by Erika
He slammed his fist on the table catching the eye of the patrons around him.
Victor blushed. It was bad enough he stood out like a huge neon sign, he
didn't really need to call attention to himself, especially after he had to
practically beg to gain admittance into the club and was only allowed in
when he showed them some serious cash.
To be fair, the porter at the hotel had been right; this was a good jazz
club. Victor tried to clear his mind of his current job frustration and
instead tried to pay attention to the music but he was having a difficult
time trying to escape his demons. Aside from the Director, Victor freely
admitted he was also having problems with his partners: Liann and Mac.
He was beginning to feel like a third wheel in this partnership, what with
Liann busily flirting with Mac and the younger man... he didn't want to
think about Ramsey. The ex-cop was growing tired of the constant snapping
and that stupid alpha dance they seemed to have got into lately.
Mac refused to believe Victor was no longer interested in Liann, not
understanding that the Canadian saw friendship and love as two separate
things. Victor liked Liann as a friend but he no longer wanted her as a
lover. Hell just because he showed concern for her when she was shot did
not mean he wanted to fall into bed with her again.
No the partner he wanted to bed... Fuck. Don't go there, Mansfield. Bad
enough your life is screwed, no need to dig your own grave.
Damn! Victor shifted in his seat feeling his arousal grow. Just great, the
thought of Mac has you panting like a bitch in heat. What are you going to
do, Mansfield, when you actually see the guy? Fuck him till next Tuesday.
Yeah right!
Shit. He is going to have to stop doing this. Talking to himself. He'd
develop a complex if he kept this up. He drank some of his beer and shifted
again in his seat and thought about the Director naked with a whip.
Wham, instant cure. He felt his groin shrink and shook his head wondering
what he'd ever done to have such a fucked up life.
The music had started again. This time a new piece. Victor listened as the
cello was soon joined by the sound of the tuba followed by the piano and the
trumpet. He sighed deeply, feeling his body swaying to the music around
him, through him, within him. Victor closed his eyes and his fingers
started tapping on top of the table. Unconsciously he started to hum
following the rhythm of the solitary piano whose notes reached to Victor's
very core.
His humming intensified as Victor relaxed and forgot all his troubles. Soon
he found himself singing, his raspy voice adding a new edge to the music. He
sang about love and desires, mistakes better left forgotten; his voice
gaining strength, becoming part of the sounds around him. His voice took
the quality of a lover calling forth his mistress. All his pent up
frustrations about Mac, Liann, the Director, all of it he put behind his
words so a darker edgy quality was added to the mixture.
The patrons of the club soon found themselves captivated by the pain and
longing in Victor's voice. They were enthralled by the image Victor
presented, that of a man with his head slightly thrown back, a sad smile
hovering over his lips, a hand caressing the bottle before him like it was
his lover while the other hand tapped to the music.
It ended too soon for Victor and the audience, and the ex-cop was shocked
when he heard the applause and opened his eyes to see the standing ovation.
He hadn't realized he'd been singing aloud. Here in this small exclusive
club he had bared his soul and had been granted Godhood. There was respect
in the patrons' eyes. The waitress handed him free beer and the musicians
beckoned him to the stage.
If he could do this for a living all would be well in his life.
Two hours later and Victor could not get enough of this, this feeling of
being completely alive, having a devil-may-care attitude. Yeah, that's what
it was.
Not fucking caring about the consequences, just savouring the moment. Living
a little, something that in his line of work he could not afford to do.
After all, Mac was the irresponsible one, Liann the teacher's pet and he ...
fuck ... he was the do gooder that cleaned up after their mess. But not
tonight. Tonight Victor Mansfield was going to let loose. Tonight he was
going to live even if it killed him.
He ordered some beer and instead was given scotch.
"Compliments of the gentleman over there."
Victor turned around to look over where the waitress was pointing—Fuck
there was a god. There at the far corner sat a handsome, well shaped, big,
black man.
Feeling Victor's stare, the man raised his glass in greeting. Please let him
be gay. I beg you, lord, let him be gay. If he's bi that'd be good too.
Victor left his table, moving toward the man, his hips swaying as he moved
giving the impression that he was game.
Careful, the voice in him whispered. This ain't a gay bar. He stopped
swaying and just walked over to the table.
