Cop Out

by KC Burn

  Davy laughed up at him, the sound musical and sweet. Deep, adorable divots appeared on either side of Davy’s mouth. How had he known Davy for this long and never seen the dimples?

  His cock swelled and his eyebrows rose. With as much dignity as he could muster, he quickly got up and sauntered as leisurely as he could to the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror before dropping his gaze down to his pants. What the fuck was that? Sure, he’d gotten hard from competitive sports before. It happened, small surges of adrenaline. But he couldn’t quite believe his dick chose now to reawaken from its stupor while he held another man down. Then again, maybe if he was starting to feel again, anything could have set him off. Nothing to worry about. Like puberty all over again.

  After flushing the toilet and washing his hands, he returned to the living room. Davy had settled back on the couch, after switching the channel over to one of the west coast games and bringing them fresh beers.

  Nothing had changed. He sighed in relief and dropped down on the couch for mere minutes when his phone rang. Work, dammit.

  “Gotta go, Davy.”

  Davy nodded and cuddled back into the couch, knowing by now Kurt always made sure the door locked behind him.

  “Be safe.”

  Kurt wondered, and not for the first time, if Davy said that to Ben every time he got called into work.

  God, the overtime was killing him. He was fucking exhausted. The extended hours had been both good and bad. Good because he’d only had opportunity to visit Davy three times in the month since their bet, and each time he’d been called in to work abruptly and was therefore able to put off thinking about any potential awkwardness. But on the other hand, he missed hanging out with his friend. Simon was becoming a good friend, too, but Kurt couldn’t figure out why that wasn’t good enough.

  His cell rang, an unfamiliar number on the screen. If he wasn’t so fucking bored, he would have let it go to voicemail.

  “O’Donnell,” he barked.

  “Is this Kurt?”

  He didn’t recognize the voice. “Yes.”

  “Oh, hi. I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Jon, Davy’s friend.”

  A flash of memory showed a good-looking blond man in an expensive suit.

  “Jon, yes, I remember.”

  “Good, good. We were trying to get Davy out for his birthday on Saturday, but he says he’s not ready for a night on the town, so we thought we’d hang out at his place. I know he’s friends with you… were you interested in joining us?”

  “Davy’s birthday is on Saturday?” Why didn’t he know this?

  “No, it’s actually the following Tuesday.”

  “Oh, right. Yeah, sure, I’ll be there if I can.” As long as none of their cases exploded. “What time? Should I bring anything?”

  “Stop by around eight. If I know Davy, he’ll have food taken care of, but if there’s any beer or anything you’d like to drink, bring that.”

  “Sure, thanks, Jon. I appreciate the invite.”

  Kurt disconnected the call, wishing it was Saturday already. Saturday was supposed to be his first day off in fifteen days, and he’d be fucking bitter if something screwed it up now. Of course, he’d have to find a present for Davy. What the fuck was he going to get? Had to have some colors in it. Davy looked so alive wrapped up in his quilt, and Kurt had never been able to shake the memory of the patchwork colors hidden in Davy’s closet.

  “Hey, man, let’s roll,” Simon said, making him jump. “Lost in thought, were ya?”

  “Looking forward to Saturday, is all.”

  “Don’t I know it. Got plans?”

  “I do now.”

  “Date?” Simon asked. If it had been anyone else, the word would have had a mocking edge but Simon was merely concerned.

  Kurt smiled. “No. Just a small birthday party for a friend.”

  On Friday, he walked with Simon to lunch, but he couldn’t focus on a conversation. Kurt still had no idea what to get Davy for his birthday. Their friendship had grown out of tragedy, not mutual interests, and he didn’t know what kind of gift would be appreciated. Gifts for friends he worked with were either booze or a money collection where someone else was ultimately responsible for choosing the gift.

  Being the youngest, his family had gotten into the habit of telling him what to buy for other family members, and quite frankly, they’d never stopped. At least, he hoped it was habit and not some misguided notion regarding his capability.

  Although, he had started to take that guidance for granted. This might be the first time he’d buy a present for someone without prompting, and he was completely stumped. He’d never even had a girlfriend long enough to buy gifts.

  They passed a storefront with a multicolored, sparkly display that had never caught his eye before today.

  He stopped walking.

  The window was filled with fuzzy lamps, chairs with fun fur and feathers, funky frames, and soup bowls sporting legs and toothy grins. He wasn’t sure if he was making clichéd assumptions based on that one closet and Davy’s sexuality. Could he find something Davy would like here? His fingers hovered over his pocket, wanting to call someone—Jon—to help him. But then, Jon had only recently returned to Davy’s life after a long absence.

  “Hey, Kurt,” Simon called from almost a block away. “You coming?”

  Kurt took one last look at the storefront and caught up to Simon.

  “Did you want to stop in there? I can wait.”

  “No, it’s fine. I just never noticed that place before.”

  Simon’s eyebrows quirked up but he started walking again rather than questioning Kurt’s lack of observation. Kurt ambled along beside. He was getting tired of thinking about it, but he’d be damned if he was going to talk about it too.

