A Casual Weekend Thing (Least Likely Partnership Book 1)

by A. J. Thomas

  “Not going above and beyond at all,” Doug insisted, kissing Christopher’s shoulder. “I thought I made it clear that this isn’t the type of thing I do to earn a living.”

  Christopher groaned, but Doug felt a chuckle ripple through his chest. “You’re not going to let me live that down, are you?”

  “Absolutely not.” Doug grinned against Christopher’s back. “I just can’t believe that someone who looks like you could ever possibly be that hard up.”

  “To pay for it? I’ve never paid for it, but there have been a few times when I’ve been desperate enough to think about it. For a chance to feel you inside of me, I… well, I might have.”

  “Naughty, naughty.” He let one of his hands drift down over Christopher’s stomach and hips. “And you’re a cop too.”

  “Honestly, if you had been willing, I would have gone to jail with a smile on my face. Some things are worth it.”

  Doug was glad he was behind Christopher. He couldn’t help grinning like an idiot at that. “Just so long as it’s not that smile.”

  “I still don’t get it.”

  “Your fake smile. Your ‘the world is falling apart so I’m just going to sit back and wait for an entertaining explosion’ smile.”

  He felt Christopher chuckle again. “It’s just habit. It always made things easier, before I met you.”

  “I think I hate that smile.”

  “You’re warm.” Christopher looped one arm up and around Doug’s neck.

  Doug nuzzled Christopher’s shoulder, licking and nipping at the other man’s skin. “You’re amazing,” he whispered. “And salty.”

  “Do you want to move to the bed?” Doug asked. Christopher’s response was a low, sultry growl that had Doug instantly hard. He shifted his hips back and then rocked forward against Christopher’s ass, grinding against the other man softly. “Oh God,” Doug gasped. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve thought about this since Saturday.”

  “No God,” Christopher hissed, wiggling his ass against Doug while he caressed the back of Doug’s neck and hair with his left hand. “I don’t have a lot of rules, but that’s one of them. I don’t care what you believe, no talking about God during sex.”

  “No God? That’s one I haven’t heard before, but I think I can manage.” Doug pressed harder against him, focusing on the slide of his cock against Christopher’s dripping skin. He rocked his hips back and let the tip of his cock drag over Christopher’s crack.

  “It’s not a kink,” Christopher gasped, trying to shove his ass back hard. Doug held him steady, though. “You don’t like to bottom, I don’t like religion. I don’t talk about it, and I doubt you do, either….”

  “All right.” Doug ran his fingers down the tight triangle of skin above Christopher’s groin and then teased the soft skin between Christopher’s thigh and his sac.

  “Oh fuck!” Christopher rolled his head to the side.

  “Is that what you want?” Doug smiled with his lips against Christopher’s pulse. Christopher’s response was another low groan. That sound went straight to Doug’s groin and nearly sent him over the edge. He cupped Christopher’s sac and worked his hand up the other man’s shaft. As he scraped his thumb over Christopher’s slit, Christopher shoved his hips back against him. Doug wasn’t sure how he ended up lined up so perfectly, since Christopher was taller than he was, but he only had to rock his hips up slightly to slip his cock past that tight ring of muscle. He kept rocking his hips, sinking in inch by inch, until he was buried balls-deep inside Christopher.

  It felt so incredible, so overwhelming, that Doug had to stand still and take a deep breath just to last for a few moments. He squeezed Christopher’s cock hard and sucked the tender spot on Christopher's neck into his mouth. A deep moan tore through Christopher’s chest, and Doug bit down to keep himself calm. “Damn it, you feel too good….”

  Another moan was Christopher’s answer. Doug dropped his arm from around Christopher’s chest and grabbed his hip. He bent Christopher forward, trying to get the perfect angle. Doug continued the slow rocking, reveling in the tight, hot friction. He didn’t want it to end, but he also knew a couple of real thrusts would finish him. So he continued the maddeningly slow rocking and stroked Christopher hard.

