Handcuffs and Lace 27 -Brass Balls
Read Handcuffs and Lace 27 -Brass Balls Online
Authors: Mia Watts
A
Handcuffs and Lace
Story
By Mia Watts
Resplendence Publishing, LLC
http://www.resplendencepublishing.com
Resplendence Publishing, LLC 2665 N Atlantic Avenue, #349 Daytona Beach, FL 32118
Brass Balls
Copyright © 2012 Mia Watts
Edited by Darlena Cunha
Cover art by Les Byerley,
www.les3photo8.com
Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
Thanks to the Twitter ladies who know beer: @BrynnPaulin, @BeatlesJill79, @Kris_Norris, @Terrasha79, @LadybugsAdey. Thanks for helpin’ a girl out, yo.
“Fuck, the new captain is here,” Detective Sommerset declared, choking on his beer. It sloshed as he whipped it away from his mouth and slammed it on the table a little too hard.
Oak Takala snorted. He mentally struck the verbal comma and “is here”. His body was already on board with the idea of fucking the new captain. He glanced over his shoulder as the bar erupted with cheers.
“And the old one,” a familiar voice said near Oak.
A heavy hand fell on Oak’s shoulder. He turned around and grabbed his old man in a half hug. They pounded each other’s backs in the time old tradition of rough men showing rough affection in public.
“Hey, dad. Thought you’d ring in the new regime with the guys?” Oak asked.
Former Captain of Police, now voice of the local tribe, John Takala grinned broadly. “You know it. I’m just glad the powers-that-be took my recommendation seriously. Wyatt Peterman’s been an asset to the department since he partnered with me as a detective.”
“
I’m
just glad they chose another guy from our precinct instead of bringing in new blood who doesn’t know us. Means we’re doing something right,” Oak added.
His father squeezed his shoulder. “Means
I’m
doing something right that they took my recommendation.”
“So what’s your new position like, Cap—Geez, what the hell do I call you now?
Mister
Takala?” Sommerset wondered.
“Yep, that’s all I am now. A civie. The only captain Takala will be my son when Peterman resigns.”
“No pressure,” Oak noted.
“He’s gotta be as good as his old man, first.” The new voice sent a hot crawl down Oak’s spine.
“Captain Peterman, speak of the devil,” Oak’s dad did the back-clapping thing with his former partner.
They laughed. John lifted Oak’s beer as though it was his own and shouted a toast to the bar filled with off-duty cops. They hoisted their mugs and guzzled amber fluid in deep draining pulls amidst joyful shouts.
Oak tried not to look at the captain out of the corner of his eye, but the man had so much charisma that it grabbed hold of Oak’s attention with invisible fists. Determined not to notice, Oak rescued his beer and drained the contents.
“Whoa! Slow down there, partner. You’re supposed to be my designated driver,” Sommerset complained. “I’ve had way too many to take the wheel, and you just downed a second pint.”
Oak stared into the thread foam at the base of his mug. “I think it’s my first.”
“No way. Chuckie bought you a second round just before Peterman got here.”
“
Captain
Peterman,” both John and Wyatt said at the same time.
“Aw, c’mon, we’re off the clock,” Sommerset teased.
“Not when it comes to seniority,” John corrected.
“Fine, fine, but he’s had two beers.” Sommerset faced Oak. “You weren’t gonna drink Chuckie’s.”
“I forgot.” He
had
forgotten. Wyatt Peterman,
Captain
Wyatt Peterman, could make him forget his fucking name if he wanted to. It took a look, a smile, a hit to the chest of the man’s deep laugh and deeper dimples, to make Oak go completely tongue-tied.
Another beer appeared in front of him. He stared at it.
“Don’t even think about it, man.” Sommerset was already claiming the frothy mug.
Oak wrapped his hand around it to stop him. Sommerset’s smile disappeared. “Seriously. You can’t drive as it is. Neither can I.”
“I know. We’ll walk,” Oak decided.
“I’ll drive you,” Captain Peterman said.
“He’s my kid. I’ll take them both home,” John protested.
Peterman shouldered in to the bar table they stood around. “You and I both know that even off the clock, I can’t throw back beers with the guys. I can’t be one of them anymore.”
Oak could hear the smile in Peterman’s voice, and he resisted the urge to look, choosing to take a long drink of his draft.
“The three of you will have to drink my beers for me, and I’ll drive you all home,” the captain finished.
Four fresh mugs appeared on the table. Oak was shocked to see the beer he’d been holding was now empty. He reached for his fourth mug. There were perks to being the former captain’s kid and the new captain’s friend.
Sorta.
There was also a shit-ton of disadvantages. Especially when you lusted after your dad’s former partner. It had been bad enough wanting Peterman when he came over to the house for dinner, during Oak’s teen years and not being able to do anything about it.
Then there was growing up and joining the force. More than just his dad’s partner, he became inter-office taboo. But no, why stop there? Why not promote the object of his desires right into the most unobtainable position on the planet—oh, say, captain—and put him in the same office day in and day out where Oak couldn’t help but see him. And it wasn’t as if a captain ever left the office. No, he was there overseeing. It fucking increased the hours in a day Oak had to pretend the man didn’t turn every one of his hormones into raging drones drawn to the cliff of self-destruction.
