Slow Burn (MM) (13 page)

Why was he spilling all this on Brody? The man had enough to deal with, and Zack didn’t intend to unload his barge of daddy issues in his lap. Zack clamped his lips shut.

“Where is he now?” Brody asked. The rubbing continued, strong and reassuring.

“With his new and
improved
family,” Zack found himself sharing. He didn’t want to but couldn’t stop. Not with Brody asking in that soothing tone, his hand warm and solid at his back. “Married himself into a nice little two point five kids, designer dog, and a house,” he continued. “It’d be okay if that was it and he was the same jackass to them, but—”

Zack’s voice caught. He chuckled at his lame story and at what Brody must think. A man who’d probably seen more gruesomeness in his life, people spread all over walls, listening to his sob story of an absent father. He must find it pathetic, but the wound was open now, and there was nothing stopping it. “I know it’s a shitty thing to say, but it’d be different if he was the same with his new family as he was with us. But he’s not. He’s stellar fucking father of the year with them. Just had the rare call from him making sure his ‘son’ is getting the best for his lacrosse injury. Load of bullshit.”

Zack paused in his word vomit to release his fingers from where they were tangled up in the bottom edge of his shorts. Gripping the material so hard his thigh hurt. His heart was racing again, with the reliving and the fact that he was essentially leaving himself bare to Brody in a way he hadn’t been.

He turned to make eye contact with Brody and found nothing but quiet interest. Just soothing rubbing at his neck, letting him ramble. He intended to let it stop there. But the snowball had started and— “You know? I’m not a bad guy. I’ve studied hard, worked my ass off. Gotten a good job, a house. Got good friends, help my mom out at her house. It’s not like I’m some deadbeat or anything. I’m not a bad son.” Zack took in another breath and let it out. “The man doesn’t even know who the hell I am. Nor does he give a shit.”

The rubbing at his neck stopped. Zack turned to look at Brody, whose eyes flicked to meet his before looking back at his hand. The rubbing commenced again.

“I know what you mean.” Brody’s voice was steady but dark, speaking volumes of understanding.

The depth of
something
in his words had Zack reaching out with his hand, finding the firm line of Brody’s thigh, fingers brushing over the material of his pants. “Your dad an ass too?”

Brody huffed and shook his head. “No. He was the greatest man I’ve ever known.”

Zack’s fingers tightened.
Was
… Oh crap. He was the biggest ass ever. “I’m sorry.”

Brody met his eyes then, sincere. “No. It’s okay. I miss him, but it was a while ago now. He was far from perfect, so…I get it. My ole man was great, everyone who knew him would probably agree. Minus the criminals, that is. Single parent, managed to retire as a captain, hero of the Charleston Police Department, hero to all. We were really close, but he never knew me either, not the real me. He never knew… Anyway, I know what he would’ve thought, so I never told him.”

Never knew. Knew Brody was gay. Damn. Talk about a defining moment in understanding the inner workings of Detective Douglas Brody. Zack assumed there was more to this than just his dad never knowing.

“You know what he’d think?”

Brody’s mouth tightened and the hand stopped, moving to rest in the sand at the base of Zack’s spine. “He—” Brody swallowed. “Cops, especially old-school cops, aren’t exactly a liberal bunch. Especially during my dad’s era, they weren’t an accepting crew unless you were cut from the same cloth. I got the big picture early on.”

Zack nodded, and they sat in comfortable silence. Except for the whirring in Zack’s head. He wanted to know more. Hear the whole thing, but Brody was silent again, and he knew better than to push. He doubted anyone had ever heard this much from Brody. He took it as a compliment.

“I think I have some beer in my fridge.” Zack smiled as Brody’s face lightened, the darkness fading, replaced with easy amusement.

“Do you mean beer, or is that a euphemism for…?” Brody cocked his eyebrow up again.

“Take me home and find out.”

Brody chuckled and patted Zack’s back before he stood and helped Zack up. Zack groaned as every muscle flared in protest. “Fuuuuuuuuuck.”

“Beer is one thing, but do you think you’re up for
beer
?” Brody looked amused, the heat rising in his eyes as he looked Zack over.

Zack grinned and shoved at Brody as he started climbing the stairs. “I would have to be on my deathbed before I would say no to
beer
with you.”

* * * *

Brody followed him into his pitch-black house. “I can’t see shit in here,” he griped. “Shouldn’t you have a lava lamp or something you leave on so you can see?”

