Nothing Special VI: His Hart's Command, page 9
part #6 of Nothing Special Series
Hart
“You sure I can’t get you anything to eat or drink? It’s getting pretty late, Hart. There might be a little casserole left. I think,” Carlos said, placing Hart’s knee pads and helmet back into his closet. He was showered and the last of his uniform was put away…the pieces not sprayed with blood.
Hart shook his head, tucking the last of the paperwork into his outbox, that Carlos swiftly yanked up. “I hate they make you stay and do all this paperwork.”
Hart let out an exasperated breath. “We have to do the reports while the incident is fresh in our minds. I’ve told you that a million times. If I go home and go to bed, I might forget an important detail.”
“That’s what the recording officer is for,” Carlos grumbled. He neatly arranged the same stack of files he’d done ten minutes before.
He knew his assistant hated to see him upset and he tried his best to put on an I’m-okay façade, but he was struggling. He kept seeing that man’s defeated eyes right before he’d blown his brains out. Damnit. The office was dark and quiet. Most of his team having gone home. All except him, Fox and Carlos.
“Carlos. It’s after nine. Go home,” Hart said softly. “I’m good. I promise. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”
“You had a powwow scheduled with God, Day and Syn about their Cornelia gang warrant they’re serving in a few weeks. But it’s been canceled. Maybe you can sleep in, try to rest tomorr—”
“Wait. What do you mean ‘canceled’?” Hart frowned, searching the calendar on his desk. Sure enough. It had a line drawn through his eight o’clock team meeting. If God and Day were serving a high-risk warrant then he damn sure needed to be at that meeting.
“God canceled it,” Carlos said.
“What the hell for?” Hart stood.
“Because when you’re democratically elected leader you get to make autocratic decisions. The meeting’s postponed because I said so,” God said, looming imposingly in his doorway.
Hart slumped back in his chair. “What are you still doing here, Cash?”
“I heard what happened.” God sat across from him. “You good?”
Hart didn’t have to pretend with his friend. He ran his hands over his head and down his face. He closed his eyes, remembering the sound of the solid bang from the 9mm. “I just…”
“You gotta know that no matter what you did, no matter how your team would’ve entered. That was always going to be your suspect’s end game,” God said confidently.
“That’s the same thing I said,” Fox commented, coming through his side entrance.
“I know, okay. It still…” Hart grumbled.
“He died on your command. I get it. And nothing we say or do is going to change that fact. Nothing we can do to help. But, I know what does help.” God smirked.
Fox stared at God a moment then busted out in laughter. “Nothing like a good distraction. Maybe like the one I saw you holding onto in the break room earlier.”
Hart’s face heated. It was another reason why he was so down. He’d lost his opportunity at his first date. “Yeah well. Can’t say I would’ve been good company to him tonight anyway. And since it’s going on ten I think it’s safe to say I’ll be going home alone.” To distract myself.
He didn’t even have Free’s number. He would’ve at least texted and apologized. He never wanted to stand him up.
“It’s not about you being good company. Let him be there for you, man.” God stood and went to his office door. He turned back and looked at him. “When shit gets too real for me in that office, sometimes there’s nothing Leo can say. All my husband can do is put his arms around me and just let me feel him. Let Free do that for you. It’s time you experienced the comfort only a man can give you.”
“But—”
God opened the door and Free stood there in a comfortable-looking sweat suit and a book bag slung over one shoulder. He wasn’t wearing the fashionable outfit he’d had on earlier. Hart figured he must’ve gone home and changed, then came back. For him.
“Hey,” Free said softly, walking inside.
Fox stood, squeezing his shoulder as he walked by. “God, I’ll walk out with you.”
“Cool.” God left without another word. Leaving him alone with Free and his messed-up head.
“I thought you’d left,” Hart croaked. He stood and came around his large desk, his body feeling its age.
“I did. But, I came back to wait.”
Hart grimaced when he checked the clock. “You didn’t have to stay around that long.”
