Chapter Nineteen
The Scene

If Jim Ellison had actually decided to make his living as a male whore, Stanley thought as Jim took Stanley's cock down his throat again, he could have probably become a millionaire, selling his services to rich old queens. The dude was good.

Jim gave what Stanley thought of as 'top' head: agressive. It really was like being eaten. The man could make you think that he was starving, and you were the tastiest treat on earth. But...

Stanley grabbed Jim's short hair and pulled, moving back at the same time. His spit slick cock came free with an audible pop. Jim stared up at him, eyes slightly unfocussed, mouth a little swollen, and started to reach for him again.

Whoa. He'd gathered a little bit about the Sentinel/Guide thing listening to Blair, and he thought that Ellison, caught up in the heat of the moment, might be about to go into a zone, or else... Well, a little over the edge into something that wasn't play. He had to get him back to reality, or at least a close version of reality.

"Ellison!" His voice was a whip crack, and Jim winced, his eyes clearing. That had been painful, with Jim's sensitive hearing, but it had been necessary. He was back.

He glared at Stanley with a sullen smoulder. "Why'd you stop me? You ain't come yet."

"You're right about that, whore, but it ain't your mouth I want for that. Get up and drop your pants."

Jim stood up, pushing back the chair, and unfastened his jeans, pushing them down to his knees. Stanley's fair eyebrows climbed. Blair wasn't the only one who occasionally went commando. "You're such a slut, Ellison."

Jim cocked his hips. His erection waved at Stanley. "That's why I get the big bucks."

Stanley reached out and gripped Jim's cock firmly. Jim tensed. He trusted Stanley, but in a situation like this one they were enacting, when another man grabbed your dick, you got ready to deal with some intense sensations, and just hoped they would be pleasure instead of pain.

He didn't have anything to worry about. Stanley's touch was a little rough, but carefully so. He stroked strongly, milking drops of pre-cum from Jim's pee slit. "But you're my slut now, aren't you, Ellison?" He squeezed a little harder. "Answer me."

"Yeah," Jim breathed. "I'm your slut. You gonna fuck me, or talk me to death?"

"Watch it. I may decide to fuck you to death."

"You could always try, cop."

"On the table."

Jim hoisted himself up to sit at the end of the table, legs dangling. Stanley jerked his jeans the rest of the way off, removing the shoes in the process. All Jim was left with below the waist was his white athletic socks. "Lay back and grab your knees."

Jim obeyed, spreading his legs as he did so. This left him open and presented to Stanley. The Chicago cop got out a rubber and slipped it on. Then he removed a tube from his pocket and squeezed lubricant onto his fingers. "How much is it gonna take to open you up, Ellison? I mean are you tight, or loosey-goosey? Huh? Need the traditional one finger, two fingers, three fingers, dick, or can I just tickle ya and shove it in?"

Jim squirmed, obviously turned on by Stanley's crudity. "Find out for yourself, you prick."

"I'll just do that little thing." Stanley shoved one finger into Jim with a hard jab. Jim's head snapped back, banging against the table, his face tight. But the grunt he made was more pleasure than pain.

His voice a little strained, Jim said, "You gotta do better than that, Vecchio."

"Oh, you're a tough whore, ain't you?" Stanley worked his finger in Jim roughly. "Want some more? All right."

He rammed the second finger in. This time Jim's head thrashed from side to side, and he bared his teeth. One might have thought he was really in pain, if it weren't for the never flagging rigidity of his cock, which had now leaked a puddle of pre-cum on his belly so copious that it was in danger of dripping down his side.

"Like that, don't ya, Ellison? You like having my fingers in your ass. You'll like my cock even more."

"Fuck you."

Stanley pushed hard, twisting his hand, and hit Jim's prostate. The big man arched till all that rested on the table was his ass and the back of his head, making an animal keening sound. "No, fuck you, Jim. You think you're bad?" Stanley pulled his hand free, grabbed Jim's ankles, and jerked his legs over his shoulders. "I'll show you bad, baby."

Stan fitted himself against Jim's loosened anus. "I can make tough whore's come, Jimmy. You're gonna give it up for me." He slammed into the hot, tight channel, leaning in close over Jim, forcing his knees back.

