Jailhouse Rock

by L. C. Chase

  Free Short Fiction

  Distributed at www.lcchase.com by L.C. Chase

  Distributed at www.xaraxanakas.com by Xara X. Xanakas

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either author.

  Jailhouse Rock © 2011 L.C. Chase ~ Xara X. Xanakas.

  All rights reserved worldwide. This eBook may be distributed freely in its entirety courtesy of the authors, L.C. Chase and Xara X. Xanakas. This work may not be sold, manipulated, or reproduced in any format without express written permission from the authors.

  This work contains graphic language and implied sexual content between two men.

  Intended for adult audiences only. Not intended for anyone under the age of 18.

  Cover Design © 2011 L.C. Chase

  For Thorny – A superman-sized ray of sunshine.

  Jailhouse Rock

  Trent leaned back against a tree, watching Cal dance around the ten-foot-high bonfire like the queen bee of the hive. Guys kept moving up to him, wrapping their arms around his trim waist. He’d let them grind against him for a minute, but as soon as their hands started traveling down over his black latex hot pants, he’d grab their wrists and step away, shaking his head with a cocky smile. The guy would leave, and the cycle would start over with another.

  Trent chuckled and took a sip from the blue plastic cup he was holding.

  It was always like that when his best friend was around. Cal always seemed to be the center of attention—a bright shiny magnet that drew everyone in, ever the life of the party. Well, tonight it was his party. His twenty-first birthday. And he was certainly enjoying the attention, even though his boyfriend couldn’t be here to celebrate with him, since he was working the nightshift.

  Cal with a boyfriend. Trent grinned and shook his head. That was a development he hadn’t seen coming. It wasn’t like he expected Cal to be there, waiting for him, while Trent traveled the country for a year before starting art school. But when Cal sent him an email saying he’d met someone, Trent felt his heart break just a little. Cal had been his safety net all through high school. He was just a freshman when they met, but the flamboyant junior took him under his wing. He knew they would never be more than besties, as Cal loved to say, but that never killed the tiny crush Trent had been carrying for five years. He had yet to meet Bear, Cal’s boyfriend, but Trent knew the man had to be something special. Cal’s outgoing personality, his out-ness in general, didn’t make him a prime candidate to narrow the field down to one person.

  Shouting drew Trent out of his thoughts. He looked around to see a tall, uniformed police officer making his way through the gyrating crowd of barely-clad young men and women. Even though Trent was only drinking soda, he instinctively hid the cup behind his back, as he watched the officer shine his flashlight into one face after another. He couldn’t make out the face behind the light, but the body definitely had Trent Junior waking up and taking notice.

  The officer held the flashlight up near one broad shoulder, a huge hand wrapped around the long barrel. Trent imagined that hand wrapped around something else, and Junior heartily agreed with that scenario. Then the spotlight was on him. He blushed as the disembodied light continued down his body and paused at his midsection. Behind the spots in his eyes, he could make out the officer’s grin, and one dimple peeking out. He shifted under the scrutiny and cleared his throat.

  “Can I help you, officer?” Oh, God. Please say that didn’t come off as slutty as it sounded in my head.

  The flashlight moved back up, and Trent suddenly found himself hoping the officer didn’t think he was a freak, with his blue-streaked blond hair, grey eyeliner, and blue nail polish. Trent heard the officer sigh, and caught movement as he shook his head, before moving on to another person.

  What the hell was that about?

  Trent watched the officer weave through the crowd to his best friend. Silver flakes from Cal’s grey eye shadow glittered under the flashlight like little diamonds as he blinked up at the officer.

  Trent couldn’t hear what was being said between the two, but when Cal held his hands out in front of him—palms turned up, wrists together—Trent dropped his cup and hurried over.

  “What’s going on?” Trent demanded.

  The officer ignored him, as he turned Cal around and told him to put his hands behind his back.

  The man’s voice washed over Trent’s nerves, canceling out the actual words—and what he was about to say next. He barely processed the click of the handcuffs locking around Cal’s wrists, or the hand reaching out to take Cal’s bicep.

