NIGHTSTICKS
by Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
Anderson jumped into the patrol car after the last gang member had been busted and hauled away. His face was electrically alive, his grin wide as a sunrise, his blond hair wild though short and he whooped out his joy! "Whoo-oo-oo!" he yelped. "Whoo! Whoo, whoo-oo-oo-ooh!"
Moloney grinned; although older than Anderson, he was just as worked up. When the adrenaline pumped through your body at a time like this, when every move you made could mean your life, there was this time of ecstatic exhilaration, when the blood pounded heavy in your veins and every part of your body quivered with the joy of life, life, LIFE!
So he grinned at Anderson, his black mustache making a happy curve as he looked at his young recruit partner. "We took them down, all right!" he said.
"Fucking A! Yeah! Yeah! Whoo-oo-oo-ooh!" Anderson yelped into the deep night. "Did you see the switchblade that punk in the red shirt pulled on me? I had my gun and I could have shot him, just shot him down, but I didn't! I backed away and pulled out my nightstick and I fucking dueled with the punk, just like fencing with swords! He couldn't get close to me with that mother. Finally, he took a wild swipe and I rapped his knuckles like they taught me, and the blade went fucking flying just like they promised it would, and I rushed that mother and took him fucking down! Whoo!"
"Too bad it's not our bust." Moloney agreed. "We'll have to write up our version, but Stevens and Mendelsohn get this bust. We were just part of the backup."
"Yeah, I want in first next time! Mendelsohn had three of those guys on him and he was fending all three of them off. Never used his gun, either, he just kept dodging and waiting for us to show. They got his uniform, slashed it clean open, but his vest saved him. I'm going to start wearing it myself, no matter how fucking hot this summer gets!"
"Well, this night is about wound down." Moloney said. "Let's go pretend to patrol until it's our turn to head back to the station and the paperwork waiting for us there." That to gently remind Anderson that they weren't two hooligans in black uniforms, they were officers of the law. While the red blood pounded in their arteries like this, they were more dangerous than those punks, so a good cop laid low while he waited for his nerves to quit twitching, got himself back in check once again. It was an unwritten rule that a car that was in on a big bust was left alone as much as possible the rest of the night, to give the police officers inside it a chance to remember their duty and come down off that amazing high, that adrenaline rush. A chance to become human again.
"Yeah! Yeah!" Anderson said. And their black-and-white prowled through the silent streets. This was a tough neighborhood, but at this hour, even the gang members had given up and now a peaceful somehow hollow serenity lay over the trash-filled streets and the broken-glass-windowed buildings. Here and there a light shone, probably someone who had passed out before going to bed, but otherwise, it was just the street lights and their car that held this entire area.
"God, I'm wound so fucking tight, I can't hold still!" complained Anderson. "Man, I want to go DO something!"
"We can't, we're still on shift." Moloney said. "Some guys take their break and slip into a bar for a drink, but that's a good way to get on report if the Captain finds out."
"God, I want to do something!" Anderson griped.
"What?" Moloney asked. "What would you do, kid? Hell, this night is over, all but the clock-ticks. What would you like to do?"
"I don't know! Get drunk! Get into a fight! Find a whore and fuck her brains out all night long! I feel like I could fucking fly!"
"Man, you ARE on a rush!" Moloney admired. He felt it, too, but not this hard. The night shadows were lined with a light only he could see, every edge sharp and clear. Your body ran up to top speed at a time like this, ready to fight tooth-and-nail for survival. And now there wasn't anything to fight, so you bottled it up and squelched it down and prayed you didn't go loopy like some guys on the force, until you went out and bashed a wino or hassled a hooker; things that could maybe make you lose your job, but sure as shit would make sure you never did anything but pound a beat for the rest of your fucking life. Moloney had been on patrol for four years now, he was up for a Sergeant slot if he could keep his nose clean long enough to pass that exam. He'd failed it before, the first time he took it, but hell, anybody could fail the first time due to nervousness or unfamiliarity with the tests. Then he'd missed the second chance through no fault of his own, and now he had the third shot coming up in two more months. And now he was saddled with babysitting a rookie through his first days on the beat and this kid was wound so tight, no telling what he would do.
Moloney picked an alley behind a warehouse, a place he knew was quiet and private, downright dead, and parked the car midway between the two street-lights back there. He didn't call for a break and they were still officially on duty, but at this hour and after a night like this, a lot of guys did it, knowing they weren't needed. It was like a major bust like the one that had gone down caused the rest of the crooks to call it a night.
