Hey, buddy, how’s it going? How’s my new partner?”
Davis started and looked over in surprise as the interior light went on and someone he didn’t recognize climbed into the passenger side of his unmarked, one leg still outside the open passenger door. Davis stared dumbfounded at the man, aware his mouth was slightly open. The man smiled brilliantly back at him. Almost like he was waiting for recognition to kick in.
Davis’s dark brows drew together. He felt something strange twist through his brain, like a new red tee shirt slithering through a load of churning whites. The good-looking stranger was completely unfamiliar to him, and yet—? The guy was young, maybe not even 20, with very long flaxen hair, a thick, plain white tee shirt stretched over a torso that was buff but not huge, and battered jeans that were actually torn open from wear, not artifice, on the left knee. Yet despite his boy-on-the-town look, Davis did know, somewhere in his head, that he was indeed this guy’s new partner. He was too stunned to make any sense of all this conflicting information, so he just stared, waiting for the pieces to fall into place. He was good with patterns—it was what made him a good cop, and what had gotten him promoted to detective. It would come together.
Davis noticed for the first time that he had a large coffee in each hand from the all-night bodega around the corner, and was patiently waiting for Davis to take the one he was offering. He took the coffee from him instinctively. The receipt of the cup from this other man seemed to demand some kind of social interaction, so Davis offered him a noncommittal “Hey.”
“Hey,” the man replied back, still grinning at him. He looked as if finding Davis, sitting here on stake-out on an industrial side-street in the middle of the night, was the highlight of his month. Davis tried to assess the man methodically. The instant impression he’d formed at the sight of him told him they were total opposites. Davis was probably nearly twice his age, though still traditionally handsome rather than cute now that silver was dappling into the temples of his close-cropped black hair. Davis dressed professionally too, in jacket and tie rather than ripped jeans even on a stake-out like this. Of course, he didn’t have as much to show off as the buff boy in the tight shirt and tighter trousers. He was still reasonably trim, but he had to admit he was a tad softer than he’d used to be.
Davis’s eyes dropped for a second to the guy’s crotch without his really meaning for them to, then hastily returned them to the guy’s handsome face. It seemed that Davis having “less to show off” seemed to go for other things, too. Davis knew that he was hung more or less average, though with a good girth that women seemed to like in their mouths—at least, the women that liked going down on him, which was a disappointingly small proportion of the ones he’d dated over the years. But from the glimpse Davis had gotten while he was getting into the car it had looked like this kid had … a more than decent advantage in that department. Not that he could really check now with the guy staring intently at him. But who the fuck is he?
The long-haired boy had pulled his leg in and was hauling the door shut with his free hand. The overhead light doused and they were plunged into darkness streaked random swaths of luminescent gray from the reflected light of the street lamps down at the corner of the alley. “Buck Stevens, remember?” the guy said. He was watching him intently in the darkness. He was still pretty, maybe even more so, now that his features were cast in stark black shadows. “I’m your sexy new partner,” he added cheekily, taking a stab at levity. He met Davis’s gaze and actually winked, taking a sip from his coffee with what looked like full, sweet lips.
Davis swallowed uncomfortably, wondering if Buck knew that Davis actually was finding him a little attractive, especially as he usually didn’t give guys much of a second glance. His took his own swig from the coffee Buck had handed him. It was perfect—exactly the way Davis liked it, plenty of skim milk and no sweetener. How had Buck known how Davis liked his coffee?
“We all got the email after end of shift, the whole squad,” Buck went on matter-of-factly. Davis wasn’t fully listening. There was something weird about Buck’s voice, and some part of Davis’s mind was trying to puzzle it out. It was almost like the guy’s warm baritone—slightly deeper than you’d expect for someone with his boyish look—had just the tiniest reverb. It was almost imperceptible, but yet there, just below the senses. Buck’s hazel eyes seemed clear and bright even in the patchy darkness of the car.
Buck was still explaining the reassignment. “They assigned me to you tonight,” he was saying. “The same time as your old partner was promoted—what was his name?” Buck asked, as if trying to remember.
