S.C.A.T.

Title: "S.C.A.T." (1/1)
Author: Jimbo
Subjects: Jim Street and Brian Gamble of "S.W.A.T."
Date: May 8, 2005
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters -- just borrowing them for the fun of it.
Warnings: A little nasty. Slash, scat, rimming, sorta rough sex.
Read at your own risk of being offended.

Jim Street pounded on the door of his partner's apartment; he didn't care who he was disturbing -- didn't give a shit that it was after midnight and the lights surrounding him were all out. Both tequila and a growing anger were fueling his insistence, and he would stand at this door until the second coming of Christ if necessary.

He was going to have his say.

The door suddenly opened and the wide-eyed face of Brian Gamble greeted him. "What are you doing here?" he asked, not smiling. "Are you nuts?"

Street's lips curled into more of a sneer than a smile. "Yeah. I'm nuts," he agreed. "Nuts to have cared about you."

"What do you want?" Gamble said. "You need an aspirin for that headache I gave you in the locker room?"

Inwardly wincing, Street vividly recalled his head being slammed into the mirror behind him by his partner's angry shove. The mirror had shattered. Who would be the recipient of the resulting seven years of bad luck?

"I need a glass of water," Street said. "I'm thirsty."

"You smell like you've had plenty to drink, Jimbo. What happened? Lover's quarrel between you and Captain Fuller?"

Gamble had accused him of disloyalty, of turning information over to their captain in order to save his own career -- of becoming Fuller's "bitch." Gamble had assumed the worst, after five years of being partners. And he had walked out -- walked out on S.W.A.T. and walked out on Jim Street.

The latter was by far the most unforgivable sin.

"Fuck you this time, Gamble! Just let me in." He shoved past Brian Gamble, who just hours earlier had spat out the same curse as he slammed Street into the mirror. It was time to shove back. Jim Street was drunk, and he was sick of being pushed around.

Street turned and faced his former partner. "You ready to listen, for once?" he asked.

"I turned in my badge and gun," Gamble said, closing the door behind him. "There's nothin' else to say, Jimbo."

"Wanna bet? I have plenty to say!"

"I think you already said enough in Fuller's office today, Brother. Or didn't ratting me out pay off the way you thought it would?"

Glancing around, Street noticed Gamble's apartment seemed freshly picked up and strangely vacant. There was definitely something missing. Was Brian already planning a move out of L.A.?

"What's different?" he said, momentarily distracted.

Gamble pointed to a box of trophies and trinkets. Inside were framed photos of the two partners, including one taken the day they were sworn into the police force and a group shot of their S.W.A.T. team. A shooting award Gamble had won lay on top. "Just doing some house cleaning," he said. "I was about to take this out to the garbage."

Sighing, Street tore his eyes off the box and landed them on the stoic face of Brian Gamble. "Okay," he said in a tight voice. "If that's the way you want it."

"I didn't ask for this, Jimmy! I was fucked over, by the L.A.P.D. and by my own partner and best friend! How do you expect me to feel?"

A florid haze filtered Jim Street's vision. He was literally 'seeing red.' He let out a roar and slammed into Brian Gamble.

"Fucked you over, huh?" he grunted out, tackling Gamble's unsuspecting form to the couch. "How 'bout just fucked, huh, Brian? How 'bout it?"

Gamble gathered his senses and started to fight back. "What are you doin', Jimmy? You're drunk! Get the fuck off me!"

"No way! Not this time. I'm not taking orders from you anymore, Brian!"

Street hauled his smaller frame over the struggling body of his partner. He clamped his strong legs together, pinning Gamble's thighs and effectively paralyzing his lower body. Then he proceeded to slap Gamble's face, striking the cheeks and mouth until the full lower lip started to bleed. Gamble, seemingly surprised by the speed of the attack, quickly countered by reaching for Street's arms. They struggled for a moment, then went tumbling off the couch together.

"My neighbors are gonna call the cops, you idiot!" Gamble said, wiping at his mouth.

"They're already here," Street answered. He paused for a minute. "At least one of us is still a cop."

"Just what the fuck do you think you're doin', Jimmy? Seriously?"

Street sat up and rubbed sweat off his forehead. "I told you before, asswipe. I'm gonna fuck you, just like you said I did."

Breathing hard, Gamble steadied himself and also sat up. His wide, lighter eyes stared back at Jim, and Street found it hard to read the expression. Five years they had been friends and partners, and today it seemed like he didn't know this man at all . . .

