A Good Citizen
by Wrestlr
10.
Joe tromped into the apartment, already unbuttoning his work shirt, and he grinned as he heard the shower running. He strolled into the bedroom, and the pieces of Whit’s uniform were scattered about carelessly.
“Messy bastard,” Joe grumbled, picking up the clothing and hanging it in the closet, and when he started to peel off his own shirt, the spray stopped in the bathroom. “Whit,” Joe called. “What the hell would you do if you didn’t have me to clean up after you?”
“Get another roommate, probably. Maybe one that don’t hog the covers at night.”
Joe laughed as he stripped, and he sprawled back on the bed, his arms folded behind his head, and he thought back to that warm spring morning when the police came to arrest him—when Whit had come to arrest him.
“Hey, buddy.” Whit came into the room, toweling his fresh-scrubbed nakedness, and stood next to the bed. “Where’ve you been?”
“Helping Lefty write Jonesy’s confession.” He frowned, gazing up at the burly cop. “It’s kinda crazy, Whit. Jonesy doesn’t remember that he gave me my first blow-job.”
“Hell, you didn’t remember him either, until the machine reminded you.” Whit tossed the towel aside and spilled onto the bed next to Joe. “Horny?”
“No,” Joe lied. “Lefty and I went down to the gym, and I fucked him a couple of times in the showers.”
“Bullshit,” Whit snickered, working his stiffening prick and watching Joe’s swelling counterpart. “You’re as hard-up as I am.”
“I woke up hard-up this morning,” Joe confessed. “You would’ve known if you been here.”
“I left you with Mike.”
“It’s not the same as waking up with you.” Joe brought his hands from behind his head and palm-stroked Whit’s arm and shoulder. “You were out making an arrest, huh?”
“Yeah. A good-looking stud. Looked kind of like you.”
“He went down on you? Like I did?”
“No.” Whit eased closer to Joe and watched his fingers trace over the young man’s hair-sprayed chest. “He tried to, but I said no. I guess I’ve gotten used to getting my rocks off with you around.”
“Like last night?” Joe chuckled. “That was wild, buddy. Fucking Mike while you were plugging my butt.” And he saw Whit’s serious expression. “Hey—”
“Shut up, Joe.”
Joe’s cock quivered, full and hard, the solid shaft vein-etched with heat, the rounded amber head glistening, and he felt Whit’s hands on his thighs, moving upward to his crotch, fingers cupping under his heavy-falling balls and lifting them, lips and tongue caressing first one nut and then the other. “Whit,” Joe murmured with throat-tight arousal.
Whit’s lips pressed at the base of his erection and moved upward slowly along the shaft, finally reaching the swollen, sensitive crown and opening to accept it. With a whimper of pleasure, Joe reached down and gripped the rugged cop’s muscle-humped shoulders, and then the moist warmth was enveloping the full length of his cock, holding firm at the hilt. Joe sat up slowly, staring down at the dark-haired head buried in his crotch; the powerful arms wrapped about his hips; the wide, muscle-corded back sweeping to the hard-rounded curves of the untanned ass, the shadowed cleft between the butt cheeks; the sleek-haired legs, slightly spread. “Whit—partner—lemme—”
Whit shook his head without releasing Joe’s hard-on from the lip-lock.
Joe hesitated, then sank back, his eyes tight-shut, his features taut. “Aw! Damn!” Joe’s breath caught in his throat as the demanding pressures surged upward through him. Whit’s arms tightened about him, raising his hips to draw the convulsing fullness of his cock to the ultimate throat depth. Joe felt super-heated, overstimulated like some horny teenager, about to cum far too quickly. With a hoarse cry, Joe writhed back as his climax tore through him, hot and overwhelming, and spurt after spurt of male liquid exploded from his dick with volcanic fury.
As the fountain-flow ended, Whit rolled slowly, carrying Joe with him as he rotated onto his back, pulling Joe over him, the young man’s slow-subsiding prick still held deep in Whit’s throat. For a long moment, Joe lay still, gulping for air, and then he pulled up on his knees to stare down at Whit. The man’s face was pressed to his groin, and Joe reached down to stroke his hair slowly.
“You son of a bitch ... Always so damn good—you and me, buddy!” Joe sank back, watching his glistening dick slip free of Whit’s lips, and then he frowned, straddling the burly cop’s chest. “Okay, what brought that on?”
“I felt like sucking cock.”
“Bullshit.”
“You’re right.” Whit reached up to run his fingers over Joe’s taut belly, avoiding his gaze. “That damn judge passed sentence on you today.”
“Oh.” Joe took a fast breath, coldness gripping his guts. “So, what now?”
“You’ve got to stay in custody. Says you’re a sex-rebel risk. Gave you an indefinite sentence.”
“Here? With you?”
“The judge says it doesn’t make any difference where you stay.” Whit’s voice was quiet, muffled. “You can move in with Mike; he’s always hot to have you fuck him and maybe fuck you too. Or Lefty and Chet; they’re willing to switch-hit with you. Or your school buddy Ron; or your coach; or any of the others ... Or even Jonesy, or Vince, or any of the studs you’ve shared cum with since then ... Any of them.”
Joe closed his eyes and remembered, back in school when Ron had gotten him turned on in the library and shared hand-jobs. And Jonesy had taught him about cock-sucking. And Coach had caught him with Steve in the showers and made him suck, then get fucked in the ass, and Coach had fucked Steve afterward. And so many others, like Mike. Yeah, a long time ago, Joe had hit the sack with Mike, and they had kind of fit, but Mike disappeared. And most of those studs were here in jail, like Joe, arrested by cops like Whit.
Whit!
Dammit, Whit had made Joe suck him off, and arrested him, and brought him here where that machine tortured him; and Whit had screwed him, and—
“You damn son of a bitch, cock-sucking ass-fucker ... Whit, I ... Aw, shit!”
“It’s up to you, buddy.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Joe paused, then tried not to grin as he baited the rugged cop knowingly. “I’ve kinda outgrown school-days sex, but it might be fun to move in with Coach—or maybe that cop Bill. I could work them over any time I felt like it—get my cock sucked—fuck their asses.”
“Sure.”
“On the other hand, Chet and Lefty are a lot of fun, but they’re partners.” He stared off into space, pretending thoughtfulness. “You’re right about Mike. He’s a real bear in the sack, and we’ve always fit together damn well.”
“He’s hot to screw your butt.”
“Shit, after the workouts you’ve given my tail, I shouldn’t have any trouble riding his meat. And I’ll be getting his ass in return—and he doesn’t leave his clothes scattered all over the place the way you do. We always used to fit together good.”
“Hell,” Whit grumbled, “you and I fit together pretty good too.”
“Maybe,” Joe suggested warily. “But if we go partners together, you’ll have to spread your buns for my—”
“Nobody said anything about being partners!” Whit objected. “I don’t go that route, and you know it! I’m not a sex-rebel like you. Fuck ’em and forget ’em!” He took a fast breath. “Stick around here, and nothing’ll change!”
“You’re a real son of a bitch sometimes, Whit.” Joe twisted around to sprawl on Whit, face-to crotch, and he pressed his lips to the man’s large, crinkle-sacked balls. “A real fucking son of a bitch.”
“Nothing’ll change,” Whit repeated huskily, his palms rising to stroke Joe’s upturned ass. “I’ll suck you off or fuck you whenever I feel like it; and you can screw any stud you want, except me, and get screwed too by them if that’s what you want. And—dammit, Joe—you gotta remember your tail belongs to me, buddy.”
“Yeah, I guess it does.”