For those who have tried to get to my Gaywriter web site lately I was shut down. I'll be moving my stories to Archerland, which can be found at http://archerland.net
He kissed me back.
His lips were firm and pliant under mine. With only the barest hesitation they opened and I drove my tongue inside. I wanted to taste him. His tongue moved against mine and his body rocked, brushing along my solid length.
He was definitely taller than me. I could feel his swollen cock pressing into my belly. My own dick felt heavy and thick against his thigh. I groaned and grabbed his hips, pulling him into me.
He broke away from me.
At least his mouth pulled off mine. Our hips were still locked together. Through half-lidded eyes he looked down at me.
"Jesus, you can't feel it?" I wrapped my fingers around the bulge between his legs. I could feel his throbbing flesh move under my touch. He did feel huge. "Oh, baby, what's that all about?"
His mouth opened as though he was having trouble catching his breath.
"I've wanted to do this all day. I think you have too."
"Don't tell me you haven't been thinking of it." I ran my hands up and down his back, then worked them under his shirt and got to touch bare skin. I thought I felt him shudder. "I can tell by the way you look at me. Oh, baby, I want you --"
"This can't work," David said hoarsely. "It isn't right."
"Why? Don't cops get to be human too?"
"I'm on duty." With that he pulled completely free of my touch. He was breathing hard, which was some consolation. When I moved toward him he stepped back. That wasn't good. Damn. He had a hell of a lot more will power than I had. He straightened his clothing, wincing when he tried to adjust for the serious swelling around his crotch.
"Let's go get your car, Chris. Then I have to head back to the station."
"What time do you get off? I --"
"I'm busy." He caught my look. "Don't ask, I'll be busy then too."
I stood there blinking at him. I was being shined on. How the hell could he do this to me? How could he do it to himself?
"Are you into self-flagellation? Is that what this is about? Punish yourself because you're not the kind of cop the department expects you to be?"
"Don't, Chris. That isn't going to help." He folded his arms across his chest. "Let's just recognize it for what it was, a lapse in judgement. A mistake."
I turned away and grabbed my keys from the coffee table. "That was no mistake," I said more sharply than I meant, but my balls were still aching. "That was fate. If you're smart, you don't screw around with fate. It can turn around and bite you in the ass."
I stomped out of the house, locking the door behind him.
The ride out past Century City was silent.
With David at my side reclaiming my Escalade was no big issue. Within twenty minutes I was back on the road and heading home. Alone.
Next day at work everyone was very solicitous. Even Petey managed a few words of sympathy, though he did ask if I had rescheduled the Tilton meeting first.
"It's on my calendar. Tomorrow."
Petey smiled then gave me a look that clearly said 'don't screw this one up then' and he left to go back to harassing middle managers.
I spent the morning in my cubicle catching up on missed business. The afternoon I spent putting out fires. When the worst of the crises in our clients' computer networks had been tended to I got to work on some high need maintenance issues.
I didn't get home until nearly ten o'clock. Dinner was a ham and Swiss sandwich standing over the kitchen counter, chased by a glass of vegetable juice. Hi-ho, the healthy man's dinner.
I took the dressing off my head and had a proper shower then lay on the bed in my boxers trying to read a technical manual. It had an article that might have related to my discussion tomorrow with Tilton, but I couldn't wrap my head around it. The words were on the page but my eyes weren't making the connections to my brain.
I finally threw the offending magazine into the corner. I turned on the TV and watched some news for a while. More mayhem and bloodshed in the world, much of it centered in my small corner of it. David was right, the bank robbery and shooting two days ago didn't even merit a mention.
Finally my eyes started sliding shut so I flicked off the TV, stripped off my boxers and climbed under the blankets. Even with exhaustion tugging at my senses sleep was a long time coming.
The meeting with the technical representative of Tilton Group went well. We ironed out the details of the migration to the new servers that were being delivered onsite no later than the following Monday. They made decisions on what to do with the old servers and how they wanted their new data tree to look. Mostly they listened to my suggestions and seemed willing to heed the advice they were paying top dollar for.
All in all a productive afternoon.
I held onto my upbeat mood all the way into Petey's corner office. There I found Petey in conference with Detective David Eric Laine and my day went all to hell from there.
"We made an arrest in the robbery-homicide this morning," David said. His face was blank and his eyes, when the met mine, held only a cop's cold involvement. "If it isn't too inconvenient, Mr. Bellamere, we'd like you to come down to the station to take a look at a lineup."
"I've already assured the sergeant that there's no problem from our end for you to go ahead and perform your civic duty." Petey smiled through his lies. No one bothered to correct him about his mistaken demotion in calling David a sergeant. He hated his precious routines to be interrupted and even worse, for his precious employees to be pulled away from their jobs. "Are you available to go now, Chris?"