Kill him now. Just kill him now. God, his life sucked. Maybe he should put in for a transfer.
“Take it easy, kid. I think you’ve already reached your limit,” Peterman told Oak.
Peterman’s upper arm brushed Oak’s shoulder. Oak bit back a groan behind the rim of his mug. A warm hand closed over his and pushed the mug to the tabletop. He made the mistake of looking up into Wyatt’s dark blue eyes. Since when had the captain grown fuzzy eyes and a halo around his head? He reached a hand up to touch the halo and patted Peterman’s head instead.
“Slow down. There isn’t a race to drain the tap,” Peterman murmured only loud enough for him.
Ah, but Peterman didn’t realize that there
was
a race for drowning his libido before it took a turn he couldn’t come back from. “I know what I’m doing,” Oak slurred. “Sure, ya do.”
He swung his head around. The room took a minute to settle. “Hey. Where’d dad go?”
“He’s in the john,” Sommerset told him. He giggled madly. “John’s in the john. God, that’s funny shit right there.” He laughed harder. “Shit! Ha! Funny shit in the john where John is. I’m a fucking comedian.”
“Right, it’s time to go, boys.”
“Not done, boss,” Oak argued.
“You’re not only done, you’re roasted and served up in beer sauce.”
Oak smirked. “Maybe you’ve had too much to drink too.”
“Not a sip.” Peterman grabbed the upper arms of both men. “Let’s go before you find a way to call in sick tomorrow.”
“I have days saved up,” Oak told him.
“So you’re going to call in and leave your partner without a wingman because you drank like a fish one night? You aren’t who I thought you were,” Peterman countered.
“Yeah.” Bright words of wisdom from Sommerset.
“What—I mean, who—did you think I was?”
Peterman spared him a look as he manhandled them through the crowd and into the cooler night air of the parking lot. “An officer.”
“Pfft. That’s a given captain. I have a badge and everything. It’s super shiny.”
“Mine is too,” Sommerset chimed in.
“Fantastic. Neither of you can hold your liquor, and now I’m going to have two of the three stooges in my backseat.”
“How ’bout you join me in the back seat, hm?” Oak wasn’t positive, but he had the sinking suspicion that he’d regret that offer tomorrow. He ran the words over in his inebriated mind. Nope, they sounded good. Really, really good. Think of all the things they could do in the backseat of Peterman’s car.
“Who’d drive you home if we were all in the backseat?”
“You missed the point completely,” Oak complained.
“No, I don’t think I did.”
He shoved Sommerset into the backseat, policeman style with his hand on his head to keep Sommerset from bumping it on the way in. Sommerset sprawled, laughing as the door closed behind him. He maneuvered Oak to the other side.
“What? You get me drunk, and I don’t even get a goodnight kiss?” Oak asked feeling a little sloppy. The captain wasn’t standing still, was he? It was hard to tell. He glared at Oak for several seconds, letting Oak’s request sink into his own head. Oak slapped a hand over his mouth. Oh shit, he
knew
that one would haunt him later. That’s why he started laughing. Of course, that was why he was laughing and not because he’d just come out of the closet to his captain in a big way.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Get in.”
Wyatt planted his hand on Oak’s glossy black hair and shoved him downward onto the backseat. He slammed the door shut after him. He took a few deep breaths before he got into the driver’s seat. He cranked the ignition and turned up the volume of the local radio station channel.
The last thing,
the very last thing he needed
, was to think of kissing Oak Takala. The man’s wide, almond-shaped eyes were so brown Wyatt could get lost in them. Hell, he had gotten lost a time or two over the years. Fortunately, there was always structure of the force to fall back on. He wasn’t about to mess around with his best friend and former partner’s, kid. He certainly wouldn’t kiss the same kid’s beautiful mouth when he was drunk off his ass.
“Sommerset. Address,” he barked.
Sommerset reeled it off. Wyatt nodded curtly.
Maybe if he kept telling himself that Oak was a kid, he’d eventually believe it. He’d done the math more than a few times. They were sixteen years apart in age. John another twelve above Wyatt. Sixteen years was a lot. The kid was twenty-nine for fuck’s sake. Who the hell was he kidding with jokes about making out in the backseat?
Sure, it was hilarious now, when he’d beer-soaked his brain, but just wait until that brain sobered up and he realized that he’d propositioned another man. A superior officer on the force. If it were any other person, Wyatt would never let him live it down. Because it was Oak, and too close to what he wanted, Wyatt wouldn’t bring it up again.
Kissing Oak. Fuck. Wyatt would either have to resign himself to a restless night with that image stuck in his head, or he’d have to go home and jack off a few times until he was unwired enough to sleep. Damn, that kid. He had no idea what he was messing with.
He stopped in front of Sommerset’s house. The detective stumbled out of the car and tripped up the steps to his house. A woman opened the front door and started yelling at the poor fool. Wyatt shook his head, grateful that wasn’t his home.
