Vodka & Handcuffs

by Brandon Witt

  To his shock, Marlon stood and allowed himself to be led up to the stage, looking every bit like an abused puppy. Amid cheers, he took his place near the center, ManDonna on one side, Ariel on the other.

  ManDonna ran a finger over Marlon’s chest, causing him to flinch. “Now, what’s your name, rude man?”

  Marlon muttered something that Vahin couldn’t hear, even as close as he was.

  “Now, don’t be shy. You were all ready to talk in the middle of my performance a few seconds ago.” ManDonna reached back, lifted a microphone off the stand, and raised it to Marlon’s lips. “Here. Don’t say I didn’t have mercy. Now, what’s your name, you chocolate stud muffin.”

  A long hesitation, then finally, “Marlon.”

  Vahin couldn’t believe he’d actually used his real name. Maybe it hadn’t occurred to him to lie.

  “Marlon, huh?” She ran her finger over his chest again, then paused before moving down his stomach to circle one of his shirt buttons with her fingernail—she’d know how far she could push. “I have to tell you, Marlon, you remind me of my husband, back in the day. Dark and manly, though—” She cupped his chest for the briefest of moments. “—Hershel wasn’t ever quite as built as you are.” She glanced out at the audience. “And if any of you bitches tell him I was up here lusting after another man, I’ll take you out with the rest of the trash, honey.”

  “He’d want to watch!”

  “He never just watches.” ManDonna gave a wink toward the voice in the back, then refocused on Marlon. “Now, let’s pretend we’re back in school, Mr. Sexpot Marlon. Tell the rest of the class what was so important that you had to ruin Ariel Merman’s entrance.”

  Marlon moved his mouth wordlessly, obviously trying to think of something other than the truth. Then he gave a little shrug. “I was, um, going to say that she, that Ariel, doesn’t look like a fish.” He offered an apologetic glance at Ariel.

  It seemed Marlon wasn’t so quick with the lies. The knowledge relieved Vahin somehow, as did Marlon’s willingness to play along. At least for now.

  “Doesn’t look like a….” ManDonna’s expression creased in confusion, and then she let out a laugh. “Oh!” She turned from Marlon and faced the crowd. “School’s in session, ladies. Here’s a little Drag 101 for you, as I doubt Marlon’s the only meathead not up to date. Fishy refers to a drag queen like Ariel here”—she swept her hand up and down toward Ariel, who struck a sultry pose—“one who can pass as a gorgeous biological woman.”

  ManDonna cocked her brow at the crowd. “And I may not be fishy myself, but that doesn’t mean I’m not gorgeous or that I’m not a lady.” She grabbed her crotch. “As many of you know.” More hoots and hollers.

  “Nor does it mean Ariel looks like a fish. Though she is a rather stunning mermaid, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Mary’s burst into applause, and Ariel did a little Marilyn Monroe shake while blowing the audience a kiss.

  She turned back to Marlon. “Understand now?”

  He nodded.

  “Hmmmm… I think you might need more of a lesson, actually.” ManDonna called toward the back, “Put on Shania’s ‘Man, I Feel Like a Woman.’” Then she turned to face Vahin. “We’re about to molest your man. Oops. Sorry ’bout it.” She took a step back. “Ariel, my dear. Teach away.”

  Trumpets blared from speakers, followed by the twang of bass, and Ariel moved behind Marlon, completely hidden by his mass. Her sparkling long-nailed hands shot underneath his arms and began to run over his chest and stomach.

  Marlon’s eyes went wide and found Vahin.

  Again Vahin wondered how to fix this. This was more punishment than he’d bargained for. He didn’t see any way to rescue Marlon. He shrugged in a way of apology and mouthed, “Sorry. Dance.”

  Impossibly, Marlon’s eyes bugged out even more.

  Ariel’s fingers moved to the top button of Marlon’s shirt and popped it free. Before she could move to the next one, Marlon grabbed her hands.

  For a second, Vahin feared he was going to crush them. Marlon sought out Vahin once more, visibly pleading. Again Vahin mouthed his apology, then realized what Marlon needed him to do. He took a deep breath, stood, and began unbuttoning his own shirt and shimmying his body. He kept his gaze trained on Marlon’s. Vahin’s shirt was completely unbuttoned before Marlon released Ariel’s hands and gave a tentative twist of his hips.