  “Wait. What’s going on?” Trent asked again. His hand wrapped itself around the officer’s forearm of its own volition. He froze when the light swung back around on him.

  Cal giggled and Trent shot him a warning glare.

  “Sir,” the officer said, with exaggerated patience. “Please remove your hand.”

  Trent jerked his hand back, but stepped forward. “Where are you taking him?”

  “This doesn’t concern you. Please step back.”

  “What’s he done?”

  “Look, kid—”

  “I’m not a kid.” Trent’s body began to vibrate in anger, fists clenched. The officer just smiled at him and walked away, dragging Cal along—who was still giggling. What the hell?

  He followed them away from the party to the officer’s car. “We have rights, you know. You can’t just take him away.”

  The officer stopped and put his hand up. “Look, you’re going to have to step away.”

  “Just tell me what he’s being arrested for.”

  The officer was silent for a moment, his eyes intense and calculating, sent an odd sensation racing through Trent’s chest.

  “Disorderly conduct,” he said. And Trent could have sworn he saw the officer nod in agreement, like he’d just made it up and it sounded good enough.

  “Disorderly conduct?” Trent repeated. “We’re at a rave. Have you not noticed the crowd? And I’m pretty sure that’s an illegal bonfire.”

  The officer opened his mouth, but Trent wasn’t done just yet. “I want your name and badge number, ’cuz this is bullshit.”

  “Itchy…” Cal tsked, his voice light, using Trent’s nickname like this was some kind of joke. “Don’t worry about it, sweetie. Stay and enjoy the party. I’ll meet you at your place in the morning.”

  “No way. If you’re going to jail, I’m going too!” Trent yelled as he turned around, waving his arms in the air. “I’m more disorderly than he is!” He spun on his heel and over-compensated, nearly falling over in the process.

  The officer reached out and put a steadying hand on the small of Trent’s back. “Hey, kid. Calm down.”

  Trent felt the heated tingling through his shirt, all the way up his spine to the base of his neck. He froze, forgetting to breathe for a minute under the officer’s touch. He turned to look the man in the face. The amused concern he saw pissed him off more than the arresting-his-best-friend-for-no-good-reason part. He shook off the hand and brushed past him, fully aware of the baton in the officer’s pants as it slid against his hip. He yanked open the door and flopped down into the back seat.

  “Well? Are we going?” he yelled out.

  He saw the officer shrug and then help Cal into the back seat beside him.

  “Get out of the car, Trent,” Cal said, actually sounding serious.

  “Shut up.” Trent crossed his arms over his chest with a huff. “You go, I go.”

  The officer settled into the front seat and as he started the vehicle, said over
his shoulder, “Officer Thompson. Badge number twenty-three-seventeen.”

  Cal remained silent as Trent stewed the entire ride to the police station. The twenty minutes it took to get there from the lake was nowhere near long enough for the anger still thrumming through Trent’s veins to subside. Or to cool the lingering burn where Officer Thompson’s hand had briefly rested on the small of his back.

  The officer pulled the patrol car into a parking spot in front of the nineteenth century brick building, killed the engine, and turned in his seat. He looked at Cal briefly, and then shifted his gaze to Trent for an extended, pointed moment. Trent’s whole body clenched. He swallowed a flash of fear… or was that anticipation?

  One side of Thompson’s mouth lifted slightly. “Do I need to cuff you too?”

  “I came willingly, didn’t I?” Trent snapped.

  Thompson’s smile broadened, and that totally lickable dimple peeked out. Light flickered in his eyes. “That you did, Skippy.”

  He exited the vehicle, opened the back door and helped Cal out. With a hand on Cal’s bicep, he motioned for Trent to slide across the seat and step out—but he didn’t move back. When Trent stood, his body was mere inches from pressing against Thompson’s broad, muscular chest. Close enough to feel heat radiating off the man. Trent looked up and felt his flush burn all the way to the tips of his ears. He prayed it was too dark for the officer to see the flames shooting out the top of his head.

