by Kit Zheng
“Why the fuck not? Because I said what you did was stupid? I take it back, okay? I was just pissed. So don’t be fucking—” He cut himself off, sighed. “You know what.” Tomas gave him a tight smile and attempted to reach past Vic to the towel rack. Vic didn’t let him. Shrugging, Tomas stepped out of the shower and looked Vic straight in the eye. Something in Vic jumped, bracing for a fight; they were almost of a size, but Tomas was a little taller and bigger. But he didn’t get physical confrontation, only verbal, in a voice so low it was nearly a whisper.
“What? Are you gonna lock me up so I can’t go to work, Officer?” Vic reacted to Tomas’ tone more than his words, almost barking his reply. “Some days I would if I fucking could.”
One corner of Tomas’ mouth quirked, and he closed the distance between them with another step. The room seemed to get ten degrees hotter and more humid; Vic’s hands twitched at his side, and other parts of his anatomy jerked to life as well.
“Then maybe you should do it,” Tomas whispered. He was close enough to touch, to kiss, smiling as if his anger had been washed away. Vic was too aware of Tomas’ wet, naked skin, of his smell, clean and a little sweet and a little musky. The firm rise of his 43
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pecs, his six-pack abs. His anger muddied, but underneath annoyance stirred—
knowledge that this was what Tomas wanted.
“Don’t be fucking ridiculous,” he growled, eliminating the last space between them, herding Tomas back against the glass door of the shower. God, he loved the press of Tomas’ body against his, all that hard muscle and harder cock willingly trapped. There was an echo of his anger in the ferocity of his kiss, in the impact of bodies against glass.
He mauled Tomas’ mouth, let out his frustration with the rasp of stubbled chins and cheeks, with teeth pinching tongue and lip. Part of him was vengefully triumphant when Tomas let out an uncontrolled little moan; he knew Tomas well enough to know when he was losing his grip, stopped playing his game. It pissed him off when he caught Tomas pulling tricks on him, even though he knew Tomas didn’t usually do it on purpose. Made him rougher than he meant to be, hooking one hand behind Tomas’
neck, crushing him down to his knees on the cold tile.
Tomas reached for his fly, but Vic stopped him. Liked the confusion that drifted across Tomas’ face as he looked up. He knew he shouldn’t, but he asked anyway. “At least tell me how Benny’s Pet Cop made you come all over your leather jeans.” He wondered if that flinch was real or imagined. Tomas’ flush was real enough; Vic wondered how many men fell for that, for this grown-up Boy Scout butch innocence.
Jesus fuck, not that he’d blame a single one of them, he fell for it every time.
Tomas settled back on his heels, sucking in a deep breath; Vic got a glimpse of his cock, so hard it almost pressed against his stomach. “He just… handcuffed me and felt me up in front of a parking attendant.” His words rushed out in a single breath. Tomas was never a man of many words, but he was even more reserved than usual.
Vic mussed Tomas’ wet hair, clutched two fistfuls and tipped his head back.
“And?” he pushed. A surge of satisfaction as Tomas looked away.
“I don’t know. That was it.”
“Don’t lie to me, Tommy.”
Tomas’ voice dropped so low that Vic had to lean down to hear. “He…arrested me 44
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first. In front of everyone. Oh, god.” Vic saw Tomas’ cock jump against his belly. Wet trailed down one side of the thick shaft. “It was fucking humiliating,” Tomas said, but behind his words Vic heard the truth; he might as well have said, “It was fucking amazing.”
“Shit, babe,” he growled, “you just love to be the center of attention, don’t you?” He crouched, touched Tomas’ arms, grasped Tomas’ wrists. “But since when did let your johns tie you up?” He let a little anger, a little bitterness slip into his voice. “Since when did you let anybody tie you down and feel you up?”
“It just happened,” Tomas said, like he was trying to convince Vic, or himself.
Vic shrugged more carelessly than he felt. The specter of Benny’s Pet Cop loomed too large in the room. It rankled Vic. “Just leave a little something for me, will you?” Tomas looked a question at him.
Vic frowned. “Now you let guys do shit to you I don’t even get to do. What’s left?” Tomas’ brow furrowed. “I love you,” he said.
