A
soft touch of something warm tried to pull him from the sleep he clung to.
Fingers on his belly. He recognized the pads of skin, the graze of nail, palm
resting on his hip. Long fingers, big hand. The tug at his belly was
unexpected, he rolled into the hand, wanting to feel and be felt. Warm breath
grazed his neck. Vinnie would probably kill him if he found him in bed with
him. Vinnie rarely ever showed up to sleep in the room they shared until they
were either assigned here permanently, or the job was finished.
“Spicoli?”
Yeah,
that sounded about right, he was dreaming about the history professor again.
“Yeah, Prof. That feels good.” Why the hell wouldn’t it? He’d had this hot for
teacher dream several times since he crashed in the man’s class. If only he
looked like a grown up.
One
day he’d stop getting carded. One day he’d stop picking up men with serious
daddy issues, as in, they wanted to be his. Fingers slipped below the waistband
of his jeans and found him ready. A finger nail sliced across the tip of his
dick making him hiss.
“Oh
yeah, feels real good.”
“Why
are you here?” The words were said against his mouth. Paul didn’t know the
answer, so he just opened for the kiss that followed.
“Spicoli?”
“What
the fucking hell is this?”
Blinding
light followed the screeching voice. Paul moved fast, looking for his weapon.
The one that should be under his pillow. He stood facing a furious…What the
hell was he anyway? Some sort of pop punk rock reject? With a serious pissed
off expression.
“Who
the fuck are
you
? Grey, you fucker, what the hell are you doing?”
“Who
are you?” Paul wasn’t awake enough to process much. He was too thin, eyes had
that slightly blurred look of an addict to them, his hair was unnaturally black
and spiked, his eyes were an unusual shade of…Well, fuck. They weren’t that
shade of purple, they couldn’t possibly be that color.
“I’m
his fucking boyfriend, that’s who I am. Who the fuck are you?”
Paul
turned to find the professor sitting up in bed. He looked strange, not with it
at all. Boyfriend? Paul remembered he'd said he wasn’t seeing anyone.
“You
okay Prof?” Paul waited for him to drag his eyes off the intruder. “Do you know
this guy?”
“Yes,
Cole, he’s my. He has a key.” He shrugged and looked down at the pillow he
still held.
“Damn
straight I have a key, baby.” Cole echoed, never taking his eyes off Paul. “And
you need to leave.”
Grey
didn’t look up, he moved slowly into a cross legged position on the bed, his shoulders
slumped, head bent. Something was off here. Really off. Grey never exactly
agreed that Cole was his boyfriend. But he didn’t disagree either.
“Okay,
if Grey says he’s okay, I’ll head out. He was busted up pretty bad.”
“I’m
okay, Spicoli. Thanks for staying, no more blood,” Grey said finally looking up
his eyes were dark, unfocused. Probably from the drug.
“You
sure?”
“You
heard him, Spicoli. He’s fine, and I’m here now. So you can toddle on off,
now.” Rocker boy moved his fingers in a walking motion his black lipstick
rimmed mouth pulled into a smirk as Paul found his shoes and walked past him.
Paul
stopped at the sofa and dragged his holster from beneath his jacket and
shrugged it on. The rocker’s eyes grew large when Paul put his shield around his
neck and draped his plaid shirt over his arm. He didn’t say anything as he
left. What the hell could he say? Hot for teacher was hot for punk rockers. No
wonder the piercing had turned him on.
He
hit the street, and the heavy wall of humidity almost knocked him out. Damn. It
was the middle of the fucking night, and it was still hot. Okay, granted, it
would be worse in New Orleans, but damn. He caught a taxi out on the main
street and, feeling like a fool who’d been played, he settled in for the ride across
town. Tomorrow he’d go in and face the music. Most likely he’d be assigned to
another school. Maybe taken off the case altogether. Either way, he’d never see
the professor again. And didn’t that just make him fucking happy?
Chapter
Six
Grey
rolled over onto his stomach to stop the churning sensation. His knees both
screamed in protest, one more so than the other. He wasn’t aware that he cried
out until the body beside him sat up and said, “Whaisit?”
He
recognized the voice, and it wasn’t the one he’d expected. Disappointment
welled inside, combining with the churning in his stomach. He moved over Cole
and headed for the bathroom, just making it before the shrimp po’boy came back
to haunt him.
“So,
last night must have been pretty wild if you’re hanging over the porcelain god.
Super up tight Doctor Grey Talbot, drugged out of his mind. Hope he was worth
it.”
Cole
leaned on one arm in the doorway, his black hair a wild mess, his violet eyes
shimmering with—Grey had no idea what had crawled up his ass.
“I
was mugged last night.”
“And
the pretty cop was kind enough to tend your wounds and crawl into bed with you.
I got that much. His tongue down your throat hammered that home real good.”
Blood
seeped through the dressing on his left knee. The one Spicoli—Paul—had picked
gravel out of. His hands were stiff and ached if he stretched his palms, and
his right knee ached more from the fall than the scrape. This one just plain
hurt, and the blood was fresh. Cole’s jealous anger was something he could do
without right now.
“Yeah,
well, it’s not like you seem all that interested in…Just forget it, it’s not
something I want to talk about right now.”
“And
who was it that wanted to take this slow, Grey? I believe that was you. Maybe
I’ve just been waiting for you to let me know you were ready.”
He
heard the words but couldn't really grasp what they meant. Leaning over he left
another bit of last night’s cold dinner in the toilet. How many damn pills had
he taken? One was enough to kick the shit out of him, but never like this. He
didn’t remember kissing Paul. Except when he
tried
to remember, a warm
flush washed over him. Maybe he did kiss him. The rest of what Cole said seemed
off, but between the blood now trickling freely from beneath the bandage and
his swirling stomach Grey could only lean weakly on the seat.
