jeriendhal | Kink Bingo: Uniform Duty (SFW)

Squares: Uniforms
Warnings: Mild language
Tags: F/m, uniform fetish

* * *

As he did every night, he kneeled down and began running the electric buffer over the brown, knee high boots, shining them to perfection, until he could see his face reflected in them.

You are under arrest.

Then pulled the shirt and pants from the dryer, ironing them until the creases were as sharp as a blade.

You have the right to remain cute.

Six buttons on the front of the shirt. One on the front of the pants. All brass, all shined until they gleamed.

You have the right to shut up and kiss my ass.

The black silk tie was unknotted, also ironed out. He slipped it around his neck briefly, setting the knot back in the place before loosening it again and hanging it up on the coat rack, so there'd be no need to fool with it in the morning.

Anything you do or say will be used against you, period.

Last was the equipment belt, the black leather growing worn here and there from years of use, but also worthy of being shined. He set a fresh notepad and pen in one pouch, the former almost full, checked the charge on the radio, and oiled the mechanism on the handcuffs. The tonfa stick lay on a side table, not really needing his attention. The gun remained in its lockbox, as it would until morning.

Do you understand these rights? If not, I don't give a shit.

Next he wiped down the motorcycle helmet. There was a pair of deep scratches on the left hand side, as if from some prehistoric beast, from a spill taken three months ago. They resisted all attempts to buff them out, a reminder of danger that set him to trembling every time he saw them.

Last he set the coffee maker's timer for tomorrow morning, and went upstairs.

His wife lay in bed where she'd collapsed after coming off a double shift, still smelling of sweat and motorcycle fumes, her lithe, tanned body naked under the covers, her black hair flowing over the pillow, released from its regulation bun. He snuggled up behind her, sniffing the perfume of her work and duty in the nape of her neck, his arm wrapping around her waist to rest his palm on the muscles of her stomach.

She stirred slightly, one hand moving to cover his, "All right?" she murmured.

"All ready for tomorrow," he reassured her.

"Love you, babe." Her hand closed around his wrist, holding him there as she drifted back to sleep. In the morning she'd go back out onto the highway, back into danger, but for now she was here with him.

He couldn't keep her safe out there. But he could make damned sure she looked her best.

You have the right to be mine. Forever.