"Oh, my God!" Jim cried out at the penetration, all acting forgotten in the heat of the moment. Small he might be, at least in height, but Stanley Vecchio was a man, and could be a damn fucking machine when he wanted to.

Stanley rode Jim without mercy, ramming into him again and again. He grabbed Jim's hips and lifted, tilting him so that his cock would rub over Jim's prostate when he pulled back far enough, then jabbed back in. Jim was washed with wave after wave of intense pleasure.

Stanley couldn't believe it. Jim could be the toppest top he'd ever run into, and now he was bottoming magnificently. Was there anything the man couldn't do? Shit, it would have made Stanley feel inadequate if he wasn't having such a good time.

Stanley caught a glimpse of them in the mirror, and when he realized what they must look like, it brought him even closer to the edge. He had to add just a little more drama to the situation.

"You love it, don't you, Ellison? You just love a hard cock up your ass. You'd do it for free if you couldn't get paid, wouldn't you?"

"Yes." The single word was breathy.

"Not good enough." Stanley's strokes were speeding up. Jim whimpered. "What do you love?"

"Cock. I love cock. Just shut up and fuck me, damn you!"

Stanley suddenly went still. Jim cried out in frustration, and tried to push himself down on Stanley, to impale himself on the hot, quivering prick that was only barely in contact with him now, the head only still enclosed in his body. But Stanley had a death grip on his hips, and he didn't have the leverage to move.

"Danm you, Vecchio!" Jim yelled, and he wasn't acting now. "Damn you, you cocksucker, you stick that in me right now!"

"Beg."

Jim cursed him poisonously, using several different languages (well, you pick up colorful swears when you're in the army). Finally, when he realized that he couldn't push himself any farther onto that delicious prick and Stanley wasn't going to give in, he said, "Please, Stan. Fuck me. I want it so bad. I need it. I need your dick in my ass. I'm gonna have a fucking stroke if you don't hurry up and bugger the shit out of me. Please!"

"All you had to do," Stanly took hold of Jim's cock, squeezing, and buried himself to the root in his lover's body, as he spoke,"was ask me nice."

Jim howled, and came. His jizm spurted so hard that he was splattered all the way up his torso, pearly drops staining his shirt, and landing on his throat.

When he felt the internal spasms caused by Jim's orgasm Stanley tried to hold on for a minute more, but he never had a chance. Jim's strong internal muscles milked him as neatly as an experienced farmer's hand stripping cream from a cow's teat.

The prophylactic caught and held the sperm, but with his Sentinel senses, Jim could still experience the heat and pulse. His yell wound down into a rough, satisfied purr.

Stanley half fell on him, panting. Jim lazily crossed his ankles behind Vecchio's neck, pulling him even closes, and cooed, "Damn, you're a big, bad copper, Vecchio."

"Don't you fuckin' forget it, punk."

"If I do, will you remind me?"

"Fuckin' A."

"I have a lousy memory." Jim stretched. "I'm gonna have to call the ACLU and report you for police brutality."

"Yeah? How do you figure I was brutal?"

Jim reached up, grabbing the back of Stanley's head, leaning up to him, growling, "You never kissed me, you unromantic son of a bitch," and plastered his mouth over Stanley's.

In a moment, they were both laughing into the kiss. Stanley wiggled out of Jim's arms, pulling his softening cock from his lover's body. "I do hope you know that wasn't an official interrogation technique taught at the Chicago acadamy."

"No? Damn, I was thinking about taking a refresher course." Jim sat up, and looked down at himself.

"Well, I'm gonna have to go home and change before we do anything else. Unless Blair has a spare sweatshirt in his office. He wears 'em baggy enough for us to share, if we have to."

Since the shirt was pretty much a loss, Jim pulled it off and used it to clean himself. Then he turned it inside out, and knotted the sleeves around his neck. When he saw the look Stanley was giving him, he shrugged. "I'd rather fib about why I wasn't wearing a shirt than try to explain come stains."

They left the room and started for the elevator, so they could go to Blair's office in the basement. They met Ben and Blair coming out of a lecture hall. Both looked a little flushed.

"Uh huh. Any extracurricular activities going on?" Jim asked.