How could everything have been wiped away so quickly and completely? Despair rose in Street like a fist hammering the inside of his ribcage.

"You wanna fuck me, Jimbo? You really think you have the balls to do that?"

A pang of heat replaced the pain in his chest, and Street realized that his anger wasn't burned out, just momentarily banked. It quickly flared again. "Let's find out, Gamble! Let's put your ass where your mouth has always been! You wanna play some games with me? You want to do more than just fuck with my head? Then let's do it!"

"Okay by me, Jimbo. I can take it if you can."

"Then move your ass."

The two men moved into Gamble's bedroom, eyeing one another warily. A glance around left the same impression that Street had noticed earlier in the living room: Gamble had sanitized all memories of his relationship with Street and his employment with L.A.P.D. from the walls and bureaus. A few shards of broken glass littered the floor near one wall -- another memory shattered. Evidently one of the framed photos had caused particular offense.

Street stripped off his jacket and pulled at his t-shirt. The air felt welcome on his flushed skin. He realized suddenly he was sobering up fast. He reached down and quickly pulled off his shoes, afraid if he ran out of alcoholic fuel he might also run out of steam.

Standing still and staring for a moment, Gamble gave a low whistle. "You're serious," he said.

"As serious as a heart attack," Street assented.

Brian Gamble laughed as he, too, tossed off his clothes. "This is gonna be interesting," he said. "The straightest man on the planet is about to fuck another guy!"

"I assume you mean me," Street said with a crooked smile. "You were never all that damn straight."

Gamble's eyes drilled into Jim's. "You noticed," he said. "I never really thought you did."

"Lie down, Brian. You want me to suck your dick? Or should I save that for Captain Fuller?"

Although Gamble was shielding his crotch slightly with his hand, Street could see he was partially hard. Street made no attempt to camouflage his own taut erection.

"How about licking my hole, Jimbo? How many times did I try to get you to stick a finger in my ass when I was fucking some chick?"

Street's mind flickered back over the earlier exploits of the two partners, before Street had hooked up with Boxer's sister Lara and started to cohabitate. Back in those days, they often found themselves sharing a stewardess or a cocktail waitress who thought it was a hoot to play the lunchmeat in a S.W.A.T. sandwich. How many times had Gamble cupped his ass while he pumped away and even poked a digit between his cheeks? And, yes, hadn't Brian often asked Street to do the same?

"Okay, lie on your face," Street ordered, ripping up the covers of the bed and tossing a pillow at Gamble. "Stick this under you."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Gamble sprawled on the bed and lay prone across the sheet. He propped his hips up on the pillow, and his muscled ass faced the ceiling. Street grunted and got on his knees next to him.

Jim's hand shook a little as he parted Gamble's smooth cheek. The brown hole was slowly revealed, and Street stared at it for a few seconds, imagining the use for which nature had intended it. "Did you shit today?" he asked.

"Don't you remember? I couldn't, so I just sat in the can and kept you company."

Jim nodded, oblivious to the fact Gamble couldn't see this action. The two partners often shared adjoining stalls when they performed their morning business, but Gamble had been too tense about the impending interview with Captain Fuller to be able to move his bowels.

And he had been right to be nervous. He must have foreseen that his ass would be figuratively exposed in the boss's office. Fuller had reamed them for refusing a direct command, despite the fact their bold actions had resulted in successfully saving the life of a hostage. The unfortunate fact that Gamble had shot the hostage himself during the rescue was the mitigating factor -- and Fuller had pronounced them both condemned and confined to the gun cage. When Gamble exploded and then decided he had taken enough and was throwing in the towel -- or his badge, to be more exact -- Jim's refusal to go along with his partner had been a pivotal moment in their relationship.

Little did he know at the time it would end up being a turning point.

Now, as Gamble's face was pressed into the mattress and his ass turned upward, Jim Street felt the first sense of power he had ever experienced in this partnership. He almost smiled as he lowered his face to Gamble's ass, who spoiled the moment by straining enough to push out a small fart.

"Thought I'd better do that before you got any closer," Gamble said, laughing.

"Right. Sure you did."

Street reached back for momentum and landed a heavy slap on Gamble's ass cheek. The sound was like a whip cracking in the small bedroom. Gamble reacted quickly, pulling up and cursing.

"Get down, Brian. I mean it! And get serious. Or I'll knock you out and fuck you while you're unconscious."