“Jacobs,” Davis replied automatically. Detective Frank Jacobs, Davis’s partner for over two years. Davis frowned, worrying his lower lip in his teeth. He and Frank had spent all day prepping the case they were on and planning this stake-out operation. Frank was even supposed to relieve Davis in another four hours. He hadn’t mentioned anything about a promotion. But there had been something about an email, it was true. It must have all been really sudden—an unexpected vacancy that the brass wanted filled pronto, maybe, so that some task force wasn’t short-handed.
He cleared his throat. “You’re early, then,” he managed to get out. “If you’re taking Frank’s place, you should go get some shut-eye, and then come back and relieve me at 2 a.m.” As he said this, though, Davis found himself thinking that he didn’t want Buck to leave. That was unsettling all the way around. When had he stopped being content keeping his own company?
“Oh, I don’t need much sleep,” Buck sang dismissively. He dropped his venti coffee cup into the cup-holder on the center console of the sedan and added, “Besides, we’ll have a good chance to get to know each other this way.” He smiled brightly again. “It’ll be fun!” His glinting eyes were fixed on Davis as he said this, adding, “Don’t you think?”
Davis smiled back cautiously, surprising himself. “Sure,” he said. He took another long drink of his not-bad coffee. He realized now actually verging on looking forward to spending a long stake-out with his new partner. He shook his head at having drawn a wild card in the partner lottery. He tried picturing Buck in daylight at the station, with his tight tee and ripped pants, and decided to ask, with a pretense of being arch and disapproving, “So, do you always dress like that?”
Buck glanced down at himself and chuckled. “Like this? No.” He looked back up and met Davis’s gaze. “My buddies threw me a birthday party earlier tonight.” He grinned a secret grin and added, “This friend of mine I haven’t seen in ages gave me a very special gift, and I thought I’d … share it around a little. In celebration.”
Davis wasn’t sure what he meant exactly, but he was distracted by the realization that the reverb thing was apparently gone from the guy’s voice, at least for what he had just been saying. Had he imagined it? He must have, right? Or maybe there was some weird resonance in the car…. Motor pool was always a potluck, and his usual car, the idiosyncrasies of which had become as familiar to him as his own, had gotten totaled on the job a month ago.
“Happy birthday,” Davis said. His lips were twitching as he added, “What did you turn, twelve?”
Buck pretended to be offended. “I’m twenty-seven, actually,” he said haughtily.
Davis’s brows lifted. He hadn’t expected a number anywhere near that high. “Really?” he said. He stared hard at the guy, remembering the look he’d gotten when he first climbed in. “Because I have to say, you don’t look a day over…”
“Twenty, I know,” Buck finished for him. He sounded like he did know exactly what age he appeared to be. “I look a lot younger than I really am.” Then Buck looked sidelong at Davis. “You should know what that’s like,” he said. Davis thought he heard that strange edge to his voice after all. He narrowed his eyes as he watched Buck’s full lips, concentrating on the sound of his partner’s voice. “I mean,” Buck went on, “I know you’re older than me, but you look like you just turned—” Buck hesitated, as if considering a number. Davis was now very curious about what the final guess would be.
Buck pursed his lips and offered Davis a little smirk. “—Let’s say thirty. So,” he asked eagerly, now the one eager to hear the real answer, as if he were a bouncy contestant on a quiz show, “how old are you really?”
Davis smiled crookedly at him. He found himself unexpectedly pleased that someone as pretty and younger-than-he-looked as Buck had remarked on Davis’s relatively youthful looks. They’d caused him some trouble over the years, but it had meant he got to shine when bad guys misread him, figuring he wasn’t a threat, and he could gleefully prove them wrong. That was one of the reasons he usually didn’t like actually giving out his real age and spoiling the illusion, though.
He decided to hedge. “Guess.”
Buck shook his head firmly. “Nope. Your real age, please.” Seeing him hesitate, Buck goaded, “C’mon!” He cocked his head and added conversationally, “You don’t mind telling me stuff, I can tell. No secrets from your partner,” he sang playfully, and that barely perceptible edge to his voice seemed to melt right through him.
Davis sighed. It wouldn’t hurt to tell Buck, anyway, now that they were working together. Buck had pegged him right—holding back from his partner made him uncomfortable. Frank knew things about Davis no one else knew. “I’m 38,” he said at last. And a half, he didn’t add.