  Ariel’s hands remained where they were until Marlon’s hips began to swivel more loosely, and then Ariel continued freeing each button. Within ten seconds, Marlon’s shirt was open as well. As she gripped either side of the fabric and began to pull it down his shoulders, Vahin saw Marlon tense again. Vahin slid off his own shirt, barely hearing the roaring of the crowd as they went wild. He walked toward the stage, never breaking eye contact as Marlon’s shirt disappeared.

  Vahin stepped on stage as Ariel reemerged from behind Marlon. She held out a hand toward Vahin, stopping him in his tracks. She flipped her blonde hair, bent over, and began to twerk against Marlon’s crotch. Vahin couldn’t help himself—he smiled and lifted his chin toward Marlon in what he meant as a “Come on, I dare you” gesture.

  Marlon must have gotten the message, because he hesitantly put both hands on either side of Ariel’s hips, then gave a halfhearted thrust.

  ManDonna let out a squeal and slid behind Marlon, taking control of his hips. “Let me show you how a real man does it!” She forced him into gyrating, exaggerated thrusts. After a couple, she released him, but Marlon never lost his rhythm.

  And, damn if Vahin didn’t get turned on by the sight. He reached out, gripped one of Ariel’s wrists, and gently pulled her behind himself. With his free hand, he ran his open palm over Marlon’s rippled stomach, then gave a slight pull on his chest hair.

  Whatever had been holding Marlon back broke free, and he reached out and pulled Vahin to him, then continued his thrusting.

  From the hard, thick jab against his hip, Vahin realized he wasn’t the only one turned on.

  Within moments, ManDonna was gyrating against Marlon’s backside as Ariel did the same to Vahin. Their combined motions pressed Marlon’s and Vahin’s bodies firmly closer, the sweat of their skin causing their bare chests to slide together in a way that reminded Vahin of the night before.

  Another blare of Shania’s trumpets, and Marlon blew Vahin’s mind by wrapping the crook of his elbow behind Vahin’s neck and pulling him into a lip-crushing kiss.

  Whether Vahin should’ve tested Marlon or not, the man had passed a billionfold, and Vahin was going to reward him in every way imaginable when he got Marlon back to his place.

  As Marlon plunged his tongue deep into Vahin’s mouth, keeping a rhythmic time with the music that matched his constricted erection’s thrusts, Vahin felt something slip inside him—a melting, a crack, maybe. Whatever it was, there was a flitting second of fear as he realized Marlon was a man who could hurt him. Break his heart in a way he hadn’t allowed in years.

  Vahin let the sensation float away, as well as the blare of the music, the pressure of Ariel at his back, and the occasional scrape of ManDonna’s nails. The only thing that existed was the push of Marlon’s hard body and the heat of his kiss.

  LATE. FOR the first time in his career, Marlon was late. And for a two o’clock shift, no less. And there wasn’t even snow to blame. The April day was unusually warm and dry, and traffic was nearly nonexistent, at least for Denver.

  Neither could he claim to have overslept, not at that time of day. Plus, he’d only slept three or four hours. The rest of the night, and all of the morning and early afternoon had been endless time in bed, or on the floor, or in the shower. He and Vahin had done about everything imaginable, except using his handcuffs or a baton.

  Marlon could announce that having not switched positions for years, he was a bit sore and tender from the night before, and he needed to move slowly. The thought made him burst out a snort and experience a terrifying thrill all at the same time.


  Truth be told, Marlon didn’t care. So what if he was late this once? He hadn’t wanted to come in at all. He’d much rather have continued lying in bed, tracing the curve of Vahin’s shoulders and ass. Feel the moments of lust-filled kisses sigh into gentle explorations of each other’s mouths that made his heart feel like… made him think that maybe… well, made him consider things he’d never considered before.

  Taking a steadying breath, Marlon walked into the station. Just because he was late didn’t mean anyone would know what he’d really been doing. He wasn’t actually walking funny, or at least he didn’t think so. Giving a brief and normal—please, God, let it be normal—smile at the few people he passed, he walked to the locker room. He sped up a bit now that he was alone, rushing to the gray metal locker, then began to change.

