by A. J. Thomas
Somewhere in the back of his head, Christopher knew he really should be more upset about his brother’s death than about his partner deciding to hit on him. Once the initial shock had been muted by beer and beaten into submission with a nice long run, Christopher had decided the best thing to do was to deal with the funeral as quickly as possible and then forget Peter had ever existed at all. But his partner wasn’t some stranger he hadn’t seen in two decades.
He grabbed his wallet and headed out the door. The bar was only a few blocks away. Unfortunately, it was also filled with kids so young even Ray would have thought twice about trying to pick them up.
Christopher ordered a beer and drained it in a few gulps. He ordered a second beer, scanned the college guys lingering around the bar and dance floor, then frowned. They ranged from skateboarders to lanky young men who looked like they hadn’t quite hit puberty yet. He was beginning to think he’d have been better off with pay-per-view porn in his hotel room.
Near the back of the bar, he caught sight of a white shirt collar and a muted gray suit jacket. Christopher wove his way through the crowd until he was just a few feet from the man, and then he stopped, stunned. The man’s black hair was so dark it should have been drab, but even in the darkness his hair gleamed. No, it sparkled. Christopher wanted to touch it, just to see if the effect was from hair gel. Even though the stranger was relaxing against the bar, Christopher could make out the contours of his muscles beneath his suit jacket. To have that much muscle definition, even through heavy layers of fabric, the man had to have an incredible body.
Christopher was about to tap the man on the shoulder when he noticed a few creases in the man’s jacket that were too straight and too rigid to be muscle. The man was wearing a shoulder harness. Either that or he had worn one all day and hadn’t bothered to put on fresh clothes before going out.
There had to be other gay cops, Christopher knew. He had never run into any, but he still believed there were others out there somewhere. It was more likely that the bar had hired an off-duty police officer for extra security. Still, there was no harm in asking. If the man was working security, Christopher would never see him again, so the idea of embarrassing himself wasn’t quite as terrifying as usual.
Doug sipped at his beer and watched the college boys crowding around the bar, wondering why the hell he had even bothered to show up. He sat near the end of the bar, in the only quiet corner to be found, and swirled the two inches of dark beer that remained in the bottom of the bottle. All around him, young university students were trying to drown their inhibitions in liquor. They were most likely trying to burn away the shame and embarrassment that would have kept them from ever going near this particular bar when they were sober. Not to mention creating an ego-saving alibi in case any of their straight friends should spot them trying to hook up with another guy. Everyone did stupid shit when they were drunk, they could argue. And if pressed, most of them would insist that they weren’t gay, not even bi, just curious. Curious enough to try and hammer out their sexuality through a haze of chemical-induced trial-and-error experiments with every guy who was willing to slip into the bathroom with them, but still just curious.
When Doug was nineteen, he had snuck into Giovanni’s with a fake ID, dressed in the tightest clothes he owned, with the same curiosity and lust-fueled excitement. Throughout his college years, no matter how many girls he managed to hook up with, he kept coming back. When he moved away after college, he discovered life in Miami allowed him to be a bit more open about his sexual preferences. He’d have been perfectly happy to stay there, but life never quite worked out the way Doug wanted.
No matter how far he got from home, or how easily he could pass for Cuban in Miami, the Salish values forced into him by the reservation schools had surfaced the moment he got word his mom was sick. He had to come back. He had to be there to take care of her. The duty was so ingrained that he hadn’t thought twice about putting in his resignation, just four years after joining the Miami-Dade County Sheriff’s Office. After everything he’d done to try and build a life away from the reservation, a life where he could actually be himself, he had ended up stuck at home anyway. Once every couple of months, he gave in and made the four-hour drive to sit in Giovanni’s, desperate to feel like himself again, even if it was just for a single night. Every time, he sat at the bar, feeling old and out of place, wondering if he should bother flirting with the kids around him or arrest them for underage drinking instead.
