A short story – 2.5k words – Explicit
Drew can’t believe his luck when the dark blue sedan pulls up. Until he sees who’s in it.
It’s fucking freezing. Luckily, the spot he and Chris work from is out of the wind. He feels sorry for the girls around the corner, wearing next to nothing under the moth-eaten fur coats their management so generously allowed them to keep on; as long as they hold them open for the slow parade of curb crawlers running their headlights over them. At least he gets to wear pants.
Not that they provide much protection in this weather; cold fingers of night air penetrated the thin leather hours ago. Maybe if there was a sliver of air between the leather and his skin he might have felt a little warmer, but they were so damn tight there was no chance. He thanked Heaven that he’d decided to shove a rolled up sock down his crotch before they came out; it was the only thing stopping his balls from dropping off.
Part of him wondered why they were bothering tonight. A couple of the girls had been picked up, but there hadn’t been so much as a nibble in their quarter. Not even any of Chris’s regulars had shown up. And he always did well on a Friday night. Hell, he did well every night; laying on that thick southern drawl, as he tipped back his battered cowboy hat and chewed on a toothpick. It was mesmerizing. Christ, Drew would do him if he could afford it. But instead, they both stood there shivering under the street lamp’s mocking glow, pulling their jackets close over the thin, clinging t-shirts beneath, and praying for the sun to rise, or Prince Charming to show up.
So, yeah, that blue sedan looks like it could be the prince in question. The window rolls down as Drew walks over. He tries his best not to shiver when he allows his coat to fall open to show the way his nipples have hardened in the cold. The old letterman’s jacket that he found in a goodwill store is a little ridiculous, but it works. He looks a lot younger than he is – he’s twenty-five but with the right clothes, his preppy blonde hair spiked up and the right light, he can pass for seventeen on a good day. Young sells, so he figured it couldn’t hurt. The first time some guy asked him to wear nothing but the jacket, he figured it was worth the twenty bucks. By the time the tenth guy asked him, it creeped him out.
When he leans on the open window of the car, he goes from thinking he might make his rent, to hoping he’s going to make it back in one piece.
“You working?” The guy’s beautiful but his face is like thunder, and practically growls out the words.
Drew raises his eyebrows, and nods at the gold badge glinting on the guy’s belt. “Are you?”
The badge clatters into the glove compartment with a flurry of cursing. “Just get in the fucking car.”
Drew hangs his head, then dutifully opens the door and gets in. He sees Chris take a step forward, looking worried, but Drew winks and smiles to reassure him, even if he’s already thinking it’s a bad idea.
As soon as he closes the door, the guy hits the gas, and pulls away with his tires screaming. Drew glares, and fumbles with the seatbelt. “You in a hurry, Detective?” When he gets no answer he swivels in his seat to get a better look, while he warms his hands on the hot air blowing from the vents in the dash.
The guy looks exhausted, and on edge. His eyes are deep set in dark rings, his skin pale. His tall, muscular body is slumping, but his fingers beat out a tattoo on the steering wheel, like he’s got caffeine instead of blood keeping him upright. Dark hair curls behind his ears, the strands lank and greasy from the repetitive motion to keep them there. His dark blue suit is rumpled and unpressed, much like the rest of him.
The guy doesn’t say anything, just grips the wheel tighter. Drew’s about to start his spiel, when finally the guy awkwardly stutters out, “Do you have…is there a…where’s your–”
“No.” The word seems to take the guy by surprise, and he chances an infuriated glance or two at Drew. Drew stands – or rather, sits – firm, and folds his arms across his chest. “I’m not fucking a cop in parked car under a fucking bridge tonight.” The detective looks outraged, then accepting. Drew figures it’s tiredness rather than lack of discretion for the guy to think of something so stupid. “Your place or mine, I don’t much care which. Or drop me back on the corner.”
The cop’s apartment is a mess. Drew can’t quite believe his eyes, and he squatted with Chris in a crack house for three months. There are clothes and rotting half-empty takeout containers strewn about the place. There’s a thick layer of dust over every surface, and an ungodly smell coming from the kitchen. There’s a penicillin factory happening in a mug on the floor. The filthy coffee table seems to have some police reports open on it, showing crime scene photos and mug shots. When Drew wanders over there, they’re slammed shut suddenly, with a mountain of New York’s finest standing guard over them.
