tagGay MaleTo Serve and Protect

To Serve and Protect


I had just gotten home, trying to unwind from a trying day, when the doorbell rang. I opened the door to two men. One was tall, suave and polished. He was dressed to perfection, creased and pressed. Not a hair out of place, not a move that wasn't smooth and efficient. He didn't do a thing for me. He was too perfect, too practiced, and too straight. But the other guy, well, he gave me an immediate temperature rise, plus a rise in other areas. He was the opposite of his cohort. He had dark hair and was tall, about six-four and muscular, hulking with muscles. He wore a wrinkled jacket over a wrinkled shirt with a crooked and loose tie. His shoes were scuffed and his pants were lived in. His hair was mussed as if he constantly ran his fingers through it. He had a dark, five o'clock shadow and the most intense blue eyes I had ever seen. He exuded a macho, masculine air that just about had me on my knees. I was taking in the whole package when I noticed that he dressed definitely to the left, heavily to the left. My mouth began to water. Then macho, hunky perfection cleared his throat and the two men flashed me their badges. It couldn't have been better choreographed. If I had had a better day, I would have laughed.

"Are you Zachary Phillips?" from Mr. Macho.


"This is Detective Martin Anderson and I am Detective Jason Bailey. We need to ask you some questions."

"Come in."

I led the way to my living room, choosing the plush armchair by the fireplace rather than deal with one of them by my side on the couch. I felt a bit of an adrenaline rush, more excitement than fear at the whole situation. I wondered what this could possibly be about.

"Mr. Philips, do you know a Matthew Jamison?"

Matthew, what did he have to do with anything? "Yes. We were... together until eighteen months ago." At my hesitation over the nature of our relationship, hunky Jason raised his eyebrows and gave me a disapproving look. I really wanted to slap it off his face.

"When was the last time you saw him?" this coming from dapper Martin.

"Again, eighteen months ago."

"What was the nature of your relationship?" This was from not so hunky Jason.

"We were lovers for seven years. Eighteen months ago he came home and told me it was over. He packed his bags and was gone. I haven't seen him since. Why? Has he done something wrong?"

Martin looked significantly at Jason and then turned to me. "Matthew Jamison is dead. He was murdered last night in his home."

Shock overcame me. And to my surprise, tears sprang to my eyes and I had to blink repeatedly to clear them. I slumped back in my chair, defeated. "How? Why?" My voice cracked over the words.

"He was stabbed. As to why, we were hoping you could help us out. There was a letter in his pocket written by you and dated just a few weeks ago." Jason looked suspiciously at me as he said it. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. They thought I was involved. I shook my head, trying to clear it from shock, from anger, and surprisingly from hurt. It hurt that he thought so little of me, considering how well, even though it was in a sexist way, I had regarded him.

"I wrote that letter to him and mailed it to the last address I had for him. I usually receive them back as 'address unknown.'"

"Why were you writing him?" His attitude was starting to get on my nerves. So I snapped back.

"You must have read it. It should be obvious. I wanted to know what went wrong, why he left when things had been so good. I wanted an explanation. I just wanted a minute of his time. I wanted an answer and some peace." My explanation was rambling, but it was the truth. We had made love the night before he left, moaning each other's name. We held each other through the night, just like always. Then the next day he was gone with no explanation. It still hurt.

Perhaps sensing my pain, Jason's eyes softened. "I'm sorry, but the nature of the letter was a lead we needed to follow up on."

I nodded at him, realizing that the macho man also had a soft, compassionate side. "I understand. I really want you to find out who did this. No, I'm sorry. You both are just doing your job. How can I help?"

Martin took over, perhaps this was a good cop-bad cop routine and Jason had softened me up. It didn't upset me; I really did want to help. "Did you have any idea about his finances?"

"No. We met in college. I was a freshman and he was a graduate teacher of my beginning History class. Within two days after the term was over, we were together. He took care of finances while I was still in school but he required that we keep our paychecks separate once I graduated and started working. He left just a few years after I graduated. So, no, I don't know what his finances were like."

Jason asked. "Did you know if he was seeing anyone recently?"

I got annoyed. "I already told you I haven't seen or heard from him in over a year. I wouldn't know if he had gone bald or had a million tattoos. I don't know."