Zack stopped short so Brody ran into the back of him. It earned him a playful shove forward.

“Lava lamp? I’m not that boho. They’re a fire hazard. Besides, don’t cops have super night vision or something?” He flipped on the overhead light and hobbled into the kitchen. “I can see just fine.”

“So can I.” Brody squinted at the flood of fluorescence. “I just like giving you hell.”

Zack grinned to himself as he pulled two Coronas out of the fridge, popped the top off with an opener, and passed one over to Brody.

Brody shook his head, his lips curling into a smile at the beer selection. As he reached for it, his jacket gaped open, the gold shield at his hip catching the kitchen light.

“Whatcha got there, Detective Brody?” Zack pointed, mind suddenly off his sore legs and on the reminder that his current lover was a smoking-hot law enforcement officer who got to wear cool shit like a badge. “Is that your…shield?”

Brody glanced down, tilting his badge up with his free hand. “That’d be it. Won’t lie, it’s kind of nice to have it on again.”

“And I won’t lie, this whole badge, gun, handcuff, cop thing? Very hot. Holy shit, do you have handcuffs somewhere on you right now?”

One dark eyebrow eased up.

“There’s so much innuendo I could rattle off right now. I’ll restrain myself, though.” Zack cracked up at Brody’s face.

“Okay, seriously. No dirty jokes.” Zack took a sip of his beer. “For now. You need a lime for your beer, or can you manage without?” he asked.

“I’ll be okay.” Brody took a long sip. “What about you? You going to be okay?”

He took another sip. “Yeah. I don’t usually go for citrus in my beer, and my sudden onset of cop fetishism may or may not go into remission.”

Brody laughed. “Not the beer-and-cop thing. The other stuff. Your dad? You about ran yourself into the sand. Are you better now or still feel the need to self-medicate with overexercising as punishment?”

“Uh-oh. Ding, ding, ding. Someone’s finally pegged me for the deflecting mental case I really am.” Zack grinned and took another sip. He walked into the living room and, without answering, flipped on a lamp and flopped back on his couch. “I’ll be all right,” he said eventually, picking at his beer label. “I’m used to my dad taking the wind out of my sails, because he’s an asshole that way.” He heard the vehemence in his own voice, making the words sound false.

Brody stood by the couch, his gaze full of assessment and clearly not buying what Zack was trying to sell. “You’re not a mental case. I’ve seen
real
nut jobs. You just have baggage to deal with. So does everyone. So do I. Fucking freight train full. But there’s a difference between that and dangerous mental issues.”

Zack waited for him to finish, but that was it. No coddling. No “
There, there, Zack, you poor boy. You’re awesome and perfect as Christmas morning.”
Just a blunt analysis that was so true, it helped lift the tonnage on Zack’s shoulders.

He shook off some of the emotional weight. “You’re right. I’m sort of normal, I guess. And shit happens. About two or three times a year, I hear from him, and I feel like hell for twenty-four to forty-eight hours, and then I get over it and get on with life. I should be used to it by now.” He shrugged. “I’ll be okay.”

Brody eased down on the sofa beside him, sipping his beer as he slid back. “So you don’t need me to stay?”

“Whoa, now.” Zack turned halfway around. “I didn’t say that. I’m not
that
okay.”

Brody smirked over the top of his beer. He took a long draw off the Corona, his neck arched, throat moving with the swallow.

Zack was well aware of the fact he stared every damn time Brody did that, but he couldn’t stop. He had a sexy neck, and the way Brody threw his head back was reminiscent of someone in the throes of spectacular sex.

Brody looked over at him, taking in what had to be a blatantly hungry expression all over Zack’s face. “What?”

“How attached are you to that beer?”

Brody’s eyebrow crept up again. “Why?”

Zack reached over and plucked the beer from his relaxed grasp. He set it on the end table and leaned over, pressing the side of his leg against the thick heat of Brody’s quad. He cupped the slightly bristled jaw and brought their mouths together, sinking in, the warmth, the growing familiarity, but the kiss was still different. Not like the mostly one-sided first kiss on the beach, not the hot rush of their desperate make-out session in the hall. This was slow and warm like heat on a knotted muscle. It spread from Zack’s mouth down into his chest. He sucked at the plumpness of Brody’s lips, taking each one between his lips in turn, ducking a hand under Brody’s T-shirt to feel more.