Something inside of Vic twisted, refusing to believe. “That what you tell all the guys?”
Tomas’ apology vanished, his mouth hardening into anger. Oddly, Tomas’ hostility seemed to dissolve Vic’s, and he laughed as if he had only been joking all along. He leaned in and gently kissed Tomas until he finally relented and responded.
“Sorry. I’m not trying to be a shit.” His hands traveled Tomas’ naked body, over all that damp skin, his smooth chest and the rough, blond curls between his thighs.
Tomas leaned in to the touch. He shook his head. “You know I save all the good stuff for you.”
“Good stuff?” Vic asked, but Tomas didn’t reply. And Vic didn’t care in a moment, as Tomas unzipped his fly, dragged fingertips over the soft skin there. Lips and teeth closed on his ear, the rough hair of Tomas’ goatee scratched his neck; he leaned back so that he could wriggle out of his pants and take full advantage of the situation while still being attended to. Once freed, he knelt in front of Tomas, until his vision was full of 45
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Tomas’ gorgeous cock and abs and thighs; he soothed his thumbs along the inside of those twin muscled columns and then cupped his hands over Tomas’ balls, caressing.
Tomas gasped above him; Vic knew how long his body had been waiting to be touched.
He couldn’t resist prolonging Tomas’ suffering; he kissed the inside of Tomas’
thigh, nuzzled his cheek against the smooth skin there, sucked on it like he wanted to suck on Tomas’ cock. When Tomas reached down for him, he broke contact with a wet smack, laughing. Tugged gently on Tomas’ sac and tilted his head upward, reached with his tongue for the drop of wet on the very tip of Tomas’ cock. When they met at last the taste of Tomas flooded his mouth, delicious and salty. He extended his torment like that for one long, sweet minute, just tongue to tip of cock, waiting to see how long Tomas would hold still and bear it. The big man shook with the effort but he kept still until Vic swallowed him down, and then he was reaching and groaning, knees buckling so that only Vic’s hands on his hips held him up.
He murmured, “Can you— I wanna taste you, too.”
Vic let go. “Lie down,” he murmured, and pulled Tomas down on to his knees, pushed him back towards the bathroom floor. Tomas laughed as he tried to arrange himself in the limited space. He ended up with his head against the door, his knees bent and spread, his feet braced against the edge of the shower. Vic grinned and straddled Tomas’ face. The tiles of the bathroom floor were cool against his knees. He let out a long, pleased sigh as Tomas’ tongue swathed over his balls, circumnavigated the root of his cock. Then he took Tomas’ cock back between his lips, down his throat, teasing, then sucking as hard as he could. Drove his tongue against the opening of Tomas’ cock until the other man was forced to break off, gasping. Savored the feel of his lover in his mouth, the rougher foreskin, the velvet smooth head against his tongue. He heard Tomas make an amused, challenging noise in the back of his throat, and then felt himself consumed by a tight, wet heat, the soft lashing of Tomas’ tongue, making him groan.
They fell into a mutually agreeable duel, attentions wavering between giving and 46
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getting. Vic cupped Tomas’ cock and balls in one hand, pressed them back against his body and moved his head farther back between Tomas’ thighs. Closing his eyes he concentrated on feeling—hard thighs against his cheeks, softness under his mouth, behind Tomas’ balls, naked skin waxed smooth even in the most intimate of places except for the tiny, groomed thatch nestling the ba
se of his cock. Vic was the violent opposite of Tomas’ groomed self, darkly furred over all of his knotty, compact body.
Some days, he wished Tomas would keep a bit more than what he could hide under a thong.
Then Tomas did something brilliant with his tongue and lips and throat, and Vic lost his focus momentarily. Goddamn, but Tomas was good, he thought, and swallowed a sudden surge of jealousy. Of course Tomas was good, he’d had shitloads of practice. When the nasty little voice didn’t go away, he twisted to one side. Tomas made a startled noise and reached after him, but Vic stopped him with a look; smoothly changed tactics, hoping Tomas didn’t seen anything on his face. “Get up. I want to see you.”