Martin stood up and indicated to Jason that they should go. They apologized for taking up my time. Call us if you think of anything. And then they were gone. Once the door was shut, my heart started to slow. I had been revved up; high energy from the moment Jason took my hand to shake it. I was sad about Matthew, but somehow I was just numb about it. There were still so many unanswered questions. I decided to forget dinner and just go to bed. My first dreamy wisp was of a dark haired detective with really strong hands.


When we left Zack's home, I felt bad. I know I treated him poorly and I don't know why. But there was something strange about the whole situation; something put me on edge about him. Not that I believed he stabbed his ex-lover in the back. I didn't. He wasn't guilty. But I still hounded him with my questions, forcing him to lose control of his emotions. I had noticed how he checked me out, looking at me and obviously appreciating what he saw. It was flattering. With Martin as a partner, usually I couldn't get the time of day. But he looked at me with hunger, and I could feel that hunger. To be truthful, it freaked me out a little. So I struck out to keep him away. I felt guilty and I don't know why. Him checking me out didn't really bother me. Like I said, it was flattering. But when he shook my hand, there was a spark of something that really had me nervous. If I didn't know better, it was awareness. Human beings are basically animals with pheromones and instincts just as simple and base as any other animal. What I felt with that simple gesture was extremely base and had me shaking my head.

Martin and I finished up a few paperwork trails then called it a day. Martin was going home to his doting and devoted wife and me to my empty house. I should probably do laundry, but I just didn't feel like it. I was still a little edgy from that interview today. So I stripped down and put on a pair of briefs before going into my office/gym and working out. I keep a set of free weights and a treadmill there. I usually do sets and then run, but today, I wanted the mindlessness of running. So I got on the treadmill and set a grueling program of hills and terrain changes to keep me on my toes. I ran for over thirty minutes, sweating profusely into my eyes and blanking my brain of everything but the burn of exertion. When the program stopped, I walked for ten minutes, grateful that my mind had cleared and I could focus again on something other than Zack. When I had cooled down, I walked into my bathroom and stripped off my soaked briefs before climbing into the shower. I set the water to pulsate against my neck and back. I prefer cooler showers, but now I wanted scalding hot, to relax and soothe. After ten minutes I crawled out from under the spray and flopped down in bed facedown and went straight to sleep. I awoke several hours later, sweaty and tangled in sheets, still dripping from my wet dream and even more nervous than before. The main attraction had been Zack and what he did to me with his tongue. I was shaking from the memories of the dream. I was still hot and hard, aching in my erect state. I took hold of my shaft and thought about the last woman I slept with, of her body surrounding me, of her nipples beading on my tongue as I suckled them while thrusting heavily into her. My fist was pumping my shaft in a heady rhythm when I realized the last woman I slept with was my ex-wife, not really something I wanted to remember. The woman beneath me in my mind was replaced with a man. He had hair on his chest and it rubbed against my cheek as I took his nipple in my mouth while I thrust hard into his tight ass. I tried to pull away from the image, but it was too late. I was gasping and spurting before I could make my fantasy change.

I got up and took a cool shower, washing away the remains of two heavy orgasms. I stepped out of the shower and decided that it was the perfect time to do laundry. I started and washed load after load. I lifted the free weights I had ignored earlier, doing a punishing amount of sets. Then I cleaned my kitchen and bathroom. I even vacuumed. It was going to be a long night.


I was rushing to get ready for work. I had overslept. I never do that. I gathered my papers and disks into my briefcase and grabbed my jacket and keys, preparing to run out the door. I had the key in the lock when I remembered the one disk I left in my computer. I pulled the key out and ran towards the house, still disoriented and distracted from a night of hot dreams involving Detective Jason and his big, strong hands. I haven't had a wet dream since I was fourteen, but I had three last night. Thankfully, I probably wouldn't see him again and could put that intense attraction and recognition I felt behind me. I got to the front door, still trying to shake my head to clear it. Then the car exploded, propelling me into my living room.

Within ten minutes, my yard was filled with fire trucks and an aid car as well as cops galore. The paramedic had bandaged my head where I had hit against the doorknob. They were checking me out for other injuries when Detectives Jason and Martin arrived. They both walked up to me. The usual belligerent swagger gone from Jason's walk, and his face, he actually looked concerned. Martin knelt by me.