He bumped against something at Brody’s side and eased back to look.

Right. That’d be Brody’s gun—literal gun, not the pet name for his big cock—hanging close to his side, tucked away, all secure and snug and deadly. Just chilling out near Brody’s ribs.

He should’ve expected it. That was the thing about cops. They usually had guns. Zack wasn’t much for firearms, but this one, worn by the right kind of man, didn’t bother him. In fact…he did a gut check.

Yep. On Brody, it was a huge turn-on.

He leaned in for another kiss, curving his torso so he didn’t bump that gun, fully intending to do more than bump the other one. “Stay here. With me,” he whispered, hoping like hell Brody was willing to take that next step.

* * * *

Brody tilted his head back, soaking in Zack’s height, the lean and tightly packed muscle, and the fact that his request wasn’t so much a question as a demanding plea. Each slick pass of Zack’s tongue made him care less and less how he worded anything he said.

“Okay,” he managed between kisses.

Zack dragged his mouth along Brody’s jaw, sucking at the skin, leveraging his weight farther over him. He slid his leg over and in between, pressing against where Brody ached. Zack’s thigh rubbed his; his crotch pushed against Brody’s side.

Zack was looming over him. It wasn’t subtle, and Brody didn’t care. He ran his fingers through the longest part of Zack’s hair, threading through and holding on as Zack eased his lips lower and lower. Zack shoved his shirt up, nibbling at the sensitive skin above one hipbone. Brody’s body tightened, pushing his hips up and toward Zack’s mouth.

Zack unbuttoned his dress pants, caressing Brody’s erection through the material. “Lift up your hips.”

He did exactly that, trying not to note that every time Zack told him what to do, a thrill skipped across his nerves as he followed orders.

Zack peeled the pants and boxers down to his thighs, his brown eyes shining as he took in the length of Brody, jutting up between them, refusing to be ignored. He leaned up to start loosening Brody’s tie, unbuttoning the shirt. “By the way,” he said as he worked on getting Brody damn near naked. “You in a suit? Also very hot. But getting you out of this suit? Surface-of-the-sun hot.”

Brody dropped his head back on the sofa and allowed himself a small smile. Attention from Zack, being complimented, appreciated for stupid shit like wearing a suit, was a heady combo. It shouldn’t affect him. He shouldn’t care. But he’d never stuck around long enough for a lot of words. There was never an opportunity for someone to share what they thought about him, or their little kinks. The whole getting-to-know-you part was brand-fucking-new, and there had never been a time he’d done something like this wearing his badge and gun.

Fuck.

His mind started to churn on that fact, turning it over and over and over. Zack was a person he knew and liked, and Brody was wading out, neck-deep into murky, unfamiliar water. What the hell was he thinking? He was sitting here doing exactly what he’d spent years working hard to avoid.
Now
he was going to fuck it all up. Why?

Zack.

The answer was front and center in his brain as much as the man was front and center between his legs. Zack was everything anyone in their right mind would want. He also happened to be another man.

A man who started to use his tongue on Brody’s swollen flesh, and everything else began fading away. He forgot to panic. To worry that he wasn’t fitting into the dark, sad little box he had created for himself. Where he couldn’t have what he wanted. Where he couldn’t
be
wanted.

Zack wanted him.

Wanted him here, in his home.
Needed
him in this moment. Brody needed him too. And he could stifle his fucking fucked-up head for one night and be there with someone who actually gave a shit about him. Someone he cared about right back.

Zack gazed up at him, flicking out his tongue to tease the head of Brody’s cock. “Take your shirt off,” he said, his breath cool on Brody’s bared skin. “I want to look at you.”

Brody shifted to take off his jacket and unfastened his holster without ever taking his eyes off Zack. Zack made a happy whimpering noise and rocked back on his feet, watching.

“Your door locked?” Brody asked.

Zack nodded.

He slipped off his holster and gun and laid them on the side table. He unbuttoned his shirt as Zack slid his hands up each thigh, helping with the bottom buttons. He ran his large hands, sure and certain, up Brody’s chest, through the dusting of hair, and thumbed each nipple on his way back down.

Zack was so relaxed when they were together like this. Comfortable in his own abilities and going for what he wanted. Brody both reveled in it and envied him. He ran his hands down Brody’s thighs, skimming his balls and causing his cock to twitch like it was reaching for contact.