Tomas blinked once, eyebrows raising, then he started to smile, but he was on his feet and turned before Vic could see the whole grin. He pressed the flat of his palms and his cheek to the glass of the shower door, spread his legs like some punk collar about to be searched. The view was fantastic from where Vic crouched on the floor. He drank in the impromptu show Tomas gave him. Tomas was all muscle and golden skin, promising shadows. Vic’s eyes wandered over the powerful curves of buttocks and shoulders and biceps. He stood and followed his gaze with touch, patting Tomas down with a free hand. Lingered over thick forearms, the hard lines of triceps and upward to shoulder and trapezius, thumbs stroking Tomas’ shoulder blades. Vic heard Tomas breathe out sharply and it made him laugh. Traced the line of spine down into the swell of ass, deliberately skimming just the edge of the cleft there before he traveled lower down to the back of Tomas’ thighs. He felt Tomas struggling with the effort to keep still, so full of want his body was almost buzzing under Vic’s hands. Still he touched: 47
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inside of legs—the ticklish bit of Tomas’ knees, evoking a harsh breath of almost-laughter; hard knots of calves; down to ankles and feet.
“Vic,” Tomas said, shakily.
He had to bite down hard on the unexpected anger that rose, on the urge to demand to be obeyed. He hadn’t felt like this for a long time—since he was younger and hotter-blooded and quicker to be harsh. He rose to his feet. Hovered just behind Tomas, close enough to feel his body heat, taking in but not touching.
“Vic,” Tomas said again, with more desperation. He began to turn his head.
Without thinking, Vic said, “Don’t move.” Surprised himself with his work voice, a tough bark with an edge of don’t-try-my-patience.
The glass rattled as Tomas shuddered. All that strength, all that beautiful muscle, drawn so wire-tight by Vic’s voice and hands. It was almost too much; Vic almost went for the drawer with the stash of condoms, but he stopped himself. Wanted this to last longer.
“Lower your hands, real slow.” He was part his work self, good old Detective Nimikos, and part the puffed-up movie cop stereotype Tomas was so fond of. “Keep
‘em where I can see ‘em.”
He could, he thought, go get his cuffs right now, follow in Benny’s Pet Cop’s hot little footsteps. But that was not what he wanted from Tomas, not right now. When Tomas’ hands came to rest just brushing the tops of his thighs, Vic leaned in and kissed the nape of his neck, a close-mouthed whisper of a kiss.
He shucked off his shirt, leaving it in a pile by the toilet. Stepped in close, and went from depriving Tomas of all touch to feeling him with every part, molding against his back; chest against Tomas’ shoulders and his cheek to Tomas’ neck and his cock nestling between Tomas’ buttocks. Wrapped his arms around Tomas’ narrow hips and sought out Tomas’ cock. It was heavy in his hand, hot and full and he could feel Tomas straining to move against him. He obliged, curling his fingers and gently stroking Tomas, easing his foreskin up and down.
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Tomas’ heavy breathing echoed in the bathroom, the only sound besides the whisper of skin against skin and the wet, sucking kiss of his fingers slicking through the trickle of pre-come. He was startled when Tomas reached back and gripped his thigh; and then he leaned into the touch, leaned into Tomas leaning against him. His body fell into the rhythm they’d set, hand moving in front and hips behind, until they were both hissing out ragged, edge-teetering breaths. He didn’t expect to come when he did; it took him by surprise, a sudden moment of “Oh shit oh fuck oh fuck yeah!” growled into the back of Tomas’ skull, losing himself with cock mashed between his belly and Tomas’ tailbone. Momentum kept his hips jerking and he painted himself all over that golden skin, that sweet, trim-waisted back. The shower door rattled alarmingly as he caught himself with one palm against the glass.
He had a minute to recover, and then Tomas was guiding him to his unsatisfied erection; moving their two hands as one over hot, twitching flesh. Tomas tipped his head back so far it rested on Vic’s shoulder, leaning his heavy weight fully onto Vic.
Vic loved to watch him—eyes shut, mouth slightly open, little muscles in his neck and chest jumping as he got closer and closer to orgasm. A slow flush spread over his skin, from the flat planes of his cheekbones down to his collarbone, over his chest and around his nipples and down his tight six-pack abs—fuck, Vic loved that visible heat, that outward mock-shame. Tomas didn’t last too much longer. He jerked against Vic just before he came and Vic slipped a hand between his thighs and penetrated him as he hit his peak. The result was magic, Tomas arching and bucking against him, a hoarse noise erupting from deep in his throat as he spattered himself and the shower door with liquid heat.
