Jailhouse Rock

by L. C. Chase

  Well, he already knew how that felt. The pat down earlier felt more like a feel-up, but damn if it bothered him. Actually, it had bothered him. It got him hot and bothered. Very hot, very bothered, and very hard. Just thinking about it made him hard all over again. He rolled onto his back and arranged the jacket like a blanket. It covered most of him, from his shoulders nearly to his knees.

  A muffled moan from the room Lachlann had taken Cal into drifted through the jailhouse. Trent wondered what it would be like if Thompson took him in there? Would Thompson cuff his hands in front, just as efficiently as he had done to Cal at the party? Trent imagined he could almost feel the cold metal against his wrists as Thompson ran his hands down his hips, along his ribs. He heard another moan, but he wasn’t sure it hadn’t come from him.

  Thompson would grab the short chain between the cuffs and pull him into the room. The door would slam shut behind Thompson’s strong frame. Trent licked his lips, seeing the officer standing in front of him, the look in Thompson’s dark, dancing eyes practically burning him.

  He opened his mouth to ask what he should do, when those hands were on him again, roughly turning him around and bending him over the table. Pressing one of his hands into the middle of Trent’s back, Thompson held him in place as he clipped the cuffs to a hook, set into the center of the table. Trent’s short T-shirt rode up his torso as his arms stretched out, and the cool surface of the table against his belly tempered the rising heat of his bare skin.

  “That’s better,” Thompson whispered in his ear. He draped his body over Trent and put his hands on top of Trent’s. “Do you know why I brought you in here?”

  Another moan, followed by a deep grunt answered for him. Thompson chuckled. Trent turned his head and saw that dimple peeking out to tease him. He leaned forward to lick it, just like he’d been dying to all night. Thompson pulled away and Trent tried to follow, tugging hard on the restraints.

  “Easy there, Skippy.” Thompson squeezed one of his hands. “We’ve got all night.”

  He threaded a hand into Trent’s hair and kissed him, running his tongue along Trent’s bottom lip. Trent opened his mouth and leaned into it, but Thompson pulled away again, giving him a little nip.

  “Thompson…” Trent moaned in complaint.

  He ran his hands down Trent’s sides, over his hips, and along his thighs. One booted foot pushed against Trent’s, making him spread his legs wide. Thompson stood behind him, his hands cupping Trent’s ass through the short, tight cutoffs. Then he ran one hand around to the front and cupped Trent’s dick. This time, the moan definitely came from Trent.

  He opened his eyes to see bare cell walls, pulling him from his fantasy. Louder moaning echoed in the small jailhouse.

  Trent closed his eyes again and shoved his hands into his pockets—where Thompson’s had been earlier—but Trent Junior pressed insistently against the thin denim, looking for escape. Trent pulled his hands free and spread his fingers over his hard-on. He pictured Thompson sitting in the chair Lachlann had been in earlier, watching him stroke himself.

  In his mind, Thompson took off the tie and opened those top two buttons again, but he didn't stop there. He undid all the buttons and opened the shirt. A nipple ring flashed brightly against his tanned skin. Trent wondered if Thompson’s chest would be smooth, with deeply lined muscles.

  No, he’d be hairy, Trent decided. Not sweater-vest hairy, but more bear than twink. Just thick enough so that when Trent ran his fingers through it, his palms would be left with that tingling sensation. And he would tickle Trent with it when his chest brushed against Trent’s bare back.

  He rewound the image of Thompson unbuttoning his shirt and played it over, this time exposing a little more dark hair with every button. When he pulled the shirt open, the nipple ring stood out even more in the light. Six-pack abs were outlined with downy hair, and a straight line ran from his belly button past his waistband, leading Trent’s eyes to the treasure outlined beneath the dark blue pants.

  Trent pushed his palm against his cock because the cutoffs were becoming unbearably tight. Moaning, he brought his knees together, trying to alleviate the pressure, but it seemed impossible. He squeezed his eyes tight, trying to will himself back under control, but that just made the image of Thompson clearer. Those big hands unzipping his uniform pants, freeing his erect cock, and stroking himself as he watched Trent on the narrow cot, touching himself.