"Just some negotiation about grading on a curve. Should I ask why you're wearing your sweatshirt preppy style?"

"You can, but I won't tell you. Do you have another one in your office?"

"Sure, man. Here." Blair threw him the key. "Take Stanley and Benny with you. I need to go get something I left in one of the rooms."

It turned out that Blair had a RANIER sweat shirt that Jim could squeeze into. He changed, and they made their way back up to the ground floor. Blair was lounging on the steps of the building, cradling a paper bag in his arms. Jim looked curious, but didn't ask. Blair was always bringing home some report or artifact.

By unanimous aclaim, they went back to Skeets for lunch. They had barely stepped through the door when Mama Ivy descended on them with a bellow of, "JimanBlair! BenanStan!" Benny and Stanley had been officially adopeted.

Ivy hugged all four, pinching each one on the butt before letting them loose, then stood back and studied them. After a moment, she nodded, smiling slowly. "What?" said Stanley, a little embarrassed.

"Oh, nuthin', sugar. Nuthin' at all. Just nice to see you boys gettin' along so fine. Not a thing in this world does my heart as much good as the sight of young love." Benton and Stanley turned matching shades of scarlet.

The entire party, no longer distracted by mating rituals, thoroughly enjoyed their lunch. Afterward, the question of what to do with the rest of the afternoon came up. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm a little tired," Blair commented. "I'd kinda like to just chill at the loft, maybe watch a video."

Stanley coughed.

Benton and Jim said that sounded all right with them. They stopped at the video store, and came away with a stack of tapes. Fraiser had insisted on a National Geographic video about wolves, but Blair certainly hadn't tried to argue him out of it.

There were several action films, a bloody horror flick, and what was supposed to be a spectacularly rude comedy. Jim and Stanley agreed that it would probably be as amuseing to watch Fraiser watching the comedy as it would be to view the film itself.

Back at the loft popcorn was made. Even though they had just finished lunch, it was agreed that the movie watching experience just wasn't complete without popcorn.

Jim, Stanley, and Benny settled on the couch. Blair was sorting through the videos, having claimed first choice. The other men didn't notice him ease an unmarked video tape out of the paper bag he'd brought from the university. He went to the VCR, and plugged the tape into it.

As he picked up the remote and walked around behind the couch Jim said, "So, what's the first one, Chief?"

"Um... I'm not sure of the title. I think it's something like 'Shakedown'."

Jim groaned. "Christ, Chief, you didn't slip a cop movie in there, did you? We deal with cop situations every day. I want a little escape, and entertainment."

"Oh, believe me, Jim. This will be entertaining, even though you might want to escape."

"Well, fast forward through the commercials, huh? Get to the action."

The grin in Blair's voice should have warned him, after all the time they'd spent together. "Right, Jim. Action it is."

The tv blinked to life, the VCR whirred. There was just a jumpy, blurred image for a few seconds, as Blair fast forwarded. Then he hit play.

"...sixth time you've been busted for soliciting, Ellison. six! I've told you before, peddle your mouth and your ass if you want to, but not on my turf..."

Jim came off the couch with a yell. Luckily, Fraiser had been holding the popcorn. Blair raced up the stairs, giggling madly, Sentinel in hot pursuit.
Benton, after glancing after them and deciding, judging from Blair's squeals, the Jim wasn't actually killing him, turned his attention back to the screen. What on earth had caused that reaction?

"Yeah? Well, he sure was enjoyin' my hand on his dick before he slapped the cuffs on me." That large, dark haired actor looked very familiar.

"Who said cops can't enjoy that?" Come to think of it, so did the smaller, fair haired one.

"What? I don't get you."

"Who said a cop can't appreciate a skilled hand, or a hot mouth, or a juicy ass? What I'm talkin' about here, Ellison..."

The popcorn kernal stopped halfway to Fraiser's mouth, and he gaped. "Oh, my."

Stanley reached over and took the kernal, popping it into his own mouth. "Yeah."

Fraiser watched the next few lines of dialogue in silence, rapt. Then Stanley on screen opened his pants and exposed himself. Benton turned soft, wondering eyes on his lover. "Ray, you are famous."