"Are you okay?"

"Sure Martin, every day is a bomb filled joy at my house."

"All right, so it was a pretty stupid question. But seriously, are you badly injured?"


Jason piped up. "When was the last time you drove your car?"

"When I got home last night, just a few minutes before the two of you showed up."

"Did you see or hear anyone last night?"

"No. I didn't really sleep well last night, but I didn't hear anything."

Martin joined back. "I'm sorry we brought such sad news last night."

"It's okay. I'm glad I didn't find out about it later, after the funeral."

Jason looked pensive, but he didn't stop staring at me. It's strange, but I felt as if he were making sure I was okay. His gaze and demeanor were almost protective. This is too weird. I stood up, against the wishes of the paramedic and only swayed for a few seconds. Then Jason grabbed my arm to steady me, causing me to feel dizzy again. It felt like his touch sent electricity through me. This is not good. I didn't even feel half this much with Matthew. This could be trouble. Then the bomb squad came up and confirmed that there was indeed evidence of a bomb. Someone had set it up. Jason looked at me and told me that I was leaving. He told me to pack a bag or two of clothes. When I asked how long I would be gone, he told me until they caught who bombed my car. So I went inside with Martin and packed a couple of bags. I grabbed my laptop and enough work to keep me busy. Martin helped me carry it out to their car and I crawled in back, trying to calm down now that the adrenaline was wearing off.

Jason and Martin drove me to a house a few miles away. I got out, not really paying attention to what was going on around me. I felt really disoriented and disconnected from the world. Jason opened the door and led me down the hall to a bedroom. It was a simple room with hard wood floors, white walls, a big bed and soft bedding. It was inviting and tempted me. I sat down on the bed and Martin suggested I take a nap. I hated feeling like this, but I needed the time to regroup. I lay back and was out. I only vaguely remember someone laying a blanket over me.


I found myself concerned over Zack. All I could think about from the moment the call about the car bomb came in was to make sure he was okay. I finally took a deep breath once I saw him and knew he would be okay. He looked pale and had dropped off to sleep so quickly. But it was probably an adrenaline crash. Plus he said he hadn't slept well. I don't know why I brought him to my house. Martin gave me a couple of pointed looks but thankfully didn't mention anything. I decided to have a black and white patrol by my house and went with Martin to continue investigating. By four I had the bomb squad report: simple trigger, simple timer. Put key in lock and it started a thirty-second timer. He so easily could have died. There was nothing left of the car. That thought disturbed me. So much so that I called it an early day and headed home, just to make sure Zack didn't wake up alone and confused in a strange house. Martin dropped me off and I went inside, heading instantly down the hall to where we had left him. He was still lying there, vulnerable and innocent. I was drawn to him. I found myself sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him sleep. I saw his eyelashes fanned on his cheeks and his eyes were moving in that fast motion of someone dreaming. For the first time I really got a good look at him. We were almost the same height, but I had at least forty pounds of muscle on him, if not more. His hair was golden. He wasn't feminine looking, but he wasn't ruggedly handsome either. For lack of a better word, he was cute. Not as in good looking, although I assume he was, but in a childish, innocent way he was cute. He had long fingers and he had a graceful look to him. I imagined him as a swimmer, lithe and sleek in the water. Then I thought about the dream last night and felt myself thickening in my pants. I looked at his chest and wondered if his chest was hairy, like the guy I thought about while jerking off. That thought disturbed me as I thickened further in my pants. I wasn't hard, but I was more than flaccid. Then I noticed Zack start to get agitated. He was thrashing in his sleep. Then he sat up and cried out.

I grabbed his shoulders to keep him from hurling himself off the bed. I noticed that he was solid, deceptively stronger than he looked. He was shaking. I found myself wrapping my arms around him, pulling him tighter so he would have an anchor to hold on to. His arms stayed at his side and I felt him swallow several times. Then he pulled away and looked at me. He was embarrassed. I didn't want him to be. We all have bad moments that we relive.

"Are you okay, Zack?"


"Are you hungry?"

He nodded. "What kind of pizza do you like?"

He actually laughed. "Don't you ever cook Jason?"

"Cook. No. Cook... are you crazy... Cook?"

