Shift’s End

by A. R. Barley

  “Looking good,” Jack said. They were standing in front of the firehouse and it was a beautiful freaking day. The sky was blue. The sun was bright overhead, red and orange and yellow, like a living flame dancing among the clouds.

  The heat was enough to make Diesel’s skin tingle. They’d pulled the fire engine out in front of the station house to wash it down and he was shirtless.

  They both were.

  Damn. Was he dreaming? He could have sworn Jack was wearing a T-shirt a few seconds earlier. He had to be dreaming, but that didn’t change how delicious the captain looked without a shirt. Damn. Diesel’s mouth was watering. He wanted to taste him. No, forget want. It was a soul-wrenching need that had blood rushing downward to fill his dick.

  Erections at work were a definite no-no, but if this was a dream then no one would care.

  “Is this a dream?” he asked.

  Blue eyes gleamed almost as bright as the sun. Jack grinned. “What do you think?”

  They were in the middle of Manhattan, in front of a firehouse that was full of people every hour of the day, but somehow they were all alone. It had to be a dream. Diesel leaned forward, breathing in sweet sweat and lemony soap. He nuzzled against Jack’s chest. “I think this is a fantasy, and I want to enjoy it.”

  “Good,” Jack said. “Take off your pants.”

  “Bossy.”

  “Always.” Fantasy Jack reached down to tweak Diesel’s nipple. The zip of sensation made his breath come faster and his toes curl. Heat and lust mixed around inside him. “You like it.”

  Maybe. Diesel didn’t exactly see himself as submissive. Chase had been big and brawny, but he hadn’t been the dominant member of their relationship—

  “Don’t think about him,” Jack interrupted. “Think about me.” He took a half step forward, herding Diesel back like a sheep dog, friendly but firm. Somewhere along the way Diesel must have dropped his pants or maybe they’d disappeared like Jack’s shirt because when he finally stepped back against the truck the metal was cool against his bare ass.

  He was naked in the middle of the street, and he couldn’t care less.

  Definitely a dream.

  That didn’t make it any less enjoyable when Jack nipped at his bottom lip, demanding that he open his mouth to a series of overpowering kisses. Oh, God. Oh, God. Their bodies rubbed against each other and they were both naked now, both bare assed in the sunlight. They were also both erect, like iron bars, their cocks sliding hard against each other, creating a tidal wave of sensation. A hand would have been better or maybe even Jack’s mouth, but—

  “If one of us is going to get on their knees out here it’s going to be you.” Fantasy Jack read his mind a second time. “Besides, I like kissing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I kissed you in my office, didn’t I?”

  Not a chance. Diesel would have remembered that. He would have savored the memory, jacking off in bed before going to sleep. Except he was finding it hard to deny the memory of something soft fluttering against his back.

  Had Jack really kissed him?

  “You’re not straight,” Diesel said.

  Jack’s laughter was warm and rich between stolen kisses. His cock ground into the groove at Diesel’s hip. He rocked forward. “Probably a question we should have while we’re awake.”

  “You’re not straight.” It wasn’t a question. Straight men didn’t smile at him like Jack. They didn’t share their secret places, radical bookstores with yummy coffee shops and Mexican restaurants where they took their family. A straight man might have helped clean the debris out of his back, but his fingers wouldn’t have lingered.

  His lips wouldn’t have feathered across Diesel’s back.

  Damn. Jack’s thighs tensed. His body shifted slightly to one side and when he rocked forward again, everything came together just right. Diesel’s body stuttered. His cock jerked and he came for the first time since leaving Atlantic City. When he woke up the next morning, he couldn’t be sure whether the sticky remains were a result of his dream lover’s sexual prowess or the certainty in his bones. Jack wasn’t straight, and he liked Diesel.

  Chapter Eleven

  Four days later Diesel still hadn’t found the right way to talk to Jack about their mutual attraction. He was too busy enjoying the fresh bursts of awareness Jack’s proximity brought. The pair of them were in lock step, whether it was working shoulder to shoulder at a callout or sharing Jack’s office while they watched for their saboteur.

