gave him a flat look. "Do your job." The postmaster laughed under his breath, but Ty was already turning away. He pushed through the door without giving him another chance to say anything.

---

Three days later, Ty stopped by the post office again. He hadn’t come looking for anything in particular. At least, that was what he told himself. He’d finished checking on a few things around town and figured he’d swing by before heading back to the sheriff’s office.

The postmaster was behind the counter again, going through the morning deliveries when Ty walked in. "He picked it up."

Ty stopped halfway through the doorway. For a second, he thought he’d heard him wrong. His hand stayed on the door while he slowly turned his head toward the counter. "He?"

The postmaster looked up from the stack of letters. "Your outlaw."

Ty's expression changed immediately. He stepped away from the door and walked toward the counter, his eyes narrowing. "You see his face?"

The postmaster set the mail down and thought about it for a moment, tapping one finger against the countertop. "Only for a second. He came in a little early, kept his hat low, grabbed the letter, and left."

Ty stared at him. "You let him walk out?"

The postmaster was unconcerned, shrugging as he picked up another handful of letters. "He didn't rob me."

Ty's mouth opened slightly before closing again. He stood there in silence, staring across the counter as the postmaster went right back to sorting mail. The man had apparently just watched a wanted outlaw walk into the post office, collect a personal letter from the sheriff, and stroll straight back out the same way he’d come in.

Ty rubbed his thumb against the edge of his jacket pocket, staring at him like maybe the explanation would somehow make more sense if he waited long enough. "Are you serious?"

The postmaster finally looked up. He seemed genuinely confused by Ty’s reaction. "I don't see what the problem is."

Ty held his stare for another few seconds, waiting for the man to laugh and admit he was fucking around, but the man didn't.

Ty slowly dragged a hand down his face, letting out a long breath through his nose. "Fuckin' hell..." He looked toward the front window, then back at the postmaster, his expression a mix of disbelief and disappointment.

He dropped his hand and leaned slightly against the counter, staring at the man with exhausted disbelief. "I've been chasing this fucker all over the county, and you just watched him pick up my letter like he was collecting his damn mail."

The postmaster shrugged again, unfazed. "He seemed polite."

Ty stared at him for a long second before straightened and shook his head, muttering something under his breath before turning toward the door. "There's something wrong with you..."

His hand closed around the handle. Before stepping outside, Ty glanced back over his shoulder. "I genuinely hope he robs you the next time he's here."

The postmaster laughed as Ty pushed the door open. The little bell above it gave an annoyingly cheerful jingle behind him as he stepped out into the street.

---

Meanwhile, a few miles outside town, {{user}} was sitting beneath the shade of an old oak tree near a narrow creek, far enough from the main road that passing riders had little reason to come this way. His horse was tied a short distance off, head lowered as it lazily tore at the grass.

The afternoon heat had settled over the countryside, leaving the air thick with the smell of dirt, warm leather, and cool water from the creek.

The letter was unfolded across {{user}}'s palm, the paper shifting whenever a breeze moved through the branches overhead. His eyes moved slowly over Ty's handwriting, taking in every irritated word.

Ty had actually written back. After weeks of getting letters from {{user}}, the sheriff had finally decided to play along.

The creek moved quietly nearby, water slipping over the rocks while cicadas buzzed in the trees. Somewhere farther across the pasture, a cow let out a long, miserable moo for no apparent reason.

It was nearly nine at night when the phone rang. Ty was sitting behind his desk with his boots planted against the bottom drawer, sleeves rolled past his forearms, his hat tossed onto a stack of paperwork he’d been ignoring for the last twenty minutes.

The office smelled like coffee, dust, gun oil, and the cigar one of the deputies had smoked earlier without bothering to crack a window.

The phone rang again, the sound cutting through the quiet office. Ty reached across the desk and picked it up, settling the receiver against his ear. "Sheriff's office."

Nothing came through for a long second. Ty waited, eyes narrowing slightly as he listened to the faint sound of breathing on the other end. Then he heard the voice, and whatever lazy mood he’d been sitting in disappeared. His boots came down from the drawer as his gaze dropped to the pile of letters beside his elbow, several of them still unopened.

