Cole Phelps is full of himself.
That was Stefan's take upon meeting his new partner, a full-blooded, clear-eyed American male with impeccably neat manners. Even though no copper in that office used deodorants, Cole stood out the most to him, smelling of self-assurance. Others must have believed him; otherwise he wouldn't have climbed departments in a breeze.
But not Stefan. It was no mystery why it'd taken him six years to become a detective, even with a hard-working rep and a bravery citation to his name. He wasn't a Smith, a Davis or a Johnson. He wasn't a brown-nose, either; he stuck to the job he signed up for. So he'd watched more than a few eager beavers upstart their careers off his back, playing their cards right. He'd watched himself become a regular pushover.
But hey, can't lose your cool to every snake in L.A. And even if he could partner up with Gonzales for life, having just the one drinking buddy in the force would have been too miserable for a guy.
Now, he'd been designated babysitter to Wunderkind, and he wasn't sure he liked it.
"It's not me you're angry at." Cole warned him, inches away from his face. The man's boxing arms pressed into his chest, and Stefan could feel his ribs bending under the pressure, as Cole held him prisoner against a wall in the backroom of a sleazy dive. Stefan couldn't help himself sometimes: wearing one's heart on one's sleeve pushed people's buttons. He hadn't expected Cole to push his back.
Hell, maybe he should have seen it coming. The Traffic department had been working double-shifts into a recent string of car thefts, with no success, and Captain Leary fell back to a convoluted plan. It barely involved any sound procedure, in Stefan's opinion, but skipper assigned it anyway just before the coppers' shifts would have ended. That had been the first trigger for Stefan. The second had been when Cole volunteered with no qualm. Like he hadn't been aware everybody else had laid low and packed up early, so he and Golden Boy could deal with Leary's leftovers.
"You drive. I have to go over the case notes."
"Sure." He replied when they'd exited the station hours earlier, getting into the car without a glance to eachother. It didn't bother Stefan if he'd gotten lead man Gary Cooper as a partner, or whether Cole expected everybody to actually follow his queue. What mattered was that Stefan could do his job, and Cole did his. And hey, against all odds in a department that schlepped trashed cars more often than bad guys, the two had managed to arrest a couple real assholes so far. Maybe there was something to Cole, afterall.
Still, no cop took a shine to a wise ass in the force who couldn't let loose. And Stefan was very much the kind of man who needed to let loose. In fact, he had plans with a friend in-town tonight, and not to get too much into the meat of it, but he felt pent up like a soda the King Cola himself shook. But any prospects were out of the window now. And while he might joke about options out there, a hollow hookup went down colder than hootch. Damned if you do; damned if you don't.
"Corner of Ninth and Main." Cole supplied.
Stefan already knew of Mensch's. Rickety place, paint peeling off the walls. Not at all like the sweet drive they'd gotten for this assignment: a rare, red Cadillac V16 Convertible. It must have belonged to somebody in the force, since there's no way they'd otherwise have the budget for it, right? Mind, he'd be happy to be proven wrong; he could do with a better desk chair.
The point at Mensch's wasn't the mood, anyway: the plan was to bait whichever gang had been hijacking Cadillacs across town. Their ride was the honeypot, as it were, and their contact should've tipped the potential lowlifes out of the woodwork by now. But going incognito probably meant something different to a Marine, because Cole carried himself like a cop in plain sight. Stefan figured a couple drinks might loosen him up. Both of them.
Having found a table at Mensch's, with a view of their ride parked outside, Stefan ordered two Whiskey Sours. Though initially reluctant, Cole sighed pleasantly at the refreshing cool travelling down his throat. It dawned on Stefan then that even double-shifts must get to iron-clad knights. So he ordered a few more rounds, because why not? They probably wouldn't leave here tonight.
But Stefan couldn't have expected a ghost from the past. An hour later into watching the street for any action, a group of loud, prejudiced and probably bar-hopping drunks arrived at Mensch's, making a nuisance of themselves. They argued about Latinos taking over their jobs and Stefan placed a few faces. He was certain he'd witnessed at least one of them strip a Latino broad in public during the Zoot Suit Riots back in 1943. When he walked up to them for a nice chat, despite Cole's protests, things got out of hand.