Doug tossed a crumpled wad of bills on the bar and stood to leave. He was a bit surprised when he felt fingers between his shoulder blades. Doug bit down the panic that made him want to drop for cover or throw whoever was touching him headfirst into the bar. A tap on the shoulder wasn’t that unusual, and he had gotten used to the required cheesy pickup line that came with it, but the hand at his back was gently, but very insistently, shoving him back toward the bar. Doug mentally cursed the forethought that had led him to lock his pistol in his truck. Then he cursed the panicked impulse to reach for his sidearm whenever anyone touched him. The way that tic stuck with him was the reason the pistol had to stay in the truck.
The fingers shifted over his shoulder and down his right arm. Doug’s breath caught when he felt a warm and surprisingly solid body press up against his back. “Hey, slow down… it’s okay…. I was just going to make a joke about how I'd be the only old guy here, if you left.”
Doug lowered his right arm as the fingers that had been on his back worked their way down to his fingers. He stepped to the side, back toward the barstool, and turned to look over his shoulder. His first thought, as he took in the man’s military-short blond hair, rugged features, and the amazing way the man’s clothes clung to his body, was that there was no way a walking menswear advertisement should have realized he was trying to reach for a weapon. He pushed that thought aside, for consideration later, since the man behind him seemed to be the only one in the bar over the age of twenty-one.
The man cocked his head to the side and smiled down at Doug. “Unless you’d prefer younger company?”
He forced himself to smile. “The twelve-year-old-boy look isn’t your thing?” Doug asked, before he could stop himself. When the stranger cracked a smile that made Doug shiver, he sat back down.
“Definitely not my thing,” the man agreed. “Look, before I make a complete ass of myself….” He ran his left hand over his head, as if expecting there to be hair to run his fingers through. “Are you here working?”
Doug slipped off the stool and stepped back until he hit the bar. People aren’t supposed to just come out and ask something like that. Even professional prostitutes had enough discretion to master innuendo. He glared up at the larger man furiously. “What the fuck kind of question is that?”
“You’re not a bouncer?” The man shut his eyes and let out an anxious sigh. His entire body seemed to deflate slightly as he relaxed. “That’s a relief. I can’t think of anything more pathetic than trying to pick up the only straight guy in the bar. Can I—”
“Bouncer?”
“Yeah. Your suit.” The man touched Doug’s back again. “It’s creased from your harness.”
Doug had left his harness with his gun. No one could spot something like that from across a dark, crowded bar. He turned to look over his shoulder, trying to see if it was that obvious. “I guess it is. Sorry, I thought you meant something else.”
The man met Doug’s gaze again, and then understanding seemed to bloom across his face. “Oh, you thought I meant… oh, hell no. Not that I wouldn’t… if you were… I mean, you’re really….” The stranger’s blue eyes widened. He shut his mouth, then pressed his lips together, as though he was trying not to laugh. “I’ll just go."
Doug found himself laughing aloud and feeling sorry for the stranger at the same time. Part of him suspected that stranger's adorably befuddled act was a fake. It was still kind of funny, even if it was just a con. It meant the man was interested enough to pretend to be tongue-ti
ed. I’d pay to sleep with you if you were a prostitute wasn’t a typical pickup line in this bar, at least.
“Are you for real?” he asked, chuckling more than he meant to.
“Yeah, ’fraid so. I’ll just go.”
Doug looped his right hand through the stranger’s elbow and stopped him from turning away. “I can’t buy you breakfast if you just go.”
The stranger lowered his gaze and relaxed his smile, and just for a moment, Doug felt the same shock of excitement he’d had when he had frequented this bar in college.
“Isn’t it traditional to start with a drink?”
Doug shrugged and motioned to the empty bar stool next to him. “Both?”
“I’m Christopher,” the man said, carefully extending his hand.
“Doug.” He shook the stranger’s hand, trying his best to look nonchalant about it, trying to hide the fact he was grateful the man had moved slowly and kept his hands in the open.