  “After you, kid.”

  Trent narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips before turning for the station’s front steps, acutely aware of the officer watching his backside. He could kill Cal for convincing him to wear the too-short-and-too-tight for his comfort cutoffs. Even though they looked good, the last thing he wanted to think about was the show he was giving Thompson with every step up the stairs.

  Behind him, Cal slurred in a teasing tone, “You’re kind of cute, Officer Badge Number Twenty-Three-Seventeen.”

  Oh my god, Cal. Trent stumbled and missed the officer’s response, but he heard the chuckle—a chuckle that sent a shiver racing down his spine.

  Trent stepped inside and scanned the small police station, a jailhouse really, like something out of that old black and white TV show. The front office was just an open lobby with three chairs lined up against the wall, cordoned off by a hip-high slatted wall with a gate that delineated the public and non-public areas. Behind the gate, two paper-cluttered desks faced each other, a row of metal cabinets stood against the far wall. From where he stood in the lobby, Trent could see one holding cell clearly; the second was half obscured by a room he guessed was an interrogation room.

  It was so 1960s, he half expected Deputy Barney to come bumbling around the corner, tripping on his shoelaces.

  Thompson stepped past Trent and opened the gate, directing them into the non-voluntary visitor’s section. He really didn’t want to go to jail, but he couldn’t let Cal go alone. Not when Cal had always been there for him.

  “We haven’t done anything you can arrest us for,” Trent said.

  “I’m not arresting you,” Thompson said, and pointed to a chair at one of the desks. “Sit.”

  “Woof.” Holy hell! I did not just say that out loud! Without looking at the officer, Trent ducked his head and promptly did as he was told. Just because he hadn’t been arrested yet, didn’t mean he still couldn’t be.

  “Got any drugs on you?” Officer Thompson asked as he began to quickly frisk Cal—who added a wiggle to his giggle!

  “Oh honey, I’m liking your hands, but I don’t think my boyfriend will quite appreciate it. He’s a bit of a bear.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Trent said. “Cal, you need to shut up, and Officer, his clothes are practically painted on, what there is of them. He doesn’t even have pockets. All you’re doing is feeling him up.”

  “Don’t worry, kid,” Thompson said, “You’re next.”

  “Yeah, don’t worry about it, Itchy,” Cal tittered. “You’re going to love his hands.”

  The officer turned a pointed look at Trent when he pulled Cal’s driver’s license, a condom and a packet of lube from inside the tops of Cal’s knee-high spandex socks. He dropped the collection onto the desktop and turned back to Cal. “Your boyfriend going to appreciate you at a rave, without him, prepared?”

  “I’m like a boy scout, honey. Always prepared,” Cal said with a sly smile. And then he winked at the officer. Trent groaned.

  Thompson shook his head, poorly suppressing a grin, and led Cal to the first cell, uncuffed him and closed the barred door.

  “Up,” the officer ordered when he returned. Trent rolled his head around on his shoulders and stood, half looking forward to those big hands on his skin, half terrified. Thompson stepped behind him and ran his hands down the sides of Trent’s rib cage, slowly—and he damn near moaned out loud and sank back into the man.

  “Let’s see what you’re hiding,” Thompson whispered near his ear. Warm breath brushed across the shell of his ear and sent another shiver racing down his spine. Trent closed his eyes, willing his body not to respond.

  Hands slid down to his hips, paused, and then moved over his cheeks, practically cupping his ass. The little devil on Trent’s shoulder cried for more. Even the little angel on his other shoulder sighed in appreciation. Trent clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms in hopes it would counter the swelling bulge in his already too-tight shorts.

  “You have pockets,” Thompson’s voice was a low rumble, as he slid his fingers inside and Trent’s pulse spiked. “Let’s see what you’ve got in there.”

  Thompson removed Trent’s license and keys, putting the items on the desktop with one hand, while the other remained on Trent’s butt cheek. Then he returned to his mission, sliding those warm, strong hands down Trent’s bare legs and slipping long fingers inside the band of Trent’s socks. Hot breath gusted across the backs of his knees. His whole body vibrated.