  “Please!” Christopher cried, trying to pull away slightly. Doug nearly slipped out of him. Hearing Christopher’s desperation made Doug’s head spin. He knew he couldn’t draw it out this time. He snapped his hips forward and drove back into Christopher, pounding into him so hard that Christopher had to slap his hands onto the shower wall to steady himself. “Yes! Fuck yes!” Christopher cried out.

  Hearing that was all it took. Doug pulled out until only the head of his cock was still inside Christopher, then he rammed back in. It took three full thrusts before the spring tightening inside Doug snapped. He exploded.

  “Oh fuck!” Christopher bent forward, his entire body convulsing. Doug closed his fist around Christopher’s tip and caught as much of the other man’s come as he could. Doug rubbed his thumb over Christopher’s slit, sliding the creamy liquid all over him to drag out the other man’s orgasm.

  When the trembling stopped, Christopher slumped forward and collapsed against the shower wall. “Shit,” he said, laughing. “I was going to say ‘let’s go to bed’, but you just had to let your hands wander….”

  Doug kept his hands on Christopher, not wanting to let him go. He rubbed Christopher’s back, stroking his fingers down the man’s taut muscles gently. He slowed his fingers down and grazed over the fresh red scar. An egg-sized mass of swollen muscle trembled beneath the scar. Just grazing his fingers over it, Doug could feel it throbbing. He was coming back to reality fast, and he was distracted from Christopher’s back by the feel of his own come seeping out of Christopher’s ass, dripping over them both. He reached for the tiny hotel bottle of shower gel, worked up lather, and then washed Christopher’s spent cock. When that was done, he washed Christopher's back, his ass, and his thighs, where Doug’s come was sticking to him. Doug stared at the white liquid dripping out of Christopher’s ass. He had never tried rimming, but the sight of that puckered hole leaking his come was quite possibly the most erotic and inviting thing that he had ever seen. That, he realized a bit late, was why it had felt so incredible this time.

  “Oops,” he whispered. “Uh, it’s a bit late to ask, but do you usually use a condom?”

  Christopher glanced over his shoulder and looked down at Doug’s cock. He watched Doug wash himself clean and then let his eyes travel up Doug’s body. “Oops is right.”

  “You don’t?” Doug felt panic and bile rise in his throat simultaneously.

  “Relax. It’s been a couple years, I always use protection, and I’ve had quite a few standard physicals since the last time.”

  “Years?” Doug was shocked.

  “Yes. I did tell you it had been a long time. What about you?”

  “Yeah,” Doug said, smiling at him. “It hasn’t been years, but I’m usually a lot more careful than this, and I get tested every time.”

  Christopher nodded and took the soap from Doug, squeezed a bit into his hand, and washed the salt, sweat, grime, and come from the rest of his body. Doug set his hands on Christopher’s back again, enjoying the contrast of soft skin and tight muscle under his fingers. Christopher’s muscles tightened, but he didn’t tell Doug to stop, so Doug let his hands wander back to the swollen line of muscle in Christopher’s shoulder.

  Doug returned his attention to the small circle of scar tissue that was still new enough to be red and angry. It was a match to the one on Christopher’s chest that Doug had found during their first night together. Seeing the matching scar, Doug was sure it was a bullet wound. Two inches away was a pink line of scar tissue that looked almost like an incision, except it was nearly a quarter of an inch wide in the center. Tiny white dots of scar tissue surrounded the line. Doug rubbed his thumb over the dots. The entire shelf of muscle beneath the two scars was shaking. It had to
hurt like hell. “How old is this?”

  “About four weeks, almost five.”

  “You got shot.” It wasn’t a question, but Doug hoped for an answer anyway.

  Christopher sighed. “Yes.” He rolled his shoulders and rocked his head from side to side, stretching his neck. “Surgery too. They had to restitch the cut back there, because I kept tearing the stitches every time I moved. It sucked.”