  The image was almost too much. Trent nearly came in his shorts, the heavy leather coat making the image smell and feel that much more real. Trent unbuttoned the cutoffs, and reached for the zipper pull.

  Just then, the door of the interrogation room banged open and slammed against the wall. Trent jumped and landed on the cold, concrete floor with a yelp, Thompson’s jacket crumpled around him.

  Lachlann stepped out of the room, his uniform barely wrinkled, a smug look on his face.

  Cal, on the other hand, looked well fucked. His eyes were glassy, hair messed up, and a stupid grin stretched across his lips—lips that were red and swollen, from sucking the big cop off, Trent presumed. His eye shadow was smudged on his cheek. Lachlann held him up by the collar of the borrowed blazer.

  Trent squirmed under the officer’s hard gaze and scooted along the floor toward the back of the cell.

  “You.” Lachlann nodded at him. “Out.”

  “Wh-what?” Trent asked, barely processing what was going on.

  “Now,” Lachlann snapped as he pinned Cal against the bars, while he dug out his keys and unlocked the cell door.

  Trent stayed where he was. Frozen. He didn’t know what Lachlann had in mind, but he was sure that he didn’t want his first time to be here, with the huge, terrifying officer. Why couldn’t Thompson have stayed? He’d be more comfortable with the Good Cop. Instead, he was here with Bad Cop, who was going to expect him to do…what, he didn’t know. He stared back at the officer, wide-eyed, and shook his head.

  “Get up, get out, and get home. Now,” Lachlann said, stepping away from the open cell door. “And take this with you.” He shoved Cal toward Trent.

  Trent hopped up to grab his friend before he collapsed in a sated heap on the cold, hard floor of the small cell. He was a little surprised to find Lachlann’s hold on Cal just firm enough to keep him from falling, and his thumb rubbing gently on Cal’s bicep.

  “What about—”

  “Just go. Before I change my mind and find something to charge you with.”

  Trent grabbed Cal by the arm and dragged out of the cell. He stopped at the desk and snatched up his license and keys, and ran for the front door, his arm wrapped around his friend’s waist.

  “And kid?” Lachlann’s voice rang out behind them. “Thank your friend for this.”

  Trent sat down on the couch with a relieved, drawn out sigh, his heart finally beginning to settle into a steady rhythm. He couldn’t remember anything about the drive home—just the frantic need to hurry up and get there, without getting pulled over for speeding. He’d had enough dealings with police officers for one night.

  But now he was home, exhausted and grateful his parents had converted the garage into a self-contained apartment, so he didn’t have to worry about dealing with them until he was ready. Maybe tomorrow night. Once he’d figured out just what to tell them.

  Cal followed suit, and dropped down beside him with his own long sigh. Only Cal’s was one of sated contentment. Trent stared at his friend, who’d closed his eyes and sunk back into the couch, and Trent narrowed his eyes.

  “I cannot believe you did that.”

  “Me either,” Cal responded without lifting his lids. A big grin stretched across his face. “But it was amazing!”

  “Amazing? You cheated on your boyfriend, Caleb.”

  “Not really.”

  “Not really?” Trent shook his head. “Is that like women saying they’re only a little pregnant? You are or you aren’t. You did or you didn’t. And you did.”

  Cal just kept grinning,
the sparkling flecks of glitter dust from the last of his eye shadow catching the light; body completely relaxed. The prick. “I had to get us out of there.”

  “No you didn’t. Not like that,” Trent snapped, guilt and anger took up the battle cry in his mind, and the war began. “That was a totally trumped up charge and we both know it. And I hadn’t even been charged with anything. We should have just waited them out.”

  “But big-bad-handsome Officer A. Lachlann could have charged you with something. Probably would’ve too.”

  “Which would have been even more bullshit than the whole situation already was.”

  Cal just shrugged his shoulders. That stupid satisfied grin still stretched across his face, lips still swollen and flush. Trent couldn’t sit still any longer. He got up and started pacing around the tiny living area.