Drew hears a weird noise. He lifts his foot, peels the sticky candy wrapper off the sole of his sneaker, and holds it out. “Is it the maid’s week off, Detective, or–?”
“Don’t keep…Adrian. Just call me Adrian.” Adrian reaches out and takes the wrapper, adding, “Please.”
Drew smiles, and hopes it looks alluring. If there’s one thing he knows how to do, it’s bury his feelings of disgust to get a thing done. He shrugs off his jacket and throws it on the arm of the couch, next to a stained pillow and rumpled blanket. He thinks he’s subtle when he sneaks a peek at his watch, but he’s obviously not subtle enough.
“How much for the night?”
The question takes Drew by surprise. He shakes his head. “You can’t be serious?”
Adrian pulls out his wallet, takes out a bundle of cash and puts it on the coffee table. It’s so high it spills down like a landslide. “How much for the night?”
Drew looks at the money, ignoring Adrian as he steps towards him. Drew is tall, but he has to look up when Adrian hooks his hand around Drew’s neck, and pulls him into a searing, biting kiss.
There’s nothing pleasant about it. It’s teeth and stale coffee breath, and fingernails biting into the back of his neck, but Adrian’s paying so Drew lets it happen. It’s not the worst thing he’s experienced this week. Still, when Adrian releases him and steps away, his face all shame and rejection, Drew thinks that might be.
The way Adrian hangs his head makes something like fury rise up in Drew. He knows what Adrian’s thinking. That he’s taking advantage of Drew like all the other perverts out there; the ones that slap his face red raw before they come on it, or make him beg and call them daddy. Adrian’s standing there full of self-loathing, makes Drew want to shake him. Maybe if the cop wasn’t still wearing his gun he might have. Instead, Drew grabs Adrian by the wrists. “I’ll stay. But let’s get cleaned up first.”
The bathroom isn’t much better than the rest of the apartment. Drew resists the urge to offer to disinfect it before they shower, and tries to ignore the layers of dust and scum, and filthy underwear on the floor. He doesn’t bother trying to be sexy when he removes their clothes, aiming instead for tender. He figures what the guy needs more than anything is a little TLC. And, judging by the way Adrian seems to come to pieces as Drew strips them down, he’s not wrong.
Drew’s a little afraid that he might have to hold Adrian up in the shower, but he seems solid enough when they step under the hot spray. Drew takes his time soaping Adrian down, working his fingers against his tanned, muscular body, and through the dark hair that trails down the center of it. Drew cleans every inch, slowly and methodically. Every now and again, Adrian lifts his hand to brush against Drew’s nipple, or to cup his bicep or ass, but mostly he just stands there, watching in silence, gasping only when Drew’s fingers get close to his crotch.
Drew saves that until last. He works the lather through Adrian’s thick dark pubic hair, and around the side of his balls. He smiles a little to himself when Adrian opens his legs just a fraction, so Drew can slide his soapy fingers back to Adrian’s twitching pucker. He keeps his hand there, alternately working small firm circles over Adrian’s asshole, or rolling his balls between his fingers.
The other hand soaps Adrian’s dick. It’s half-hard, and getting heavier by the second, so Drew pushes Adrian back a step so the spray cascades over his shoulder and washes the soap away. Drew pulls him forward and goes to his knees in one motion. As soon as Drew’s tongue makes contact, Adrian keens above him. He tries to ignore the sounds Adrian’s making, and concentrate on getting his lips around Adrian’s cock before he comes himself.
He finds he’s not so much sucking, as tasting. Adrian tastes wonderful. Drew has a whole slew of skills in the cock-sucking department – he’s had to listen to how his mouth was made for it since junior high – but it’s like he’s forgotten them all. It’s pure pleasure to taste Adrian, to feel the velvet soft skin in his mouth, the sweet tang of pre-come as his runs his tongue along Adrian’s slit. He can’t help but hum with the pleasure of it.
Then he’s being yanked to his feet. “Not here.” Adrian sounds like he’s the one that’s had a cock down his throat. “Come to bed.”
Apart from a few clothes slung over a chair, the bedroom is pristine. It’s almost more of a shock than the rest of the place. Drew half expects Adrian to pick him up and throw him onto the bed, but Adrian pulls the covers back and waits for Drew to slide in before joining him.
The bed is cold, almost clammy. Adrian scoots right up to Drew, pressing the line of his firm body against him and starts rubbing Drew’s arms to warm him up. Adrian’s face is so earnest, Drew can’t bear it. He leans forward and presses his lips to Adrian’s. Adrian freezes, before relenting and kissing him back.