"Sure, why not. I can go with Detective Laine," I muttered. "I'm done with Tilton. They're squared away and happy." I tossed a sheaf of papers onto his mahogany desk. "Here are the contracts signed and the details of the project. If you like, we can get together tomorrow to plan the logistics. I have an idea who I'd like on this project, you can tell me if they're available."
"Fair enough. My office, nine sharp?"
"With bells on." I didn't bother looking at David as I turned and marched out of the room.
David matched me stride for stride and stopped with me at the elevators.
"Do I meet you there," I asked "Or do you want me to go with you now?"
He glanced at his watch, then at me. "I'll drop you off later, if that's okay. I need to talk to you anyway."
The elevator arrived and we rode down with several others in silence.
His car was sitting in a No Parking zone. I climbed in beside him and barely buckled in before he took off toward the West L.A. station. He sat rigidly in the driver's seat, staring stiff necked out the window, not looking at me.
"I thought you wanted to talk," I said.
"I do." He drummed his fingers on the wheel. "I hope you aren't going to fuck with me on this, Chris. I don't need that right now."
"Fuck with you?" I said softly. "No, I don't want to do that. But I do want you to fuck me. And that's the God's honest truth."
David sucked in his breath and I thought I heard him groan deep in his throat.
"Why are you doing this, Chris?"
"I don't know. Really I don't. But I'm not playing games and I'm not feeling particularly charitable right now, if that's what you think. Beyond that it's really simple, I want your cock up my ass. I want you to fuck me so hard I can't walk for a week. Any other questions, officer?"
"Jesus." He was breathing hard. "I don't believe this."
We didn't talk for the longest time, then just before we reached the police station I turned to him.
"Which one do you think you have?" I asked. "Who's the guy you arrested?"
"Sorry, I can't tell you that. This is a line up, you ID based on your memories, not on my coaching."
Once inside the police station he guided me to a long narrow room with a mirror along one wall. There were three other people present. I was introduced to John Gutierrez, David's partner, Janis Maynard, the arrested man's public defender and Barry Lords, the assistant D.A.
The half dozen men who filed into the room beyond the glass were a sorry looking bunch. Tell the truth they all looked like cons.
There were lines on the wall to mark off heights and more marks to tell them where to stand. It still took a uniformed cop a few minutes to get them all in place and facing the mirror.
Finally David stepped up to my elbow and said loudly enough for all to hear, "Okay, Mr. Bellamere. Take your time. Look them over and tell us if any one of them looks good to you. It's important that you be sure of your words, so again, take your time."
I tried to catch his eye, but he kept staring out at the men in the line up. Finally he turned those glacier eyes on me.
"Whenever you're ready, Mr. Bellamere." Then he stepped back, away from the glass and away from me. Not wanting to be seen coaching me? Or something else?
It was my turn to stare at the line up. They had clearly picked men for their similarities in height, coloring and weight. But even for all that I had no trouble spotting the face that I had seen on the street that day seconds before he shot Overland.
"Number five," I told David. He stepped forward again.
"Are you sure, Mr. Bellamere?"
I all but pressed my face up against the one way glass separating us from the men beyond. I stared at each one in turn again then focused on five.
"I'm sure. Number five is the one who shot that guy."
"Thank you, Mr. Bellamere. Counselor?"
"We'll be talking, Laine."
David clapped his partner on the back. "Let me just take Mr. Bellamere back to work and take care of a few loose ends and I'll be back in to wrap this up."
"Good work, Davey. I think we got this sucker's number."
"I hope so," David said and taking my arm loosely in his big hand guided me out of the station.
"Now what?" I asked. "Will there be a trial? Will I have to testify?"
"If there's a trial, you'll be called as a witness. For now, we get the hell out of here."
"If there's a trial?"
"Plea bargains are the name of the legal game, my friend. The guy you just IDed, Clarence 'Birdy' Williams may never see the inside of a courtroom. If his attorney throws the D.A. a bone he may plea it down to man one and send him to Quentin for twenty-five."
"Hey, better off the street than on, I always say. And trials cost money and don't always come out the way you expect them to."
He climbed into his car and started the engine. Without another word he roared out of the parking lot and headed up Doheny.
After a while I noticed where we were.
"Hey, this isn't the way back to DataTEK."
"Not going back to your work."
"Your place. We need to talk."
He was sweating. "Just shut up, okay."
I turned to stare out the car window. I'm sure he didn't see the smile on my face.
[More to come]
If you like this story so far, let me know at Patrick's email I'm always happy to hear comments, suggestions, anything.