  “You weren’t kidding when you said you’ve had a shitty few weeks.” Doug ran his fingertips over Christopher’s shoulder and down the outside of his right arm. Christopher turned toward him with a rueful smile. “Getting shot wasn’t so bad. Being stuck in the hospital nearly killed me. I get twitchy if I can’t run.”

  “Twitchy,” Doug repeated. “Like that night in the bar. I don’t think you managed to hold your hands still for more than five seconds.”

  “Exactly. Twitchy.” Christopher opened and closed his right fist again.

  “Come on.” Doug reached around him and turned the water off. “Beer. Food. That kind of thing.”

  “Food,” Christopher agreed.

  “Do you need to take something for your shoulder?” Doug asked.

  “No. It’s painkiller or beer, and I’d rather have a beer.”

  “Is that healthy?”

  “Yes. Unhealthy would be taking a painkiller and then going out for a beer anyway.”

  “Good point. Maybe later tonight I can help get some of the kinks out.”

  Christopher shifted his back and hips experimentally. “Too sore for that,” he said with a pout. “But I wouldn’t mind the company.”

  Soon they were both dressed. Christopher returned to the dark pin-striped suit that made Doug drool. He followed Doug out the door and hesitated at his tiny rental car.

  “Should we take two cars?” Doug asked. He tried to keep his face neutral, to give Christopher an easy escape route if he needed it.

  “Would you mind if I rode with you? I don’t want to read too much into this, so if you’d rather take separate cars… I mean, you don’t even have to come with me if you don’t want to….”

  Doug shook his head and turned away from him, hoping Christopher wouldn’t take his smile the wrong way. Doug wanted to read too much into this. Reckless as it was, insane as it was, he wanted this. He hit the button on his key fob until his truck honked. “Hop in.”

  Instead of heading toward the driver’s side door, Doug followed Christopher. “Are you asking because…. Well, are you sure you even want me to come along?” Doug asked. “We both know that this is just sex… that it can’t really be anything else. Would it make you feel weird, having dinner with me?”

  Christopher cocked his head to the side. “I would like to have dinner with you. Sex doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, right?”

  “I’d like to be friends.”

  “Cool.”

  Doug hurried around to his door, trying to ignore the feeling of relief that washed over him. He drove them back into town, where they ended up at the Hay Loft. Every town, no matter how big or how small, has a bar that police tend to frequent, and the Hay Loft was Elkin’s. All of the bar’s regulars were deputies, highway patrol officers, firefighters, or other civil servants. No normal person stayed for long. A consequence of its limited clientele was that the Hay Loft never had a problem with underage drinking, all-out brawls, or people selling drugs out back.

  Within twenty minutes of sitting down, nearly every off-duty officer in Elkin had introduced themselves, and Christopher and Doug found themselves crammed side by side at a table crammed with ten other people. Despite the fact they weren’t obvious about their interest in each other, Doug’s fellow officers fell back on the time-honored tradition of telling embarrassing stories about Doug.

  “… so, not knowing the codes for an armed robbery were different, Dougie broke out his bulletproof vest, the paintball gun, and all of our pepper-spray rounds. He ran around the entire county, to the location of every traffic stop that day, ready to come to the rescue.”

  “Wait,” Christopher said, between sips of beer, “if a two eleven in Montana isn’t an armed robbery, what is it?”

  “It’s a blank code section,” the old detective cackled. “We use it when a warrant check comes up clean during a traffic stop.”

  “Our version of a code four.” Christopher laughed. “Damn, that had to be a hell of a first day.”

  Doug blushed and glared across the table at his coworkers. “It was a highway-patrol guy who finally told me the difference. These bastards would have let me run around like that for weeks.”

  Christopher laughed with the rest of them, and eventually Doug laughed too.

  “You’re lucky you didn’t have my partner to deal with,” Christopher said. “He’d have shown you where to check out riot gear, and then gotten it all on video. Now that he’s got a smartphone, he can send a humiliating video to every single person on our team in thirty seconds.”