Doug wasn’t paranoid; he really wasn’t. He had argued with three shrinks about it. Paranoia was a mental illness where you had delusions that everyone was out to get you. One thing he had learned early on in his career was that for police officers, it wasn’t a delusion. Everyone really was out to get you. A horrible, abusive relationship, along with a year of undercover assignments in Miami posing as a strung-out surfer desperate for another fix, had left him jumpier than he liked to admit.
Christopher ordered a Bud Light and glanced meaningfully at the empty bottle in front of Doug.
“Moose Drool, please,” he said to the bartender. The bartender popped open a bottle of dark beer and set it in front of him. He took a sip and tried to ignore the other man’s raised eyebrow. “What?”
“Nothing.” Christopher took a sip of his beer, smiling into his glass. “Is that a local thing?”
“Moose Drool? You are definitely not from around here. It is a local thing. Do you want to taste it?”
“Sure.”
Doug almost laughed at the other man’s innocent reply. When he reached for the bottle, Doug pulled it back and leaned forward to press his lips against Christopher’s. He was a bit disappointed when Christopher kissed him back ever so gently and then pulled away. “I guess that was kind of cheesy,” Doug admitted.
“Incredibly cheesy.” Christopher raised the bottle of dark beer to his lips and took a small sip.
Doug turned and stared at his hand. His fingers were wrapped around Christopher’s glass. “How did you—”
“That’s pretty good,” Christopher declared, handing the bottle back. “Too rich for me, though. Creamier than I figured. A lot more body than light beer, anyway.”
Doug took the bottle back and held it tighter. He studied the other man’s features, less worried now about openly gawking at him. His own confidence swelled as he saw the blush in Christopher’s cheeks.
When Christopher took a drink of his own beer, Doug smirked. “Well, you know what Monty Python said about the average American beer, right?” Doug asked.
“Hm?”
“It’s a bit like making love in a canoe. It’s fucking close to water.”
The smile contorted as Christopher struggled not spit out the small sip of beer he’d taken. When he finally swallowed, the grin erupted into full-blown laughter. They talked and cracked jokes while they finished their beers, then Doug hesitantly ran his fingers along Christopher’s jaw. The way the blond shut his eyes at such a simple touch made Doug’s stomach flip. “Do you want to get out of here?” he whispered.
Christopher nodded. “I’ve got a hotel room a few blocks away, if you’d like to go there?”
“Sounds perfect.” Doug paid for their beers and stayed close to him as they headed for the door. “But, ah, there’s something you should know.”
“What’s that?”
“This might not be a very conservative neighborhood, but it’s still a conservative town,” Doug said grimly.
“How conservative?”
“Conservative.”
“‘Keep my hands to myself’ kind of conservative? Or ‘be prepared to kick someone’s ass to get back to the hotel alive’ kind of conservative?”
Doug’s first instinct was to laugh at the other man’s posturing, but something in his tone and stance made his comment seem less like arrogance and more like an easy confidence. “Definitely a ‘hands to yourself’ kind of conservative.”
“No groping in public. Got it.” Christopher winked at him and led the way out of the bar. Doug followed him down the busy street to one of the larger, nicer hotels in the city, discreetly watching the way the man walked. His breath caught in his throat as he caught the way Christopher’s slacks clung to his ass. Just the thought of squeezing that ass, of fucking that ass, had Doug so hard he had to shove his hands in his pockets and shift his cock up under his waistband to avoid pitching a tent in his pants. He followed Christopher into the elevator and stood beside him quietly as an elderly couple rode the elevator up to the third floor. On the fifth floor, Christopher set his hand at the base of Doug’s back and guided him out of the elevator and to a room halfway down the hall.
Doug managed to wait until the door shut behind them before he grabbed Christopher by the shirt and pulled him into a fast, hungry kiss. He felt his cock surge to full attention as Christopher returned his kiss, opening his mouth to allow Doug to explore him.
Panting, Doug broke the kiss and tried to pull Christopher’s shirt off over his head. Christopher set his hands on Doug’s, stopping him quickly. Doug stepped back and watched him pull the hem up and over his head, then slipped the shirt off of his right arm carefully.
