After The Shift
By the time Charlie came off shift it was well after midnight. Halloween was done, thank fucking God. He'd spent from dusk until nine walking around the downtown core, keeping an eye on little trick-or-treaters and following the large bodies -- mostly older teens in masks -- from place to place. He hated masks, hated the way intent was hidden and the way people thought they could get away with shit just because they were in costume.
After nine, he'd been mostly stuck at Miss Kitty's, watching the partiers. There, the costumes varied from really gross to the near pornographic. But at least the drunken fights held off for a few hours.
The fun didn't really start until after eleven, long after all the road fires had been put out, the kids had been put to bed and the alcohol consumption had kicked up. That's when he started to spend his time breaking up fights in the parking lot, breaking up sex in the parking lot, and getting sprayed with Silly String.
So when Miss Kitty's finally closed up and Charlie logged out of his shift, he was kind of a mess. He had puke on his shoes and his uniform pants, Silly String mashed into his jacket, and some kind of makeup smeared all over his shirt. He wasn't sure, but he hoped that the goop on his gun belt was more Silly String. It was green. It had better be Silly String.
He drove right over to Hank's place, not sure if he was mad or merely tired, and not really caring. The man had shot Silly String at him. Repeatedly. So what if Hank had looked delighted each time? It was undignified. Charlie felt kind of ridiculous telling Jimmy Carlotti to settle the fuck down when he had Silly String falling off his shoulders.
Hank's house was dark when he got there, at least the front of it was. Hardly surprising, given the hour. The pumpkin lights were out, the porch light off, and even the lamp in the living room was dark.
Charlie made his way past all the Halloween crap Hank had up around his door, remembering to duck so he could avoid the fake cobwebs, and let himself in. As soon as he stepped into the living room the plastic gargoyle went off, howling and chattering as he set off the motion detector.
"Fuck," Charlie almost yelled. Then he kicked the damn thing, hoping to silence it, but it rolled around, going on and on.
"Hard night?" Hank laughed, his voice coming from the bedroom, off to the left. "Leave the poor thing alone, it didn't do anything it wasn't supposed to."
Charlie narrowed his eyes and picked his way across the living room, tossing his gun belt on the couch with his messy jacket. "It didn't. But you did."
"What?" Hank was still laughing, somewhere in the dark. "I was just lightening the mood a little. Halloween sucks."
"Says the man who decorated on October the fourth." Charlie got to the bedroom and undressed, throwing his disgusting pants into the hallway. "Mind those, in the morning. They got splashed."
"Yup." He crawled into the bed and looked across Hank to the glowing lights of his clock. "Twenty after two. Christ. You know you're cleaning my kit, right? Silly String was seriously not cool, man."
Hank rolled into him, warm and smelling vaguely like sugar and pumpkin. "Aw," he whispered. "I'll make it up to you. Wash 'em, polish your boots... "
"You know what would really make my Halloween a lot better?" Charlie whispered too, pulling Hank closer and rolling on top of him.
"I'm pretty sure I figured that out earlier. When I was waiting for you to get home. I'm pretty smart, you know." Hank's legs spread, his thighs cradling Charlie.
"Not smart enough to cut it out with the damn Silly String." Charlie tried to growl, but Hank had brought his hands into play and he was getting distracted. A lot.
"But smart enough to... oh, man. Rock up a bit. Yeah, there." Hank was getting breathless, making Charlie gasp as fingers worked magic.
"There?" Charlie's eyes rolled as he pushed against Hank's body.
Charlie shifted lower, his cock leading the way. "Oh. There."
"Told you I'm smart," Hank gasped as Charlie pushed right in, his way ready and wet.
"You're a fucking genius." Charlie lifted himself up on his arms, letting go of the whole damn night. Hank moved under him, whispering about waiting, wanting. About getting ready for Charlie to get home where he belonged.
And that was all it took, really. One burning image of Hank getting ready for him and Charlie was yelling his head off, jerking hard as he came, his hand around Hank and taking Hank with him.
When they could breathe again, Hank kissed him and said, "Next year? Costumes."
Sometimes love is complicated.
Copyright 2016 Chris Owen