Buck whistled. “Thirty-eight,” Buck said, “and you look like you’re, like, twelve years younger than that.” Buck tsked and shook his head, though he kept his eyes on Davis. “Lucky you,” he added with a grin.
Davis smiled boyishly at Buck, not questioning his new partner’s math—though actually, now that he thought about it, Buck wasn’t that far off. “It has a downside,” he admitted with a sigh, “but I like it.”
“I’ll bet,” Buck said. His eyes were glinting, as if he enjoyed just looking at his new partner.
Not sure what to say, Davis took another swig from his coffee, feeling a slight flush on his cheeks. A sudden thought occurred to him. Was Buck hitting on him? That’d be pretty cheeky from a new partner, but Davis usually wasn’t above a little harmless flirtation, with someone he liked, as long as it was just joking around and everyone knew it wasn’t going anywhere. And Buck seemed like the type to try getting away with anything. “C’mon,” Buck teased. “Name one drawback.”
Davis shrugged. “I actually still get carded sometimes,” he offered.
“Tell me about it,” Buck replied, and Davis laughed. Buck looked at him shrewdly. “But that’s a compliment. What else?”
Davis sighed and took a last swig of his coffee before finally setting his mostly empty cup into the console next to Buck’s. “People underestimate me all the time. It’s not so bad if it’s bad guys, but the brass at work…” He trailed off.
Buck’s eyes were glittering, and his cute face was serious. “That’s bullshit,” he said firmly. Davis started to elaborate, but Buck cut in. “Everyone you work with on the force knows how smart you are,” he insisted. “And all the civilians you help know it too. You’re a great cop and a great leader.” Then he added with a shrug, “It’s common knowledge at the station.”
Davis felt a little overwhelmed by all the praise. “Really?” Davis asked.
“Sure,” Buck replied easily. He smiled. “Most of the time you’re just too modest and selfless to see how much other people admire you.”
Davis turned away a little, looking out into the black and gray of the dark-shrouded warehouse ahead. “Admire…” he frowned, considering the word carefully, turning it over in his head. “I don’t know about that.” Could it really be true? He knew in his heart, somehow, that Buck was telling the truth about being held in very high esteem by the brass and his fellow officers even despite his extremely youthful looks. He did have a habit of chalking up praise he got to the actions of others, ducking credit for himself, but it seemed to find its way to him anyway. His reputation wasn’t something he really focused on, much less traded on. He knew guys who saw police work in terms of what it did for them, not the community. And those guys, Davis thought, were all one hundred percent dickheads.
“Of course it’s true,” Buck was saying. Those glinting eyes were looking him over appraisingly in the dim light. “It doesn’t hurt that you’re so gorgeous,” Buck added. Davis started to protest, but Buck went on, “I mean, like, you’re, like, international supermodel level of gorgeous. I’ll admit I’m kinda jealous. And,” he added saucily, “very aroused.”
Davis was glad Buck couldn’t see the full-blown blush he could now feel heating his cheeks and ears. He’d heard that word “supermodel” bandied around often enough, but it always felt absurd to him. He was too modest to really believe he was that hot. And a so-called world class supermodel wouldn’t be flushing in embarrassment at the very idea like this, anyway.
“Um, thanks,” he stammered, a little embarrassed by the fact that he was embarrassed. He’d had people telling him how incredibly hot he was and how he turned them on pretty much his whole life. And … somehow it still embarrassed him. Especially coming from Buck, for some reason. “You’re pretty hot, too,” Davis replied honestly, glad he could return the compliment with complete sincerity. His dick was half-hard in his boxers already, as it usually was when people talked about his uncanny beauty. He was helpless to control the arousal he got at the idea of male beauty.
“Thanks,” Buck said. “But I’m just sexy—you’re fucking gorgeous.” Buck licked his lips, truly seeming to get lost a second as he stared, admiring Davis’s face. That was something Davis was used to, too. That look. He saw it on women a lot, and men too, even straight guys—and he’d picked up enough to know that Buck was definitely not straight. Davis waited patiently, his own dick swelling slowly, sensitive skin dragging along soft cotton, and after a moment Buck shook his head and looked down at the rest of him, which is what usually happened next, generally with a dimming of appreciation. “And, shit, that body!” Buck purred.
