by Brandon Witt
Vodka. After endless rounds of beer. Dear God. No wonder his head hurt. Marlon knew he’d been drinking more than he should. Had for a while, but it was just part of it. You worked a hard shift, each traffic stop possibly bringing you face-to-face with the barrel of a gun, you have to take a guy down in front of his kids, you get blamed for every bad cop out there, and every scumbag who wants to make an example of you. At the end of the night, you go out with your buddies, the only other people in the world who truly get what you go through every day, and you drink. But typically it was beer for Marlon. Not vodka.
Enter Andrew. That asshole had definitely caused an upswing in Marlon’s hard liquor intake. Then, on top of it all, he’d taken away Marlon’s one release last night. No wonder Marlon had ended up in a stranger’s bed with a hangover.
Vahin walked back into the bedroom, a huge mug in his hand and a plate piled with toast in the other. The sunlight, so malevolent before, now caressed the muscled planes of Vahin’s chest and shoulders, all covered in the same dark hair as his plump ass. His large flaccid cock caught the light as he moved across the room.
Maybe waking up in a stranger’s bed wasn’t something Marlon needed to be angry with Andrew about, after all.
“Wow.” Vahin paused at the foot of the bed, staring openly. “That chest, man. I’d forgotten while I made breakfast.” He closed the distance, placed the plate of toast on the bedside table beside Marlon, and then handed him the coffee.
Marlon took the mug.
Vahin hesitated, then stretched out his hand but paused an inch or so away from Marlon’s chest. His gaze darted up to Marlon’s. “You mind?”
Marlon shook his head.
He was instantly glad of the pillow still covering his lap as Vahin smoothed his hand over his chest, then gave a slight pull on his chest hair.
“God, I love that.” Vahin moved his hand away and gave a tight shake of his head. “Sorry, you’re just… wow.” Another shake. “Okay. You drink your coffee.” He snagged a piece of toast as he stepped away and took a bite as he walked around the bed, then slid under the sheet next to Marlon, close but not touching.
Marlon sat there, unsure what to do. Part of him wanted to book it for the door. The last hookup had been a while ago, but he couldn’t remember the last time a guy had made him breakfast in bed, even if it was only toast. Not that there was anything to remember. That had never happened. The other part of him wanted to toss the coffee mug over with the condom and pounce on Vahin again, and this time remember every second of it.
“Your hangover isn’t going anywhere without the magic of caffeine.” Vahin shifted in the bed again as he spoke.
At the words, Marlon became aware once more of the killer headache. It was a testament to Vahin’s hotness level that it had dissipated for even a moment. Tentatively he took a sip of coffee and swallowed. It seemed it was going to stay down. Another sip, longer this time. Then he sighed. “Thank you. This really will help.”
“Oh, I know. I’m a bartender. I can nurse a hangover.” Vahin motioned across Marlon toward the plate. “I also put some Advil by the toast, once you get some food in your stomach. And I’ve got some vitaminwaters in the fridge.” He popped his final bite of toast in his mouth.
Marlon cocked an eyebrow at him. “You’re always this prepared for hungover hookups?”
Vahin shrugged, his expression darkening somewhat.
“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to—”
Vahin waved him off. “Drink your coffee, Marlon.” He smiled.
Had Marlon told him his name? He didn’t think so. Vahin had remembered. Maybe he hadn’t been as drunk as Marlon. Of course he didn’t have to work with Andrew, so he didn’t have an excuse.
Andrew. Shit! Marlon flinched, spilling a bit of too hot coffee on his hand, which caused him to flinch again and spill more coffee, this time on the pillow. “Oh, shit! Sorry.” Marlon made to move, to get something to clean it up, then cried out as a new spike drove into his brain.
A hand clamped over his on the coffee mug. “Whoa, slow down there, big man. Don’t spill the whole thing. You’ll burn parts of you that for sure don’t need burning.” With his free hand, Vahin removed the stained pillow from Marlon’s lap.
Marlon slowed, but glanced around for a clock. He found it on the dresser across the room—11:54.
Almost noon. Fuck! “What is today?”
