Bi the Way

As usual, Tom Jordan was relaxing in his rather spacious TV room for the evening. The detective had just finished up some reports for the chief; he'd have to take them into his office himself in the morning, since his partner had some kind of doctor's appointment that was supposed to last for a few hours – a physical or something. He didn't really do or know much medical-wise, but he wasn't concerned about it. They were partners, so he'd know if something was wrong with the guy.

Tom, on the other hand, had planned for some company this evening. He was a hard-ass at work, but he was good at being a hard-ass at home as well. Fortunately for his piece of mind, no one save a certain friend of the male persuasion knew about his very private night-time activities. That friend, however, was far more than a friend; he was an active participant. He wasn't thinking about the company he'd be having within the hour at the moment, though; the recent string of rapes gripping the city had made women afraid to go out at night. It weighed heavily on his mind, both as a cop and as a human being. No one should suffer at the hand of a rapist – no one. It was more than just a physical rape, he knew. It was a mental rape, an emotional rape, and – for some women, at least – a spiritual rape. He could handle thieves, murderers, and drunken idiots; it was the rapists that pissed him off, and the serial rapists received the full force of his wrath when he chose to unleash it. The sad part was that Tom was one of the few hard-nosed cops left who subscribed to the old school of crime fighting: if they did something even you couldn't live with, beat the livin' shit out of 'em.

Tom lit up a cigar and put leaned back on the couch, an old relic from the seventies when orange polyester was prevalent and popular. He didn't really like it that well, but it was surprisingly comfortable and he wasn't about to throw it out just because it wasn't fashionable; that was a waste of money, after all. Why buy a new one when the old one was still functional and comfortable? If it wasn't broken, he always said, don't fix it. Fortunately, Steve – his friend for the evening – tended to solve his problems every few nights. That's what boyfriends were for, after all. Oh, he liked girls well enough; what guy didn't? Every once in a while, though – more often of late, perhaps because of all the hookers he seemed to keep running into that wanted protection in return for their 'wholly unbiased opinions' (yeah, right) – he needed something other than a cunt and a pair of melons. Every so often, he needed a cock.

Tom had met Steve at a crime scene about three years previous; he was an ME who'd come to examine the body of a young woman that had gone missing some four months previous. They'd gotten to be good friends pretty quickly. When Tom spotted the off-duty ME at a local gay bar, he knew then and there that he'd found someone he could confide in. After a couple of very discreet dates, they ended up fucking on the couch and things had gone from there. They'd only met a few times a month at first, but the meetings had eventually grown so frequent that they'd had to tone it down a bit.

It seemed that Tom was quite the little cock whore. He loved stroking and sucking, licking and kissing. He loved the feel of a long, hard cock crammed deep into his tight ass hole, pushing itself in and out of him with force. As his thoughts drifted toward his last meeting with the man, he found his cock getting hard inside his dark-grey slacks. He tried to think of something else; he was supposed to be relaxing, after all. But it was increasingly difficult, partly because the images were too tempting and partly because he didn't really want to push the images out of his horny mind.

So, when Steven finally rang the door bell, it was all Tom could do not to jump up from his seat to grab it. They said their usual man-like greetings, grabbed a couple beers, and talked a while as some new batter they'd never heard of sent a homer flying. They both cheered for the Sox and then had a couple of burgers that Tom cooked up. But when they were all washed up and on their third beer each, there wasn't much else to do except what they'd met up to do. All that guy stuff was just formality.

Another weird thing, and maybe this was a guy thing, was that Steve didn't like to beat around the bush (so to speak). He liked to dive right into things, get them done. But, certain moments he liked to savor. So when he knelt down between Tom's legs and started unzipping him, he wasn't thinking about that new clerk causing trouble from within the oh-so-hallowed halls of the Globe. He wasn't thinking about the media at all, or about the cases he was working. He was thinking only about the boxers he was pulling aside, their crimson revealing pale flesh the size of a jumbo dog. Some men liked to keep their tumbleweeds, but these two had agreed long ago that it was tastier not to do that. So, like Steve, Tom shaved regularly.

It was this pale, shaved muscle that Steve started in on with his hand first. He ran his fingers up and down the shaft, slowly goading it into a hard piece of delicious man-wood. Even after it was getting hard, though, he kept stroking Tom's man-flesh. Finally, though, he couldn't stand it any longer. He slipped his lips over the tender head as Tom closed his eyes and leaned his head back, enjoying the feel of Steve's sucking mouth on his long, hard cock. Steve was probably better at this than he was at his job – which was saying something. He knew how to heat a guy up and he was doing that now, sucking Tom very slowly, almost torturously. But it was doing the trick and then some.

So, when he started massaging Tom's balls, Tom was already moaning in pleasure. The wet sucking, the firm squeezing...these were the things he loved. He could feel his cock getting hotter and hotter, and his breathing was getting heavier and heavier. His grunts and moans were growing louder as his boyfriend gave him his blow job. He couldn't wait to get Steve's own cock into his waiting mouth, run that tongue of his over...oh, god, how good Steve's tongue felt! No other feeling could have matched the one that Steve was giving Tom right at that moment.

As he started to squirm, Steve pulled Tom's pants down a little. One hand still massaging Tom's sac, Steve's other hand went down Tom's shorts and started feeling his crack. After a few seconds, he inserted a finger into Tom's ass and started fucking him; then there were two fingers in there, and Tom was about ready to pop. With one last long suck, Steve's head came up and a stream of hot white cream shot out at his exposed neck. It hit his chin, too, as Tom shuddered and grunted. And when it was done, Steve started licking that gorgeous, glistening source of infinite pleasure clean. It almost made Tom cum again.

Then it was Tom's turn. Steve let his pants fall as Tom undid him and he straddled Tom in his armchair. Tom started sucking on Steve's balls like there was no tomorrow, unable to contain his eagerness to please and be pleased any longer. Steve watched him and pulled Tom's shirt off. He pinched Tom's nipples and smiled down at his little man-whore.