Gamble stared at Street for a moment, plainly assessing his partner's seriousness. Then he calmly lay back down on his face, his ass once again propped on the pillow. "Okay, Jimbo," he said. "Do your worst. Or your best."

Street could smell the musky scent of Gamble's crotch as he neared the small hole. His beard rubbed against the smooth skin of Gamble's ass, and for an instant he wanted to kiss the reddened spot where his fingers had raised a welt. He fought the urge, concentrating on the puckered opening to Brian's bowel. Street carefully pulled Gamble's ass cheeks apart and approached the hole with his tongue.

The taste was tangy. Gamble gasped a little and moved, clearly surprised that Jim had gone through with it. Street's strong hand held the ass still so his mouth could explore the hole, and he ignored the wriggling body beneath it.

"Jesus, Jimbo. Holy shit!"

Running his tongue along the rim of the hole, Street continued to pull at the cheek until he could see the pink inside. He lapped at the anus and then he pulled back and blew cool air over the wetted flesh. Gamble gasped again and rose upward.

"Fuck!" was all Gamble could say, and he said it several times.

Street poked his tongue inside, then pulled it back and ran it around the rim again. He did this once, twice and then a third time, going a little deeper with each repetition. Gamble moaned and started humping the pillow under him. Finding it difficult to continue while Gamble's ass heaved, Street sat up and struck him again.

"Don't," Street ordered. "Don't move."

"Fuck you!" Gamble complained. "I can't help it!"

Street's hand steadied Gamble's ass, and he lowered his face to once again possess the hole with his mouth. He licked and licked, reaching his tongue down to Gamble's balls and over to the welts from his slaps. Brian Gamble groaned and his fingers gripped the sheet.

"You're killing me," Gamble said.

"Hardly," Street answered in a throaty voice. "I've barely started on you."

Jim lifted his left middle finger to his mouth and sucked on it. Then he reached down and entered the blossoming hole with the wet digit.

"Oh, Christ," said Gamble.

"Isn't this what you always wanted me to do?" Street asked, exploring inside his partner's rectum slowly. The tissue was not unlike that inside a woman, but it seemed smoother somehow, more supple and muscular. And it opened to him more slowly than most women . . . but it definitely opened, little by little. And deep inside Street could feel something, something soft and loose.

"I can feel your shit," he said to Gamble.

"Jesus."

Street explored the hole, pressing each wall carefully and gauging Gamble's reactions. He ran his finger along what appeared to be a taut muscle or a throbbing vein, and Gamble's ass moved reflexively. He felt his partner's rectum tighten.

"God, Jim. I feel like I need to shit!"

"Do it, then," Jim said, his voice a croak. He felt his own cock jump with excitement at the prospect.

Gamble struggled beneath him. "I mean it," Gamble said, grunting. "God, I need to take a dump!"

Street continued to stroke inside Gamble's hole, pressing hard against the spot that had elicited all the drama. He started to hope what Gamble said was true.

"Fill my hand," he said.

Gamble pushed back with his ass and strained internally, as though trying to expel a load of waste. Knowing how Gamble often pissed a little when he was shitting, Street reached under his partner's body and curled his right hand around the end of Gamble's cock.

"Go ahead. Piss on me," he urged.

"Fuck!" Gamble yelled. "I'm coming! I'm shitting!"

Gamble strained and pumped, rewarding Street's efforts with a thick ejaculation. He hadn't crapped or pissed, but he had definitely come!

Gasping, Gamble raised himself on his elbows. "God, Jimmy, I thought I crapped."

"You didn't," Street said. "It just felt that way." He continued to slowly stroke the inflamed asshole, enjoying the sensation of probing the now relaxed opening. "Remember how I said today you were full of shit. I was right."

Gamble gave a little chuckle. Then he breathed in slowly. "I came in my ass. I really did."

Street laughed. "Did you shit or did you come? Or did it make any difference?"

"No difference," Gamble admitted. "Same fucking thing."

"Do it again," Street said, his finger continuing its manipulations. "I want it again."

Gamble answered with a groan.

This time Gamble's cock was nearly soft, although Street continued to hold it. And when he went in deep, Street could feel the small opening into the colon and the bits of matter just inside. Gamble definitely needed to shit sometime soon. He could feel it.

Street probed and prodded Gamble's rectum, occasionally pressing hard against the wall that separated the organ from Gamble's bladder. Gamble moaned and grunted, clearly stimulated toward elimination. He seemed to want to fight the instinct, trying again to tighten and control his bowel. Street grinned and worked harder, sweat trickling down his face. He rubbed his wet brow on Brian's full ass cheek, breathing deeply through his nose and tightening his grip on Gamble's penis.