“Buck—” Admiration was one thing, but they shouldn’t get too out of control with each other. Guys tended to lose track of their hands around him if he didn’t shut things down.
Buck plowed on as if he hadn’t heard Davis’s admonishment. “Fuck, partner, you could be a fitness model easy,” he said appraisingly. “You’re fucking built.” He raised his eager, shining eyes to meet Davis’s. “So—you gotta tell me. Were you just born this way, or do you just live in the gym?” he teased.
Davis smiled widely at him, amused by the jab, and Buck actually took in a breath, as people often did when they saw him really smile for the first time. “It’s lots of time pumping iron,” he said. “Though I must have good genetics for it, I guess.”
“I’ll say,” Buck said. Davis noticed Buck actually had a hand in his shadowed crotch and seemed to be kneading his dick. “How tall are you, man?” Buck asked suddenly.
Davis was slightly taken aback by the unexpected question. Still he was finding he kind of liked being quizzed about himself by his eager new partner—though he resolved to turn the some of the heat on him as soon as he could. He was finding Buck’s intensity both comfortable and disconcerting at the same time. “Uh, I’m six one,” he mumbled, looking down.
“Six six?” Buck repeated, apparently mishearing. “Wow, that’s hot.”
Davis shifted in his seat, feeling for the first time since the beginning of the conversation like he’d missed something, like there was a faint electric charge to their conversation. He had said… he had said he was six … six, that was right. Why did this exchange feel so strange? His noticed that his legs felt a little cramped, so he checked to make sure his seat was all the way back. It was.
There was something else about their meeting tonight. Davis had a niggling feeling that he had met Buck before. Not as a cop, but somewhere in the past, not recently but not forever ago either. He had met Buck before, and now that he was thinking about it, his long-honed skill at reading others, which stood him in such good stead as a cop, was rewinding to the moment Buck had climbed into the car. He hadn’t just been confident and cocky—he’d known Davis, had already had a moment’s connection with him from some past encounter. Davis couldn’t quite out his hands on the memory, but he was patient with things like that.
Buck was watching him with intense eyes and a small smile on his kissable lips. Wait—where had that thought come from? Davis frowned. “So,” Buck was saying now, “you must weigh—what? My guess is two forty, and, like, minimal fat. I’m right, right? You’re, like, two forty, I know it.”
Davis bit his lip, again feeling slightly confused by the nature of the question and the accuracy of the guess. He’d definitely weighed himself at the gym yesterday, and it had been 238. “Um, something like that,” he said. He was embarrassed, but he tried to make it sound cheeky.
Buck’s eyebrows lifted. “More? So you’re actually, like—what, two sixty?”
Davis squirmed a little, his thick, corded muscles feeling abruptly heavy for some reason. He tried resettling his broad back against the seat. What was that weight from yesterday? 262, right? He frowned. “What about you?” he asked, trying to deflect Buck’s fixation on him for a moment at least. “How tall are you?”
The long-haired man smiled. “I’m a couple inches shorter than you,” he said easily.
Davis raised his eyebrows. “Really? I hadn’t pegged you for quite that tall when you got in—” he said, though as he spoke he wasn’t so sure. Certainly the shadowed form, and the warm, physical presence of Buck on the other side of the car bespoke a big man, if not as built as Davis himself. Still—
Buck leaned toward him, still smiling. “I’ll tell you a secret,” he said, lowering his voice even though there was no one else around. “Normally, I’m maybe, I dunno, 6 foot even. But when I get really turned on,” and he actually whispered this part, “my whole body gets a hard-on.”
Davis stared at Buck, who was breathing a little heavier now, his cheeks, like Buck’s, getting flushed. His whole body got a hard on. That was … insanely hot. It sounded like something from a fantasy porn story, and if Davis didn’t know better he’d have guessed Buck had read about the idea somewhere and had decided to throw it out there as part of his steady, unrelenting plan to wrap his words around Davis’s rapidly hardening cock. But Davis knew it wasn’t just a line. He knew it was heart-poundingly real because he could see it, in the flesh, right there not a foot away from him. Buck had absolutely the perfect lithe, tight body for making an idea like that as real and as arousing as it could possibly be, and he was almost literally radiating an arousal so intense that it had thickened and lengthened his entire body from head to toe.
