Cop Out

by KC Burn

  Jon licked his lips. “Yeah, that does make it all worthwhile.”

  Keith and David weren’t paying attention to the conversation as David seated himself on Keith’s lap and the two of them began kissing like there was no one else in the room.

  Davy snorted. “Guys, we’re here because I can’t quite face a club on a regular weekend yet. Halloween is only two weeks away. Maybe next year. Although next year I’ll be thirty-three. I might have less energy then.”

  “Wait, you’re turning thirty-two on Tuesday?” Kurt swiveled to face Davy, who blushed.

  “I know, I look older, don’t I?”

  Rick slapped Kurt lightly on the arm before wiggling back onto the sofa beside him. “Honey, you’re going to give him a complex, and then he’ll never go out with us.”

  He didn’t want to bring up Ben, since Davy’s luminescence had hardly dimmed all night, but the only reason he’d assumed Davy was a lot older was because Ben had been forty-five when he died. Shit. Davy had just been a baby when he and Ben got together.

  “Honestly, Davy, you look….” Kurt had no idea how to end that sentence. His sisters would slug him for even bringing the topic up. Davy sure looked younger than he was, when he got enough sleep.

  “Oh, give the poor straight man a break. You’re making him squirm,” Rick said.

  Davy flashed him a smile that said he was teasing. Whew.

  “How old are you, honey?” Rick trailed a finger along his bicep. At least his tattoos were covered, otherwise Rick would probably be licking him by now.

  “Thirty-one.”

  “Oh-ho,” Jon crowed. “Davy, you’re no longer the baby here.”

  Ah fuck. Kurt was getting tired of being the youngest.

  “Oh, practically a twink,” Rick said suggestively. Kurt sure as shit wasn’t going to ask what a twink was. That’s what the Internet was for.

  Even David and Keith took a break from sucking face to laugh at that statement.

  “If he weren’t straight, he’d still be the least twinkiest of us all,” Davy said.

  Rick pouted, but Kurt knew already it was more for effect than due to genuine pique. “So, hot stuff, did you want to come out with us on Halloween? You could dress like a slutty firefighter or slutty angel… I could get you a great costume.”

  “Rick!” Davy’s voice held a warning. “He’s a cop, you know.”

  “Well, I didn’t think he’d want to go as a slutty cop—busman’s holiday and all that—but you’d know better.”

  Kurt couldn’t hold in the sputter of laughter. “As appealing as that sounds, I’ll either be working or hanging out at my sister’s place giving out candy.”

  Rick sighed. “How sweetly domestic. What a waste.”

  “Davy, do you hand out candy here?” Kurt asked, figuring it would be something Davy liked to do.

  Davy’s eyes darkened just a bit. “No. I never have, but I’m going to Sandra’s to help her.”

  Fucking Ben.

  “Ready to play?” Jon asked and poked at David who’d started kissing Keith again.

  Davy won the second game, which made everyone happy, and they decided to switch to cards.

  “But first, cake,” Jon said.

  Cake. Kurt hadn’t even considered a cake. That was usually his sisters’ or his mother’s domain. Jon and Rick went into the kitchen while David returned to Keith’s lap, but their kissing quickly progressed to something borderline obscene.

  “You didn’t make that, did you?” Kurt whispered, averting his eyes from the blatant groping.

  “The cake? No, Rick brought it. One of his fuck buddies is a baker.”

  “Oh, good.”

  Davy flapped a hand at Keith and David. “Try to ignore them. They’ll probably leave after the cake. I promise they won’t—well, they probably won’t—show any skin. They like an audience.”

  Kurt shrugged. They weren’t the first gay guys he’d seen making out, but they were the first he’d seen in a non-professional capacity. He sort of thought he should be more uncomfortable, but if Davy didn’t think they were being rude, or at least didn’t seem to care, then neither should Kurt.

  The smile on Davy’s face as Jon and Rick returned was brighter than the candles on the cake. Davy closed his eyes for a second before he blew out the candles. His hand was poised to cut the cake when Kurt stopped him. His mother and sisters always insisted on a picture with the cake for every birthday—it was kind of a tradition. In fact, between the number of birthday celebrations in his family, he was surprised it hadn’t occurred to him sooner.

  “How about a picture?”

  “Good idea, sweetie,” Rick purred. “Got a camera?”

  How did Rick manage to make almost every word suggestive? But Kurt didn’t have a camera; it never occurred to him to bring one.

  “No. Wait, my phone.” Kurt stood up and motioned for the other guys to gather around Davy. He snapped off a picture.

  “Wait. You need to be in it too,” Davy said. “Does it have some sort of delay?”

  “I don’t think so.” And he’d had enough beer to not want to poke around and find it.

  Keith leapt up. “I’ll take it.”

  “Are you sure?” Kurt didn’t know if he was asking Davy or Keith, but Davy nodded.

  Rick wiggled his brows and moved over so Kurt could sit back where he was, and the flash went off. Keith handed him back the phone, and he slipped it back into his pocket.