  And that was it.

  Trent Junior was at full attention, and there was no way to hide it in the no-need-for-imagination cutoffs. He could feel the blush rising over the back of his neck. Could the night get any worse? He hoped the sexy officer didn’t notice the goose bumps breaking out over every inch of his skin.

  The second Thompson stood up and stepped back, Trent walked straight for the cell door, waiting to be let in. He met Cal’s mischievous gaze and glared daggers back at his friend, daring him to say a word. Wisely, Cal kept his mouth shut.

  For all of a minute.

  “It’s horribly cold in here, honey,” Cal complained to the officer. “It’s not like latex and spandex offer much insulation.”

  “Poor baby. Not your night, huh?” the officer said, right behind Trent as he unlocked the cell. Trent’s whole body trembled. The door was barely open before he raced inside and sat on the single cot, facing away from the officer.

  “So, who’s a man gotta blow to get a jacket around here?” Cal insisted.

  “Shut. Up. Caleb,” Trent hissed. He wanted to smack Cal for being such a smart ass and making things worse. But he had a more pressing matter to deal with at the moment—Junior, pressing painfully against his zipper.

  Trent refused to look up at Thompson until he was fully in control of himself again, but he heard the officer’s county-issue boots thud across the jailhouse, followed by the soft rustle of material. From of the corner of his eye, he saw Cal’s hands shoot out to catch a grey blazer, and then Thompson’s voice startled him. All the officer said was his name, but Trent loved the way it sounded rolling off the man’s tongue, the way it made heat flash out through his body. Damn. Why did he have to meet the seriously hot cop like this?

  “Do you want a jacket?”

  Trent shook his head.

  “You’re shivering. Take it.”

  Trent looked up as the officer thrust a leather bomber jacket at him. He took it and quickly bunched it up in his lap before Thompson noticed what he’d been trying to hide. He didn’t bother tell
ing Thompson—Officer J. Thompson, according to the badge that held Trent’s attention—it wasn’t the cold getting to him.

  He cleared his throat and said, “You aren’t really charging Cal with disorderly conduct, are you?”

  The officer just smiled and turned back to his desk.

  “Hey! What about our phone call? I know our rights. You can’t do this.”

  The officer turned back around and locked his eyes on Trent. One eyebrow raised in challenge as he pointedly tapped the silver badge on his chest. Then he sat down and promptly ignored them.

  “I’m sorry, Itchy.” Cal sat beside him on the cot. The metal bed frame squeaked in complaint and echoed ominously off the bare concrete walls. Cal threw an arm around his shoulders. “This is all my fault. You shouldn’t be here.”

  “It’s all right, Scratchy. He had no reason to haul you in, and I wasn’t about to let you go alone.” Trent sighed and glanced over at the broad shoulders and strong back flexing under thin, dark blue cotton. He slipped his arms into the coat. It was two or three sizes too big, but he couldn’t resist wrapping it around himself, breathing in the scent of leather and Thompson’s aftershave. “Officer Thompson seems like a decent enough cop. I’m sure he’ll let us out soon. Just stop provoking the man, okay?”

  “Actually, I think that’s all you,” Cal teased. “I’m just flirting with him.”

  Trent rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Just stop doing it. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Cal said, the tone in his voice rightfully chastised, but the gleam in his eye told another story. Trent just shook his head. Cal still had no concept of when to be serious.

  They both jumped when the front door slammed shut. Trent watched warily as another officer entered the jailhouse. This man was huge, muscular, and didn’t look at all happy. He glared briefly at them, taking their measure, and then he and Officer Thompson—who Trent decided was now officially the ‘good cop’—conversed quietly for a moment. Thompson nodded and got up from his chair.

  “You boys behave yourselves now,” Thompson said. “The boss here is in charge, and he’s not quite as nice as me.” He shot a wink over his shoulder at Trent as he picked up his holster and left the building.