He pulled out of the driveway. There was no need to ask Oak where he lived. His house was around the corner from his parents. If Oak leaned to the left from his back deck and peered through the twin pines at the back edge of the property, he could see John and Tilly’s patio. If he stepped to the right at the corner of the deck and looked up, he’d see Wyatt’s condo balcony through a different set of trees.
It was far too close for comfort. Yet having John’s house just as close as Oak’s had probably saved Wyatt a lot of embarrassment. Seeing Oak’s home every morning when he drank his coffee tempted him to take an early morning walk through the woods to see what he was up to. Knowing John might see him kept Wyatt honest.
“Wanna come inside?” Oak asked when they got to the house.
“No.”
“I make a mean cup of coffee,” Oak tempted.
“No.”
With a battered sigh, Oak got out of the car. “Thanks for the ride, cap’n.”
“Yeah. Sober up before work tomorrow.”
Oak saluted. He shuffled backward nearly losing his balance. He pin-wheeled his arms, righted himself, then promptly tripped over the walkway edging and took a dive into the row of irises lining the front porch. The rail shuddered with the fall.
“
Jesus
,” Wyatt muttered, quickly releasing his seatbelt.
He raced to the spot where only Oak’s feet were visible. The kid groaned.
“Are you okay?”
“Fuck, no,” Oak grumbled.
“Keep talking. Let me know you’re conscious.” Wyatt backtracked to the car, turned off the ignition and locked it up. Oak was muttering about worms and whether or not they would get drunk if they chomped on him, then wondered what a drunken worm looked like.
Wyatt grinned despite himself. He squatted down and helped Oak into a sitting position. Wrapping a supporting arm around his waist, Wyatt hefted him to his feet.
“Keys?”
“Pocket,” Oak mumbled. He yawned.
The porch light came on when the motion sensor caught them weaving up the front steps. Wyatt leaned him against the side of the house next to the door.
“Which?”
“Front, I think.”
Wyatt folded his arms across his chest. No way in hell would he go exploring the kid’s pockets for keys that may or may not be in his front pocket. Oak grinned back at him, and slowly folded his arms across his chest too. A tiny change in his expression suggested he was up to something. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that he wanted Wyatt to go digging.
“I can leave you propped up right here, or we can get you inside and clean up that cut on your forehead. Your call.”
Oak frowned but slowly searched his pockets for the keys. He found them and turned to try them at the door. Wyatt took over, slipped the key in and then hooked his arm around Oak again to help him get inside.
“How are you getting to work tomorrow?” Wyatt asked.
“You can take me.”
“Call your dad.”
“He doesn’t work at the station any more, remember?”
“Fine. We’ll get you cleaned up, then I’m going home. I’ll be by to pick you up at seven sharp.”
They made their way through the house to the master suite bathroom. He propped Oak against the counter. “Where’s your first aid stuff?”
Oak lifted his chin toward the sink mirror. Wyatt opened it and found what he needed. Then after wetting a washcloth, he carefully wiped the wound area. A strand of hair fell over one dark brown eye. Wyatt refused to look into those eyes this close. He’d do something stupid. Not only was he in danger of doing something stupid with a friend’s son, Oak was also a subordinate who was drunk. Besides, as sexy as this kid was, Wyatt didn’t want to mess things up. One kiss, one long look that suggested he might
want
to kiss Oak, and he threw years of trust out the window.
He brushed the strand of hair out of the way and finished dabbing the raw skin with a slice through it. “You might need stitches. Look at it tomorrow, and if it’s not healing, go see a doctor.”
He reached for the alcohol rub and a tissue, because evidently, Oak didn’t believe in cotton balls. But when he looked up to address the kid’s cut, Oak leaned forward and kissed him square on the lips. Wyatt jumped back as if he’d been burned.
“What the fuck?”
“Sorry, was that out of line, boss?” Oak asked starting to laugh. “I see a great pair of lips that close and I just can’t help myself.”
He’d been playing off Oak’s flirtation as a drunken man’s twisted sense of humor. But with the kiss, he had very little doubt that Oak actually swung that way. And why not? The complications only made sense when they kept increasing, so why not make the untouchable subordinate son of a long-time partner and best friend gay, too?
Someone up there was laughing at him. They’d just sliced through another of those thin little threads that kept Wyatt from acting like an idiot. Surprise, the kid you thought was straight is gay too! There were petty Greek gods up there waiting to see Wyatt twist in the wind. Assholes.
Damn, that kid’s mouth was soft. “Try.”
“Try to help myself?” Oak teased.
Wyatt put the alcohol and tissue into Oak’s hands. “You’re all set if you disinfect. Sleep it off, Takala. I’ll be here at seven. Remember.”
He spun on his heel and marched through the house and out the front door. He fumbled for the house keys in his pocket and locked Oak in. He’d be picking the kid up tomorrow anyway.
Meanwhile there was a hot shower and some body-wash gel his cock wanted to get to know better.