Vahin didn’t let go of his grip on Marlon’s hand and the mug. “Wednesday.”
Wednesday. Marlon thought for a moment, trying to work through the fog. Wednesday. Right. Good. No wonder he’d allowed himself to drink so much the night before. He sighed, relaxing back against the headboard. “Okay, good. Wednesday. I thought… I wasn’t sure. The chief would’ve killed me for pulling a no-call, no-show. Especially with all the complaining I’ve been doing about Andrew. I—” He stopped speaking abruptly, realizing he was saying his thoughts out loud. He glanced at Vahin. “Sorry.”
Vahin grinned and released his hold on Marlon’s hand. “It’s okay. So you work for a chief? That make you a fireman or something?”
Marlon kicked himself. He never told a hookup what he did. Always too many questions. And always the same request, or at least some variation of the same request. Too late now. And the hookup was over, so what did it matter. “I’m a cop, actually.”
Vahin’s eyes grew wide. “Really?” His gaze traveled across Marlon’s exposed chest and arms. “Well, that explains the body.”
Maybe there wasn’t going to be that request. Good. “Um, have you seen your body? You’re every bit as built as I am, and you’re a bartender.”
He shrugged. “I like to be pretty. And even if I didn’t, it helps the tips. Trust me.”
Marlon paused at Vahin calling himself pretty. He was, more than, but a person didn’t usually refer to themselves like that, at least not people you wanted to be around more than a few minutes. But there didn’t seem to be any arrogance around the words. Just a statement of fact.
Before he could think of what to say, Vahin spoke again, the look in his eyes heating. “Cop, huh? Wish I would’ve known that last night. Could’ve found uses for your baton, not that you didn’t do a perfect job with the one God gave ya. But the handcuffs could’ve been fun.”
And there it was, the handcuff request. Every time. The baton comment, not as much. He marveled at Vahin’s bluntness. Most of the time the request was spoken tentatively, but there hadn’t even been a blush to Vahin’s cheeks or fake modesty about the sex they’d had.
Again, Marlon was speechless.
For the first time, Vahin looked hesitant. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable. Just a little fantasy of mine.”
You and everyone else. Marlon took a long swig of coffee, giving himself time to think. Again he was torn. He wanted to get the hell out of there. The talking and getting-to-know-you stuff was not his gig. But there was something so alluring about Vahin. Something that made him want to stay in bed with him a few more hours, even if he did request the cliché handcuffs.
Probably the mix of hangover and Vahin’s gorgeous body.
He swallowed his coffee and lowered the mug. “Sorry, if I was… if I overstepped my boundaries last night. It’s all a bit of a blur.”
Vahin cocked his head. “You don’t see me complaining. Though, honestly, even if you had your baton, I wouldn’t be able to take advantage of that right now. I’m a little tender. You seemed to have a bit of built-up aggression.”
Marlon winced, a memory of digging his fingers into Vahin’s shoulders coming back to him. He glanced over. Sure enough, tiny bruises had formed, four on each side, on Vahin’s traps, right below his neck. Marlon reached out but stopped himself from making contact. “Sorry about the bruises.”
“Didn’t even notice. And again, you don’t hear me complaining. Though I can’t do a repeat performance at the moment, as much as I’d like to.”
Despite himself, at Vahin’s words, Marlon felt his cock begin t
o fill once more. Damn, he wished he could remember more of last night’s events.
Vahin noticed as well. He glanced down at the rapidly rising tent of Marlon’s lap, then looked back up into his eyes. Holding Marlon’s gaze, Vahin reached over and slowly pulled the sheet down Marlon’s legs, making the fabric graze across his cock, which rose the rest of the way. Marlon sucked in a breath.
With a curve of his lips, Vahin finally broke eye contact and lowered his head.
There was a second of warm air, and then wet heat enveloped Marlon’s dick. He let his head fall back. Fuck yes.
With his lips around Marlon’s shaft, Vahin moaned, long and satisfied.
Marlon let out a moan of his own and shut his eyes. The world lurched, and his eyes flew open once more. The room spun.
He put his hand on the back of Vahin’s head, holding him still. “Stop. Dear God, stop.”