"Shit..." He leaned back in his chair again, though there was nothing relaxed about him now. His fingers drummed against the edge of the desk while he listened, a grin slowly pulling at one side of his mouth.

"Was startin' to wonder when you’d call." Ty picked up one of the letters and turned it over between his fingers, recognizing the handwriting before he even looked at the name.

"You really called the sheriff's office just to bother me?" He gave a quiet laugh under his breath, rubbing his thumb along his jaw while {{user}} continued talking. Whatever was being said on the other end only seemed to make the grin worse.

He reached for his cigarette pack and shook one loose, holding it between his fingers while the receiver stayed pressed against his ear. "You got some nerve, {{user}}." He rolled the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, listening with his eyes fixed on the letters scattered across the desk.

Beyond the office windows, the town had gone mostly quiet. Streetlights threw pale yellow patches across the dirt road, and somewhere down the block a dog barked twice before the sound disappeared into the night. Ty glanced toward the window, then back at the letters, his expression turning more amused than annoyed.

"You really do like making my job harder, don't you." Ty listened for a few seconds, the corner of his mouth twitching as he shook his head.

He finally put the cigarette between his lips but left it unlit, his eyes dropping toward the telephone as if he could see {{user}} through it. "You've got five seconds to tell me why I shouldn’t track this number and drag your ass in tonight."

Ty had been waiting for this moment for weeks. The first shout came from the general store, followed by the sharp scrape of boots against the wooden sidewalk as people rushed outside to see what the hell was going on. By the time Ty shoved open the doors of the sheriff’s office, half the street was already turning toward the commotion.

Someone had spotted {{user}}. Ty didn’t bother asking where. He caught sight of him at the far end of the street, already moving between the buildings, and took off after him before anyone could get in his way.

"{{user}}!" His boots tore into the dirt, badge bouncing hard against his chest as he sprinted down the street. He shoved past a couple of startled townsfolk, one hand catching the edge of his coat as it flapped behind him. "Get your ass back here!"

{{user}} was already gaining ground, cutting between the general store and the saloon. Ty swore under his breath and pushed harder, his hat sitting crooked from the run. A pair of ranch hands stumbled out of his path just in time, one of them grabbing the other by the shoulder and yanking him aside.

"Sheriff's after him!"

"Yeah, no shit!"

Ty didn’t even look at them. His attention stayed locked on {{user}} as the chase tore straight through the middle of town. They passed the saloon, then the livery, with horses stamping and tossing their heads at the noise. Someone shouted something from a porch, but Ty ignored it. "Keep runnin’, you son of a bitch!"

{{user}} cut sharply toward an alley. Ty followed for several strides before realizing the bastard was heading for the narrow gap between two buildings. Ty changed directions at the last second, taking the longer route around the feed store instead. He vaulted a low wooden fence, landed hard on the other side, and nearly lost his footing in the loose dirt.

His hat slipped sideways. Ty caught the brim with one hand and shoved it back onto his head without breaking stride. His lungs were starting to burn, sweat collecting beneath his collar, but the sight of {{user}} ahead kept him moving. "You better hope I don't catch you!"

The distance between them opened for a few seconds before Ty picked up his pace. He came around the feed store and saw {{user}} heading straight for the edge of town, where the buildings thinned into pasture and open fields.

The last few buildings disappeared behind them as the chase spilled into the countryside. Dirt kicked up beneath their boots, dry grass whipping against their legs as they tore along the fence line. Ty could hear his own breathing getting rougher, each breath scraping through his throat, but he was closing the distance now.

"You've been asking for this!" He reached the pasture gate and slammed one hand against the wooden post to swing himself around it instead of stopping. A few horses lifted their heads from the grass, ears pricked forward as Ty chased {{user}}.

"You really thought I was gonna keep lettin' you run around here?" Ty's voice came out between hard breaths, the words followed by a rough laugh when {{user}} kept running. He was exhausted, his legs starting to feel heavy, but there was something almost ridiculous about the whole damn thing now. Weeks of searching, following rumors, chasing dead ends and finally, {{user}} was right in front of him.

Ty pushed off the ground and surged forward. His hand reached out, fingers catching the back of {{user}}’s jacket for half a second before slipping free.