  Being that close together was heady and intoxicating. It made Diesel want things he couldn’t have, like Jack’s hands on his body and his mouth pressed hard against his. Jack was kissing him in his dreams every night now. They kissed for hours. Sometimes it was just kissing with no chance of getting off. Other times they were naked and writhing, Diesel woke up sweaty and covered in emissions.

  “Here.” Jack didn’t just know Diesel’s coffee order now. He’d also figured out how he liked his burger. “Medium rare, grilled mushrooms and onions, blue cheese crumble on top.” He frowned as he passed the cardboard container over. “I can’t believe you like that stuff.” He sat on the other chair, close enough that their knees knocked together. He pulled a second container out of the delivery bag and popped it open to reveal a big pile of greenery.

  “Where’s your burger?”

  “At the diner, being eaten by someone whose arteries haven’t hardened. This is what us old timers call a salad.”

  Diesel wrapped his fingers around the burger and squished the bun down. He took a bite. Juices splattered across his fingertips and filled his mouth. Delicious. “If I look half as good as you when I’m your age, I’ll be grateful. Hell, I’ll eat salad morning, noon, and night.”

  “That’d be more believable if your mouth wasn’t full of red meat.”

  Diesel ate some more burger. “What kind of salad did you get?”

  “Caesar with anchovies.”

  “Want to share? We could each eat half and switch.”

  “I shouldn’t.”

  “Anchovies are one of my top ten foods, after clementines, lobster, and chocolate chip cookie dough.”

  “You like chocolate chip cookie dough?” Jack flushed like he’d just said something dirty. He didn’t explain, but he did split his salad in two and pass half of it over to Diesel. He even dug into the plastic bag for an extra fork.

  It wasn’t the first meal they’d shared together recently. Sometimes Jack ate at his desk while he was working. Sometimes afterward Diesel would go grab them dessert from the firehouse kitchen. Not ice cream. Pie from the bakery around the corner from his apartment.

  When Diesel’d finished off half the burger, he put the rest down on the edge of Jack’s plate and started eating the salad. He wasn’t normally a salad fan, but it was surprisingly good. “We really think this guy’s going to do something today? It’s been almost a week without any fuckups. Maybe he’s giving up. Maybe he never existed.”

  “Fuck you.” Jack’s lips curled up into a snarl. Had he really screwed up that badly? Then Jack laughed. “He definitely exists. You think Ronnie Arturo actually forgot his gloves the other day?”

  “Sure.” The gloves had gone missing at an apartment fire near Union Square. Ronnie’d ended up borrowing an extra pair from someone else on the scene. They were two sizes too small and he’d taken them off while escorting a little old lady out to the street. The resulting burns hadn’t been pretty. “He didn’t say anything about sabotage.”

  “He wouldn’t. Arturo’s steady as a rock, works hard, never complains. He keeps his gloves tucked into the top of his boots. Everybody knows that. The things have an odor like dead fish. No way he could have lost them by accident.”

  That was more detail than Jack needed to know. He put down his fork. “We didn’t see him do it.”

  “Yeah, well, it could ha
ve happened while everyone was getting ready. Gloves are small. Eventually this asshole’s going to go after something large.”

  Diesel slid a little farther down in his chair. The way the captain picked up on every small detail and looked at all the angles? It was pretty freaking impressive. It was also intimidating. “You don’t miss much.”

  “It’s my job to know what happens around here.” Jack paused in the middle of eating the burger. Juices slicked his lips.

  Damn. Diesel’s cock throbbed against his tight jeans. He concentrated on his next breath, long and steady. How many times had he seen Jack’s lips like that in his dreams? He forced his gaze away. Time to change the conversation. “You never told me what happened with your son the other day.”

  “His teacher thinks he’s a freaking genius. She says he can graduate this year, maybe.”