“I didn’t mind. I said I’d be right here when you got back.” Free kept walking until they were chest to chest. His voice was low and soothing when he asked, “Are you okay? God told me what happened.”
He squeezed his eyes shut again. No. I’m not. It was hard to think about it. Each time he did he saw the suspect’s haunted expression, heard his own scream, then the inevitable pop.
Warm hands touched his cheeks. “Look at me.”
Hart opened his eyes, preferring the vision of beauty in front of him to the gruesome image behind his lids. Free smelled so clean, as if he was fresh out of the shower, his golden skin glowing in the dim lighting of his office. He stood close and let Free wrap his long arms around his neck. They stared at each other for a long, comfortable moment. He absently ran his hands up and down Free’s strong back, feeling the lithe muscles through the thick material of the hoodie as he held him tight. It felt so good, so real. He buried his nose in Free’s throat and inhaled his, rich scent, letting it relax him. It truly was a comfort only a man could give him right then.
They stood their cheek to cheek, chest to chest, breathing together. Free squeezed him tighter, showing him his strength. His body language telling him that he could lean on him for a while. Hart wasn’t sure he knew how to do that. It was always him having to be there for others. How could he receive what Free was offering when he’d never been given the opportunity before?
Free placed a lingering kiss on the corner of his mouth, then more along his coarse cheek. He stood frozen and three-quarters erect, not wanting to do anything that would stop Free’s mouth from moving over him. “I know it’s late. But, I’m not tired. If you still feel up to talking some…”
Hart took Free’s hand from his jaw and kissed it. He wanted to do more too, but this wasn’t the place. He was close to saying, no, that’s okay, you’ve done enough already, but he knew that wouldn’t’ve been the truth. He was going to be completely selfish for once. He needed Free’s company tonight. Desperately. “Thank you for staying.”
Free
“Do you want to follow me?” Hart asked, standing in the parking lot reserved for bikes only. “My house isn’t far from here. Few blocks.”
Free’s scooter was almost comical amongst the larger bikes, but he didn’t care. “Sure. Just don’t leave me in the wind. My max speed is forty-five.”
“Really?” Hart gave him a pitying expression that made him smile.
“Yes. Really.” Free unstrapped his helmet from his seat and straddled his scooter, waiting for Hart to lead. He had his book bag, with his change of clothes. Presumptuous, yes, but he liked to be prepared. His bottom lip almost hit the asphalt when Hart pulled out a rustic brown, soft-leather jacket from the saddle bag and threw it over his broad shoulders. Free’s mouth watered as he watched strong thighs straddle that shiny beast and bring her powerful engine to life. The roar vibrated in his chest, the vision adding to the sensation now working its way to his balls.
Hart peered over his shoulder, shooting him a knowing grin, as if he knew exactly what Free was thinking. And he didn’t try to hide it. He licked his lips, adjusted himself and slid his own helmet on. Get your ass moving, Hart. Free didn’t care how late it was. He would’ve stayed until dawn if that was how long the op had taken. He didn’t know why Hart didn’t think he was worth the wait.
Free would just have to show him.
He followed closely as Hart kept an easy pace of forty miles per hour through the dark, sparsely occupied streets, then made a right onto Glenwood Place. He loved how Hart rode with one hand on the bars and one on his thigh. So damn fine.
The neighborhood was quiet. Most of the small, ranch-style homes looked as if the occupants had already called it a night. Indistinct lights shone through random windows as he cruised by. He never would’ve imagined Hart living in a quaint community like this and coming home to a wife every night, but he had.
They turned onto his street, and Hart cut the engine and walked his bike up the driveway and into his garage. Free did the same. There was a new model pickup truck parked inside, as well as a classic bike that was maybe a hobby project. When Hart put his kickstand down, Free removed his helmet and pointed at the heap of tools next to the bike.
Hart shrugged. “Doubt I’ll ever get it going again, but I just can’t let her go.” He smiled fondly. “My pop gave it to me when I was fifteen. My ex never used to like me to ride so it kind of got ignored after so long. I hate I did that.”