Despite having worn what looked like an extra-long tee, a band of flesh, pale in the strange half-light of the car’s darkened interior, was exposed between the hem of his shirt and his pants’ waistline, and he bet if he could penetrate the shadows where Buck’s legs disappeared he’d see exposed ankle, too. His stretchy, form-fitting shirt seemed swollen and stretched with hard, packed muscle, the collar snug around a neck that seemed both nicely thick and just a bit longer than Davis had thought it had been. Buck’s shoulders were broad and bulging, and the pecs—fuck, any bigger and they’d be almost as big as Davis’s, and they were straining that shirt like a monster erection straining too-small Speedos.
He could see the hard ridges of Buck’s abs through the fabric, even in this dim light. Was that an eight-pack? Thick, swollen hard-muscled thighs framed a shadowed crotch that, even partly hidden by Buck’s hand gasping at something through the fabric, looked so crammed with cock and balls that he might have been smuggling a cantaloupe in there. Buck’s hand shifted and Davis caught sight of the glint of the teeth of Buck’s zipper straining desperately against the contents of his crotch. Davis swallowed, surprised to find his mouth suddenly very dry.
With some difficulty Davis resisted an urge to reach for his own cock, which was long since fully boned in his slacks and begging for action. He thought of reaching for Buck instead. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to stroke him, every inch, all over. Sure, he was a guy, but he was pressing Davis’s buttons somehow despite that. The connection he felt, and the tendril of that connection that was somehow joining them in the past as well, made Davis want lower his defenses. He settled for saying huskily, “So, that means—you’re really turned on, huh?”
“Fuck yeah,” his partner replied slowly, drawing out the words. He sounded a little surprised at just how good it felt for his body to bone up like a giant cock, and Davis noticed his hands twitching in his lap. He seemed to be refraining from stroking his own torso, stroking himself in a way no other man could ever experience. Instead Buck stared deep into Davis’s eyes, as if consciously focusing on the older man, spinning his feelings and desires around Davis in place of himself. “It’s all you, man,” he said earnestly. “You have to be the smoking-hottest, gorgeously hunkiest, most bonerific dude that I’ve … ever … met.”
Buck’s words seemed to wash through him like his mind being submerged for a moment in warm, potent, deeply luxurious whiskey. He shook his head slowly, feeling like the world had shifted under them somehow, and then settled and stilled again in a subtly new configuration. He looked around, swallowing convulsively, but everything looked the same. The street was dark and empty. With a guilty start he remembered the warehouse they were supposed to be watching, but it was still dead and dormant. They’d projected Duzakh the Fixer would arrive with his crew around midnight. Davis and Frank had set up the stakeout to start a few hours earlier, to be on the safe side.
“You must have guys after you all the time,” Buck was saying.
“Girls too,” Davis added. He could have any girl any time he—
“Yeah, but we’re not interested in them,” Buck said in a soft voice.
—and they were always so disappointed when he said “no”. He glanced at Buck, and his lust was obvious on his face, in his eyes, and in the hand massaging his crotch. It was pretty vulgar and blatant, but guys were like that around him a lot. With Buck, it was okay. Actually, it was kind of hot.
After a moment he looked down at his suit, which couldn’t help but show off his thickly muscled, perfectly proportioned body, though it wasn’t straining or too tight anywhere. (He had to have his suits tailored to his unusual proportions.) He said, “You want to touch, right? People always want to touch.”
Buck drew in a breath and whispered to himself, “Fuck.” Then he said firmly, “But they don’t. No one touches you unless you let them. Unless you want them to.”
For a second Davis thought he had memories that said otherwise, and was about to tell Buck that he was wrong. But between one second sand they next they fell apart like gossamer and were gone, then forgotten. “Yeah. People always want to touch, I can sense it. But, you’re right, they don’t. How did you—? Anyway, um, you … can. If you want,” he added. He was surprising himself. He felt more comfortable with this strange new partner he’d just met, with his shining eyes and long blond hair and his pumped, aroused body than he did with any of the guys he’d actually tried to date. They all only wanted one thing, anyway, but weirdly enough he didn’t get that impression with Buck. Sure, Buck wanted to touch him, and probably more—definitely more. But Davis was almost certain that Buck wanted to know him—and that Buck cared about whether Davis liked him as a person.
