by A. J. Thomas
Christopher rolled him over and reached for his cock with a sweat-soaked hand. Doug watched Christopher’s face, tried to memorize that well-fucked look that made his toes curl, and let Christopher stroke him off. It took three whole strokes before Doug came with an exhausted cry. Christopher closed his fingers around the tip of his cock and massaged the sensitive glans with Doug’s own come. It wasn’t until Doug’s cries turned to plaintive whimpers that Christopher finally stopped the slow, tender torture.
Christopher dropped his head onto Doug’s shoulder and closed his eyes with a whimsical laugh. “You okay?” he asked without opening his eyes.
“I’m good,” Doug sighed. “Fucking hell, I’m good. I’m not sure I’m going to be able to take advantage of you again tonight, though.”
Christopher chuckled beside him and kissed his neck, then sat up and grabbed the blanket from the foot of the bed. He draped it over both of them, squirmed until he was nestled in Doug’s arm, and closed his eyes again. “I said anytime, didn’t I? After breakfast counts as anytime,” he muttered.
“Does next weekend count as anytime?” Doug asked. He ran his fingers through Christopher’s hair, hoping the question wouldn’t frighten the other man away.
“Probably not,” Christopher muttered.
Doug felt his stomach twist at those words. It was the only way these things could work, and it was what Doug had been expecting, but he was still disappointed.
“I’m actually just in the state to take care of some personal business. I have a feeling it’s going to take awhile even to hire someone else to deal with it for me. I doubt I can get back next weekend. But it’ll be impossible to get anything done on that front until Monday morning, if you want to hang out for the rest of this weekend? Or maybe the weekend after?”
Doug stared at the man in his arms. Nothing much happened on Sundays in Elkin, he knew, but if he called in sick, he’d get no end of shit from the rest of the sheriff’s department, especially after the pathetic week he’d had. It would be weeks before he managed to live down not being able to get in contact with Peter Hayes’s next of kin when it took the sheriff a whole two minutes to find his phone number. “I would like to,” Doug whispered, “but I’ve got to work Sunday morning, and it’s half a day’s drive. I can stay for most of tomorrow, though. If you want me to.”
“Yeah.” Christopher smirked. “I want you.”
“To stay, I mean?”
“That too. Ah, I need to take a pill.”
Christopher squirmed out of bed, retrieved a prescription pill bottle from his bag, and pulled out two small white pills. He swallowed them dry, buried the bottle back in his luggage, and rolled his right shoulder, wincing at the motion.
“You okay?” Doug asked.
“I’m fine.” Christopher grimaced. “Maybe not fine,” he amended. “But that was worth it.” He crawled back into bed, obviously favoring his right arm, and nestled against Doug’s chest.
“What happened to your shoulder?” Doug asked.
The other man didn’t answer, and soon Doug heard his breathing slow down to the steady, soothing breaths that indicated he was asleep. In bed, the three- to four-inch height advantage Christopher had over Doug wasn’t as noticeable. He looked younger than Doug had originally thought, and too damn adorable for his own good. He couldn’t make sense of the man. He had the strength to hold Doug down as he panicked, even with what looked like a fresh surgery scar on his shoulder, and he had the strength to fuck him into the blind oblivion where memories and paranoia couldn’t touch him, but he’d also managed to stay understanding and willing to back off at the same time. In his sleep, he looked calm and adorable, like an impish little boy.
Doug decided he liked looking at Christopher in his sleep. There was no sign of that emptiness, no trace of the agonized expression Doug had caught a glimpse of for just a moment that left him certain Christopher was screaming inside. But maybe Doug had just imagined that.
They ordered room service for breakfast, took their time eating, and then took a long, slow shower together. Doug jacked them both off in the shower, stroking their erections together and kissing Christopher when he came. Since breakfast was charged to Christopher’s room, Doug took him out for lunch, happy that Christopher seemed fine going to one of his college favorites—a back-alley Indian place that, despite not having an English menu or any tables, served incredible food. They ate curry by the river, and Doug told Christopher about the town, the university where he’d studied, and some of the hiking trails visible from the valley floor.
