Authors: Kele Moon
He finaly found his phone and squinted at the screen through
one eye. He struggled to slide his finger against the glass to answer
the cal. Damn smartphones.
“Connoly,” he answered, his voice hoarse even to his ears.
“Hey, man,” said Charlie, his partner for the past three years.
He sounded falsely cheerful, as if dealing with a man on the brink of
a nervous breakdown. “Was just caling to see how you’re holding
up.”
Gavin blinked heavy-lidded eyes, stil fighting to wake up.
“What time is it?”
“It’s noon.”
He groaned and fel back into bed. He hadn’t slept in this late
since colege, which also happened to be the last time he’d ended
up this hungover. He didn’t have anywhere to be since that bulet
earned him an unexpected paid vacation, but he stil didn’t like the
feeling of being useless.
“You sound rough.”
“Feel rough,” Gavin confirmed. “Drank too much. I’m
hungover.”
“Shit, realy?” Charlie asked in concern. “I should’ve hung
out longer last night, but Brad said he’d keep an eye on you.”
Gavin stopped rubbing his face as a sickening rush of
memories washed over him. He looked wildly to the nightstand,
finding a glass of water he hadn’t gotten for himself. Then he
glanced down at the sheets pooled in his lap, knowing he was
naked.
“Fuck.”
“What’s wrong?” Charlie barked, making it obvious he’d
been on edge too. Even if Gavin had fired the gun, they’d both been
under the microscope since the robbery that ended with a nineteen-
year-old in the hospital. “I’m worried about you, Connoly. Do you
need me over there?”
“No,” Gavin said a little too quickly to be normal. “I’m fine.
Go back to work. I’m gonna make myself some coffee and wake
up.”
“You sure?”
“Very.” Gavin widened his eyes. The last thing he needed
was Charlie hovering. “Cal me later.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay.” Charlie stil sounded edgy and concerned. “Cal me
if you need anything.”
“No problem,” Gavin promised. “Thanks, Foster.”
He hung up before Charlie could change his mind and then
sat there staring at the glass of water on the nightstand.
Gavin buried his face in his hands, remembering how he’d
thrown himself at Brad. Fuck. That wasn’t how he wanted it to
happen. Months of trying to get close to Brad, to somehow break
down the barrier of ice that surrounded the sexy battalion chief, and
he’d ruined it with too much beer and a frenzy of hormones.
God, it’d been good too, mind-numbingly, make-his-cock-
hurt-from-the-memory good. That certainly added insult to injury.
Tasting how amazing it could have been, then losing it by being a
desperate slut hungry for something he rarely got.
If the hangover didn’t remind him of colege, this certainly did.
Gavin got out of bed and walked naked to the halway,
knowing Brad was already at work. He avoided looking at his
reflection when he got to the bathroom, and turned on the shower
instead. He made the water too hot on purpose. He used the sting
to both wake himself up and force himself to temporarily forget that
he’d fucked up something he’d wanted badly. The older he got, the
more he leaned toward the gay side of bisexual. He just wasn’t that
good at the whole gay scene. Even in colege, with liquid courage to
pave the way, his encounters ended in disaster more often than not.
If there was a class to teach six-two, two-hundred-and-
twenty-pound cops how to get aggressively ass fucked, Gavin
would sign up for it in a heartbeat. But there weren’t any classes.
He was too butch. Hesitant trips to gay clubs earned him a sea of
attention from pretty bottoms who wanted to give him something he
could get from any number of ex-girlfriends who stil kept in touch.
Sometimes the exes took pity on him when his social life skidded
past pathetic and ended up in the unwiling-priest zone of social
ineptitude. In the end they couldn’t give him what he wanted. It’d
been a very long time since he’d caled an ex or gone to a gay club.
Then there was Brad—more butch than Gavin, always in
charge, no-apologies-for-being-gay Brad. With dark hair and eyes
black as sin, the sexy battalion chief had been the subject of Gavin’s
fantasies since the first time he’d laid eyes on him. He was one of
the few guys tal enough to force Gavin to tilt his chin to look him in
the eye, and Gavin was fairly certain Brad could pin him in a fight,
because the guy was ripped.
Gavin had silently lusted after him for two years before
Brad’s ad for a roommate caught his eye, posted at the rec center
that hosted bimonthly meetings for GLBT public service employees.
Gavin had lingered in the halway, wondering if it was worth outing
himself just for a date. Instead he’d found himself looking at the
buletin board as a distraction.
Gavin couldn’t believe his luck. The battalion chief he’d been
pining for, the one he waved hi to like a pathetic teenage girl every
time their jobs forced them to cross paths, needed a roommate.
Forget awkward meetings; he was going to move in with Brad.
Even someone as gay-chalenged as Gavin could work something
out with enough time. He was charming. He was decent looking.
Enough trips to the fridge with a towel wrapped around his hips
should earn him attention at some point.
Except it didn’t earn him attention. No amount of bare skin
and flustering attempts at flirting earned Gavin anything except a
grudging friendship with Brad. Even then he was held at arm’s
length, and it was easily the most frustrating thing Gavin had ever
encountered.
Every day that ticked by with Brad in such close proximity
left him hornier and more desperate. The lust must have fogged
Gavin’s brain, because he found himself switching gears and playing
the straight card with a string of ex-girlfriends to back it up. Brad
seemed to freeze every time Gavin attempted hitting on him. Maybe
playing it completely straight would leave Gavin unassuming enough
to get closer. If he could loosen Brad up a bit, make him more
comfortable, the two of them could go from being grudging buddies
to fuck buddies. It’d be easy to crack Brad’s iron control if they
became close enough friends.