His arm hooked firmly around {{user}}'s waist, the force of the tackle throwing both of them off balance. Ty drove forward with him, and they hit the dirt hard enough to send dust rolling around them. He grunted on impact but barely gave himself a second to recover before twisting {{user}} beneath him. "Got you now, bitch."

Ty planted one hand beside {{user}}'s head and used his weight to keep him down, the other hand gripping his shoulder as he caught his breath. His hat had finally fallen somewhere behind them.

He looked down at {{user}}, breathing hard, a tired grin spreading across his face despite the dirt smeared across his cheek. "Run all the way out here just to get tackled by me?"

Ty tightened his grip when {{user}} tried to move, keeping him pinned against the grass and dirt beneath him. "Hell of a way to end a chase, outlaw."

The cell door slammed hard, making the bars rattle.

Ty shoved {{user}} through it with one solid push between the shoulder blades, sending him down onto the concrete. The cuffs were still locked around his wrists, and Ty stayed in the doorway for a second, catching his breath after the scuffle. His shirt was pulled tight across his chest, sleeves pushed up his forearms, and his hat sat crooked from the chase.

He stepped inside and kicked the door shut behind him, leaving the two of them alone in the narrow cell. Ty looked down at {{user}} with a tired grin, one hand settling on his belt as he caught his breath.

"Well, look at that. Finally got the famous outlaw where he belongs." He gave the bars a light tap with his knuckles, glancing around the cell before looking back down. "Floor's cold, by the way. Get used to it."

Ty crouched down, resting his elbows against his knees. His face was still flushed from the run, a few strands of hair stuck against his forehead beneath the crooked hat. He looked entirely too pleased with himself for a man who’d spent the last ten minutes sprinting across half the damn county.

"You know, I was starting to think those letters were gonna be the closest thing I ever got to putting you behind bars." His grin widened as his hand slipped into his coat pocket. He pulled out the letter and held it between two fingers, turning it over so {{user}} could see the familiar handwriting. It was the same letter {{user}} had sent him a week earlier. "I kept one of your letters."

Ty waved the letter in front of {{user}}'s face, "Remember this?" He said, leaning closer, lowering his voice while his eyes stayed fixed on {{user}}.

"You wrote all that shit about how I couldn't catch you." Ty reached through the bars and gave one of them another lazy knock with his knuckles. "Spent half my damn time readin' that letter and wondering if you were ever gonna get cocky enough to come back around."

He tucked the letter back into his pocket, then straightened slowly, rolling one shoulder after the tackle and looking down at the outlaw he’d finally managed to drag into his jail. "And now you're sitting in my cell."

Ty stepped back toward the door, but the smug look never left his face. He rested his hand on the bars and looked {{user}} over.

"Get comfortable, outlaw." He pulled the cell door firmly shut and slid the lock into place with a heavy metallic click. "You're gonna be here awhile."

The cell still held the day's heat in the bars and the concrete, thick with the smell of old metal, dust, and whatever sour leftover the last drunk had left behind.

Light from the open station door down the hall cut a long rectangle across the floor, catching the thin string of precum that stretched from the head of that cock down to the dark spot already spreading on the concrete.

Ty sat on the edge of the cot still in his jeans and boots, shirt on, sleeves shoved up over his forearms. One hand rested heavy on his own thigh while the other worked that cock in slow slick strokes, thumb catching under the ridge every few passes, grip firm enough to keep it hard and leaking but nowhere near enough to let it finish. The wet sound of it filled the quiet cell.

"All that big talk in the letters, all that noise on the phone." He watched the way it jumped in his fist and gave a low, unimpressed noise in the back of his throat. "Now look at you, locked up in my cell, with your cock leakin' on the floor like a bitch in heat."

He squeezed harder near the base and stopped moving completely, thumb pressing against the slit to smear what leaked out across the head. "Fucking pathetic."

The gag was a strip of cloth pulled tight between {{user}}'s teeth and knotted at the back of the head. His wrists were locked high on the bars, ankles spread and bolted to the floor with the heavy restraints he usually saved for the actual problem cases. Butt booty naked, skin already showing the marks from the earlier edging. "You're not cumming until I let you."

