Nicholas opened his eyes. The white curtains glowed fuzzily with sunlight. He checked the clock, which he kept close enough to see clearly without his contacts. 10:27AM.
He didn’t even sit bolt upright, convinced he was late for work. No, he remembered that it was Sunday morning. A day of rest. With a sense of pride at his personal growth, Nicholas rolled onto his back and closed his eyes again, trying to tease out each individual smell coming from the kitchen. Of course, it wasn’t much of a challenge, because once he’d got bacon, butter, and toast, the other usual elements of a fry-up rather suggested themselves to the imagination.
He listened next, but that wasn’t much of a challenge either. It was mostly sizzling, the clanking of a fry pan, and Danny quietly singing the Beyoncé song from the Bad Boys 2 soundtrack.
There: that was arranging a tray. Spatula scraping, plate clicking, flatware clunking (the dullness of the sound implied a napkin—ooh la la!, as Danny would say), liquid tinkling into a cup. Nicholas sniffed the air. Tea. A knowledge of the contents of his own cupboard made identifying the blend a redundant exercise.
Danny’s footsteps approached. The door flew open, and he burst into the room bearing his tray. “Surprise!”
Nicholas sat up on his elbows, hoping the delighted smile that spread helplessly across his face could pass as surprise. “That looks delicious, Danny, thank you.”
Danny came round the side of the bed and held out the tray. “Take it, I’ll go get mine.”
Nicholas held up a hand. “Not so fast. Are you...naked under there, Sergeant?”
Danny giggled. “No, it’s just my apron.”
He was wearing a novelty apron of a woman’s body in lingerie (a housewarming present from Doris). But he was also definitely naked underneath.
“All right, all right, yeah. Is that illegal, Chief?”
“I might have to bring you in for indecent exposure.”
“I’ve got my jiggly bits covered!”
Nicholas reached out and slapped him on the arse—or as much arse as he could reach from the bed. Sure enough, it jiggled alluringly.
“Well, reckon you’ve got me there,” Danny conceded. “If you want me to turn round and put my hands behind my back you’ll have to take the tray.”
Nicholas set the tray carefully on the floor. “Take off the apron, Danny.”
Danny grinned and obliged.
Nicholas swallowed hard. Danny’s broad chest and stomach, his cock, his sturdy thighs...Nicholas could still hardly believe that he was permitted to look—to touch—to smell and taste—to experience Danny’s body, in fact, with any of the five senses that took his fancy (only at appropriate times and in appropriate places, of course). How had he got this lucky?
The white, knotted scars scattered thickly across Danny’s stomach were a constant reminder that he almost hadn’t.
“Oh my God, not the scars again,” Danny said cheerfully, climbing onto the bed. “You’ll have to get used to them sometime.”
Was it true? Would there be a day when Nicholas saw them without every internal organ in his torso turning to molten lead, heavy and viscous? He tried to imagine being middle-aged together, on holiday at Brighton maybe, his eyes sliding seamlessly over the scars as he appreciated Danny in his trunks. Being confused for a moment when someone’s appalling child asked How did you get those, mister?
He plopped back against his pillows, pulling Danny towards him by his hips. “Come here.”
Danny crawled up Nicholas’s body until his calves cradled his head. When he took Nicholas’s face in his hands, they smelled a bit like fried slice but mostly like Danny.
Nicholas opened his mouth and Danny slipped in.
Oh my God. Nicholas was never less of an agnostic than at this moment when the world felt small and pleasurable and only getting better from here. Danny moaned enthusiastically, cock harder and larger with each thrust. Danny was quite fond of him and Nicholas was going to have an orgasm in the very near future and then overindulge in fried food and maybe spend the day in the garden wearing a hideous floppy hat. His mind drifted happily, his peripheral vision almost entirely filled with a reassuring peach color.
Oh! His eyes flew open.
Danny paused. “Is it about work?”
Nicholas shook his head, very gently.
“All right, then.” Danny pulled out.
“It’s nothing, I was just thinking perhaps I’d put some daffodils in the front garden,” he said hoarsely. “I saw some...”
“At Dru Kellogg’s place when we were over there Thursday about the stolen mail, yeah,” Danny said, his wet cock tickling Nicholas’s chin.
Nicholas lost his train of thought. “Never mind.” He pushed Danny back so he could wriggle into a sitting position and kiss him. Their cocks bumped up awkwardly and then lost track of each other. He didn’t know how to say what he felt. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this relaxed,” he tried.