He laughed harder. Then stood up and put on his shoes. He grabbed my arm and told me we were going to see what was available. After seeing my fridge with a six-pack and a dead lime, the pantry with a package of saltines, and a cupboard with a couple of cans of chili. He smiled at me and then laughed behind his hand. I grabbed my keys and told the smart ass that we would go grocery shopping.

The experience wasn't all that bad. He asked if I was allergic to anything and then we bought ingredients for a few basic meals, both breakfast and dinner with some simple things for him for lunch. I actually enjoyed the playful banter while we walked up and down the aisles of the grocery store. After about an hour and over $100 later, which he demanded we split, we returned home and put everything away.

"So Zack, what are you making for dinner?"

"I'm not. You are."

I sputtered for a minute or two. He was trying not to laugh again. Smart ass. "Okay fine. What am I going to cook?"

"Jambalaya. Let's get started."

Jambalaya. What the hell is jambalaya? I soon found out. I put on some rice to cook. I mixed up some cornbread and slipped it in the oven. Then he had me chopping onions and peppers then sautéing them with some olive oil and garlic. Then I threw in some chopped ham and smoked sausage. We had purchased a chunk of roast chicken and roast beef in the deli and I cubed it. When all was warm and smelling divine, he had me open a couple of cans of tomatoes and throw in some sage and cayenne pepper. All the while I was chopping, he was cleaning up around me, handing me a beer and opening a bottle of red wine. He had one glass and then poured a good cup into the mixture. Then he added a cup of barbeque sauce to it. I then added the rice and stirred. I pulled out the corn bread while he set the table. Then we sat down to eat.

My first bite I actually moaned. Then I polished my plate, practically licking it clean. I had three pieces of corn bread and went back for seconds of the jambalaya. And it all went down with a couple of beers. Zack laughed when I was done eating, smiling at me because I had eaten so much. But damn! I was a good cook.

"Okay, what am I making tomorrow?"

"I thought we would stick to pot roast or something simple."

"No, let's do French. I can cook anything now."

He laughed. I really liked it when he did that. I helped him with the dishes and we sat in front of the fire, me with my beer and he with more wine. He saw the picture of my ex-wife on the side table. He asked about her.

"We got married right out of college. I had started the force almost immediately after high school and attended at night. We were married for almost two years happily. Then one day I found a home pregnancy test while taking out the garbage. We hadn't talked about kids. But the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea. But I waited for her to tell me. After a couple of weeks, I figured it was negative and she didn't want to worry me. Then I got a statement from Planned Parenthood. She had had an abortion. I fell out of love right then and there. I kept wondering how she could have done it without at least talking to me first? When she got home that night I hounded her about it. I kept asking why. She told me she did it because she couldn't be sure who the father was. I just packed a bag and left. The divorce was final two years ago."

"I'm sorry Jason."

"Well, what can you do?"

"At least you got an explanation."

"What do you mean?"

"Matthew and I met while he was teaching my freshman history class in college. I was attracted to him and we kept staring at each other, all the time. But we waited until the course was over. I moved in with him the day after grades were posted. Then eighteen months ago, he comes home and packs his clothes and leaves. No explanation. No apologies. Nothing."


"Yeah. That's why I kept writing to him. I just wanted to know what had happened. We had gone from loving each other, together for over seven years, to gone in less than a day. I mean we had been together the night before. Nothing was different at all. Now I'll never know."

That sort of killed the conversation. The funny thing is we just sat there in silence for almost an hour. But it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. In fact, it was more than pleasant. After his confession about how lost he felt because of Matthew, I wanted to find the answers for him. I wanted to help. I also had to catch myself from hugging him. After a few more silent minutes he got up and went to bed. I followed a few minutes later.

I pulled off my clothes and lay down in bed. I lay in the dark and thought about the strange events of the day and my thoughts kept drifting to the man down the hall. Eventually, I fell asleep. I awoke a few hours later, sweaty and sticky from another wet dream. I couldn't go back to sleep. I was too keyed up. I slipped out of bed and put on a pair of briefs and went to my gym and did some sets followed by an hour run. Dawn was breaking as I wound down from the treadmill. But while I was cooling off I realized that all the exercise in the world wouldn't erase the images from my dream. I had been lying on my bed with Zack fucking me. And I liked it.

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byDWSimon© 31 comments/ 110365 views/ 117 favorites

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