  Christopher listened to some more amusing stories about Doug’s rookie days, shared a few stories of dealing with Mexican street gangs, and drank a lot more than he should have. Doug tried not to laugh when Christopher humiliated himself in a half-dozen games of darts, argued when highlights from recent baseball games aired on the bar’s big-screen TV, and then spent the rest of the night shooting pool.

  Around midnight, half of the beepers in the room went off. Eight men groaned and shuffled out, following a slightly more sober older man.

  “Volunteer fire department,” Doug explained to Christopher.

  “But they’re drunk….”

  Doug chuckled. “You’re drunk. They’re fine. Mostly.”

  “I’m not drunk,” Christopher insisted. He bent down to take his next shot, missed the cue ball completely, and then dropped his head to the side of the table. “All right. I’m drunk. But I also can’t feel a damn thing in my right hand, so this is tricky even when I’m sober.”

  “How long has that been going on?” asked Doug, trying to recall if the risk of a heart attack was associated with numbness on the right or left side of the body. Then he felt stupid, because he knew it was the left and he was supposed to be able to calmly remember that kind of thing.

  “It’s been numb since I got shot. Nerve damage, I think.” Christopher bent down and lined up another shot.

  “You got shot?” one of the older detectives at the table beside them asked.

  “Yeah. It’s a hell of a way to spend an afternoon. I don’t recommend it.”

  “What happened?

  Christopher managed to hit the cue ball, but sent it careening into an empty section of the table. “We were eating lunch two blocks from a traffic stop that blew up. The suspect shot the traffic officer and fled on foot. I’m fast. I caught up with the guy and he shot me before I even got a warning out, and then my lazy-ass partner caught up and shot him. That’s all there is to it.”

  “You can’t feel anything?” Doug asked.

  “Just in these three fingers,” said Christopher, holding them up.

  “That sucks,” the older detective muttered. “So, can you shoot with your left hand?”

  He was having more trouble than usual keeping names straight, and he couldn’t recall this man’s name, so he just smiled. “To be honest, I haven’t tried. It’s only been about a month. I haven’t even been cleared for physical therapy, much less picked up a sidearm again.” When Doug missed his shot, Christopher swung his cue around and lined up his own shot. “If they stay numb, I’ve got to figure out how to shoot left-handed or take a desk job. I might get stuck as a training officer or something.”

  “That’s got to be hard,” another officer said from the crowd.

  Christopher nudged the cue ball and watched it roll a whole six inches before coming to rest in the middle of the table. “I have had too much to drink,” he admitted.

  “Well,” said Doug, “whether you’re drunk or not, I’m your ride home and I’ve got to work tomorrow.”

>   “Nice meeting you, Chris,” called one of the deputies. Three of the other officers he’d met also waved and called out good-byes.

  When Doug got Christopher into the truck, he watched the way Christopher’s head lolled to the side. When Christopher was exhausted, he really was too adorable for his own good. He drove them back to the hotel, helped Christopher into his room, and set him on the bed. Christopher just fell backward on to the bed, so Doug unlaced his shoes and then started helping him out of his suit.

  “You should stay,” Christopher whispered. “I want to fall asleep with you inside of me. I want to wake up to you fucking me. Can you?”

  Doug knew Christopher was way too drunk to realize what he was asking. No matter how hot it sounded, Doug was pretty sure it would be impossible to fall asleep like that.

  “Stay?” Christopher asked.

  Doug didn’t have a suit in his truck, just a pair of slacks and a T-shirt. He would have to get up in less than four hours to make it home in time to change and get back to work. But he wanted to indulge this insanity for one more night. For a few hours, he could hold onto Christopher and enjoy the rare comfort of just being close to someone. It had to be about sex, had to stay about sex, but for tonight, he could pretend that Christopher was a part of his life and not just passing through it.