  “And you’ve got a problem with that?” Shouldn’t he be proud? Diesel wasn’t a genius. His career wasn’t particularly notable, but he still remembered the smile on his father’s face when he’d joined the fire department.

  “I’ve got a problem with taking the easy way out,” Jack explained. “It sounds too much like cheating to me. Unethical.”

  It was the last thing Diesel had expected to hear him say, and it touched something deep inside him. Had Chase ever said something was unethical? Hell, the man had cheated at backgammon even when there was no one around to impress.

  Diesel definitely wasn’t hungry anymore. He held up the rest of the salad, offering it to Jack. When he got a head shake, it went in the trash can with a thunk. Forget changing the subject, maybe they shouldn’t talk at all.

  “You think I’m wrong?”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “Uh-huh, it’s the eyes. You don’t talk much when you’re not on the scene, but your eyes are pretty damn expressive. I think I’m beginning to understand what they mean.” Jack brushed his fingers against Diesel’s arm. The touch was soft, but it still tingled. “If you think I’m wrong, you can tell me.”

  “I don’t know if you’re right or wrong. I don’t have a kid—genius or otherwise.” Diesel swallowed hard. He needed to stop there. Telling Jack anything more was dangerous. It had been less than a year since Chase’s trial, and it wasn’t a story anyone in the tri-state area was likely to forget.

  Especially not a guy like Jack who paid attention to the news and remembered small details.

  “My last boyfriend was—” Diesel’s breath caught in his throat. Anxiety twisted inside of him like a wild animal. “He was Prince Charming. At least, that’s what I thought. I met him at a fundraiser for the fire department, and he swept me off my freaking feet. He was gorgeous, funny, successful, the whole package.”

  “And he skipped out on his last two years of high school?”

  “He always took the easy way out.” Diesel’s hands clenched tight into fists. His nails sliced into the palms of his hands. Pain flared.

  “That why the two of you split up?”

  “Pretty much.” Diesel and Chase had broken up the instant the federal agents came swarming through their front door. “I was an idiot. I never should have dated him to begin with.”

  Chase had bribed government officials to get construction contracts, and then he’d cut corners on materials in order to save money. He’d hired illegal labor, falsified documents, and laundered money for Russian gangs. The prosecutor hadn’t been able to prove the money laundering or Chase might have served more of his sentence, but he was definitely guilty.

  And Diesel hadn’t noticed a damn thing.

  The backgammon should have been a clue, but he’d been too lost in the moment, convinced that Chase was his one true love.

  Except Chase wasn’t Prince Charming, and Diesel hadn’t spent his nights decked out in glass heels. He was more than just a pretty face, and he’d deserved to be with someone who could appreciate that.

  Their relationship had been doomed from the very beginning.

  Down in the garage, the big bay doors were open and the sun was streaming in. Most of the guys moving around were focused on some small errand or prescribed duty. They didn’t notice the two men watching them from up above. They also didn’t notice Alex and Troy standing in the far corner. It was work and they were professionals. They weren’t kissing—they weren’t even touching—but they were still standing just a little too close to each other.

  They seemed pretty happy.

  Maybe not all relationships were destined for failure.

  Troy must have said something funny because Alex laughed. Then he flushed. His blond curls bounced around his head as he looked around. No one could see them from the garage floor, and he didn’t think to look up. He bounced forward on his tiptoes and pressed his lips to Troy’s cheek.

  The kiss was chaste and sweet. It tugged at Diesel’s insides and made him yearn. That’s what he wanted. Not a boyfriend who couldn’t say three words without lying or a dream lover he couldn’t hold in the daylight.

  “I’m not Prince Charming,” Jack said. “But I know you’re not an idiot. You’re a smart guy.” His hand was still resting easily against Diesel’s arm, calluses tugging at his skin.

  Diesel’s mouth was dry. Even if he knew what to say, he still wouldn’t be able to form the words. He liked to think he was a good person and a better firefighter, but he knew his limitations. He’d always been middle of his class at school. He wasn’t smart, especially not compared to Jack’s kid, who might be able to graduate high school early.