Buck started to raise his free hand, then hesitated. “You sure?” he asked.
Davis quirked his lips. He tried humor to defuse things a little. “Sheepish … looks adorable on you,” he said, which earned him a smile. He crooked his arm toward Buck. “Go on,” he said, trying to sound resigned, though he was actually feeling a little shiver of anticipation at the prospect of his hot young partner feeling him up. He’d never let that happen with another cop before, not even when he was a rookie and his partner at the time, Cody, was as hot as a porn star and as randy as a character in a porno.
His captain later confessed, after Davis had made detective, that he’d partnered his two hottest beat cops together just for the hell of it, so that people could imagine them being around each other, maybe touching each other, maybe casually making out between calls. Ironically, Cody was so entranced by Davis that he didn’t actually want to touch something so divine. His kink was jacking himself off while staring at Davis feeling himself up: sometimes it was in Davis’s or Cody’s apartment, sometimes in the interrogation room with the cameras off, sometimes even in the patrol car. Davis could still remember it—Cody’s long, pink, graceful cock erupting up out of the zipper of his uniform slacks, Cody’s fist wrapping eagerly around it, Cody’s bright blue eyes drinking in Davis as he slid a hand slowly over his own torso through the uniform, Cody’s full lips parted in awe. Actually, the way Buck was gently groping himself in the dark passenger seat of their pool-issued unmarked seemed kinda familiar that way.
But Buck was still hesitating, his hand halfway to touching Davis’s upper arm. Now he had a wry “are-you-serious” look on his face. “Through the jacket?” he asked disdainfully, one eyebrow raised, lips quirking in amusement, as if it wouldn’t be worth it to touch Davis is he had to do it through thick fabric.
“Fine,” Davis huffed, rolling his eyes. He struggled for a minute in the cramped space, but before long he was able to pull the jacket free. He turned the shoulders against each other and reached back and draped it carefully over the back seat, half expecting Buck to start groping him through his white dress shirt as he twisted around in the space between them. But when he settled back Buck’s hand hadn’t moved, and neither had the raised eyebrow.
“Through the shirt?” he asked, affecting he same tone as before.
“Yes,” Davis said firmly, barely keeping a straight face.
“All right,” Buck pouted. In the end he wrapped both hands around Davis’s upper arm and started stroking them together, up and down. Davis realized he was hard. Perhaps he could suggest that Buck apply that technique—elsewhere? But Buck pulled back, apparently satisfied for now, and Davis felt an odd pang of regret. He realized his heart was pounding in his chest, and he wondered, to his own shocked amazement, whether Buck would be willing to kiss him.
But Buck wasn’t looking at Davis anymore. Instead, he was looking past Davis, eyes wide. Davis whipped his head around to see two hulking figures moving silently through the deep shadows of the alley behind the warehouse. They seemed to be carrying something.
Davis found the night-vision binoculars he’d stashed in the console and lifted them to his eyes. What he saw triggered an immediate adrenaline kick: two thugs carrying a large, heavy object wrapped in black plastic—an object that was unmistakably the size and heft of a human body. Duzakh’s crew was early—perhaps whoever was in that bag had caused an unexpected change in plans. Duzakh was known for never offing civilians or innocents, and never killing at all if he could help it. Something must have gone very wrong in Duzakh’s world, and that might mean the task force had finally caught a break. All they had to do was step out onto the ice and see if it cracked.
He turned back to Buck and offered him an apologetic half-smile. “Time to go to work, partner,” he said softly. At Buck’s frozen stare, Davis felt his smile fade. He remembered that for all his bravado his new partner was still young and inexperienced, basically a rookie when it came to the kind of police work Davis knew instinctively. “Are you ready for this?” he asked, holding onto his half-smile to calm his new friend.
Buck blinked, gazing into Davis’s eyes a moment. Davis let him. However much he dismissed the exaggerated descriptions of his own beauty that always swirled around him wherever he went—even on a stakeout, it seemed—he couldn’t entirely ignore the way a steady, smiling look from him seemed to calm people and allow them to gain their feet and do what was needed of them. He could see Buck overcoming his moment of uncharacteristic skittishness and firming his resolve. Buck nodded, and then nodded again more decisively. “You can count on me,” Buck told him seriously, and Davis smiled.
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