by AM Riley
He and the newbie were trying a little low-key traffic control at the corner adjacent to the main entrance to Central Park. Available units had been called from all over Manhattan to deal with the traffic and citizen’s complaints resulting from the last two day's windstorms.
Since New Years and the Times Square event were only weeks away, there was a big push to get Parker call-me-Joe and Seamus' unnamed pony in top form beforehand.
Riley was great. Parker, not so much so.
A dozen girl scouts began streaming across the diagonal that Parker was supposed to be controlling, a taxicab determinedly turning left at the same point.
Seamus’ mount dipped, made a graceful turn and placed him right in the cabbies line of vision. And then the gelding didn’t even flinch when the cabbie angrily leaned on his horn. Out of the corner of his eye, Seamus saw an apparently oblivious Parker shaking girl scouts’ hands.
Seamus was going to have to have all his caps replaced at this rate. He shifted just a little to the left and like a fucking dream, his horse turned and headed in the direction Seamus had intended to go.
If only Seamus new partner were half as smart as his new mount. “Good boy,” Seamus patted the sleek neck, letting his hand rest for a minute on the silk there. “Good boy, Riley.”
Riley dipped his head as if acknowledging the praise.
At the end of the street, Seamus could see units pulling out. Rubbermen and the hook following. The radio at his ear burped static.
Seamus touched the transmitter that rested against his jaw. “Taking a code seven,” he said. He looked behind, and around, for Parker call-me-Joe. Terrific, the guy was accepting a balloon from a little kid.
“PARKER!”
Parker trotted over, balloon trailing behind him. Seamus swore Finbar looked embarrassed.
“Time for lunch,” said Seamus, briskly.
They trotted across the Park, around the curve of the main road, skirting the Tavern on the Green and slicing through the near corner of the Ramble.
Parker rode ahead of him, his back straight and riding form perfect. Seamus contemplated the man’s figure in a perfectly professional way. He was an excellent horseman, even if he did set Seamus' teeth on edge.
They tied the horses up near the Tavern and sat at a bench, just like any other couple, eating vendor food.
“Lieutenant,” Seamus would have been happy to eat his lunch alone, but when you had a partner, you ate with him. “I was speaking with Sergeant Collins and he said that last year there were over a hundred arrests in Times Square.”
“Yeah, we had some good busts.” Seamus shoved hot dog into his mouth.
“Yes, you were there… he said you and Lieutenant Riley, while on crowd surveillance, had to remove an EDP from the area. I was just wondering how you could tell, sir…”
Seamus swallowed his food. “Parker…”
Parker’s straight shoulders straightened just a little bit more. “Sir?”
Seamus was going to say shut the fuck up, but then he just sighed and shook his head. Parker call-me-Joe had every right to inquire about what he might expect. He was supposed to be in training and he was supposed to be asking questions. It was just, well, there were some things Seamus still didn’t want to talk about.
Last New Year's Eve being one of those things.
“Great night,” said Riley. He zipped up his civilian jacket and grinned at Seamus. It was after two a.m. They’d been on patrol since six p.m., spent a good hour writing up reports, and were both a little giddy and punch drunk.
“Marge and the kids are at her folks,” said Riley. “You wanna come over for a drink? We can watch the ball drop in California.”
Seamus laughed. “I’ve seen enough balls drop for one night.”
“Yeah? You sure?” And Riley gave him that look. The one Seamus dreamed about and watched for daily.
“But I could use a drink.”
“Great.” His partner slapped him hard on one shoulder, left his hand there long enough that Seamus could feel its warm imprint after he’d lifted it away.
***
“Home sweet apartment,” sighed Riley, opening the door with a great jangling of keys. Seamus followed him, looking around. He’d been here before of course. They invited him for dinner sometimes. He came by to pick up and drop off Riley, on occasion. But it was different without the kids and Margaret standing there looking larger than life.
“Gimme your coat, don’t think your goin’ nowhere soon…” Riley took his jacket, hands brushing his arms. Seamus noted he hadn’t turned on the lights.
Standing there in the darkened hallway, Riley was almost entirely in silhouette. “You ‘n me been partners for awhile, hey Seamus?”
Seamus nodded. Ten years as partners. And two of those as… whatever this was.
“Yeah,” said Riley. The silhouette of his head dipped down. For a second, Seamus actually thought Riley was going to say something about this…thing.
Riley chuckled. “And all this time, I ain’t never seen you drink nothing but that rot gut.”
“Irish Whiskey isn’t rot gut,” Seamus said, rallying quickly. “It’s a religious rite.”
Riley shook his head and disappeared into the kitchen. He reappeared and held out a highball glass filled with a generous quantity of golden liquid. “Here’s prayin’ then.”
Seamus toasted. Riley grinned at him.
“So let’s sit,” Riley gestured at the sofa.
***
“Nothing on,” announced Riley, tossing the remote to the coffee table with a loud clatter.
Seamus put his drink down on a coaster. He felt like he was holding his breath.