When they finally separated, messy and in need of the shower they’d abused themselves against, Vic grabbed Tomas by the shoulder before he could step into the stall and turned him around. He kissed him, hard, all sandpaper stubble but no tongue.
Caught Tomas’ eye, a serious look on his face.
“I love you, you know that, right?”
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Tomas nodded. “Me, too,” he breathed.
“So you do what you have to, Tommy, but if I have to pull your fucking dead ass out of some grimy toilet stall, we’re fucking through. Capiche?” Tomas smiled. “Deal,” he said. Vic grinned back as Tomas’ fingers caught his, tangled briefly, squeezed.
Vic turned, reached for the toilet paper to clean himself off while he waited his turn in the shower. A hand caught his elbow, tugged him backward. He stumbled over the edge of the shower door track. Smacked into Tomas’ chest, found Tomas’ mouth covering his own, big arms crushing him and holding him up.
Tomas said, “There’s room for two.”
“Just barely,” Vic muttered, finding his feet again. Tomas’ wet fingers moved over his cheek, down over his Adam’s apple and along his breastbone.
“Vic,” he said, and then Vic could see him stumble into another verbal roadblock, searching for the words. “I want—I want you to be happy. I could quit—” He halted abruptly; Vic felt his heart leap into his throat, wanted to say Yes, do it now, but he could see Tomas trying to say something else, struggling. “I could quit when the house is paid off. I’m just worried—”
Vic spared Tomas the clumsy search. “About money. I understand. It’s okay.” But he couldn’t keep the disappointment off his face, so he turned around, pretended to reach for the shampoo through the suffocating clouds of steam. As his fingers closed on the bottle, he thought he heard Tomas starting to say something else, so he turned.
There was a strange look on Tomas’ face. Things unspoken, compressed behind his too-pretty mouth. Vic started to ask what was up, then Tomas just held up a shower sponge. Vic nodded, let Tomas pull him back into a one-armed embrace, and start scrubbing him with the coarse sponge.
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Chapter Six
Vic’s phone did a double whammy on the nightstand, vibrating and chirping all at once. He groped for it, sleep-blind, his eyes refusing to stay open for more than a half-second. The phone nearly fell off the nightstand, but he managed to rescue it at the last moment. “Yeah?” he slurred into it.
“Vic, buddy, i
t’s Carl. Sorry to wake you. But we got another mess.” Vic sat up, tried to shake himself awake. “Shit. ‘Ll be over there. Soon.” He lurched out of bed, paused. “Where?”
“Don’t freak.”
Halfway into the walk-in closet, Vic was suddenly awake. “Where?”
“Alley behind the 11:30 Club on Chesapeake.”
He had to catch himself on the doorframe, leaned hard against it. “I’ll be right there,” he repeated, his voice sounding distant in his own ears. Hoped that he would wake up in a few minutes to discover this was nothing more than a nightmare.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck!”
There was a creak of bedsprings and he squinted in the dark to see Tomas rolling over in the tangle of sheets and blankets. “Vic?” he murmured, sitting up halfway. “Y’
okay?”
Vic forced a smile and felt the weight of all he wanted to say sitting in his chest, like a nasty load of phlegm. Instead of letting any of that garbage come up, he crossed the 51
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room, leaned over the bed, one hand distorting the mattress, and kissed Tomas. A slow kiss, meant to be chaste and opening up into more, until it was hard to break away.
“Just work, babe. Go back to sleep.”
“Can you get milk?” Tomas mumbled as he let his head fall back on his pillow; Vic nodded, certain Tomas had no idea what he’d just said. “S’milks all ‘t.”
“Love you,” Vic said, even though he knew that Tomas had fallen asleep again.
* * * *
Vic pulled up to the alleyway where he had picked up Tomas so many times before. It was strange to see the red and blue police lights splashed against those familiar, dirty cement-block walls. There was a police car already pulled into the alleyway itself, and another around the corner; an ambulance across the way, and a handful of men and women scurried to and from what he assumed was the crime scene.