The conversation shifted, as most conversations between police officers did, to work. They traded stories of some of the more ridiculous calls they had gone on. They talked about life, and when Doug tried to nonchalantly ask if there was anyone special waiting for Christopher in California, Christopher had actually blushed. Then he looked crestfallen.
“Definitely not,” he whispered.
“Was there?” Doug asked, not sure what to make of the sad look on Christopher’s face.
“No. There was almost a complete bastard of a best friend who wanted to be fuck buddies, but no one special.”
“What happened?”
“He kissed me,” Christopher growled. “He was my partner, and my best friend, for four years. We transferred from Gang Enforcement to Homicide together. For four years, I watched him sleep with every girl who crossed his path, and then, just before I had to leave, he decided to become curious. I went to his place to drop off my keys and ask him to keep an eye on my place. The boy he had brought home came out and introduced himself, wearing nothing but his briefs, and then, when I was leaving to give them some privacy, my partner came out into the hallway and kissed me.”
“Your partner? With the guy still in his apartment?” Doug asked. “What an asshole. It’s bad enough when that kind of thing happens between men and women who are paired up! Doesn’t he know that? I think I’d have smacked him for that.”
“I know! I have a hard enough time knowing that when we walk into something, if it goes wrong, my best friend is going to die. If I had to work with a lover….” Christopher shook his head. “I couldn’t do that. Every shift would be a nightmare.” Christopher fumbled with his phone. Doug noticed that the screen stayed blank. “I should probably turn my phone back on and see if he’s decided to press charges.”
“Wouldn’t it be the other way around? Sexual harassment is sexual harassment, doesn’t matter if you’re a man or woman.”
“Nope.” Christopher smirked and offered Doug a half shrug. “Assault and battery charges, against me.” As the phone in his hand booted, Christopher turned the screen to show Doug the display. He had twenty-eight new voice mails. “Ah, fuck it, I still don’t want to know.” He held down the power button and turned the phone off.
Doug leaned back in his chair and laughed. “He had to know the score. If he had tried that shit with a female partner, he’d be blacklisted for the rest of his life. I wouldn’t be too worried.” Unfortunately, seeing the phone had reminded Doug of the time. It was already late afternoon.
“What about you? Trolling bars out of town because you’ve got someone at home?”
“No,” Doug admitted. “There was almost a girl. When I was in high school, I loved her more than anything, but her daddy didn’t approve. I went away to school and then to work. When I came back, we tried again. This time around, when she found out that I had turned myself into everything her daddy wanted in a son-in-law, she lost interest.”
“Damn. What a bitch.”
“That’s just what I said,” Doug agreed. “It wouldn’t have been fair anyway, not to either of us. So now I come down here a couple times a year, just to unwind, you know?”
“So, no guys back home?”
Doug shook his head slowly. “Not a chance. It’s a small town, small department. If I came out there….” He shook his head again. “It’s not like things are easy, anyway, but I don’t even want to think about what people w
ould say if I did come out. Half the people up there already lock their car doors when they see me walk by.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I’m not white,” said Doug, as if it should be obvious.
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“The town I work in is just north of the Flathead Indian Reservation,” Doug explained. “And I’m Salish. In the towns around the reservation, they talk about it, and the people who live there, the way people in expensive suburbs talk about city ghettos. If you’re white, they assume you’re lost and come out with coffee and a map, but if you’re Native American, you’re a suspicious prowler and they call the police.”
“You’re Native American?” Christopher looked dubious. “I just assumed you were Hispanic.”
Doug shrugged it off. “I passed for Cuban in Miami,” he admitted. “So that isn’t that much of stretch.”
Christopher was silent for a moment, staring out at the river and finishing his lunch. Then he looked Doug up and down suggestively, then looked away, blushing furiously.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“Just imagining you in those leather deerskin pants, with one of those beady things over your chest.”
