John swung his leg over his bike and sat down with a barely concealed wince, his cock twitching beneath the tight polyester of his uniform breeches at the reminder of last night’s activity.
“You okay there?” Mike asked, straddling the bike next to him and fastening the chin strap on his helmet. They’d just responded to a call for backup that had turned out to be nothing, and were now heading back out to resume their work of writing tickets for speeders and apprehending drunk drivers. It wasn’t the most glamorous work, but John enjoyed it.
“I’m fine,” John said, smiling happily. While Carter’s determination to push him away had initially made him feel like shit, he’d decided not to care about the moment of assholery and instead relish the idea of getting to ride the werewolf’s amazing monster of a cock again.
If Carter called him, that was. But it had been less than a day, so John wasn’t worried yet. He was almost glad he hadn’t asked for Carter’s number in return. Now the ball was entirely in Carter’s court, which truth be told, was how John liked it.
“Did you have fun at the club?” Mike asked, leaning forward and grabbing the handlebars of his bike. John couldn’t see his eyes behind his mirrored shades, but the other cop’s mouth was stretched in a lascivious grin.
“It was cool,” John said noncommittally. “Lots of guys.”
“Yeah? Did you get lucky?”
John rolled his eyes, putting on his sunglasses instead of answering the question.
“You did, you fucking dog. Was he hot?” Mike was still grinning, and John laughed. He didn’t know why he’d been worried to come out to Mike. The man treated him exactly the same as he had before, with only the pronouns in his invasive questions and lewd remarks having switched from female to male.
“He was pretty hot, yeah. A little bit of an asshole in the end, though. Did this whole thing about how he wasn’t looking for an attachment. But I gave him my number, so hopefully he’ll call.”
“Because you like him,” Mike teased, drawing out the word like as though he were in elementary school.
“Because I like his dick,” John countered. “Thing was massive. You should have seen it.”
Mike blanched. “Yeah, no. I think I’ll pass. Dongs aren’t really my thing, and seeing the extra big ones just makes me feel bad about my own equipment. But good for you.”
John snorted. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”
“Hey!” Mike called, mock offended. “I told you to stop looking at me in the shower. It’s unprofessional.”
John gave him a look. “You sent me a dick pic and asked me if it was the biggest I’d ever seen. I don’t think you have much room to talk about beingunprofessional.”
“But I was drunk when I sent that, so it doesn’t count,” Mike defended himself. “Besides, you texted backno. Asshole.”
“Well, it wasn’t,” John said, lying his ass off. Mike’s cock was amonster, and until the night before it was by far the biggest John had ever seen. He might not have looked at the other man in the shower, but his bulge spoke for itself.
John had deleted the picture immediately. Mike was his friend, and the picture had been prime jerking material. No way was he living with that temptation. He’d learned the hard way not to develop crushes on heterosexuals, and keeping his feelings for Mike strictly friendly was one of his proudest accomplishments.
“Whatever. You’re still coming out with us tonight, right?” Mike asked.
John nodded.
“Good.” Mike started his bike and revved the engine in an obnoxious display of testosterone. He grinned. “I’ll see you then.”
“See you,” John replied, starting his own bike as Mike pulled away from the curb. Unlike Mike, John did not pointlessly rev the engine.
Driving back to the highway, John couldn’t help but grin. The sun was beating down against his leather-clad back, warming him pleasantly, and the crisp fresh air made him feel alive. He must have looked like an idiot, riding down the highway with a manic grin on his face, but he didn’t care.
Life was good.
***
Later that night, after several hours of bowling and heavy drinking with Mike and the rest of the gang from work, John’s phone rang while he was sitting in the back of his Uber. He grinned when he saw that it was from his friend, Luke.
Luke was the first werewolf John had ever met, and his crush on the other man had beenepic. Then John had gotten to know him, and his crush had faded. It wasn’t that Luke wasn’t a nice guy—because he was—but he took himself a little too seriously. In addition—and this was most likely why John’s crush had faded—he was head over heels in love with his boyfriend; a witch who would probably strangle John with his own intestines if he ever went after his man.
That Luke had kept in touch after he moved back to Forest Hill had surprised John, but he was happy for it. Having a friend outside of work was probably healthy, and Luke had a unique way of looking at the world that John found he enjoyed immensely.
“Luke, how’s it going?” John answered the phone, slurring his words a little. He must be more drunk than he’d thought.