“Well, yeah, the yoga.”
Nicholas reminded himself there was nothing to be embarrassed about. A police officer should keep his body and mind as flexible as possible. “Yes, that, but I meant—”
“And the meditation.”
“And the country air,” Danny said sagely, just taking the piss now. “Ms. Stoddard says the air in Lon Don is filthy.”
He still couldn’t say London properly, but he got “Ms.” out without a blink. Nicholas, suffused with emotion, gave up on expressing himself. “You’re filthy.”
“Breakfast will get cold.”
“Fuck me quickly, then...Wait, is the stove off?”
Danny had long since learned that this question couldn’t be satisfactorily answered with Yes. “I’ll check.”
Nicholas dug the lube out of the bedside table. He supposed he could start the process, but instead he laid back and tried to reconstruct the plaster of the ceiling from memory. Maybe he should put his contacts in. Nah. He leaned over the side of the bed and ate a toast point and a few beans with his fingers.
“How is it?” Danny asked from the doorway.
“Excellent. Three stars.”
He snagged the lube, pouting. “Only three?”
“Michelin stars only go up to three.”
“That’s a bit cheap of them, don’t you think?”
“We’ll save fisting for another day, shall we?”
Another thing to be grateful for: Danny was always ready to laugh at his bad jokes. Nicholas spread his legs and in went one of Danny’s fingers. They weren’t small fingers. Danny used to laugh at him and call him tight-arse every time they did this. Fortunately, what with the yoga and the country air and, of course, practice and commitment, he’d got better at relaxing his muscles.
“I’ll wash my hands before brekky,” Danny promised.
Nicholas knew perfectly well that he’d have to remind him again, but it was the thought that counted. Clenching his jaw, he opened up for the second finger.
“You like that?” Danny said, giving his cock a few tugs. “You like knowing I’m about to fuck you?”
Danny was distressingly uninhibited. (At first Nicholas had worried about disappointing him with his own lack of cosmopolitan sexual sophistication, but Danny had been gratifyingly willing to be impressed by sex toys.) “Yes, obviously,” he gritted out.
Danny muscled in the third finger. “A good police officer always looks beyond the obvious.” Three of Danny’s fingers were actually rather bigger than his cock but that was nice too, this overwhelming split-apart feeling, a moment of respite while Danny tipped his legs up, and then—God yes—a nice solid slide.
Joining, Nicholas thought in the squiggly privacy of his own mind.
Danny pinned him to the bed easily, a hand on the back of his left thigh and one on his left shoulder. “Breakfast’s getting cold, you’d better wank.”
Stroking his own cock kept him from really bringing what Danny was doing into focus. It was all a chaotic jumble of pleasure and sensation and all right, briefly a checklist for his ongoing campaign to digitize the station’s paperwork system so he wouldn’t get so many fucking hand cramps but he did manage to let that slip away after just a few seconds. He had to choose something to concentrate on, so he chose Danny’s hand on his thigh, fingers wrapped around the back of his knee, the stretch in his hamstring intensifying with each thrust. Danny hit his prostate and his attention fractured...
...Danny’s balls smacking his tailbone...
...his toes were cold...
...oh Christ there was his prostate again...
...he squeezed the head of his cock...
...his thigh pressed against his chest, warm and a bit sweaty by now...
...Danny said “Fuck yeah” and let go of Nicholas’s shoulder to brace himself against the headboard...
...the top of his head knocked against the headboard...
...a strip of sunlight on Danny’s shoulder...
He shook and spurted haphazardly across his own stomach.
“You liked that,” Danny said smugly, still fucking him.
Nicholas felt heavy and boneless. “Didn’t you?”
Danny shrugged. “Had better.” He was still snickering at his own joke when he came warm in Nicholas’s arse.
“You haven’t really, have you?”
Danny considered. “Had a dream I was giving it to Keanu Reeves once.”
Objectively, Keanu Reeves had the better arse. Still, Nicholas felt that from a subjective standpoint he ought to get the edge.
“Nah, I’m only joking. Your arse is off the fucking chain.” Danny rolled over next to him. “Better put your plate in the microwave.”
Getting out of bed seemed terribly unnecessary. He curled up with his ear against Danny’s stomach, pillowed by each deep, uneven breath. “In a minute.”