  Chapter Eight

  Kurt stood on Davy’s doorstep, mouth dry, palms sweating. His grip on the twelve pack of Belgian beer wasn’t exactly loosening, but it was close. Why the fuck was he so nervous? He’d had balls of steel when barging in on Davy’s grief, but Davy’s birthday party was making him as nervous as a naked virgin in a room full of drunken frat boys. Hell, he hadn’t even been this uneasy when he’d completely overstepped all polite bounds and ordered groceries for the man.

  Muted music and an explosion of muffled laughter seeped through the door. He tucked the wrapped package under his arm, took a deep breath, and rang the doorbell.

  Seconds later, a flushed, laughing Jon opened the door. “Kurt, hi, c’mon in.”

  Kurt extricated a bottle from the box and turned, noting the large number of snacks on the counter and table. He’d been hungry earlier, but he wasn’t quite up to eating. The dress shirt had been a mistake. It may be autumn, but between the extra people in here and his stupid nerves, it was fucking hot. Beer and present on counter, he rolled up his sleeves before grabbing both and striding into the living room.

  Davy’s head lifted, and he got a dimpled—fuck, those dimples—smile. Davy hadn’t been genuinely happy for a long time, but Kurt knew now that those dimples were the litmus test.

  “Hi, Kurt.”

  “Hi, Davy. Happy early birthday.” He proffered his gift, hoping Davy wouldn’t open it. It surely wouldn’t compare to whatever his other friends had brought.

  Davy sprang up off the sofa and took the package, ripping into the paper. Kurt’s ears burned. He should have gone back to the store by work, instead of chickening out and hitting one of the big bookstores.

  “You said you like to cook and all….”

  “Gourmet burgers, eh?” Davy flipped through the cookbook. “Sounds good. Thank you!” Davy gave him a quick hug, too fast for Kurt to even tense up or worry about his reaction. There wasn’t any disappointment in Davy’s brown eyes or his dimpled smile, so he made himself smile back. At least that was over with.

  “Who is this hunk? And can I have him?”

  Kurt’s blush returned in a flash. Somehow, he hadn’t expected guys to be hitting on him. A tiny blond sid
led up to him, casually posed such that his hips thrust out suggestively.

  “Shut up, Rick. This is Kurt. You can’t have him,” Davy said.

  “Oh, staking a claim are you?” The sultry words were accompanied by a small hand rubbing along Kurt’s forearm.

  Someone was going to have to turn the temperature down or open a window, because now both he and Davy were blushing.

  “Rick, he’s straight!”

  Jon clutched his stomach, laughing.

  “No, say it isn’t so!” Rick continued to caress his arm. The sensation was odd because Rick was clearly a man, there was no mistaking the caress as coming from anything but a man’s hand, but his size, slenderness, and sparkly purple shirt were reminiscent of many girls he’d dated.

  “Sorry, Rick.”

  “What about brothers? Do you have any brothers, Kurt?”

  “I’ve got brothers, but no gay ones.”

  Rick gave him a fierce frown and another quick caress. Kurt should have slipped away. He didn’t know why he let Rick touch him, other than he’d grown up in a very demonstrative family. His personal space boundaries were smaller than most. Davy dragged Rick away anyway.

  “Rick, behave. I told you he’s straight.”

  “Uh-huh. Bet he likes blowjobs as much as any guy. And I’m damn good at them.”

  Kurt had to laugh. Rick was the type who had to be the center of attention in every situation, but Kurt didn’t mind the comments.

  Davy quickly introduced him to the other two men, a couple, Keith and David. He learned that Jon, Davy, and David were high school friends, and it was the friendship with David that prompted Davy to start going by Davy. David was a good name, but those dimples were more suited to a Davy.

  Would have been a weird dynamic if Jon and Rick had been a couple, too, but that wasn’t the case; Keith and David were the only couple present.

  Kurt sat back into the leather armchair and listened to the others catch up and reminiscence. He wasn’t able to tell if the three bonded because of common interests or because they’d all known they were gay, and he didn’t ask. That sort of nosiness he reserved for on the job.

  Davy’s hands fluttered as he spoke, the animation and happiness unmistakable. Kurt didn’t believe for a minute Davy was completely out of the woods, but he was getting there.

  Margaritas were mixed, but Kurt stuck to beer. He didn’t know what he expected at a party with a bunch of gay guys, but he relaxed as it appeared to be nothing more than any other party he’d been to, with slightly cruder and more ribald comments.

  “Are we playing a game tonight?” Jon asked.

  Game?

  “I can turn the hockey game on for you, Kurt,” Davy offered. Davy wasn’t going to watch hockey? This must be some game—Davy liked hockey a hell of a lot more than he liked baseball, as Kurt had found out when hockey season started. Kurt liked hockey better too.

  “Are you playing naked Twister?”

  “No,” Davy sputtered.