  He had his bulletproof vest nearly fastened when Greg entered the locker room. The officer had been stuffing something in his pocket but halted when he noticed Marlon.

  Marlon lifted his chin. “Hey.”

  Greg hesitated, then lifted his chin slightly. “Hey.” He glanced around, then turned without looking directly at Marlon again. “I, um… forgot something.”

  Marlon stared after him as he left. Weird. Greg was one of the older cops on the force, one of the ones Marlon was pretty certain had an issue with minorities. He’d raised a stink when Charles Schmidt had been made chief. Greg had claimed Schmidt didn’t have enough experience but never directly said anything about the man being black, though Marlon thought it was pretty obvious. Still, Greg had kept his mouth shut about Schmidt after he got the position and had always been cordial to Marlon.

  As he finished getting ready, Marlon tried to push Greg from his mind but was unable. It couldn’t mean what he feared. It couldn’t. Maybe the guy was just preoccupied or really had forgotten something. Right, because Marlon couldn’t read people instantly. Maybe his own worry was throwing him off, though, making him see things that weren’t there.

  “’Bout time you show up.”

  Pulled out of his thought, Marlon flinched at the voice. Shit, when had he gotten so jumpy?

  “Didn’t mean to scare you, pretty boy.” Andrew crossed the room and held out a Styrofoam cup of coffee. “Saw you come in. Figured you must’ve had a late night and might need this. Don’t want my partner falling asleep and accidentally driving us off an overpass.”

  Marlon took the drink like it was a bomb. Andrew had never brought him a coffee or said anything that might accidentally be construed as friendly or helpful during their months together. “Um, thanks. Sorry I’m late. I just—”

  “Nope.” Andrew cut him off, which was good, as Marlin hadn’t been sure how he was going to finish that statement. “No explanation needed. I don’t wanna know. Trust me.”

  He’d done a good job of pushing Andrew out of his mind since the night before. Not a perfect one, as Andrew had crept in from time to time, even in the moments lying next to Vahin, but Marlon had done his best to ignore the tingle of worry. However, it came rushing back full force as he looked Andrew in the eye. There was no pretending the man didn’t know or hadn’t added up the correct answer from seeing him and Vahin together.

  That settled it. He’d have to talk to Andrew, get it out in the open. Like he had with Sam. But that had been different. Sam had been different. He’d been the kind of partner cops dreamed about—always had your back, no matter what. And he hadn’t been an asshole. When Marlon had come out to him, it hadn’t been easy, but he’d known Sam would respond in his typical Sam manner. And that was the problem. Marlon had always thought Andrew was so deep in the closet he’d need a map to find his way out. And, if that were true, it could make Andrew’s reaction even worse.

  Maybe coming out to Andrew was not an option. Good God.

  Maybe Marlon could think of a good excuse for him and Vahin being together and even holding hands, if Andrew had seen that much, which obviously he had. How did you explain holding hands with another man?

  Fuck.

  It was pointless. Andrew already knew; he had to.

  Marlon would wait until they were nearly done with their shift; that way they wouldn’t be stuck in the patrol car for endless hours with Andrew making innuendo-laden comments.

  They stared at each other for a few seconds, and Marlon nearly blurted it all out there, just to get it over with.

  “Officer Barton, can I see you for a second?”

  Marlon turned to see Chief Schmidt in the doorway.

  Damn it. “You bet, Chief.”

  Chief Schmidt gave a fleeting glance toward Andrew. “Wrap up in here, Officer Morris, and go wait by the car. Your partner won’t be long.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  The chief paused, obviously not missing the note of sarcasm in Andrew’s tone. But as in most things he did, Andrew kept it just shy of crossing the line. The chief narrowed his eyes, leveling a stare at the man that would’ve made someone more intelligent piss their pants. “I’ve about had my fill today, Morris.”

  Andrew saluted.

  The chief turned, muttering as he left the locker room.

  Marlon started to look at Andrew, then changed his mind. “See you out there.”

  “Yep. It’s gonna be a good day.”

  Marlon didn’t respond as he walked away. The cheer in Andrew’s voice told him exactly what the day was going to be like and confirmed what his gut had already known. So much so that he didn’t wait once he closed the door behind him in Chief Schmidt’s office. “Everyone knows, don’t they?”