  “We need to report them. File a complaint with someone. The mayor, or the feds maybe?”

  “No!” Cal’s eyes finally snapped open and he sat up. “I mean, we can’t tell anyone about what happened. Those cops will probably come back for us if any rumors get started. They do have our names and addresses. And who would believe us anyway? No one would take the word of a couple of punks in makeup, picked up at a rave. Over the word of two police officers? Think about it, Trent.”

  Shit. Trent crossed his arms. Leather creaked softly in the silence. He looked down and realized he was still wearing Officer Thompson’s bomber. And Cal still had the blazer on. Double shit. How were they going to return them without running into the officers again? It wasn’t like they could sneak into the police station to drop them off while no one was around.

  Trent roughly shimmied out of the jacket, goose bumps immediately sprung up from the sudden loss of heat. He was about to drop it in a heap on the floor, but thought better of it at the last minute. He folded in half and held it up to his face. Did he really want to return that one tangible memory of the heart-stopping officer, and the way he smelled? He carefully hung it in the closet.

  He turned around and Cal tsked, his gaze resting on Trent’s crotch.

  “And what were you doing while I was getting… interrogated?” Cal asked slyly.

  “What?” Trent followed the direction of Cal’s interest, and heat shot up his neck. He hadn’t buttoned his shorts back up in the mad panic to get out of the jailhouse as fast as humanly possible.

  “Looks like I’m not the only one with a hot-man-in-uniform fantasy.”

  “Shut up,” Trent said without force. He sat back down on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. “Officer Thompson was all kinds of holy gorgeous though.”

  They were quiet for a moment, and then Trent asked quietly, “What was it like?”

  Cal turned sideways on the couch, tucking one foot under his leg. He leaned forward and grabbed Trent’s arm. “Oh my god. It was the hottest thing ever!”

  “The wrongest thing ever.”

  “Yeah, wrong,” Cal placated for his benefit only, Trent thought, and continued; the excitement in his dulcet voice palpable. “But it was really fucking hot. I’ve fantasized about getting fucked by Officer A. Lachlann in the interrogation room for almost a year. And it was even better than I could have imagined. Mind blowing. You wouldn’t think it by looking at him, but for such a big man, he was so incredibly gentle with me. Made sure I was comfortable and felt safe.”

  “How could you feel safe in a situation like that?”

  Cal just shrugged and leaned against the back of the couch, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he continued. “He cuffed my hands in front of me, bent me over the table with my arms stretched out. Then he ran his big hand up my spine and…”

  Cal’s voice drifted away as Trent began replaying his own fantasy with Thompson, taking him in that little room, cuffing him to the table, having his way with him. Those magic hands running over his body again, leaving hot trails in their wake.

  A light smack on his arm brought him back to the present. He looked over at Cal, who was grinning back like he knew exactly what was going on in Trent’s mind.

  “What?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “‘Uh-huh’ what?”

  Cal just shook his head and yawned. “Mind if I crash here tonight? He wore me out, and I really don’t want to go home yet. Bear won’t be off work for a few more hours.” Cal turned toward Trent. “And you don’t look any better off right now, either.”

  Trent sighed. “Yeah, no problem, Scratchy.”

  “Thanks, Itchy. You’re the bestest bestie ever.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Love you too.”

  Trent couldn’t help the little chuckle that bubbled up his throat. He could never be mad at Cal for long. He dropped his hand onto Cal’s knee and gave it a squeeze before standing.

  Thompson’s hand splayed out over Trent’s chest—the touch gentle, the weight comforting and arousing. Hot breath breezed over the wet spot behind his ear, where Thompson had just nipped at him, and sent a shiver of delight racing through his body. A throaty moan escaped when the strong tongue licked at his neck, followed by a clever mouth clamping down on his sensitive skin and sucking. Hard. The large hand began to slide downward in a slow, lazy S pattern, raising goose bumps where it traveled—over his ribs, his belly button, along the waistband of his boxers, and then under.

  Shivering, he turned his head and Thompson met him. Their lips connected in a velvet slide, so right and so perfect, that he knew this was it. This was the man. His man.

  “Oh God, Trent…” Thompson whispered against his lips. Trent rocked his hips up, into the firm grip of that warm, strong hand.

  “Trent…”

  “Trent!”

  Cal? What the hell was Cal doing there? “Answer the damn phone!”

  Trent opened his eyes. He was at home. In bed. Alone.

  And hard as a rock.

  He groaned and crawled out of bed as the phone, and Cal, continued to screech down the hall. He padded barefoot on plush carpet into the kitchen and snatched up the insistent piece of plastic and wire, glaring at Cal, who was nestled inside a thick sleeping bag on the couch. Eight-fucking-feet away.

  His head was still dream-muzzy when he answered, until the voice on the other end of the phone snapped him to sharp attention.

  “Hey, Trent. This is Bear.” The voice was a deep baritone that sent a spike of fear through Trent’s chest, as the night before came crashing into his mind’s eye on super-speed rewind. “Is Cal handy?”

  Oh God. “Yeah. One sec,” Trent managed to squeak out. He threw the phone across the room, aiming for Cal’s head. Bullseye!

  “Ow!” Cal’s muffled voice drifted from the sleeping bag. “Bitch.”

  A pale-skinned hand snaked out of the bag to grab the phone, and disappeared back inside. Trent couldn’t make out what Cal was saying, only the playful, happy tone of his voice. Didn’t sound like his best friend was suffering any pangs of guilt. Of course, he didn’t sound very awake yet, either. But then, Cal never did sound very guilty after his exploits, either.

  The hand reappeared, and dropped the phone to the floor beside the couch.

  “Bear will be here in half an hour to pick me up,” Cal said, peeking his head out of the sleeping bag. “Cool with you, Itchy?”

  Trent ran a shaky hand through his hair and exhaled a long breath. No. “Yeah.”

  How was he supposed to play off being cool around Cal’s boyfriend, knowing that Cal cheated on him to help his best friend get a ‘get of jail free’ card?

  Trent groaned and made his way to the bathroom for a shower.

  Twenty minutes later, Trent had just pulled on a pair of comfortable board shorts when there was a heavy knock at the door. His heart stuttered. He did not want to meet Bear today. Maybe never, after what Cal had done. But Cal was still in the shower, so he had no choice. He grabbed the first T-shirt his hand landed on and tugged it down over his head as he walked reluctantly to the door.

  He swung the door wide and froze. Nothing but s
tatue.

  Then he blinked. Twice.

  Standing right there in his doorway, large as life, were Officers Lachlann and Thompson.

  Lachlann was still in uniform. Thompson was wearing running shorts and a tank top that showed off some kind of tribal tattoo snaking over his left shoulder and down his bicep into sharp points.

  Trent promptly forgot there were two police officers at his door, officers he should be afraid of, and his mouth began to water. All he could see was the bare skin and muscular frame of Thompson. He saw himself sticking out his tongue and slowly licking every inch of that tattoo. Tracing every curve for hours on end. What would the skin it marked taste like? What would the muscle it stretched across feel like under his lips? The points of the tattoo were at just the right height; all he had to was step forward and open his mouth.

  And maybe there were more, less publicly visible, tattoos to explore…

  “Can we come in?” Thompson asked, breaking Trent’s flash fantasy.

  He blushed and caught his tongue between his teeth before it acted on its own and did exactly what he’d been imagining.

  Without even bothering to attempt speech, Trent stepped back.

  As Thompson brushed by, close enough for Trent to catch that amazing scent again, he winked and said, “Thanks, Superman.”

  Thompson’s gaze lowered to Trent’s chest and returned to meet his eyes with an amused gleam.

  Trent looked down and mentally kicked himself. He’d thrown on his favorite, long-sleeved T-shirt, so well worn it was practically transparent in places and the big red S cracked like the Mojave Desert. Thompson was going to think he was nothing but an irresponsible party boy. And then he kicked himself again for caring. Thompson had told him not to worry, to trust him, that Officer Lachlann would never cross the line. But he did. And Thompson probably knew all along.