Free didn’t ask Hart to elaborate anymore on the bike or his family, since his smile was more melancholy than nostalgic. “It’s pretty awesome.”
Hart fidgeted with his keys, his head down and jaw set. “Um, we can go on in.”
“Sure.” Free gripped the straps of his book bag with both hands, rocking on his heels while Hart inserted the key. When he opened the door, he stepped to the side and held it open for him. He climbed the couple of steps into the house, making sure to brush himself across Hart’s broad chest as he did.
The garage door opened into the utility room. It wasn’t a complete mess, but Free smiled at the pile of unfolded whites spewing from a large hamper and a mound of uniforms on the floor in front of the washer. He made sure not to step on anything as he walked past and into a narrow hallway. It was dark, so he waited for Hart to flick on more switches.
“Excuse the mess.” Hart coughed nervously. He dropped his own bag at the door and led them farther inside. “In here is a bit neater.”
Free followed Hart down the hall, noticing the tightness in his neck and shoulders. The corridor opened into a decent-sized living room separated by a long wall. The floors were all shiny wood and there was a couple of nice area rugs dividing the dining and living space.
Hart’s home was masculine and welcoming. Free’s favorite, so far, was the large screen television mounted over a stone-walled fireplace. It was beautiful. The furniture was deep green and oversized. One massive recliner sat at the end of the sectional, with a tattered throw draped across the back. A few magazines and four different remote controls were scattered over a coffee table centered in front of the couch.
The home was comfy and looked good-and-lived-in. He moved past Hart, not saying anything as he walked around his space. He could feel that the big man was edgy, so he didn’t want to crowd him. He wanted to show him this didn’t have to be scary. Free stopped at some built-in shelves and surveyed the multiple knickknacks and photographs. One looked to be of Hart when he was young. He was standing in front of a red barn with another guy about the same age—both beaming teenagers.
Another of Hart, standing proud in his SWAT uniform. Some of him with his team. An elderly couple, who had to be Hart’s parents, because the bushy beard on the handsome older man was a dead giveaway. And at least three of him with God: fishing, standing side-by-side in full tack gear, then standing with their arms around each other’s shoulders at a Falcons’ game. Lastly, Free paused at a hilarious photo of seven men all varying in age, sitting on stools with females in front of them with serious grips on their long beards, smirking cheekily back at the camera. Free turned and pointed at that one, wanting an explanation.
Hart’s lip turned up in the corner as he approached Free slowly. The man was walking sex and it made his knees wanna knock together. Free bit his bottom lip, trying not to eye-fuck the hell out of his host.
“That’s most of the men in my family.” Hart pointed to the individual guys as a broader smile graced his handsome face. “That’s my father and my stepmom in front of him. My four brothers with their wives, and that’s my baby brother with his girlfriend. My uncle with his fifth wife.” Hart’s laugh was deep and soothing.
Free didn’t widen his eyes when Hart said that was his uncle’s fifth wife, no, he was more interested in the meaning of the picture.
“You’re wondering what’s with holding the beards, huh?” Hart smiled, watching him. “All of us can get pretty hairy. Just runs in the genes. We might not like our hairy shoulders, but, don’t mistake how much we love our beards. It kind of became a funny quote in our family to say a woman had us by the beard. We’d say that if we were…ya’ know…”
Free stared into those icy blue eyes, captivated. He moved closer without thought, eliminating any distance separating them. Hart’s body vibrated and gave off an amazing amount of heat. “If you were…what? Finish.”
Hart never broke their eye contact. “If we were falling hard.”
“I see,” Free whispered, wanting nothing more than to reach up and grip all that bushy length and use it to pull Hart down into his recliner. “Were you there when this was taken?”
Hart nodded, then shook his head as if he’d just had an unpleasant memory.
“So, how come you’re not in this photo?” Free stared at the picture. Hart was quiet for a long time, and Free feared he’d been too pushy.
“I didn’t have a beard at the time.” Hart actually sounded hurt. “I told you before that my ex didn’t love my facial hair as much as the other wives did their husbands’. Anyway, she always fussed about it. I ended up cutting it and leaving it that way for a long time. I’ve only been growing mine for three years now…since the divorce.”