“Bad shoulder,” Christopher whispered, tossing the shirt aside.
When Christopher smiled and motioned for Doug to follow him toward the bed, all Doug could do was stand there and stare like an idiot. The sight of this man topless was one Doug wished he could burn into his memory forever. The sharp angles of the man’s shoulders, the steep hills and valleys of muscle on his arms, continued down his chest in an erotic pattern that drew Doug’s gaze to every inch of skin and made his hands twitch to touch him. Doug cocked his head to the side as he saw the red stretch of skin over Christopher’s shoulder. Fresh scar tissue from a puncture wound, Doug realized, and one that had been large enough that it should have been fatal.
“How didn’t that kill you?” he asked.
Christopher didn’t even look up at the question. “It nearly did. A dozen cops and EMTs were about thirty seconds behind me. Still hurts, but I can live with it.”
Doug moved across the hotel room and watched the other man toe his shoes off, his stomach tightened in slight panic. He had switched roles readily enough when he was younger, but after his last relationship, he didn’t handle being pinned down well. He wasn’t good at feeling helpless, much less helpless, pinned down, and ripped open by someone a good three inches taller and probably twenty to thirty pounds heavier than him.
Christopher sat down on the bed and pulled his socks off. He caught the expression that must have been on Doug’s face, though, and he stood up slowly. “Second thoughts?” Christopher asked, holding up his open hands in an appeasing gesture. “It really is all right. I can move and everything.”
“Am I that easy to read?” Doug whispered, striding forward with a confidence he didn’t entirely feel.
The other man’s smile faded. “Oh.”
Then Christopher’s blue eyes lit up and his face was set aglow by one of the most charming smiles Doug had ever seen. A smile that was just as much of a mask as his own, Doug realized. In the brief moment before Christopher pulled out that fake smile, Doug realized just how beautiful Christopher was, and how much pain he was hiding. The way his face softened without that mask made him look handsome and adorable at the same time, but it also showed Doug a glimpse of a deep misery and emptiness inside of him. For that one honest moment, Doug thought he might be seeing something beyond simple disappointment in the man’s eyes, something beyond pain.<
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Suddenly Doug wanted nothing more than to break through that mask. If letting this man fuck him could pull a real smile out of him, or even just break through the pain inside him for a moment, Doug was willing to risk the panic attack.
“No,” said Doug. “I am not having second thoughts. I’m just not sure how we’re going to do this. Neither of us is boy-toy skinny, so….” Doug slipped his suit jacket off and tossed it on to the other bed. He unbuttoned his shirt and set it on the jacket, then pulled his T-shirt off, trying to keep his gaze locked on Christopher’s the whole time.
“Is that all?” Christopher relaxed and actually blushed. He stood and pressed himself against Doug in two short strides. Doug hissed at the feel of the other man’s muscled chest, his warm skin, against his own. Christopher kissed Doug softly, almost timidly, then wrapped his fingers around the back of Doug’s neck and pulled him into a deeper kiss. “For you,” Christopher whispered, glancing down between them, “I’m up for just about anything.” He kissed Doug again. “I should warn you that it’s been a long time for me,” he whispered when he pulled away. “And you are so fucking hot….” Another kiss. “I don’t think I’d last very long if I were to fuck you….”
Christopher dropped his head to Doug’s neck, and Doug felt teeth and a hot, wet tongue work their way along his collarbone. Doug groaned and ground his hips against Christopher while he licked and sucked and explored every inch of Christopher’s skin that he could reach. His hands found their way to the other man’s waist, but he kept moving, touching, massaging—trying to memorize every inch of all that muscle. He ran his hands over Christopher’s chest, carefully avoiding his shoulder, and down to the button of his slacks.
He unbuttoned the other man’s pants and shoved them to the floor. He took Christopher’s head in both hands and drew him close so he could kiss him again. He moved his hands back down to Christopher’s hips, pivoted them slightly, and then pushed him back onto the bed.