"Do it, Brian. Shit on me. Piss on my hand!"

Gamble started to strain. "Yeah!" he shouted hoarsely. "I will, Jimbo!" His ass muscles worked, and Street felt a tautness growing at the base of Brian's cock. Warm liquid trickled into his right hand while Brian's efforts managed to move more flecks of matter from his colon down into the widening cave of his rectum.

"You're doing it. You're shitting and pissing all over the bed!"

"Oh, fuck. Fuck!" Gamble went up on his knees and made noises that seemed to emanate from deep in his chest. Then he suddenly went limp.

When Gamble's breathing had calmed a bit, Jim rubbed his wet right hand against his partner's thigh. "See? You pissed on me."

"God, Jimbo. Did I really shit the bed?"

Street hesitated, wanting Gamble to believe he had, at least for a moment. "No," he finally said, relenting.

"I can't believe it. It felt exactly like I took a huge dump. Man."

Pulling his finger free, Street held it close to his nose. The smell was a mixture of sweet and acrid, a smell he recognized from years of sharing a bathroom with the earthy Brian Gamble. Street felt his penis throb, and he reached down and squeezed it with the hand already sticky with Gamble's urine.

"You're a naughty boy, Jimbo. I had no idea you were so scat."

"Scat?"

"Scat. Into shit. You know."

"No, I don't know," Street said. And he didn't, really. He had never acknowledged that his bathroom habits were borderline kinky and his curiosity about his partner included an erotic interest in Gamble's bowel movements.

Gamble sat up. "Man, I really do need to shit."

"Wait!" Street ordered. "Where you going?"

"In the can. I'm serious, Jimbo. I've got to take a dump!"

"Hold it. I need a cushion."

Gamble looked at Street with a sign of recognition. There had certainly been occasions -- rare ones -- when the two partners were unable to find female companionship and had to resort to masturbation for release. S.W.A.T. demanded top physical performance and sexual tension inhibited it. Gamble was well aware that Jim Street preferred the sensation of rubbing his dick against some carefully chosen surface to the usual tugging and squeezing that most men employed. "Use the pillow from the couch, then," Gamble told him. "I'll get it for you. I don't care if you get come on it." Gamble hurried out of the room, then returned and tossed a dark green cushion at Street. "I'm gonna crap myself if I don't hurry!"

"Go then! Leave the door open so I can listen," Jim said, wrapping his t-shirt around the firm pillow. He then lowered his crotch down and started to rub his aching erection against the padded material. He humped slowly while he listened for the sound of his partner's ass slapping on the toilet and the telltale grunts and splashes that indicated his successful evacuation.

Jim was still straining against the cushion when Gamble returned to the bedroom. "I left it for you to see, Jimmy," he said in a soft voice, a hand reaching out to stroke Street's ass. "It was a huge, steaming dump. Man, it reeked. But it felt great to shit it out." Gamble continued to touch Street as he described his bowel movement. Street's legs and stomach shook with excitement.

"I started to crap before I even sat down," Gamble went on. "If I had waited another second, it would have run down my legs. It was pretty loose, man, but it really filled the toilet. Wait 'til you see it!"

"I'm gonna come," Street announced. "Brian! I'm gonna come!"

Gamble pushed on Street's ass as it tautened over the cushion. Jim Street cried out and spurted across the t-shirt, his ejaculate making an upward arc that partly splashed his own chest. "Shit, you really did!" Gamble said, continuing to softly stroke Street's quivering cheeks. "You came like a champ."

Groaning, Street relaxed against the pillow. He felt Gamble lower over him and kiss the back of his damp neck.

"You should have told me sooner, Jimbo," Gamble whispered into his ear. "I didn't realize what you wanted."

Jim Street breathed in deeply and turned around. "I want your ass again. That's what I want," he announced.

Gamble smiled. "You're somethin' else, Jimbo. If I had any sense, I think you'd scare me right now."

"Yeah? You scared, Brian?"

Shaking his head, Brian motioned at Street. "I'm scared you'll change your mind."

"I won't." Street moved closer. "Lie down. I want to feel your dirty ass. I'm scat, remember?"

Grinning, Gamble leaned down on his elbows. "Yeah, I remember," he said. "My ass is all yours, Jimbo. Come and get it."

The End