“So…” Riley drummed his hand on the foot of sofa cushion between them. He cocked his head to the side and gave Seamus a little smile.
“Riley…” Seamus had been preparing his little speech for weeks. “We gotta talk.”
Riley grinned. “What about?”
“This…” said Seamus, gesturing at the space between them, feeling his heart triggering hard in his chest.
Riley grabbed his hand. He smiled at Seamus. Then he mock popped Seamus on the chin. “You gonna waste breath talkin’ or we gonna do something interesting?” And he slid over toward Seamus, grabbing his hand and shoving it between his thighs.
Seamus took in a deep breath. Riley’s cock was a fucking boulder in there.
Riley grinned again. “Hey,” he said. “I got an idea.”
***
Seamus had been a cop longer than he’d been a practicing homosexual. His encounters had been meager and this thing with Riley was as close as he’d ever come to a relationship.
So he’d been having a lot of fantasies about his partner. He could admit that. Not just sexual, either, he’d imagine talking to Riley about his feelings, or maybe just holding each other after sex.
Somehow, in all the fantasies he’d harbored in the last few months, this wasn’t quite how he’d imagined doing this.
“You want it, don’tchya?”
Seamus knelt on the floor, his pants down, Riley’s hands massaging his ass, reaching under to cup his balls, rubbing that big cock up and down his crack.
“I’ve never,” said Seamus. Trying to express in those two words how scared shitless he was and, yes, how much he wanted this.
“Hey, me neither,” said Riley. “But it's New Year's Eve, man.” His cock was pushing at Seamus' hole now. It felt like a baseball bat trying to press through a buttonhole.
“Burns,” gasped Seamus.
Riley made a noise and the burning sensation increased. Seamus groaned.
“Shit,” said Riley. “So fucking tight.”
“Riley, it…” Seamus couldn’t bring himself to complain that it hurt, he was too proud, but the pain was tearing him open.
“Fucking tight. How the hell do faggots do this? Jeezz….”
Seamus closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, feeling the heat and stretch and nothing else.
&nb
sp; Riley pulled a little way out and then pushed in. “Ah!” yelled Seamus just as Riley said, “Yes!”
The tempo mounted from there, the heat and pain decreasing as the pleasure and excitement mounted. A pressing urgency in his balls connected somewhere in his body to the pain and the feel of Riley’s cock filling him, Riley’s hands on his hips and the sound of his partners voice behind him crying out about how ‘good’ and ‘tight’ and ‘wonderful’ it was.
Seamus was crying when Riley came inside of him.
“Christ!” said Riley, sitting on the floor, panting as Seamus jerked himself off. Seamus howled, great ropes of come painting the wooden floor of Riley’s living room and Riley hooted with laughter.
Seamus rubbed tears from his face and approximated a smile to match Riley’s.
“Fucking A that was great. So, you want another drink?” And Riley jumped up, hauling up his slacks and padding across the floor to the bar.
Seamus watched him, a feeling in his chest like a vast wasteland of empty space. His ass hurt, his insides were quivering and spasming. His heart hurt.
Riley came padding back, a big easy grin on his face. “What’s the matter, buddy? You look like you lost yer best friend?”
***
“Lieutenant Brady?”
“WHAT?” snapped Seamus, irritably. Parker was standing in front of him, handing him Riley’s reins.
“Shouldn’t we take the horses back?”
Seamus snatched the reins from Parker’s hands, and, grumbling to himself, climbed aboard.
Well, his new mount was a comfort at least. Seamus was just reflecting that Riley’d be ready for patrol a lot sooner than expected. The gelding was absolutely perfect as a police mount. When for no reason, the horse slowed, swerved, and trotted to the other side of the road.
Seamus barely stayed aboard, knees and thighs tight around the saddle, gathering up the reigns, when Riley stopped and then… Seamus leaned back just in time to avoid toppling forward… the horse bowed.
“Greetings,” said a familiar voice. Seamus jumped in his seat. A curly white-blonde head with eyes the same color as the leaves. A gray tunic that almost acted like camouflage in the complexity of lights and shadows that the bushes created. Lyre smiled up at him.
“Where the HELL have you been?” asked Seamus, when he’d recovered enough to form a sentence.
“In Central Park?” Lyre looked around himself, pleased. “Enjoying the fine weather?”
Finbar’s sleek brown head appeared at Seamus thigh. “Look at that,” tsked Parker sadly. “What a shame.”
Seamus looked where Parker indicated, a spot just beyond Lyre. A trashbarrel’s contents spilled onto the otherwise immaculate path.
“He can’t see me,” said Lyre, smiling up at Seamus. A light breeze caught his curls and tossed them back, those eyes just glittering.
“Whatthefuck,” whispered Seamus.
“Actually.” Lyre leaned against the tree, arms crossed loosely in front of him. His slacks were suede, now, Seamus noticed. The light colored tunic less shear, but short enough to reveal Lyre’s hips and thighs. “Actually, I’m puzzled as to why YOU can see me,” said Lyre.