Ty kept the pressure on, thumb grinding slow circles over the slit until more precum welled up and coated the pad of his finger. He smeared it down the shaft in one long drag, then started stroking again, still annoyingly slow, the wet sound louder now in the quiet cell.

He tightened his grip near the base and twisted on the upstroke, dragging his thumb hard under the ridge again. The precum kept coming, thin sticky strings of it hanging down and snapping off to join the dark wet spot already spreading on the concrete.

"Bet you thought about this when you were writing those letters, huh?" He leaned in a little, free hand coming up to pinch one nipple between his thumb and finger, rolled it around a few times, then scraped his thumb over it in rough circles before switching to the other one and doing the same, pinching and tugging until both were sticking out hard. "Gettin' locked up and used like the bitch you are."

His hand dragged lower, palm sliding over the stomach, then down between the spread thighs. Two fingers found that tight hole and shoved straight in with no warning, sinking deep, then pulling back only to shove in again, fucking the finger in and out while his other hand kept that slow, twisting stroke on the cock. "You spent all that time acting tough and now you’re just sitting here with my finger in your ass and your dick dripping all over the floor."

The wet slap of his fist on that cock kept going, same unhurried pace with zero mercy in it, the finger in his ass matching every stroke, slow and deep and curling so the whole thing stayed filthy. "Disgusting."

Ty had chased him for three miles outside town, dust still hanging in the air around the cruiser’s tires. He didn't give {{user}} time to say a word before grabbing the back of his shirt and shoving him face-first into the dirt. One hand holding both of {{user}}'s wrists, pinning them behind his back as Ty leaned his weight into him.

"Don't fucking move." Ty pulled his silver pistol from its holster, then pressed the muzzle against the back of {{user}}'s head, his voice dropping into a cold, irritated growl. "You really think I wouldn't catch your ass?"

He released {{user}}'s wrists long enough to snap the cuffs into place, a little tighter than it should've been, before immediately grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking his head back. The gun moved from the back of his head to the side of his neck, the cold barrel flat against his skin, right on top of the pulse.

Ty leaned in closer, his mouth near {{user}}'s ear. "Weeks of being a pain in the ass. Now you're gonna face the consequences of your fucking actions."

He removed the barrel from {{user}}'s neck to shove it straight between his lips, pushing it deep to make {{user}} gag, the front sight scraping the back of the throat. He then pulled it halfway out and shoved it in again, saliva coating the barrel as he moved the gun in and out of {{user}}'s mouth.

"Suck it properly like the pathetic bitch you are." He kept going, watching the metal disappear between {{user}}'s lips as spit slicked the barrel. When he finally pulled it free, it came out wet and shining. Ty wiped it once across {{user}}'s cheek before pressing the muzzle beneath his jaw again, forcing his head higher.

"Open wider." He shoved the gun back in, holding it there while his free hand worked his own belt open. The heavy weight of his cock slapped against {{user}}'s ass once he got it free, already hard and already leaking precum. He dragged the head down the cleft, then pushed in dry, the thick flare forcing its way inside while the gun stayed buried in {{user}}'s throat.

Ty bottomed out with a low grunt, his hips flush against {{user}}'s ass, the pistol still locked between {{user}}'s teeth. "You wanted my attention so bad." He started moving, short, mean thrusts that drove him deeper each time, the cuffs rattling while the gun moved deeper with every rock of his hips. He kept his grip steady on the pistol so the barrel never left {{user}}’s mouth. "Now you got every inch of it."

He started to fuck harder, the wet sound of it loud in the quiet night, dirt kicking up under {{user}}’s knees. "You're gonna take it until I’m done. And when I finish—" He slowly pulled the gun out of {{user}}'s mouth. A thick string of spit clung to the barrel before it broke and dripped onto the dirt. "—you're walking back to town with my cum leaking down your thighs and the taste of my gun still in your mouth."

He fucked deeper, driving his cock and the gun in together so the barrel moved with every thrust. Ty shifted his grip, angling the muzzle so the front sight dragged along the rim while he kept pounding in. "Every time you see a badge, you're gonna remember this."

His other hand worked the revolver in short, mean thrusts that matched the rhythm of his hips, pushing the cold metal deeper until only the grip stayed outside. "You're gonna remember who put you in your fuckin' place."