It’s not like before. It’s soft, and chaste in its own way, even though they’re naked, and rubbing against each other. Adrian’s lips are gentle and attentive; he’s lightly mouthing, sucking and licking Drew just the way he likes it. Drew could spend all night doing that – could probably come from just that – but he senses Adrian’s tiredness and pulls away. He smiles slightly, feeling strangely awkward. “I’ve got lube in my pants. I should–”
He starts to move but Adrian stops him and flicks open a drawer in the bedside cabinet, producing a tube with a half-hearted flourish.
Drew takes it and sits up. Adrian starts to protest but Drew pushes him back down on the pillow. He folds the covers back, and takes a position between Adrian’s legs, facing away from him. He doesn’t do this; put on a show. At least, he hasn’t for a while, so it feels a little embarrassing to start with. But by the time he has three fingers in him, he’s forgotten all about that. It helps that he can hear Adrian’s heavy breathing, and feel his hands kneading his ass cheeks, holding Drew open with his thumbs to get a better view.
Drew turns, his legs shaking with anticipation, and straddles Adrian. Adrian’s hands are shaking too as he holds his straining cock up against Drew’s open hole. Drew has a moment of panic.
“Ade…if you want to use something…”
“Do you do this with anyone else?”
There’s such agony in Adrian’s face when he asks that question, Drew can hardly stand it. He looks Adrian dead in the eye. “Never. I promise. Never.”
With that Adrian lifts his hips. There’s a delicious pressure on Drew’s hole before Adrian’s cock head breaches him. It’s been a long time. Drew had forgotten the sting, and how damn big Adrian is. But his lover waits, stroking his back and his thighs until Drew is ready to move again. It takes a while for Drew to fully seat himself, then even longer for them to build their momentum. They start in small tentative movements; Adrian sliding easily in and out of Drew, both of them relishing the drag and the sloppy sound they make, moaning in unison with it. When Drew starts to bounce, his hard, dripping cock bobbing in front of him, Adrian wraps both arms around Drew’s waist, and pounds him; tilting his hips to hit Drew’s sweet spot, and make him yelp. And when Drew comes untouched, Adrian milks every last drop out of him before coming himself with a shout, thrusting hard and filling Drew with everything he has.
“So…bad day?” Drew is the little spoon, so when Adrian doesn’t answer, it takes some effort to turn under Adrian’s heavy arm to look at him.
Adrian sighs, knowing he can’t get away from it now that Drew’s eyes are on him. “Five year-old, beaten into a brain hemorrhage for not taking out the trash.”
Drew purses his lips. It was a stupid question. There’s rarely a good day in homicide. “You wanna talk about it?” Adrian shakes his head, and pulls Drew closer, burying his face in Drew’s neck.
Drew strokes Adrian’s hair, and kisses his ear before asking, “You wanna tell me why you’re sleeping on the couch?”
Adrian keeps his head down and shakes it again. Drew sighs and waits, and eventually Adrian forces himself to look Drew in the face. “Because I can’t stand it. I can’t stand sleeping in here without you.”
“Ade, we talked about this–”
“I know, I know–”
“It’s called ‘deep cover’ for a reason–”
“I get it, I do, I just–”
“And if you blow my cover, it’s three years work down the drain–”
“They don’t suspect you, do they?”
“No…no, of course not.”
It’s not a lie. Not really. Drew just doesn’t want to explain to Adrian how his pimp thought he might be an informant when he’d found out Drew gets picked up by a cop once in a while. That the first time him and his goons half-beat Drew to death after catching him coming out of Adrian’s car, the only reason they stopped was his pimp realized that Drew’s ass was full of Adrian’s come. After that, he was quite happy to take whatever money Adrian paid Drew, as long as he got to see the proof. But the indignity of bending over so the bastard could check every time was offset by Drew imagining throwing him, and the rest of his people-smuggling friends, in a deep dark hole forever.
“How much longer?” Adrian always asked.
“Six months. Maybe a year.” Drew had been saying that for almost two years now.
Adrian pulls him in, kissing his husband hard. Then snuggling close, and closing his eyes, he finally looks rested for the first time all night. “And then no more. This is the last assignment, right? Then you quit vice for good?”
“Yes…this is the last time.” That’s not a lie either. Not really.
© Alex Jane 2016 All Rights Reserved