Fuck he WAS crazy.
“What are you looking at?” Parker craned to see what Seamus gazed at. “Oh,” he said. “Pretty.”
More than pretty, fucking gorgeous. And the way Lyre was looking at him, Seamus swore he could feel his own heart beating in his groin.
“Azalea melliflourous,” said Parker, trotting up to a bush a scant foot from Lyre and touching a lone mauve blossom. “And so late in the season.” He turned back to Seamus. “My mother was a horticulturist.”
Seamus swallowed. Okay, back to the stables. Then… then maybe he’d go talk to Pearl after all. Or just get a drink. Yeah, that was a better idea.
“Parker,” he spat out the words, eyes never leaving Lyre. “You go on back, I’m going to…” Fuck what was he going to do? “I’ve gotta talk to a guy,” he said honestly.
Finbar’s hoofs scuffed the icy mud as Parker wavered indecisively. Then Riley turned his head and whinnied.
Finbar’s head came up, pretty eyes rolling. And that damned horse just turned his head and clopped toward the stables, Parker bouncing in the saddle and looking back at Seamus open mouthed.
What the hell?
“Thank you,” said Lyre dryly.
“Fer what?” Seamus was going to ask, but Lyre was bowing to the damned horse.
Seamus slid from the saddle, looking around cautiously for citizens who might be startled to see a mounted officer off his mount and talking to the bushes. “Units have routinely patrolled your building all week,” said Seamus, patting Riley’s neck absently. And so have I.
“Why?” Lyre looked honestly surprised at this.
“There’s an APB on O’Grady,” said Seamus, teeth gritted. “You fucking know that. We want him in for questioning, and you’re his only known associate. I told you that.”
Lyre’s eyebrows lowered and he frowned.
Seamus could feel the hand that patted Riley’s neck shaking. This whole thing had gone tits up on him from the get-go and he couldn’t rein it back in. He didn’t even fucking know the guys last name and here he was with his guts shaking and his palms sweating.
Lyre looked damned uncomfortable, too and that suited Seamus fine. Man should feel more than uncomfortable. He should feel as shitty as Seamus felt.
“I have been helping the boy,” said Lyre.
“Yer crack addict friend?” Seamus rubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand.
Lyre’s eyes did a little shuttering thing. “In a manner of speaking.”
“So, you…uh ready, to … cooperate with… with…” Seamus patted Riley’s neck as if that would steady him. Christ, Lyre was just standing there breathing and it was making Seamus hard.
Lyre raised an eyebrow.
“Listen, I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but O’Grady seems to have disappeared and then YOU…” Seamus jabbed a finger at Lyre.
Lyre nodded. “I don’t think O’Grady is ready to talk to humans yet.”
“What? What the FUCK are you…”
“Seamus, how much of that night do you remember?”
Seamus found he was breathing hard, great gulps of air. “Stop trying to change the subject. That guy was at the scene of a murder…”
“I’m not changing the subject, Seamus Brady. You are ignoring a salient point.” And now Lyre was walking toward him, getting way too close way too fast, just like he had the first time Seamus had met him. Seamus started scuttling backward, mud and grass sliding under his boot heels.
“I am Lyre of the Gianes, a Sidhe. O’Grady is the Fearshee of the clan O’Grady, also a Sidhe. We are not concerned with the affairs of men…”
“Oh, I like THAT,” sneered Seamus, enraged. “Now you’re not concerned. Well, too bad.”
Lyre was now standing just a foot away. Way too close. All he had to do was lift an arm and he could touch Seamus. Hurt him.
Lyre’s hand lifted.
“Seamus, I’m sorry…”
And then Seamus had Lyre against a tree, Riley’s reins dropped, both fists full of silky shirt and shoulders, mouth glued to soft full lips, tongue hungry and mapping the inside of Lyre’s mouth.
Somebody moaned.
Everything came to Seamus in a rush of sounds. The sound of tack jangling, his belt coming free, Lyre’s back against the tree, scraping, and the scrabble and thud of two pairs of knees hitting the mud.
“Not here,” Lyre bit the words out against Seamus mouth, his voice sounded as desperate as Seamus felt. Then Seamus was pushed down, and they rolled, legs wrapped around each other. Someplace warmer. Someplace dry. He didn’t even bother to worry about it, he just kept his hold on that body, kept his mouth on those lips.
***
Lyre chose not to think about it, either. Hadn’t he just been advising Maeebsef to avoid humans? And yet when he’d seen
Seamus riding past the Grove, instead of stepping back into the safety of the shadows, he’d stayed and waited for him to pass by.
This had nothing to do with Joseph, thought Lyre, sucking on Seamus' lower lip, hands finding and squeezing the muscles of his ass, rolling them so he could hold Seamus still with his thigh and grind down into him. The human fought back, bit, scratched and arched his hips against Lyre with a ferocity Joseph had never displayed. The fingers that gripped his back were callused, the growl that seemed to rise from his belly, a little wild. This was nothing like Joseph, and yet Lyre wanted it.