A smarter man than Stefan wouldn't have dealt the first punch. A smarter man than Cole wouldn't have tried to stop him. The Rioters were the smartest: they turned tail when Cole punched Stefan in the gut and flashed his police badge for everybody to see.
That had probably been the third trigger.
"You should've listened to me, Bekowsky." Cole argued, still holding him against the wall of the dingy dive's backroom. Stefan grimaced, feeling a pang where Cole had punched him but no regrets: like he would he ever back down from doing his job, only because Cole didn't approve. He was done with being told what to do by a rookie detective with only one year of Patrol under his belt. "Look: those guys were trash. But random arrests accomplish nothing."
"I had it covered, Phelps." He growled. Stefan had already been a cop while Cole was still fagging it up at Stanford's; of course he knew better than to go to skipper with old grudges. He'd only meant to get some names, but yeah, evidently asshats made him run his mouth more than warranted. "You didn't have to pull me all the way back here only to state the obvious, either."
"See, I know when you aren't done, Bekowsky." Cole leaned in, breath heavy. Stefan listened to him drawling his words. Was the whiskey going up his or his partner's head? They'd only have a few for show; so what did they put in the cocktails at Mensch's? "You're angry, sleep-deprived and probably drunk. You undermining this assignment and drawing attention is not something I need."
Stefan felt his anger flare, like coal thrown into the fire.
"Fuck you, Phelps, I know what I'm doing." Stefan reached with his only free hand for the man's crotch. "And I know what kind of attention you need."
He found Cole hard. That surprised him; he'd only meant to shake the guy, get himself an opening. But his partner was sporting a full mast, and he wasn't budging from his position. He looked at Cole, the man's posture tenser than before. Shit, maybe his high-strung partner really has had a couple too many; enough to pop a woody and hold his ground to try and assert dominance. Stefan blinked, as the man look more troubled. Bothered. Afterall, alcohol dulled a man's senses, not strip him off them. As Cole finally looked away and his hold on Stefan against the wall went limp, Stefan grabbed him harder by his erection, his fingers wrapping around the whole package, and effectively held him in place.
Cole gasped, meeting his gaze with alarm. His expression shifted with a multitude of thoughts. Stefan didn't relent: all the anger and frustration he'd bottled up throughout the week for the job's sake was overwhelming his better judgement. He could only feel the tension between him and his partner highlighting their disparate backgrounds: a pushover of a Polish-American with relatively inferior career milestones to speak of and a Stanford egghead, unaware of his own privileges, but always with the last word. Stefan had wanted to get past Cole's knight-in-shinning-armour act before, he only hadn't realised he could fuck his way through it.
Now that thought made him feel truly drunk.
Cole's breathing grew ragged, the knot of hunger in his stomach an undeniable fact, as was Stefan's. Stefan tentatively tugged at the erect shape beneath the fabric, and Cole bit his lips, but didn't try and stop him. Instead, he relaxed his posture, leaning his head beside him, temple against his, and a silent agreement formed between the two cops, without a need for words. It might have been a turn of events neither expected, and while far from unavoidable, withholding all the unspoken words and burdens up to the breaking point had been both men's choice. As Cole slowly exhaled, and Stefan rubbed the solid shape, he released a low growl, travelling from deep inside his lungs. Stefan took in the hints of aftershave on Cole's suit, and of fresh laundry, but underneath were the scents of skin and need he well knew.
That incited a pang of arousal across his synapses.