Free hated that he’d even asked. Damn, he wanted to lay eyes on Hart’s ex just so he could give her an evil glare and then check her ass for a stick wedged up it.
Hart’s eyes darted to the couch then back. He scrubbed one hand roughly over his face looking unsure, and exhaled a long breath. “Um. Do you wanna sit down? Or…you want a drink? Are…are you hungry, maybe?” Hart moved toward the kitchen, flicking on a couple more switches and illuminating a dining room that led to the quaint eat-in kitchen.
Free grabbed Hart’s arm. He could still see the heaviness riding high on Hart’s shoulders. The tension knots were practically visible in his neck and Free knew it had to hurt like hell.
“Hey, hold on.” Free caressed the thick bicep he held in his grasp. “Just relax a minute. I don’t need you to do anything for me. I’m just trying to be here with you, yes. That’s okay?”
Hart leaned into him and Free’s chest swelled. “Yeah, that sounds okay.”
“Good.” Free ran his hand up Hart’s chest. “What’s the first thing you do when you come home from a difficult day? If I wasn’t here, what would you have done first?”
“I’d have gone in my office back there and obsessed over my last op and what I could’ve done differently,” Hart scoffed, as if he knew that wasn’t the healthy thing to do.
“Well, I’m not letting you do that, so what would be the second thing you’d do? If you were here alone, Ivan.” Free couldn’t help the grittiness in his voice. It was just something about this man that made him completely comfortable and able to be himself.
“I’d probably shower, let the jets beat on my tired muscles.” Hart reached up and gripped the back of his neck, right where Free saw the stress knots. “Heat up leftovers in the fridge, eat a late meal and try to watch some mindless television to keep from thinking about work. Then doze off.”
Free smiled.
“I bet I sound like an old man to you,” Hart grumbled.
You sound like comfort. Free narrowed his eyes. “You’re not ready for me to tell you what you sound like to me. So for now, I’ll tell you to go get that shower and I’ll have those leftovers warmed up for you when you come out…and a little something special for you that I think you might enjoy.”
Hart’s blue eyes gleamed and his eyebrows rose. It looked as if the question to ask more about said special something was on the tip of Hart’s tongue, but he refrained. Instead, he nodded stiffly, told Free to make himself at home, and turned to walk down the dark hall toward a set of double doors at the end.
Free waited for the doors to close then went in Hart’s kitchen to start his task. He was no chef, but it was simple to take already prepared food and throw it into the microwave to reheat. While he waited for a heaping plate of stroganoff to finish warming, he found some tranquil music on his phone. His nerves tried to get the better of him when he thought of all he was doing.
Please don’t think I’m a bloody tool. Free’s primary goal was to care for Hart tonight. God had told him how his best friend only worried about others and paid no attention to his own wants, and had done it for many years. It was obvious Hart was in need. He’d had a fucked-up day and no one to be there for him at the end of it. But now, he was there. He could tell that Hart still had his doubts when it came to them, but he’d show him they could be good for each other. Free wasn’t being completely selfless. Hart needed from Free, but he also needed so much from Hart.
Hart
Hart groaned for the tenth time as he tried to concentrate on trimming his beard in the shower, using the mirror he’d attached to the tile. His dick wouldn’t go down to save his life. It wasn’t easy not taking a chunk out of his face each time his length pulsed at the idea of a wickedly, sexy young man waiting for him to come out so he could give him something special. His cock jumped again. It was insane that he could go a week without getting a full erection before Free had come around, now he had to beat his shit down with a baton.
Figuring he was groomed enough and scoured clean, he turned off the dual heads and stepped out. He ignored the trembling of his hands as he dried himself.
He hurried to throw on a pair of tight briefs to keep his wayward dick in line, some baggy lounging sweats and a black tank top. He was about to slide his feet into his old man slippers, but chose to go barefoot instead. Hart came out of the room, making sure to close the door behind him loudly enough that he wasn’t sneaking up on Free.