“Enjoy the thought?”
Christopher blushed again, then crossed his legs and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “So, wait,” he said as he tossed his plastic fork and takeout container into the trash beside their bench, “have you ever ended up checking out different calls about prowlers and found yourself running around in a big circle?”
Doug sighed. “Actually, yes. I try not to take it too personally. Some of the guys on the reservation really are deadbeat assholes, so it’s not like I can say the stereotype is completely unfair.”
“You get ass—” Christopher paused as a family rode by on bicycles, the youngest trailing behind on a pink bike with training wheels. “You get jerks everywhere,” he said, censoring himself.
Doug chuckled, tossed his food in the trash, and checked the time again. “I’ve got to go. Walk you back?”
“Sure. I think I’m going to go back to the hotel to get changed. I feel like going for a run.”
“Yeah? Where to?”
“Up that,” Christopher pointed to one of the many mountains encircling the city. It was behind the university campus and had a gigantic white M painted halfway up. “You can see the trail from here,” Christopher went on. “It looks fun.”
“There’s a hell of a view from the top,” Doug agreed, silently wishing he could go too. “It’s steep, though. I don’t know if I’d run it.”
“I run everything. I do endurance races, fifty miles, sometimes a hundred, if I’ve got time to train for them. Most of my training runs are on the Pacific Crest Trail, and some sections are about that steep. Of course, if I’m running that far, I tend to walk up most of the climbs and run for the flat and downhill sections.”
“A hundred miles? A hundred-mile race?” Doug gaped.
Christopher grinned. “Yes.”
“On foot?”
“Yes, on foot.” The smile on Christopher’s face told Doug that Christopher was used to people looking at him like he was crazy. “You’ve got to admit, there are worse addictions out there.”
“That’s insane. Even crack isn’t going to fuck up your body like running that kind of distance. How do you have any muscle left?”
Christopher shrugged. “I eat a lot. With Snickers bars and Gatorade, the human body can accomplish anything.”
“Snickers bars.”
Christopher nodded enthusiastically.
“You run a hundred miles at a time so you can eat Snickers bars? You expect me to buy that after you ordered a light beer last night?”
“No! I don’t run ultras so I can eat Snickers bars.” Christopher shoved his hands in his pockets as they walked. “I eat Snickers bars so I can run ultras.”
“Ultras?”
“Ultra marathons—anything longer than a regular marathon. If I could find an inexpensive energy gel that didn’t have the taste, texture, and smell of dog sh—” Christopher caught himself as a woman with a jogging stroller walked past, pushing two young toddlers. “I would use energy bars or gels if I cared for the flavor,” Christopher continued.
Doug pressed his lips tight to keep from smiling. Christopher befuddled and censoring himself in midsentence for the sake of two passing toddlers made Doug want to do something stupid, like wrap his arm around Christopher’s waist or take his hand.
“You didn’t seem too turned off by how fucked up my body is last night,” Christopher whispered, after they had put some distance between themselves and the children. “Or this morning.”
“You’ve got me there,” Doug admitted. He glanced around fast and decided a quick leer was worth the risk.
“It’s not like I live off Snickers bars,” Christopher insisted, pouting. “Most of the time.”
“You did say Gatorade too.”
“Damn straight.” Christopher smirked.
Christopher led the way into the hotel. He pushed the button for the elevator and then stared at Doug. After a moment, a terrified expression bloomed on his face. “No! You’re anti-Snickers, aren’t you!” He wagged an accusing finger at Doug. Doug tried to avoid making eye contact with the people staring at them.
“I knew it!” Christopher declared when the elevator door closed behind them. “I knew you were too good to be true! Smart, sexy, another police officer, incredible in bed… I knew there had to be a catch. You’re all….” Christopher waggled all five of his fingers at him. “… healthy.”
Doug tried to bury his face in his hand. He tried to school his features, to force himself not to smile. Inside, he felt his stomach doing somersaults. He was smart, sexy, and incredible in bed? “The man who runs ultra marathons is turned off by healthy?” he asked, trying to shift the conversation back to Christopher.