  Damn. It would be so much easier if he was just another firefighter down on the ground, going about his business without having to worry about crazed saboteurs or flirty captains.

  Jack might not be Prince Charming, but from where Diesel was sitting he was pretty damn good.

  Heat flared along his spine. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips. He swallowed. Their knees were banging against each other now. Jack’s face was only a few inches away. Diesel’s nerves were jangling and it had nothing to do with bad memories.

  If he leaned forward they’d be kissing, and if Jack took it the wrong way, he might lose his job.

  If Jack took it the right way, they both might.

  Or worse. Diesel’s heart picked up speed as he tried not to remember fists and heat and shouted words.

  If he pulled back, nothing would change. They’d keep watch until Troy and Tito came to take their place. Eventually Diesel would go home to his rented room. Maybe it would even be quiet. He’d go to sleep, and then he’d dream.

  And tomorrow he’d wake up to do it all over again.

  It was freaking torture. If he had to do it for another week, he’d quit.

  Other departments had been hiring when he signed up with the FDNY. Most of them were smaller or farther away. He wouldn’t be able to visit his family as often, but he’d be fine. He wouldn’t starve. He might even end up with an apartment of his own, a door that locked, and the sweet sounds of silence.

  It didn’t actually sound that bad.

  His heart was slamming against his chest. His breath was coming faster. Those damn lashes flared out around dark blue eyes. His nose had a speck on it. Dirt or a freckle? Diesel didn’t know. He didn’t care. Nothing short of sirens was going to stop him now.

  The space between them vanished. He pressed his mouth against firm lips and waited one long beat. He could taste the burger on Jack’s breath and feel the air pass between them.

  Nothing happened.

  Jack didn’t throw a punch, but he didn’t grab Diesel and pull him in tight for a clinch either.

  Fuck. He’d made a mistake. “You don’t want this.” Diesel yanked backward so hard the chair almost fell over. “I mean, you’re not—” He swallowed back whatever he’d been about to say. “I’m sorry. That was a mistake. Don’t fire me.”

  “I don’t know what I want
. I am. Don’t be sorry. You’re not fired.” Jack rattled off the words too quickly for Diesel to figure out what they meant, but his smile was absolutely breathtaking. His lips were full. His teeth gleamed. Even his eyes were bright like a pair of brilliant stars. “We can’t do this now. We’re on duty. I’m your boss—”

  “Some other time?” Diesel crossed his fingers and held his breath.

  “Tonight,” Jack promised.

  That sounded pretty damn good.

  “There.” Movement flickered down below him, a man in dark sweatpants and a white T-shirt moving toward the equipment lockers. His hair was dark, but there were no other identifiable marks. It’d have been so much easier if his name was tattooed across the back of his neck.

  It could be nothing.

  He could just be checking on something he’d left behind, but something about the way he moved had the hair standing up on the back of Diesel’s neck.

  When he stopped, Jack drew in a sharp breath. “Shit, that’s Troy’s locker.”

  Diesel didn’t say anything. He was already out of his seat and running. He might not know who the man was, but it definitely wasn’t the oversize lieutenant.

  He burst out of the office and raced down the stairs. He kept in shape, working out in the gym every morning, lifting weights. Sometimes he even ran the stairs at the station house. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually run without equipment weighing him down.

  It felt good to move fast, the rubber soles of his sneakers smack-smacking against the stairs.

  He wasn’t the only one running, Jack was only a few steps behind him despite the advanced age he liked to complain about. Which was freaking crazy. Jack might be older than him, but that didn’t mean he was out of shape.

  The stairwell put him in a blind spot when he was racing down the stairs and turning the corner where he couldn’t see the equipment lockers. Good news, the guy couldn’t see him coming. Bad news, if the asshole played his trick quickly and walked away, he’d be lost, again.

  At this rate they’d be stuck up in the office, talking about their feelings, for months.