"Thanks for the scotch," he told the man.
The man nodded to the seat beside him and Victor sat down.
"Baldwin Jones."
"Victor Mansfield."
"You did good out there," Jones told the Canadian glancing to the stage.
"Yeah " Victor felt the blood rush to his face.
You're pathetic, man. Pathetic. You might as well roll over and show your
belly at the rate you're going. He squelched his inner voice. "Actually it's
been some time since I've done that. It felt strangely ... "
"Relaxing," Jones finished for him as he reached for his glass.
"Yeah, relaxing."
"So I gather you're not a professional?"
"God no." Before their conversation could turn to the mundane the sound of
a beeper made both men check their coats. The sound was coming from the
table next to the. They shared a grin. The ice broke.
"So what do you do?" Victor asked partially out of curiosity.
"I'm a cop. And you?"
Shit. Shit. Shit. Lord, why have you forsaken me? I asked you for one
little favour. One little fucking favour. Without thinking he answered.
"Yeah, I used to be one... I mean long ago," he backtracked.
"Around here?" Jones had sat up straight looking intently at him.
"No across the border."
"What made you quit?" Seeing Victor's expression Jones added, "that is if
you don't mind my asking."
"Politics. You know working vice is not always ..."
"Easy." They shared a look.
"You?" Victor asked sending a nod at Jones' direction.
"Detective at the 15th precinct transferred from a bias crime unit." There
was a pause. "Look um... are you going to finish that drink?"
Victor hardly paid attention to the question. His brain, and other parts of
his body, concentrating instead on the hand that now rested on his knee.
"Actually no."
"Good." Jones stood up and headed to the exit. He glanced back at Mansfield
with a raised eyebrow.
Victor was in shock. He didn't think the guy was so big, 6'4 to his 6'1.
Without any second thoughts he got up and followed Jones outside to his car.
During their ride to Jones' apartment they exchanged cop talk, talking about
some of the cases they had worked on. Finding similarities in how scumbugs
from New York were exactly like those in Toronto. It's true what they say,
'Scumbugs are the same no matter where you go.'
Just before Jones opened his apartment door he turned to Victor and said,
"I'd like to take a shower first. I need to get the smell of smoke off my
skin." Jones then opened the door, invited Victor in, locked it and then
grabbed onto Victor's coat. He pushed the other man toward the direction of
the bathroom and proceeded to strip him.
"Hey!" Jones' lips sought his and they silenced any protest Victor could
have made.
Victor was too aroused to think about anything else even when Jones pushed
him into the shower and placed him underneath the shower head. Victor
reached to the hard body in front of him.
"Fuck!" Cold water.
"I said shower first." Jones told him as he grabbed the soap and proceeded
to wash them both.
Oh God. Oh God. Please don't let me die. His penis was standing to
attention, its tip leaking. Jones wasn't finished licking Victor's sack.
Victor growled in frustration and then moaned aloud when he licked the
tender skin behind the balls.
Victor spread his hands on either side and grabbed onto the blankets for
support. His back arched and his hips thrust forward. "Jonesssss." Victor
pleaded as the other man traced a fingertip along his cock from base to tip.
The fingertip then moved lower touching gently the skin between Victor's
cock and his crease. Victor screamed.
Jones' other hand came to rest on Victor's hip holding him down to the bed.
Then the detective's tongue retraced the path journeyed by that finger. The
ex-cop started to whimper, as his body was set on fire. The other man
ignored his plea and instead spread Victor's thighs up and apart.
Jones continued to busily suck and lick at the space between Victor's cock
and crease. One of his hands travelled up and down Victor's thigh, tracing
the area behind the knee.
Victor squirmed and shook. Nobody had ever done that to him before. He was
more a vanilla kind of guy.
The Canadian held his breath when he felt Jones put both his hands on his
ass cheeks spreading them apart. He felt as the cop's tongue gently
caressed the opening of his crease, tonguing it, wetting it, expanding the
area.
"Jonessssssss " Victor could only whimper and scream as Jones pushed his
tongue inside the ex-cop's opening. Victor hands left his side and he put
then underneath his parted thighs separating them further granting Jones
more access to his body.
Victor did not care if he looked like a slut, like a sacrificial lamb, he
just wanted this to continue, this feeling, this electrical charge passing
throughout his body. He trembled. He sobbed when Jones replaced his tongue
with a well slicked finger.
Jones allowed him time to adjust to the intrusion, pausing, then withdrawing
the finger all the way only to push it back in again. His tongue meanwhile
was busy licking the base of Victor's cock.
God I wonder if he eats a Popsicle like this? Victor thought desperately.
As Jones continued to finger fuck him, all of Victor's thoughts turned to
one single concern, toward the feeling of that finger going in and out of
him. Soon Jones replaced his one finger with two touching the spot that
sent the Canadian into a squirming mess. Just when Victor thought it could
not get any better, Jones withdrew.
"What?" a confused Victor asked.
Jones just smiled and took the lubricant he had spread on his hand and
rubbed it on his own cock. When he was satisfied there was enough he brought
his cockhead down to the crease. Jones' hand reached out to take Victor's.
The hands clasped.
The detective then used his other hand to guide his cock inside Victor's
body. He pushed forward his penis penetrating that slick entry.
The detective waited for Victor's body to adjust, remaining still within the
ex-cop. When the stillness continued Victor started to worry, he began to
thrust back. Feeling this motion, Jones moved. He was allowing Victor to
set the pace, waiting for the other man to adjust and welcome the
penetration.
Jones shifted subtly, wanting to reach that spot that would drive Victor out
of control. When he pressed against it, Victor cried out in a hoarse voice
and clutched him desperately, trying to deepen the entry.
With one hand supporting his weight, Jones used the other and reached
between them touching the tip of Victor's straining cock, catching the
leaking fluid. Victor arched at this touch, his back leaving the bed. Jones
thrust back, harder and faster, his hand moving from Victor's penis to his
chest spreading the pre-cum over it. A hand played with nipples that were
already hardened. Their owner groaned aloud.
Just as they were coming to an end, Jones bent down, his lush lips seeking
Victor's own. A tongue smoothed over the ex-cop's lower lip and then two
tongues came out and slivered over each other. Both moaned. Jones pushed
his tongue deeper, mimicking the motion of his cock Victor arched, he moved
his head, his lips separating from Jones. The detective again sought the
other man's lips but midway changed his mind and instead his head bent down
to lick and suck at Victor's collarbone.
Jones bit down marking Victor as he felt himself climax. Victor sensing
Jones rush inside of him lost control and joined him. Both lay exhausted,
sweat dripping from their still attached bodies.
Eventually Jones lifted himself off Victor, separating them. Victor gasped,
feeling the soreness inside him.
"Are you okay?" Jones asked, worried that he might have hurt the other man.
"Hmm." Victor found himself still unable to form any thought, his throat
raw from all that screaming, his body turned to a puddle. He was unable to
move nor did he want to.
Jones seeing Victor's expression, just cleaned them up with the discarded
towel they had used earlier. "Told you a shower was a good idea." He
chuckled when he saw the other man still trying to form coherent words. The
chuckling stopped when he saw Victor lick his lips, he bent down to again
taste their sweetness.
"Stay." Jones told Victor when they both paused to catch their breaths.
"Um."
"Vic, pay attention here." Jones moved his body on top of Vic thrusting his
penis along Victor's own.
"Yeah sure, whatever. God do that again." Victor shamelessly begged.
"How long are you staying in New York?" Jones asked breathlessly when Victor
bent his head and started to lick at his nipple.
"Till the weekend. Why?" Victor asked his head now resting on the pillow.
"Wanna meet me after work? We could … you know do stuff." Jones stopped
talking, unable to concentrate when Victor's hand touched his penis.
"Yeah, I could do that."
"Good. Good." Lush lips bent down to meet smaller ones and the groans and
moans continued throughout the night.
New York: Jazz Madness
e almost missed the place, not thinking a blues bar would be located here
in the middle of nowhere. He was in New York city, doing some undercover
work for the agency, playing Anthony to the Director's Cleopatra and he was
ready to shoot himself. Fuck, why couldn't she have brought Ramsey instead?
He was much better at this. Fuck. If he had stayed in that hotel room for
another hour he would have... oh who are you kidding, Mansfield, you've
never done an irresponsible thing in your life. You always play it safe.
Admit it, old man, your life is boring. You're boring.