Cole's fingers gently spread Stefan's jacket open, pulling the fabric over his broad shoulders down to his chest. Stefan straightened his back, dropping the jacket unceremoniously behind him. "You know, I just had my suit pressed, Phelps." Stefan said in joking disapproval. Cole exhaled with an awkward chuckle, probably not falling for his bullshit, but at loss for words. Stefan's hands followed to help Cole out of his jacket yet the man hesitated, studying the filthy floor beneath him. So Stefan did him the favour of pulling the jacket off him and throwing it across the room: out of sight, out of mind. Stefan would have expected a comment about the perils of hotheadedness in any other circumstance but now his partner surprised him: he leaned in, his mouth meeting Stefan's neck, both shyly sucking the skin under his ear, and breathing Stefan in wantonly.
And that felt like fucking heaven.
"Shit, don't stop." Stefan heard himself say. Seemingly encouraged, Cole followed to undo Stefan's tie, and his mouth reached lower down the prickly neckline. Stefan felt himself shudder with the adrenaline, as he reached to release Cole's buckle. He clawed at the belt, pants and underwear, before his partner's cock finally bounced out freely. Then he ran his open palm down Cole's shaft, hot and hard, the friction heating up the skin. Cole cleared his throat, leaning his weight on Stefan, pushing himself further onto his warm touch. Stefan observed his intense protégé letting himself loose for once.
Cole's hands slowly travelled down Stefan's waist, exploring the body beneath the fabric, reaching his backside. The way he'd grabbed then onto Stefan's ass was almost too uncharacteristic not to be mockery, but he could feel Cole's loud heartbeat matching his, his wet lips on his ear. Stefan himself couldn't bear it any longer: he tried to strip off his own pants, his erection painfully trapped within.
"Bekowsky." Cole whispered, almost desperately into his ear. "Don't stop, either." And the man reached to unbuckle Stefan himself, pulling his pants down to the thighs, underwear following suit. Then Cole drew closer with his hips, their cocks meeting the hardness of one another, his hands running across Stefan's shoulder blades, as he sucked in the skin of his neck, prompting small moans of pleasure out of him. He left red mark upon mark on his neck and rushes of heat tingled across Stefan's skin. Those fucking slow caresses, like a lover's, was all Stefan had been starving for.
Stefan reached for his cock, and Cole's, and he clasped them both in his hands. Then, Stefan thrust between the strong grip, cock pressed against cock. Cole looked like he'd stagger, hands on the wall behind Stefan, overwhelmed by sensation as Stefan thrust with enough wanton for two. But then he parted his lips to moan with a hot, genuine sigh, breaking free of burden. It was a vulnerable sound, that Stefan had trouble associating with his otherwise aloof partner.
Then Cole bared his teeth in a wave of lust on Stefan's skin, running them up his Adam's apple to his chin. The man begun thrusting into Stefan's hands himself. His intense gaze met his, focus darting between Stefan's blue eyes to his parted lips. Stefan felt his own mouth suddenly thirsting, tempted to devour his partner. Their mouths were inches away from one another, breath's tickling eachother's skin. They both wavered, uncertain why, but relishing in the complicated attraction of it.
Stefan may have felt ever drunker from the chemistry alone, but he forced himself back into the moment. He laughed through his nose at Cole like he were a puppy and pulled his head to rest beside his, instead. He knew better than to give in, for both their sake. The world bent over too often for privileged men like Cole to know when to stop or fall into something too deep.
"Come on, Phelps." Stefan urged into his ear, almost hissing, as he felt the man waver in the rare rejection, and wedged Cole's cock between his thighs. "You said not to stop."
Cole experimentally thrust once between the man's solid thighs, and Stefan tightened the hold. Cole chuckled something awkward, seemingly both exasperated and aroused by Stefan's lead. He regained his prior nerve, as the fingers drew red lines down Stefan's back again, and over his ass. Then Cole held onto the Stefan's ass like a ship to harbour and thrust between his legs. Stefan felt the man's cock pushing the flesh of his thighs apart, the head wet with pre-cum. Stefan noticed strands in Cole's hair stray from the otherwise immaculate, gelled hairstyle as the pace grew increasingly frantic, his own manhood aching under the duress. But the stubbornness not to yield to Cole sustained him: it'll be a cold day in hell before he'd roll over in heat for Golden Boy Cole Phelps.