Vahin quit bobbing and sat back up when Marlon removed his hand. “Sorry, I thought—”
Marlon shook his head, which was a mistake, then groaned. He lifted a finger and took several breaths, each one deeper than the last. Finally he looked at Vahin. “Sorry. Thought I was going to throw up. As much as I want you to do that, I don’t think the hangover is going to allow that to happen.”
Vahin seemed relieved. “Oh. Well, thank you for not barfing on my head. I appreciate that.” He smirked, then glanced at the clock. “Actually I don’t have enough time anyway. I’m supposed to meet Pat at the thrift store. She wanted help in picking—” He made a waving motion with his hand. “Never mind. You don’t need to know all that. But I’m meeting her at twelve thirty, so I should get going.” His expression altered, and he seemed to be debating something with himself. After a second, he met Marlon’s eyes again. “Not to sound weird, but I’d like to do this again, maybe when you’re not trashed. I work for the next seven nights, but I have tonight off. Any chance that sounds like fun?”
Again that mix of emotions. The last thing he wanted was a date. But he really did want to experience Vahin in a way he could remember.
Vahin felt his hesitation, obviously. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to freak you out. Not a big deal.” He moved to get out of bed.
Marlon spoke before his brain had a chance to intervene. “Yeah. Tonight would be good.”
Vahin paused, then stood and smiled down at him. “Great.” He appeared to consider things again. “Tell you what. I don’t wanna pressure you, so I’m gonna get dressed and head out. You take your time, eat the toast, do a coffee refill, and try to not throw up all over my apartment. If you still want to see me tonight, leave me your number on the kitchen counter or something, and I’ll text you about when and where. If you don’t”—he shrugged—“no harm, no foul. I had a great time.” Another smile and he turned and began pulling on the jeans off the floor.
Marlon stared at him, more out of amazement than staring at that perfect body. “Seriously?”
Vahin paused, having just zipped up his jeans.
“You’re going to leave me in your apartment? You don’t even know me.”
He gave a wicked grin and shrugged, then grabbed the T-shirt off a nearby chair. “You’re a cop. If you rob me blind, I’ll find you and have you arrest yourself. And I’ll use the handcuffs on you instead of the other way around.”
“I KNOW this isn’t the best date option Denver has to offer, but it shouldn’t take too long, and there’s some great restaurants to choose from.” Vahin pointed toward the opposite block. “Like that Mexican place there—very good. Their nachos aren’t as great as Mary’s, but the rest is better than decent.”
Marlon followed Vahin’s motion but didn’t really inspect the restaurant. Words seemed too hard to find, partly due to the lingering hangover, but mostly because he was on a date. On an actual date, in public. How long had it been? Much longer than his most recent string of hookups, and even those had grown distant by this point. He’d been nervous pulling up to Vahin’s apartment, still marveling that he’d left his number, but it was nothing compared to when Vahin announced they were going to the First Friday Art Walk on Santa Fe. He should’ve suggested something else, anywhere else, but he hadn’t been able to think of a plausible reason quickly enough.
Vahin either didn’t pick up on Marlon’s nerves or was simply too polite to point them out. Probably the latter. He did a good job of holding up their conversation and not letting it wither and die, even if his topics were growing more forced by the minute. “Pat and I didn’t finish shopping for dishes today. She had to go in for her shift at the hospital. We kinda got carried away with having more fun than actual shopping.” He gave a forced smile. “I can’t say I enjoy shopping all that much, but I thought it might be fun with you. A good way to get to know you better. I mean if looking at tacky, mismatched dishes together doesn’t tell you something about the other person, then something’s wrong.” Vahin flushed slightly, his words tapering off. He angled toward one of the stores. “Let’s check here. If I don’t find any dishes that I want in the next one or two places, we’ll call it and grab dinner.”
The art walk happened once a month. Every one of the antique shops and art galleries opened their doors to the thousands of people wandering around sipping wine and sampling free tapas offered by the restaurants scattered among the stores. In truth, even though they were shopping for Mary’s, Marlon realized Vahin had picked a perfect date. One that was low pressure and had a constantly shifting environment and endless topics for conversation. Perfect if the poor guy weren’t on a date with a cop. The influx of people meant an increase of officers patrolling the area. All Marlon needed were rumors rushing through the police force about him on a date with a man.