  Charles Schmidt leaned against the edge of his desk and crossed his arms. “Yep. Sure do. Your little shit of a partner made sure of that.” He shrugged. “Actually I think only a few know at this point. Seems Andrew made a little announcement in the locker room this afternoon. Came in early to do so. Those who don’t know, soon will.”

  Marlon’s shoulders slumped, and he let out a groan. He couldn’t do this. He was already the black cop. Or one of the black cops. Now he’d be the black gay cop. Fuck.

  “I’ve pulled Morris in here already and read him the riot act, but you can see how well that went over. With his family connections, he’ll have to do something so—”

  “I know.” Marlon waved him off, then stood straighter, realizing he’d interrupted the chief. “Sorry, sir.”

  Schmidt just nodded. His tone took on an atypical fatherly concern. “Maybe this will be for the best. You know I don’t condone the gay thing, but living in secret isn’t good for the soul, son.”

  “Yeah.” He really did sound like Marlon’s father. Marlon glanced up, meeting the man’s hard yet kind eyes. “I don’t know if I can do this, Chief. I’ll be nothing more than that black gay cop. Nothing else.”

  The chief snorted. “Oh, you mean like I’m that black chief? The one who got my position because Denver needed to meet a certain number of coloreds, not because I’m the best chief Denver has had in the past thirty years?”

  There was some relief that the chief knew part of what Marlon was facing. “Maybe if I simply had to face the gay thing. Be the gay cop, like Chip Moon. He does okay. But gay and black. With Andrew as a partner, I just—”

  “Enough.” Chief Schmidt’s bark cut off Marlon and caused him to stand at attention. “Nothing new, Officer Barton. So you got another label. Big fucking deal. This isn’t new to you. You’ve always had to be better, stronger, and tougher to be equal. Now you have to do it twice as much. Quit bitching and get better, stronger, and tougher.”

  Somewhere deep inside, in a voice Marlon rarely allowed breath, Not fair! rang through him. He stamped it down. “Yes, sir.”

  The chief’s expression softened somewhat. “And I’m working on the Andrew thing. I know you don’t think I am, but I am. Somehow a moment will come. I don’t care what color you are or what sex you like. No cop should face our job with that idiot by their side every day, especially not one of my best.”

  Marlon started to respond, but then his throat tightened and he did
n’t trust himself.

  “Now get out of here. Your partner is waiting.”

  Marlon turned and reached for the door.

  “Oh, and Barton?”

  Marlon glanced back at the chief. “Yes, sir?”

  A grin played over the man’s lips. “Don’t shoot the moron today, no matter how much he deserves it.”

  FIVE HOURS in and it had been one of the better days Marlon had ever had with Andrew. The tension was so thick he could barely see through the windshield, but the man had never been quieter. Even on the stops they’d made, Andrew either let Marlon handle them completely or stayed respectful. It was almost enough to make Marlon think the guy had potential to be a decent cop after all.

  As evening arrived, clouds that had hung above the mountains most of the day rolled over the foothills and settled above the city, increasing the odd spring humidity. When at last thunder cracked and lightning forked through the sky, Marlon and Andrew were just leaving a situation at the 16th Street Mall that had taken the help of four other cops to handle. They hadn’t drawn the short straw and didn’t have to mess with booking the two strung-out teenagers who’d taken street sign poles to the store windows.

  Rain began to fall as Marlon turned onto 17th and passed where the old Wrangler bar used to be. He kept his gaze from wandering over to the spot, as if looking at the old gay bar would rush in the conversation he’d been avoiding all day.

  It seemed he should’ve avoided the street altogether. Andrew spoke just as they drove past. He motioned a little farther up to the pizzeria that used to be the old JR’s Bar & Grill. “It must be hard for you.”

  From Andrew’s tone, Marlon knew this wasn’t going to go well, but he couldn’t stop himself from responding. “What must be hard?”

  “You know. Seeing your old stomping grounds give way to yuppies with money who’d rather have restaurants and fancy grocery stores.”

  Marlon tried to think what to say, but there was a strange onslaught of disjointed words and static that ran through his head.