Cole was thrusting relentlessly into his thighs now, his fingers pushing into the flesh of Stefan's backside. Forget a better chair, Stefan would be too bruised for days to enjoy one. He laughed to himself at his luck, relished in how Cole chuckled suit but pulled him into a tighter embrace, Stefan's cock and balls painfully squeezed against the man's abs, as he trust with reckless abandon. Cole Phelps wasn't dead inside, afterall, Stefan discovered, and it was his merciless humping against Stefan's body that proved this man too was living, hot flesh and body, and felt need, desperation, and worshipped freedom, and dirt and mud, like any man, like Stefan himself. And as Cole groaned in sweet release to him, footing unsteady, hot cum splattering down Stefan's legs, white rivulets streaming down his calves, Stefan felt his apprentice detective had finally paid tribute to seniority and he'd been his motherfucking master.
"I guess I was wrong, Phelps." Stefan wheezed in a pained chuckle. His body ached from being manhandled. "Maybe there's some steak to all that sizzle." His partner stood stripped of breath and resistances before him, seemingly caring no longer for poise. When Cole dropped to his knees, Stefan didn't contain his satisfaction, and helped the man take as much of him inside his mouth as he could. For all his handsome features, Cole's lips were delicate and small, and the sight of him taking his hard dick made Stefan's day, if not all the fucking time he'd put up with Wunderkind underestimating him. Stefan moaned in rapture: "Fuck, Phelps. This... this isn't..."
He'd meant to finish with 'your first time, is it?' but Stefan wouldn't push his luck with a cocksucking, married man. In fact, he felt the solid weight of Cole's wedding ring against his shaft, as he stroked his skin, his fingers calloused from gun practice, like Stefan's. Then Cole's mouth shifted from his cock to lick under the base of his shaft, working his way down to Stefan's balls. He sucked on them, practically slurping, leaving hot, burning spit behind as he finished.
"Oh, fuck, Phelps." He implored unrestrainedly.
He was sure he'd heard the man snort as Stefan repeated himself, shuddering. But when he looked, Cole was diligently returning to work on his shaft, taking in the head. He swallowed him, and his mouth felt even tighter and consuming, so much so that it was driving Stefan insane when Cole bobbed his head up and down his cock, leaving sensations of friction and pleasure behind. He felt his body's muscles twitch, at first from exertion, but then the burning sensation between his fucked thighs flared, and his awareness of his legs wet with cum heightened. Waves of wanton heat ran across his body. He looked down at his partner having ferociously upped his stroking speed, sucking at the tip, his clear-blue eyes meeting his, and Stefan couldn't help himself but to come with a cry, cumming buckets in unfiltered pleasure as they held eye contact, before he lost his awareness to the sensation of his partner's warm mouth on him. Stefan Bekowsky looked up at the backroom's ceiling and closed his eyes, howling through his teeth.
When he'd given all he had in him to Cole, he floundered back against the wall, letting himself be the one this time to humbly drop to his knees, enjoying the waves of quiet pleasure tingling across his body, following his orgasm.
Stefan sighed. Relishing in the afterglow with Cole Phelps. Stranger things have happened, he mused. It was only too bad there was no room service to top it off. He lazily observed his partner, who had turned away to wipe the side of his mouth with his handkerchief. He felt a pang of regret over not witnessing at least one droplet of cum on that smart mouth, its lips now flush and red. But it also dawned on him that he'd come enough for centuries and there were no signs left. Cole pulled up a sleeve, looking at the time on his watch with a frown to himself, and Stefan figured he could keep his mouth shut, this time. Afterall, just the thought would sustain him for a long time.
As Stefan dusted off his ruined jacket, he mused if he should foot his partner the bill for a dry clean next time. Wouldn't that be a riot? He watched Cole peek back into the Mensch's main room, where oblivious patrons sat within, the bartender assuming the cops had finally beaten sense into one another. He looked towards the window on the far wall facing the street.
"The car's gone." Cole informed.
"Damn it." Stefan said. "I paid for the gas."