Stepping inside the antique shop offered a little relief. Few people, less open. Not perfect but better. Marlon glanced back at the open front door, as if his entire department might come waltzing through. He’d said yes to the date, to his own astonishment. He needed to make an effort before the whole thing imploded and Vahin told him to fuck off.
He followed Vahin through the cluttered store, past statues and mercury glass vases to a row of dishware. Marlon didn’t have the slightest inclinations about decorating. As Vahin shifted through some of the ugliest flower-pattern plates that ever existed, Marlon grabbed the closest thing to him—a wine goblet with a blown-glass giraffe acting as the stem. It was probably supposed to be fancy and maybe had even been expensive at one point. Marlon found it hideous, but what did he know? He held it out toward Vahin and cleared his throat before speaking. “What about this thing? Are you shopping for wineglasses too, or only plates?”
Vahin looked over, probably surprised Marlon had finally found words. He shook his head. “No, we just need plates and some more bowls at the moment.” His gaze drifted down to the glass, and his lips curved into a smile. “Wow. That thing is… something.” He returned the plate he’d been inspecting and moved close to Marlon, taking the wineglass. “That is ridiculous. And perfect. Are there more?”
Marlon checked, but shook his head, then moved aside a couple other glasses near the front. “Actually, yes. There are.” He reached in and withdrew two more wineglasses. He held them up. “A seahorse one and a… is that a penguin?”
Vahin laughed and took the offending glass. “Maybe. It might be a panda. Either way, it’s perfect kitsch.” He placed the glass back on the shelf and motioned for Marlon to follow. “For sure getting those, but help me with these. It seems you’re a magnet for the truly and spectacularly offensive, which is exactly what I need right now. Work your magic on these plates, my man.”
Marlon only hesitated for a second at the words my man, then pushed them aside. It was an expression. Though part of him liked the sound of it coming from Vahin’s lips. Within moments, they were both laughing as they uncovered some of the tackiest plates and bowls that ever existed. It seemed Marlon really did have a superpower for finding low-class dishware. Perfect. Exactly the power every cop needed.
After another
fifteen minutes, they were walking out the door, each with a huge bag of bubble-wrapped dishes. The air of levity that had settled over them fell away as they returned to the sidewalk and the crowds. Again Marlon glanced around but saw no one he knew. The sunset had begun to stain the sky. He’d feel more comfortable once it was darker.
Vahin apparently didn’t notice Marlon’s shift in mood. “I don’t know if I would have found those dishes anyway if you’d not been here, but you sure feel like the lucky charm of décor, at least a certain type of décor. I can’t let Pat know how good you are at this. She’ll kidnap you for sure.”
They weaved through the throngs of people, mostly anonymous, save for the frequent looks they received. With each one, Marlon analyzed the meaning. He had to keep reminding himself he wasn’t in uniform. They didn’t know. They were simply noticing two men. Two large, muscular men of color. That was more likely the issue. Though, some of the gazes had more to do with lust than anything else.
Whether Vahin didn’t notice or simply chose not to, Marlon wasn’t sure. He was so busy watching the people around them that he flinched when Vahin slipped his free hand into his. Marlon jerked his hand away without even thinking.
Vahin looked into his eyes, his expression wounded. “Sorry. Wasn’t thinking.”
Anger spiked momentarily, then faded just as quickly. Vahin wasn’t a cop. He didn’t know. “No, I’m sorry. I was… startled.”
Vahin raised an eyebrow but didn’t offer any further commentary.
“Really. I’m sorry. This part is….” Marlon couldn’t meet Vahin’s gaze any longer, so he glanced away, his words trailing off as ice seemed to be dumped over his head. Oh shit. Narrowing his eyes, he leaned closer, taking in the patio of the restaurant across the street.
No way. No fucking way. It couldn’t be.
But it was.
Andrew sat at one of the tables, holding hands with a woman with dyed platinum-blonde hair. And he was staring in their direction.