Take a Picture

by Jane Davitt

Sometimes, cops kick down the wrong door. It happens. They never find an empty house, or anything as mundane as a guy watching TV, scratching his ass as he downs a beer, of course. No, it's always a couple having kinky sex in costumes, a drug deal going down, a shape-shifting werewolf…something to make the story worth telling.

As Danny goes through the motel door, opened courtesy of Steve's boot, he realizes that he's got his own story to tell now, though it's going to need beefing up to an orgy to really make the grade. Two men, one bed, a blow job. It's okay, but a little mundane.

He focuses on the men for long enough to be sure that they're unarmed -- easier than usual given that they're both naked -- then lets his gaze flicker around the room. It takes a second or two, no more than that. The scattered brochures on the table tell him 'tourists', the number of open suitcases make him revise his first judgment call of 'hooker and john'. The two men are here together.

And they're most definitely not the 'droids that he and Steve are looking for. Shit.

He clears his throat and politely averts his eyes away from the tableau on the bed without actually stopping looking at them, because that's a rookie mistake and Danny Williams ain't no rookie, no, sir. The men have frozen, not a surprising reaction when faced by two men with guns screaming 'Freeze', because, you know, that's what they'd been told to do. Anger's quickly replacing shock and fear on their faces, though.

"What the hell is going on?" says the man on his knees. He's moved instinctively, not to shield himself, but his partner, who's maybe ten years younger, mid-twenties, good looking in a shy kind of way, though his dick's on the assertive side, standing up hard and wet, fresh from being licked and sucked to a juicy red. It's not easy to ignore that erection, but Danny tries his best out of politeness. It's big enough that he finds himself wondering where the film crew is, because, yeah, that dick's got star potential.

"Wrong door," Danny says succinctly and launches into apologies and explanations as he shuffles backward, one step at a time, a silent Steve doing nothing, nothing to help out, not a goddamned word, not a charming smile, not a single 'aloha', though if he had said that, Danny would have shot him somewhere not lethal and the hell with the paperwork, psych eval, and consequent months of bitching.

They're outside the room, the broken door hanging all wrong, the frame splintered, gonna cost a few hundred to fix, easy, when Danny finally spares Steve a glance. The man looks shell-shocked.

"It was a mistake," Danny offers. "If they complain, the Governor will understand. She's very understanding when it comes to you. Me, not so much, but I'll blame it all on you if she asks and we'll both be fine, 'kay?"

Steve licks his lips as if he can't speak they're so dry, and makes a sound so desperate to be a normal word that it hurts to hear it. Danny's heart and gut clench in a synchronized moment of anatomical sympathy and he puts his hand on his partner's arm, on sun-warm bare skin and muscles.

"Hey. Steve. Stay with me, babe. It's okay."

Steve stares at him blindly and frowns, control snapping back into place. "Yeah, I'm right here. I'm fine. What's wrong with you?"

Danny takes -- snatches -- his hand away when Steve says that, insulted, and he's all ready to let fly with a 'What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you' response, automatic, easy, when Steve licks his lips again like he's trying to taste something that isn't there. Danny doesn't have to look down to know that Steve is rock hard, aching with it, body-slammed by arousal and still recovering. It's all there in Steve's face, in the hitch of his breath, the way his lips are parted, waiting, waiting for --


One bed, two men, one blow job.

No story.

Because this never happened. Steve's walking away, his shoulders stiff and tense, like other parts of him, and clearly when they do find the right door, Steve's gonna leave it in tiny matchsticks because something's got to give.

Danny sighs and puts his gun away.

Straight, my ass, he thinks, catching up to all that frustrated lust and bounce-a-dime-off-it butt in front of him. It's a nice view.

The immediate future's looking interesting, too.

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