“Cole.
I think maybe I need stitches.”
And
then he threw up again.
* * * * *
Saturday
and Sunday dragged by in a blur of reprimands and long shifts trying to pick up
Rawlings’ scent. Both his and Vinnie’s covers were on the line in more than one
way. Rawlings knew they were both cops, and now so did one of the teachers at
the school. And to make matters worse, another one of those zombie like attacks
happened. This one closer to home. And this drug was in the local schools.
Cheap, easy to score, and deadly.
Paul
dragged into the school Monday half dead and agitated. The captain went against
his better judgment and left them in place because Paul had assured him that
Dr. Talbot would not be a problem.
“Just
like the last time you were for dead certain someone wasn’t going to be a
problem. And you were dating the very damn scumbag the cops over in NOLA were
after.”
He
winced remembering that gem from Saturday’s reaming. All true. And this time,
like last time, Grey Talbot could very well be the sweet faced not-so-innocent
up to his eye balls in drugs and just about any other low life activity that
Paul could think of. Including seducing under age boys. Paul dozed through his
first two blocks, British Literature and Spanish. He'd impressed the latter
teacher enough to get her to leave him alone. Of course being semi-fluent in
Spanish street slang pretty much gave him the upper hand in that class. British
Lit? Well, in that class he was just like the other kids, eyes glazed and
drooling through most of it. Just like he had back during his first tour of
high school and college. Milton. Oh, God, really? They had to start the year
off on that particular piece of torture?
By
the time third block arrived he was at once on the verge of dropping from sheer
exhaustion, and fighting down bouts of anxious excitement at seeing the Prof.
He’d wanted to check in on him many times over the last couple of days but he
didn’t. Mostly because of the boyfriend.
He
was in his seat before he noticed two things at once. His sunglasses were still
firmly in front of his eyes, and the person sitting on the edge of the desk
wasn’t even the same gender as Grey. Curiosity overcame him after roll.
“Where’s
the Prof?” he called out to the substitute, who had yet to have a chance to
introduce herself.
“I’m
sorry, could you remove your sunglasses and raise your hand, young man.” The
woman turned narrowed eyes on him as if she had found the first of many trouble
makers. Paul did neither.
“Come
on lady, just tell us if Dr. Talbot is sick, or did they fire him or
something?” He sat forward in his desk. “He’s a good teacher, hate to see him
get dicked around.”
She
didn’t bat an eye at his language. “Oh. To the best of my knowledge, he's just
out sick. His lesson plan seems to indicate he has plans to return. But the
office doesn’t tell us personal business.”
Paul
didn’t question her further, and the rest of the class followed his lead and
didn’t give her a hard time like they would have any other substitute. He got
that the kids liked and respected Grey. The class was good, better than he’d
gotten back in the day. Grey knew his shit, that was for damned sure. Not some
flunky with an education degree who read the text book a few nights before
assigning the chapter to the kids. He could take the lecture out of the book
and make it real. And considering that Paul had studied history with the idea
of minoring in the subject for a couple of years, that was pretty damned impressive.
The
sub gave them busy work and assigned the next chapter to start on. Paul
couldn’t sit still. The anxiety he’d fought all morning made him twitch. And
when he twitched his imagination ran amok. So, why the hell hadn’t Grey come
in? Were there complications with the wounds? He stood up before he realized
what he was doing and started walking to the door. The sub looked at him with
that same narrowed eyed stare she’d given him earlier.
“Don’t
feel so good. Going to the nurse.” He lifted his glasses, knowing she’d see the
dark circles under his eyes and the exhaustion he was sure made him look like a
junkie would be evident. She nodded and he left without a hall pass.
Halfway
to the parking lot he remembered that Vinnie had the keys. He stopped and
texted his partner.
I
need the car keys. Get over to the car STAT.
Dude,
I’m in class.
Dude
it’s not like they are going to expel your ass. Now bring me the damned keys.
Y?
You gotta hot date?
Something
like that.
Paul!!!!!
Vinnie!!!!!!
Now.
It’s
the history professor isn’t it? Rumor is he didn’t show up today.
No
comment. Now haul ass.
I’m
coming don’t get your thong in a twist.
Bite
me.
I’ll
leave that to the prof.
Keys
went whizzing past his head just as he was about to comment. He dodged to the
side and they ricocheted off the beater the department issued them for this
detail and clattered to the pavement.
“Just
be careful, okay?” Vinnie said, as he caught up to him at the car.
“I
am being careful,” Paul fit the key in the lock and turned it. “I just need to
check on him. He was bleeding pretty badly.”
Vinnie
grabbed his shoulder and turned him around. Paul had to look up a fraction of
an inch to meet his partner’s eye.
“Are
you sleeping with him?”
Paul
winced and Vinnie did a grunting sound under his breath.
“No.”
He didn’t need to add
not yet
for Vinnie to come to that conclusion.
“But
you want to. Come on, Paul. I can see it. You watch him, and he watches you.
And now he knows that you aren’t jailbait…”
“I’m
not sleeping with him.”
“But
you’re cutting class to rush over to see why he didn’t show up today.”
“I
caused his injury. I just want to make sure he’s alright.”
“Paul.”
Vinnie shook him forcing him to look him in the eye. “You’re lusting over him.
Admit it.”
Paul
looked away. He didn’t like the way his mind raced for a believable lie. “I
kissed him. I…yeah. It’s not like in New Orleans. He’s nothing like Rene.”
“I
didn’t say he was. But he’s a teacher in this school. Just keep that in mind.
If you get caught, just think about what might happen to him.”
“He
knows.”