  “Oh, yes!” Rick gave him, or rather his crotch, a pointed stare.

  Kurt rolled his eyes.

  “Are you playing Spin the Bottle?”

  Shaking his head, Davy loosed a little giggle.

  “Can we?” Rick asked.

  “Strip poker?”

  “No!” Davy emphasized his denial with a swift chop of his hand.

  “Please?” That Rick was persistent.

  Then, Davy laughed. And laughed. He fell onto the couch, eyes tearing as he whooped. Maybe it was the margaritas. Or the company. Kurt didn’t care how or why. Judging from the indulgent looks on his friends’ faces, neither did they.

  “Just what sort of party were you expecting?” Davy gasped out as his laughter tapered off.

  “Well, I wasn’t sure. But if you aren’t expecting me to get naked, I’m pretty sure I can handle whatever games you’re going to play.”

  “Oh, honey, I have no doubt of that.” Surprisingly, Rick amused rather than irritated him.

  “I won’t say no to having the hockey game on in the background, though. Check the score.”

  Davy turned the TV on low while Jon pulled a few boxes out of a bag.

  “We’ll start with a board game or two, then we usually graduate to cards. Poker, most times, or Asshole.”

  Kurt lifted a brow. “You want me to play a game called Asshole with you lot?”

  That brought back both Davy’s giggles and dimples. It wasn’t worth telling them he knew the game they were talking about, and he was an expert at the tiny bit of strategy that could influence a win in a game primarily based on luck. Poker was a better game for him, though. Most amateur poker players couldn’t bluff as well as some of the criminals he’d interrogated.

  “I’ve never heard of any of these games before.” Kurt gestured at the boxes. His family had tons of board games—with seven kids, it was an inexpensive way to keep them occupied. But they were the standard ones everybody had played once or twice.

  The games on the coffee table were elaborate and had tons of pieces, and if Kurt had to learn the rules on his own, it’d probably take him hours just to read the manuals.

  Davy’s eyes had taken on the glow of a fanatic as they began. Jon and David quickly revealed themselves as fierce, almost obsessive competitors.

  “Oh my God. You three were geeks in school, weren’t you? Gaming geeks.”

  Davy looked up from his perusal of the board, a hint of pink splashed over sharp, model-worthy cheekbones he’d never before associated with those odd, brainy kids he’d admired.

  “Oh. Uh. Yeah, kind of. I guess you’ve always been a jock?”

  “Not really. It’s hard to be slated like that when all the usual ‘roles’ are taken by older siblings. But I’m surprised you don’t have a gaming console. I do love video games.”

  He and Ian had had tons of scuffles and fights over the years over outcomes of games.

  Unexpectedly, Davy curled up on himself. It wasn’t physical. Not much. More like his vibrancy faded. Kurt could kick himself. He should have known the oh-so-proper Ben wouldn’t approve of video games.

  All of Davy’s friends noticed the subtle change in the atmosphere, but none of them seemed to know the cause. Kurt knew, like a neon sign had lit up over Davy’s head—the specter of Ben leaving landmines all over Davy’s social interactions.

  Fuck. He had to fix this. He was having a good time, but more importantly, so was Davy. If only he could think of anything to say that wouldn’t make it worse.

  “Hey, what happened to your arm?” Rick asked. Great. The worst fucking time for someone to notice his damned scar. More reminders of Ben for Davy.

  “Nothing,” Kurt mumbled and rolled his sleeve back down.

  “He was injured in the line of duty, not that it’s any of your business,” Davy said, a hint of protective spice in his tone. Determination limned his face, and he smiled a tremulous little smile. No dimples, but it was a start.

  Kurt smiled back, hoping Davy could see the apology.

  “Whose turn is it?”

  Surprisingly, Kurt won the first game. They’d switched off the hockey game halfway through the first period when it became clear the outcome was going to be painful and depressing. With music on, Kurt threw himself into the game, but he was still a complete novice.

  Thinking ahead, assessing the best moves for opponents and countering them were second nature on the job and came in handy for the game. David and Keith hadn’t been thrilled at the ease with which he picked up the rules, but sandwiched between Davy and Rick on the couch, he got plenty of praise too. He could even live with Rick’s… well… snuggling, for lack of a better word.

  Jon set up the board for another game, and Kurt leaned back into the sofa. Davy popped up to get a fresh beer for Kurt while Rick poured more margaritas for everyone else.

  Rick posed in Kurt’s sightline, hand on hip and pelvis thrust out, but he spoke to Davy. “Davy, you coming out with us for Halloween? We’re going to
that new club downtown, called Empire.”

  Davy’s side of the couch moved slightly as he shrugged. “Doubt it. Clubbing on Halloween is a little too crazy for me.”

  “Oh, but that’s half the fun. All those hot, young guys, sweating and half-naked in whatever slutty costume they’ve decided on. The crowd is so massive, you can’t avoid touching, and there’s bare skin everywhere.” Rick shimmied his hips and drew his free hand sensually up the side of his torso.