“No, not really.”
“So it’s just the Snickers-bar thing? Is that really a deal breaker? Not liking your favorite candy bar?”
“That depends,” Christopher said immediately, his face incredibly serious. “What is your stance on Twizzlers?”
“Twizzlers? My stomach doesn’t like candy. Or much of anything else,” Doug explained. He reached out and grabbed Christopher by the collar, tugged him close, and kissed him hungrily. Christopher returned the kiss, squeezing Doug’s hips, until they both ended up laughing against one another’s lips. “I ate a whole package of Twizzlers when I was a kid, at the state fair, right before going on the rides. I’ve never been so sick in my life. I was traumatized by Twizzlers. I didn’t say I hated Snickers bars, though.”
“Fair enough,” Christopher mumbled. He dipped his head down and nibbled on Doug’s neck. “What time do you have to be at work tomorrow?”
Doug moaned as Christopher sucked a small patch of skin over his collarbone into his mouth. He ran his hands up Christopher’s back and dropped his head to the side to give Christopher more access. “Shift briefing is at six thirty, the shift starts at seven.”
“Damn. I thought walking me back to the hotel was just an excuse to go at it one more time.”
Doug whimpered as Christopher pulled back. He really wanted to call in sick. He wanted to drag Christopher back to the room, tumble into bed, and fuck him all over again. How could Christopher, with the body of a porn star and a smile that could land him any man or woman he wanted, want someone like him? He didn’t understand it, but he wanted to enjoy it as much as possible while he had the chance.
He followed Christopher back to his room and made sure he had his keys and jacket while Christopher changed into running clothes. He turned around to say good-bye right as Christopher pulled on a pair of black spandex shorts. Doug groaned as he watched Christopher struggle to pull his polo shirt off over his head. Christopher reached for a thin polyester tank top, but Doug grabbed his forearm and stopped him. Doug stared
at him, feeling the heat from Christopher’s naked chest and incredible body pull him close like a magnet.
Christopher raised his eyebrows. Doug made a choked noise, almost a whimper, then looked down at Christopher’s virtually naked body. Christopher grinned and stepped close to him. Doug felt like his skin was electrified everywhere Christopher’s body pressed against him, and tiny shocks seemed to jump from Christopher’s bare chest straight through Doug’s clothes, down his body, to his groin.
Doug released Christopher’s forearm and worked his hands beneath the spandex to cup Christopher’s ass, then pulled him closer so he could grind against him. With a deep growl, Doug kissed Christopher and pushed him back against the wall. He massaged Christopher’s ass and spread his cheeks wide, plunging a dry finger inside. His finger slid in with the slightest friction, and Doug groaned as he imagined the ring of muscle inside Christopher tightening around his cock. He wanted to sink inside Christopher and stay there forever.
“These shorts are distracting,” said Doug. “Are you too sore for another round?”
Christopher let his head fall back against the wall and squirmed as Doug’s finger slipped in and out of him. “Oh shit, right here!” Christopher gasped, and then he shifted his hips, trying to maneuver his body against Doug’s finger. Doug grazed his finger over that tiny bundle of nerves again and smiled as he saw Christopher’s eyes glaze.
Doug gave up. He shoved Christopher back toward the bed, pushed him down on to his hands and knees, and peeled the tight black shorts down. He ripped at his own belt buckle frantically. Christopher lunged forward, grabbed the last of the blue foil packets, ripped it open with his teeth, and handed the open condom to Doug. Christopher braced himself on the bed, most of his weight on his left arm.
Doug was going to be stuck driving half the night, probably not getting home until well after midnight. He wouldn’t get to sleep until one, and then he had to be awake and moving by five. Doug smiled down at the gorgeous man on the bed, his legs spread and his ass held up in an open and wanton invitation. Doug couldn’t resist. He grabbed the other man’s hips and lined himself up. This was more than worth losing a night’s sleep.