  By midnight, they’d eaten cake and switched to poker. By two in the morning, he and Jon were battling it out for last man standing. Keith and David had left after cake as Davy had predicted, Rick was passed out on the sofa, and Davy was puttering away in the kitchen, tidying up.

  How many fucking beers had he drunk tonight? Enough that he was glad he’d come by taxi.

  Kurt peeked at his cards. Finally something besides jack and shit. He went all in. Jon peered blearily at him. Kurt might be drunk, but no way was Jon sober enough to pick up any tells. Kurt’s job made him a little too good at this game. Probably wouldn’t get invited to play again, but even if Jon won—unlikely—it’d be worth the loss of his twenty bucks. Bed was calling his name.

  “Call.”

  Kurt flipped over his cards.

  “Shit, man, next time we’re playing Asshole,” Jon slurred.

  Kurt shrugged and gathered his winnings. Jon called for a taxi and began collecting the games.

  A few minutes later, headlights appeared in the front window.

  “C’mon, Rick. Cab’s here.” Jon rousted Rick, and the two men stumbled for the door. “Want to split a cab with us?” Jon asked over his shoulder.

  “Nah, I’ll stick here for a few. Help Davy clean up.”

  Jon and Rick left, accompanied by an icy blast of arctic air. Winter was coming.

  There was surprisingly little mess. Kurt gathered up his beer bottles and a couple margarita glasses and deposited them in the kitchen. Soon, he’d have enough beer bottles stored at Davy’s to make it worthwhile to drop them off for the deposit refund. The food was all wrapped up and put away, and aside from the margarita glasses there weren’t any dirty dishes left.

  A tiny blade of guilt sliced through him. Davy may not have baked his own damned cake, but he had both cooked and cleaned for his own birthday party. That wasn’t right. Between his buzz and increasingly leaden limbs, he couldn’t do anything to fix it tonight. It was time to head home. He called for his own cab.

  “Davy?” Where’d he go?

  Kurt opened a few doors. “Davy?”

  Davy was passed out in a naked sprawl on the bed. Dark hair tousled, his face was tucked into his pillow, the faint smile on his lips only half-visible. The lean lines of his back dipped into the curve of his hip and buttock, skin shining in the sliver of moonlight bisecting the bed. In the V of his legs, a shadowy bulge lay. The fact that Kurt was looking filtered through the beer, and he hastily shifted his focus north.

  Kurt didn’t know how much Davy ha
d to drink—he hadn’t even kept track of his own intake—but he suspected Davy had had enough tequila to feel it in the morning. Kurt moved past the bed to the master bathroom and filled a glass of water.

  Flicking open the medicine cabinet door, the first thing he saw was a bottle of lube. He shut the door.

  Lube. Right. Kurt owned lube, too, but seeing it in a gay man’s bathroom brought home its alternate usage and the sight… startled him, a bit.

  He opened the door again and managed to force his gaze past the lube to the headache tablets.

  Retrieving the tablets, he took them and the water to Davy’s bedside. Davy had turned over onto his back, smooth skin bluish in the moonlight. One arm bent above his head and the other rested on his chest, fingers grazing the edge of a nipple as though caressing himself. Despite Kurt’s resolve, his gaze drifted down.

  A sharp honk made Kurt jump, and he ran out of the house, making sure the door locked behind him. He didn’t want the cabbie to wake the neighbors, but he also had no intention of making it easy for a thief to gain entrance to Davy’s, especially while Davy was inebriated and passed out.

  The cab ride to his apartment was long enough for him to catch a second wind. After the long, hard weeks, he needed sleep, so he stripped and lay on the bed, idly toying with his half-hard cock as the room tilted lazily around him.

  Leaning over his nightstand, he pulled out his own battered tube of lube. It wasn’t the same brand as Davy’s, but then, why would it be? An orgasm would help him sleep.

  Hand slicked, he stroked himself more firmly. The moonlight playing on his ceiling morphed into a vision of smooth, marble-like skin stretched over long bones and lean muscles. Davy’s resting hand became animated in his mind, plucking at the tiny nipple, mouth twisted into a lusty snarl. The picture transitioned to the day he’d wrestled Davy to the floor, but this time Davy was naked—they both were—Davy writhing beneath him as he held Davy’s arms against the floor.

  His hand sped up, the slick sound of lubed flesh against hand loud in his ears.

  For a second—just a second—he saw Davy’s legs pull back as he prepared to sink his cock into Davy’s tight opening, imagining Davy’s lips moving, shaping the words Fuck me.

  With a groan, Kurt spurted over his fingers and belly, warm viscous come joining the lube already there.

  Fingers still wrapped around his spent dick, he slid into slumber.

  Chapter Nine

  Holy shit. How much did he drink last night? He howled as he whacked his shin on the edge of the tub. Teetering, he slammed a hand against the tile to keep himself upright. He clamped his other hand to his temple as the echo of his noisy greeting to the day reverberated through his dehydrated brain.

  Dried come flaked off his belly as he scratched absently. A flash of him jerking off—to an image of Davy—appeared before his eyes. He groaned. Too much beer. That had to be it. Never again.