No dice.
It took a case of beer to get him to where he’d been steadily
working toward for months. And Gavin would bet his pension that
Brad was going to ask him to move out the second he got off his
shift.
First the shooting, now this.
Gavin was having a shit week with nothing to do to keep his
mind off al of it.
Damn paid vacation. Gavin was going to spend the next
twenty-four hours stewing over everything, and he didn’t even have
work to distract him. He had half a mind to go to the fire station and
speak with Brad, but he didn’t think showing up at his job was
going to impress him. He’d just have to wait until Brad got home to
explain himself.
Who knew, maybe a miracle would happen and they’d work
something out.
Brad stuck his key in the door. His body was tense, his
mouth dry with nervousness. He didn’t want to do this. The pitying
apologies, the closet speech that was always the same and usualy
included the mention of narrow-minded work coleagues.
Hadn’t Brad sworn off cops?
Damn, his bad mood wasn’t helped by the sexual tension. He
was wound so tightly every muscle in his body physicaly ached with
the need to fuck. He was going straight to his room and sleeping
until the gay clubs opened, and then he was going to get laid if it
kiled him. Floppy-haired bottoms, bring ’em on if it got his mind off
Gavin.
Brad stood at the door, the key unmoving in the lock as he
attempted to find an inner strength that would keep him from
attacking Gavin and fucking the shit out of him. The memory of
Gavin riding his lap was driving him insane. It started to create an
obsession. Brad needed another taste of the sexy cop like a drug
addict needed another hit.
He was stil working on building his defenses when the door
was jerked open.
“I thought I heard you.” Gavin shifted from one foot to the
other in the doorway, making him look twitchy in a way he usualy
didn’t.
Brad frowned, surprised by Gavin’s easy smile despite his
obvious nervousness. “Were you expecting someone else at eight
thirty in the morning?”
“Ah, no.” Gavin looked away, rubbing at the back of his
neck. “Are you gonna come in? I made breakfast.”
Brad shouldered his bag, grabbed his keys stil hanging in the
door, and walked past Gavin, feeling like he’d falen into an
alternate universe. Gavin wasn’t floundering the way Brad
expected, and he’d claimed to have made breakfast. Cops didn’t
cook, and Gavin was no exception. Given a chance, Gavin could
effectively burn water.
“You cooked?”
“I ordered out.” Gavin gave him a guilty wince. “But it’s
good. From that café up the street you like. I didn’t know what
you’d be in the mood for, so I ordered one of everything. Biscuits
and gravy, pancakes, waffles…”
He was so fucking hot when he was flustered and rambling.
What was it about Gavin? He made the oddest things sexy. Brad’s
body tightened, the coil of need making him desperate to pounce.
He didn’t want breakfast; he wanted Gavin sprawled out and naked
and begging for—
Brad dropped his bag where he stood and scrubbed both
hands over his face as he tried and failed to fight the rush of longing.
A low hum of sexual hunger was pulsing in his brain, blocking out
rational thought.
“Gavin, listen.” Brad actualy wavered where he stood as he
attempted to get a handle on himself. “You gotta move out, man. I
knew this was a mistake. It’l never work, you living here. It’s bad
for both of us.”
“Oh Christ,” Gavin said, sounding crestfalen. “Won’t you
just eat breakfast? At least give me a chance to apologize.”
“You don’t have to apologize.” Brad gave a pained laugh. “If
anyone should be apologizing, it’s me. You were shitfaced, and I
took advantage of you.”
Gavin looked to the kitchen like it was the promised land.
“Food’s gonna get cold.”
“Okay,” Brad said passively. If Gavin wanted to sit and talk,
Brad owed him that much. “Let’s eat breakfast.”
With a waffle in front of him, Brad found himself looking
across the dining room table at Gavin. Rather than meet his eyes,
Gavin busied himself with his pancakes, drowning them with enough
syrup to choke a horse.
“So,” Brad started, wanting to get the awkward conversation
over with so he could start work on finding a cure for his Gavin
obsession. “What’s the deal, Gav? Out with it.”
“Wel”—Gavin lifted his head, his gaze hesitant—“I guess I
should start out by admitting I’m not realy straight.”
Brad snorted. “No kidding?”
“Yeah, you probably knew that.” Gavin pushed at his
pancakes with his fork. “I went through a phase in colege.”
Brad raised his eyebrows. After the scene the other night,
he’d suspected Gavin had some actual experience, but hearing the
confirmation was nice. Both his heart and his cock jumped with
hope. But Brad hid the surge of optimism, taking a bite of waffle
instead. He chewed slowly, feeling Gavin’s cautious gaze on him.
“So what kiled the phase?” Brad finaly asked, making his
voice deliberately flippant. “Too difficult?”
Gavin frowned. “What?”
“The social pressure?” Brad went on, his annoyance flaring.
“Being gay more than you could take? Decided girls were easier.”
“Ah, wel, yeah,” Gavin admitted, a blush sneaking up the
curve of his neck to his cheeks. “Girls are easier.”
Brad dropped his fork and kicked back away from the table.
Gavin was absolutely his last cop. Ever. Brad had learned his
lesson. He’d fuck floppy-haired bottoms for the rest of his life
before he—
“Come on,” Gavin said in panic when Brad stood up. “Don’t
walk away. I’m sorry. I’m explaining myself wrong.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Brad said, taking a
deep breath as he searched desperately for sanity. “We can be
mature adults. I’l just keep my distance until you find another place
and—”
“Fuck.” Gavin buried his face in his palms. He took several
deep breaths before he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.
“I realy need to find a class for clueless gay men. ‘Bottoming 101: