Handcuffs and Lace 27 -Brass Balls (3 page)

Oak’s heart kicked into a quickened beat. The only person he’d ever heard Peterman address as a kid, was him. He’d been looking through the trees, peering into the dark. Oak had been transfixed by the sharp handsomeness of the man who’d looked lost in thought as the filling moon had shined down on him.

Wyatt Peterman at rest. It was a sight to behold when the stoic man let down his guard and allowed his emotions to run freely across his features. His troubled silence had spoken to Oak, and unable to turn away, he’d stared.

Not waiting for a protest, Oak circled the building and climbed the stairs to the front door, two at a time. Peterman opened the door when he got there, but only wide enough to talk while barring the entrance.

“I’d love a drink, thanks.” Oak pushed the front door. He was surprised how easy it was to get past him. He smiled, the night looked better and better.
“Go home, Oak.”
Oak went to the small galley bar kitchenette that looked over the joint living-dining room combination and opened the fridge. He hooked the neck of an old-fashioned Coke bottle, twisted off the cap and drew a long swig. Peterman’s expression darkened measurably. He lowered the bottle and grinned. “Let’s have that talk.”
“You talk. When you’re done, find your way out.” Peterman stalked toward the hall.
“If you go that way, I’m only going to follow you to your bedroom, captain.” He plastered a cheesy grin on his face, waiting to see what Peterman did.
He stopped, shoulders tensed and slowly returned to the living room. “That’s right, Oak. I’m your captain. You shouldn’t be here.”
“You’re also a dear family friend of John and Sheila’s. Visiting you is no different than visiting Uncle Bob.”
“You don’t have an Uncle Bob.”
“True,” Oak mused as he lifted his drink again. When he finished, he had another shiteating grin on his face. He hoped. His nerves were shot to hell so he may have been a little impaired in knowing what his expression held at the moment. He just hoped it deflected attention from his less than steady hands. “I’ve also never sucked face with an Uncle Bob. Off the clock, I figure you still qualify as a family friend. Or has that changed?”
Annoyance flitted across Peterman’s brow. He sat on in an upholstered chair and motioned to the couch. “What’s on your mind? Say it quickly. It’s been a long day, and I don’t need the badgering.”
Oak sauntered to the living room. Peterman kept his eyes trained on his face. Too bad. Oak had it on pretty good authority that his ass was awesome. He sat at the edge of the couch closest to the captain. “I’m gay.”
Peterman’s eyes held his for a long time. “That’s it?” he said finally.
Oak shrugged. “It would be if I hadn’t kissed you.”
His brows rose slightly as though asking him why that mattered. That’s how he chose to take the unspoken question, anyway.
“I was out of line. I’m sorry,” Oak offered.
“It’s forgotten.” Peterman stood abruptly. “Now if that’s all, good night.”
Oak stood too. “That’s not all.” He’d been hoping for a question to open his next words, but silence stretched between them again. Fine, he’d just say it and see what happened when the dust settled. A man doesn’t just stand there and receive another man’s kiss for no reason. Oak had some hope that the niggling thought about Peterman’s reaction, were motivated by something important that seemed to thicken the air. “I think you might be gay too.”
No change in his posture, no flicker of surprise or anger. Nothing. Peterman simply stood, his hands on his hips. “Are we done here?” he said.
Oak put down his drink. He’d been expecting a reaction. Any reaction. Bored indifference wasn’t it. Yet the lack of anger might be his answer, he decided. He took the four steps he needed to stand in front of his captain.
“Not done yet, captain.”
Peterman didn’t flinch. If anything, his gaze grew cool, like he was looking through Oak instead of at him.
He wasn’t wrong. He couldn’t be wrong. Shit, what if he’d been wrong? Had the captain’s reaction to the kiss been just surprise? It could have been, but if he were disgusted, wouldn’t he have addressed the issue right away instead of deflecting Oak’s attempts to talk about it? He’d been so unreadable.
But there was the lack of a panicked threat, to his family knowing, to his job, to their relationship as it had been, that it felt…wrong, unnaturally calm. At least unnaturally angry for a man getting kissed by another man who then showed sober interest, too.
Unless the captain wasn’t uninterested. He was just unsure.
Oak steeled himself for another try. God help him if he was wrong.
“I think the reason you jumped back so quickly is because there’s something between us.”
A smirk curled Peterman’s lip. “That’s a bit open for interpretation, don’t you think? Reaching for answers usually isn’t your style.”

Damn, his cocky hide! They were eye-level, Oak with his confident grin and a knowing glint in his eyes. Letting him know he’d crawled right up under Wyatt’s skin wasn’t the way to win this one. He held his ground, kept his expression as neutral as he could. Oak could speculate all he wanted to about what had happened that night. He’d get no confirmation from Wyatt.

“Evasiveness isn’t yours,” Oak countered. “You’re the bluntest man I know, outside my father. Your silence is saying more than a confession could.”
Was he right? Jesus. “It’s because of your father that I haven’t written you up for harassment. Pull your ass together. John would flip if he could see the way you’re acting with me.”
“Dad knows I’m gay.”
“Does he know you hit on his friends?”
“Well, no, but then you’d be the first.” There was that grin again. The one that taunted him to make a move.
“Thank God for small miracles. I won’t tell him about this. Go on home, boy.”
“Boy? Kid? Does that help you stay away, captain?” A challenging glint entered Oak’s eyes.
Wyatt leveled a sharp look on him. “What have I ever done that suggests flirting with me is a good idea? What the hell makes you think that I’m receptive to this shit?”
That cocky-ass grin faltered. The gleam in his eyes looked a little less certain. Finally, Wyatt appeared to have gained some ground. It was about damn time.
“I’m tired, kid. You can stand out here and profess your ever-loving soul to my flat screen all night. I’m bed bait.”
“You sure are,” he murmured appreciatively.
Wyatt snorted.
Oak took another step, his face inches away. “I remember what you said. Drunk or sober you lips won’t touch mine again. Just thought I’d mention that there are a lot of things two guys can do that don’t involve kissing. With you, I’m a proponent of all of them.”
Jesus, the kid was a persistent fucker. Evidently, Wyatt’s cock appreciated that trait.
Oak leaned in, their noses almost touching. “Unless of course you’ve changed your mind about your lip-avoidance issues.”
His cheek brushed Wyatt’s, just a whisper of a touch. It was enough to have him draw a sudden breath, for his eyes to half-close as he waited to see what Oak would do next. Determination to stay away began to melt as hot breath tickled his ear and neck. Oak rested a hand on his hip just above Wyatt’s so that the back of his fingers touched the inside of Wyatt’s wrist.
A hot thrill shivered up his arm. He should move. Moving would be a good idea. Wyatt turned his face toward Oak’s temple. The soft strands of hair teased the sensitive skin next to Wyatt’s lips and the vague scent of coconut shampoo encouraged him closer.
He tried to lecture himself, mentally chastising that by telling himself to move, he’d meant move away, not toward. However, Wyatt’s body wasn’t obeying. Though his subtle change in position wasn’t exactly a concession to letting Oak continue, it wasn’t a denial of anything the other man had said about him either.
Oak’s fingers tracked up his Wyatt’s side, barely rippling over the fabric. He slipped his hand beneath Wyatt’s arm to his shoulder blade and gently tugged him. Wyatt’s chest bumped his. Lips trailed the side of his neck and Wyatt forgot why he was supposed to resist. It was just a fumble, he rationalized. They weren’t kissing. They weren’t fucking. They weren’t even naked. Was a little contact so bad?
“Fuck it,” Oak whispered. “I need to know.”
Oak’s hips nudged his. Wyatt bit back a groan at the hot proof of the other man’s arousal. There were too many clothes between them to satisfy. His shirt bunched in Oak’s hands. The cool air at his exposed midriff was enough to wake Wyatt from his daze.
He pushed his shirt down. “No,” he said softly.
Oak looked up at him, seeming as out of it as Wyatt had been.
He grabbed Oak’s hand and led him backward to the door. He kept his eyes trained on the younger man, holding his attention as he opened the door and held it for him. “It’s time to go.”
“I’m not wrong though, am I?”
“Good night,” Wyatt said instead.
“Captain, I’m not wrong,” he pressed.
Wyatt lifted Oak’s chin, hoping to make his point while he reminded himself of all the reasons this was a bad idea. “This isn’t going to happen. I’ve known you way too long, and I respect your father far too much to entertain the possibility.”
“At some point, you live your life for yourself and quit worrying about what other people think.”
Wyatt grinned, letting go of his single finger hold on Oak’s jaw. “Are you actually trying to school me?”
“Just reminding you that we don’t get to package our lives in a pretty box. Sometimes things are what they are.” He ducked under Wyatt’s arm as he moved through the entry, then stopped and turned. “If I weren’t John Takala’s son, would you’ve turned me down tonight?”
“You’d still be a subordinate, and you’re assuming I’m an easy lay. I’m not.”
“You’re right about that,” Oak agreed giving him a slow once over. “There’s nothing easy about you.”
“You’re making it really easy to find reasons to fire your ass,” Wyatt called after him as Oak walked to the top step.
Oak glanced back at him with a grin and a wink. He lightly rested his fingers on the railing. “No you won’t. There’s too much history for you to write me off that easily.”
Wyatt watched him disappear down the condo steps with a combination of relief and loss. He shook his head to clear it of the spell he’d been under. The kid had grown into a man. He knew it, but it still surprised him. One minute, he was a scrawny basketball player on the Kenowa Hills High School team he and John had cheered for. The next, he was a grown man with the assertiveness of someone who knew what he wanted, and the fearlessness of someone who never expected to get hurt.
He’d known Oak looked up to him, but he’d always assumed it was the attention given to a close relative. After tonight, he suspected Oak’s attentions had been a long-fostered crush. If there was one thing Wyatt knew, it was that a crush never lived up to the expectation set on it. Maybe part of pushing Oak away was his effort to maintain his mystique while saving his pride. Maybe he just wasn’t as fearless.
He shut the door and locked it unsteadily. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he groaned into them. Oak had come at him completely out of the blue, before he’d been able to develop a solid defense against him. That meant he’d have to work double time to keep the kid away.
God help him.

It was the gasp that had caught Oak’s attention. Was there anything sweeter than an involuntary confession? Because that’s what that sound had been.
He whistled as he showered the next morning and got ready for work, reliving the night before. His own daring had surprised him. Then again, he’d wanted Peterman for a long time, and he’d been bound to crack eventually. Apparently, all it had taken was getting close. Really close, to throw caution and career to the wind. In the moment, he’d figured his family would understand making a move on a family friend, even if it got tense.
The job? The guys? Romantically, he’d like to believe they’d get over it. Realistically, and in the light of day, it hadn’t been his brightest moment. Yet the risk had paid off. He almost couldn’t believe it.
His guess that the captain was gay had been just that. He’d made up reasons for the man’s reaction to the kiss. He’d been waiting to get shot down, but that hadn’t happened. His smile widened. Never in a million had he expected the tough-as-nails detective he’d known all those years, was a team player. Knowing the truth now made the morning especially beautiful that one major obstacle had been hurdled.
He’d just assumed that the job made dating as hard for Peterman as it did for other guys. Thinking about it now, it was a stupid assumption. Peterman had always been the object of Oak’s interest. It never occurred to him that the man would be anything but his, so the fact that Oak hadn’t seen him dating had kept Peterman in a perfect, untouched by competition, bubble, . His personal dating life had never been a topic of family discussion when Oak was around, though he thought that was weird considering how much time all four of them spent together over the years. It only added fuel to the fire that his parents probably knew Peterman was gay and weren’t addressing it because Oak hadn’t been told.
But now Oak did know. If he could get Peterman’s resolve to crumble, maybe Oak stood a chance with him. He’d almost done it, he remembered as he started his car for the drive in to work.
He’d dragged his parted lips along Peterman’s jaw. The stubbly texture had rasped them pleasantly, and he’d stopped to press the barest kiss to the place a tense muscled ticked in his boss’ cheek. He loved that spot.
Peterman’s head had turned into him; it hadn’t been much, but that close it was enough to let Oak know he’d been right about him. Peterman was gay, and if his involuntary reactions meant anything at all, it was that he found Oak attractive too.
The office was busy when he got there. He saw the captain but never made eye contact. Around mid morning, Oak’s partner started to notice something was up.
“Hey princess, how about you get your stack of paperwork done today so we can catch up on these files? I have no interest in doing both our jobs.” Sommerset folded his arms on the desk top and looked drolly at him.
“I’m working.”
“You’re distracted. I know this shit’s boring, but do you think you can focus long enough to get some work done?”
“Yeah, sorry.” Oak flipped open the next file, going over the case notes. He picked up the phone and made follow-up calls to one of the witnesses, left a message at the toxicology lab, and jotted down a list of things he still needed to look into.
“What’s eating you, anyway?” Sommerset asked between calls.
“Sadly, no one,” he teased back.
Sommerset snorted. “Sound like you need to get laid.” He lobbed a stress ball at Oak’s chest.
Oak caught it and squeezed it a few times. “I’m workin’ on it.”
“Oh, yeah? Who’s the lucky lady?”
“I don’t kiss and tell,” he answered with a smirk.
“But you’ve kissed her? How fast do you think it’ll be before you get into her panties?”
“Sommerset. Takala. I need the Jessup file on my desk immediately,” the captain barked from beside their desks.
A hot flush tore over Oak’s face as he realized the captain had heard them. But how much? Fuck, he didn’t look amused.
“Yes, sir,” Oak snapped.
Sommerset muttered another affirmative and the captain moved on. “Well, fuck me. I think the new captain has quieter feet than the last one.”
Oak laughed uncomfortably.
“Was it just me, or did he seem more pissed than usual?”
Oak noted the captain’s tight stride and the definitive slam of his office door. The glass in the upper half trembled with the force. “Nope. It’s not just you.”
“Maybe he should get laid too,” Sommerset suggested.
Workin’ on that also, Oak silently answered.
* * * *
Wyatt had been through the gamut of emotions by the time Friday rolled around. Between the heady interest Oak had displayed Tuesday night in the apartment, to the next day hearing him talk about a woman he was trying to sleep with, to total avoidance of the kid where work wasn’t strictly addressed, Wyatt was strung as tightly as a guitar string.
Oak made him fucking crazy, he decided. The kid kept him guessing with his little games, and it had to stop. Wyatt simply couldn’t function this way—always wondering what the other man was up to and how it applied to him.
He felt like a teenage girl. Something a forty-five year old man with more sense should never feel, damnit.
He paced to the kitchen, opened the fridge and looked in as though it held all the answers. His gaze touched every item inside, his mind running too fast to actually take inventory of what he saw. He slammed it closed again and paced back to the living room. He stopped in the same place he’d stood Tuesday night when Oak had made a hail Mary play on him. An effective one, truth be told.
His cell rang. Oak’s phone number lit his screen.
“Shit,” he yelled at it. He accepted the call and lifted it to his ear. “This had better be good, Takala.”
“You sound a little tense, sir. Something I can do to help?” Oak’s low voice rumbled soothingly across the line. Or it would have been soothing, if it hadn’t been so damn suggestive.
“I don’t have any interest in games. Unless it’s job related, how about you forget my personal cell number?”
“I called to say that Dad just told me you were joining us for dinner Saturday. He said if I talked to you, I should ask you to bring that Asian salad you make.”
God, he was a moron. They had more history than Tuesday night. He needed to stop assuming that Oak was trying to fuck him every time they talked. It made him jumpy.
Oak
made him jumpy. Probably because the thin line between keeping his distance and giving Oak a night to remember began fraying even before Wyatt realized it was there.
He fucking hated surprises. Especially when it demonstrated how very little control he had over his libido. It was John’s son, for fuck’s sake. His partner’s
son
. Not only that, but they had to work together and that meant a strict hands-off relationship with the kid.
He tried to focus. Asian salad. Wyatt redirected his frustration. “Asian salad at an American barbeque?”
“Served by a family of Native Americans. Yep, you got it. We’re an international crew, boss.”
He laughed, finding relief in the easy way they used to talk.
“So is that a yes? Mom said that if you didn’t, she’d make carrot and raisin salad.”
He could hear the shudder in Oak’s voice. “Yes, I’ll bring the salad. Tell her to hang up the carrots. As threats go, it’s effective but way overused.”
Oak laughed too. “I will.” He voice grew serious, cautious. “She said she’s got a date for you.”
“Your dad told me.”
“Do they know?” he asked.
“I worked side by side with your dad for almost twenty years and had dinner at your house every week. What do you think?”
“I can’t believe I’m just finding out,” Oak grumbled.
“It’s not anyone’s business but mine. Unless your mom is setting me up with someone. Then I suppose it’s everyone’s business,” he finished dryly.
“I’m sorry. She should’ve checked with you first. I could call her—”
“I told them you knew. You should’ve seen how fast she stopped pretending it was a dinner with a new civil servant in the mix, and made it all about a blind date. Besides, I can handle my own shit,” Wyatt told him. “I don’t need a kid sticking up for me.”
There was a long sigh on the other end. “Ever consider why I come on a little strong with you?”
“What does that have to do with me taking care of myself, or everyone being clued in?”
“Not that, the kid remark. It’s like I have to prove to you over and over that I’m not a kid anymore.”
“You’ll always be a kid to me,” Wyatt countered.
“Well, pardon me, but that sucks.”
Wyatt couldn’t help but grin. “Does it?”
“Yeah. There’s a whole lot of guy over here waiting for you to open up if you’d just give me a shot.”
He could hear the steady tread of Oak taking stairs.
“Go to your balcony,” Oak said.
Wyatt wondered if there’d be a replay of the scene on Tuesday. Rather Shakespearean if you asked him.
“I see you,” Oak said. “I’m in the window of the back room.”
Wyatt moved over a little more. Oak had turned on a light in the guest room. He waved a little, but it was too far to see more than his posture and the color of his clothes from mid thigh up. Wyatt waved back.
“It’s a crush,” Wyatt told him. “It’ll pass, and it should. Things would be tricky at work and with your parents otherwise.”
“I can deal with my parents and with work, as long as I know I’ve got
you
after hours,” Oak insisted.
“I’m flattered, but it’s not going to happen. It just isn’t.”
“Because you don’t want to or because you’re afraid to?”
“It doesn’t matter why.”
“It matters to me.” Oak put a fist on his hip, as though he were in a long distance alpha male standoff with Wyatt. “It’s the difference between you not being interested in me, and you being interested but worried about the fallout.”
Wyatt ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not that simple.”
“It’s exactly that simple. You’re the one complicating it. Look, do you like me, or don’t you?”
“Of course I like you. You’re a big part of my history,” Wyatt defended.
“Dissembling?” Oak scoffed. “Do you want me? Does the idea of getting down and dirty with me raise your…
flag
?”
Wyatt walked to the rail and leaned on it as he tried to make his eyes read the expression on the other man’s face even though it wasn’t possible.
“If you were a stranger whose family I didn’t know yet, who I didn’t see every day at work, I’d want to get to know you. Intimately,” he confessed, the words dragged unwillingly and rough from him.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Oak murmured.
The figure in the window rubbed a hand up and down its torso. “Good night, captain. I’ll be thinking about you tonight.”
The line went dead. Wyatt kept watching as Oak continued to rub his chest and belly with slow care. Finally he turned away from the window and the room went dark, leaving Wyatt to imagine all kinds of naughty things that made his cock hard.
He left the balcony and shut off the lights as he dropped to the couch where Oak had sat on Tuesday. He dragged his hand up and down his shirt the way he’d watched him at the window. Leaning back, Wyatt closed his eyes, pretending the hand wasn’t his, but Oak’s.
He groaned, slipped his hand under his shirt to drag it over his tight abs and the light sprinkling of chest hair, all the way to his waist band where the wiry hairs disappeared. He imagined Oak doing the same thing—touching, wanting
him
.
Wyatt’s dick throbbed. He opened his button and fly, sliding his pants and shorts down his thighs. He pulled his shirt up and over his head, enjoying the unhindered view of his naked chest and full, weeping shaft.
He pinched and twisted his nipple, reaching down to cup his balls as he did so. Dragging his fingers back and forth from taint to sac, he teased the embers of anticipation to a greedy flame. He dropped his head back, gasping as he urged himself on.
Wyatt dragged his thumb up the underside of his cock. Capturing it in his fist, he began a slow pull. He twisted his wrist as he got to the head and slicked a finger over the top. He imagined Oak, his mouth parted over the tip, waiting to take his cum. His eyes would be clenched, his golden skin flushed, his hands kneading Wyatt’s thighs as he begged to taste him.
Wyatt’s finger spreading pre-cum became Oak’s tongue in his fantasy. Now, instead of kneading, his hands were trapped behind his back and Oak’s naked body kneeled poised for Wyatt’s dick. His dick would be hard and impatient, but Wyatt would make him wait for it, spending the minutes it took Wyatt’s cock to wake up again, in endless foreplay.
Oak liked begging? Then Wyatt would make him beg and see how he liked having the tables turned on him.
The cries that echoed through his living room became Oak’s, instead of his own. Wyatt’s hips lifted to his fist, pre-cum having smoothed over his palm to ease the way, yet left it still rough enough to feel every callus from years of holding a gun.
He shouted, cum spurting onto his belly and chest as orgasm took over. He looked down at himself, finally feeling some of the pent up tension leave him. Except that’s when the dread hit.
Before, wanting Oak had been an undefined mess of confusion walled away. Now, after imagining himself with the other man, he’d blown a fucking hole in that wall.