  He started the shower and stepped under the spray before it was as hot as he liked and scrubbed away the evidence.

  No one knew. No one had to know. People did stupid stuff when they were drunk. He was old enough to know better, but he could pretend it never happened. The memory was fuzzy around the edges anyway.

  “Hi, Kurt, how are you?” Christa smiled.

  Oh. So loud. He’d gone to his family’s restaurant still hungover from Davy’s birthday and wound up drinking even more trying to keep his shit together. He also hadn’t wanted to admit to his brothers he was hungover—or more specifically, why. Hell, he’d even told them he’d spent Saturday night working. It had been a long time since he’d come to work in this condition, and he was never doing it again.

  “Fine, Christa.” He was careful not to smile. After Ian’s visit, he didn’t want to give the girl the wrong idea. “Simon in yet?”

  “Yes, I think he went to the break room.”

  Coffee. Yes. Kurt wrapped a hand around his warm cardboard cup. He’d stopped on the way in, desperate for an early caffeine shot. He took a mouthful and swallowed, hoping it would start waking him up soon.

  His phone buzzed, and he checked it. Just a text from his sister, Erin. He scrolled through the message. Nothing important. His fingers hovered over the buttons, trying to stop himself from checking his photos. Like yesterday—several times—he failed. He’d only had two pictures from Saturday night, but the one Keith had taken was a great one. Reminded him of all those happy pictures hidden away in Davy’s closet of treasures.

  Davy’s dimples were deep, and his eyes were shining and… shit. Another memory resurfaced, of Davy cooking and cleaning. A familiar niggle of guilt nagged at him. No matter what aberration had caused him to… imagine what he had Saturday night didn’t change the fact that Davy couldn’t spend Tuesday alone. Not his first birthday since Ben died. And he sure as shit shouldn’t do all the work.

  “Anything important?” Simon asked, pointing his chin at Kurt’s phone.

  “Jeez, don’t sneak up on me.” Kurt glanced down, and stabbed forcefully at his phone to hide the picture. “And no, just my sister.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, sure. Sorry, just a little tired.”

  Fuck.

  Tuesday evening on Davy’s front step was even more harrowing than Saturday night. Would Davy be able to tell what Kurt had done?

  Shit. That was stupid. Of course he couldn’t. Besides… it never happened.

  He raised his finger to ring the bell when the door opened, and Sandra stood there, hugely pregnant and wan-looking.

  “Hi, Sandra.” Oh, God. He was an idiot. Of course Davy wasn’t spending his birthday alone.

  “Hi, Kurt. What’s up?”

  Kurt’s hands clenched, paper crinkling under his grip. Right. The present. “Just dropping off a gift for Davy. And I thought I’d take him to dinner, but I forgot you’d be here.”

  Sweat broke out on his upper lip. Why did he admit to that last bit?

  Sandra cocked her head. “Really? Because I’m honestly not feeling great. I’m supposed to be on bed rest, but I couldn’t leave my baby brother alone today.”

  She turned around. “Davy? You okay if Kurt takes you out instead?”

  “Kurt? Why would you ask about him?”

  Yeah. He should have called first. Even if it would have been the first time he did that.

  “Because he’s standing right here, honey.”

  God, he wanted to turn around and run.

  “He is?” Davy peeked over Sandra’s shoulder and gave him a wide, dimpled smile, quieting the tremors rippling through his stomach. Whatever misgivings he had, anything was worth Davy’s smile.

  “Hi, there. Sis, I know you’re not feeling good. I don’t mind going out with Kurt tonight.”

  “Thanks, guys. I appreciate it.”

  “Can we drop Sandra at home? I picked her up on my way home from work.”

  “Sure. Here.” He thrust the brightly wrapped package at Davy. “Happy birthday.”

  Davy gave him an odd look. Not surprising, because he probably wasn’t expecting a second gift from Kurt. But yesterday after lunch, he’d passed by that colorful store window, and a bright blue frame with a random, wavy perimeter leapt out of the display. He bought it and had Davy’s birthday photo printed at the office supply store. The present seemed to suit Davy, and was more personal than the cookbook, but who gave two birthday gifts to a friend? He hadn’t anticipated how embarrassing it was.

  “Can I open it later?”

  Kurt shrugged. “Whenever.”

  Davy’s smile dimmed a bit, and he retreated into the house. Kurt led Sandra to his car and helped her in while Davy locked up the house.

  An hour later, they were parked a block away from Lettie’s. Which was actually a great spot, even though parking here on a Tuesday evening wasn’t exactly in demand.

  “You sure you want to come back here?” Their last visit had been… disastrous might be a little strong, but it sure as hell hadn’t been a great memory for
either of them. Although it had returned old friends to Davy’s life.

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Okay, birthday boy, lead the way.”

  Kurt decided against ordering a beer—yesterday’s hangover fresh in his mind—but he tried to encourage Davy. “It’s okay, it’s my treat, and I’m driving. Order one if you want.”