"Okay, kid, we're private here." He said. "You can't get drunk and you can't get into a fight and you can't fuck a hooker, because even they've called it a night. So what the fuck you want to do? We could get out and go a round or two; blame any bruises on the bust."
"I don't know!" Anderson groaned. "If I don't do something, something...something wild, I'm going to freak!"
"So freak, kid." Moloney said. "Long as it ain't downright illegal or dangerous, I'm with you. I'll help you through it. What do you want to do?"
"Man, I'm going to burst if I can't release this somehow, I...I...God, yeah!" Anderson crowed. "I know what I want to do!"
"What, kid?"
"Jerk off! Right here, right now!"
"Now?" Moloney was startled, and the adrenaline that had been beating in his ears, suddenly dove for his crotch and coalesced there, pulsed again. Shit, the kid was right! You needed to get some release, a good jerk-off would take care of it!
"I want to whack off inside this patrol car." Anderson said, and he groped his crotch with his hand, hard. He wasn't rubbing it, he was grinding his groin with his hand, fucking going to squeeze his nuts until they popped if he kept that up! "Shoot my wad in here, smell that funk the rest of the night, let the jizz dry on my uniform and have to scrape it off before anyone sees, but it'll still be there! Yeah, that's what I want to do."
"So go ahead, kid." Moloney said. "I won't tell." Shit, the kid had a good idea! "I'm feeling kinda horny myself right now."
"So whack it, too." Anderson urged him. "We've got another hour before we head in to the station. We'll beat our meat here and smell that spunk when we go to check in for debriefing. Let's see if anybody notices! Yeah!"
Anderson was unzipping his pants while he undid the top buttons on his shirt. Neither of them wore a bullet-proof vest, it was encouraged but in this heat, those things were just too damned hot. He and Anderson kept theirs in the trunk of the car, figuring on pulling them out and putting them on at the last minute if they had to. Anderson didn't even have a t-shirt on, though that was regulation. Still, some regs were meant to be broken, and he hadn't worn a tee tonight himself; his were all dirty.
So Anderson's chest was bare beneath that black shirt, and his nearly-hairless young body was glowing in that light all around them. Anderson worked out like so many police officers, who knew that having their body in top condition may save their lives one day, but in Anderson's case, he was just building on a natural physique. Tall, lanky, muscular Swede ancestry, who looked as if he belonged on a ski slope in a sky-blue jumpsuit rather than the deep black of the police force. His long face was handsome in something the way a horse's was, not that Anderson was horse-faced, he just had that long sort of beauty about him.
Anderson took out his pud and began whacking it with a frenzy that Moloney admired. Damn, that was a tool the kid had on him! He'd seen it limp a time or two in the showers and it hadn't promised anything like the size this pink-tipped, clean-skinned whanger. His mouth drooled thinking about how that beautiful white pillar of manhood would taste sliding down his throat.
Anderson scooted forward in the seat and now his cock pointed proudly to the car roof, a solid ten inches of Scandinavian dong fresh out of Minnesota like Anderson, a beautiful, beautiful pud!
"Come on, partner, do it with me!" Anderson panted as he pumped his schlong. "Make us real partners after tonight! That's how the Vikings used to do it!"
"Really?" Moloney asked, serious for a moment, but then Anderson guffawed and Moloney knew he'd been had. "You fucker!" he chuckled himself, imagine believing something like that, even for a moment!
"Come on, man, get that Irish prick out and let me see it all worked up and angry. It's tenting out your pants like it's hungry for loving just like Lars here."
"Your dick is named Lars?"
"Yeah. What's yours called?"
"Uh...James." Moloney admitted.
"So...can James come out to play with Lars?" Anderson asked, sounding briefly like a little kid begging a mother.
Moloney laughed. "Sure, kid, he sure can." Nobody at the station had to know about this. Hell, when he was alone in a car on patrol or doing easy duty like serving warrants in a nice neighborhood, he sometimes whacked his pud like this, in some back alley. He bet a lot of the guys on night shift took advantage of the silent hours, and the dark, and the heat that pounded in their veins after a busy night fell silent and calm like this.
So he unzipped and brought James out.
"Whoa, buddy, that's a mean one!" Anderson said. "Let see you work it. Come on, buddy, whack that meat, really pump that sausage!"
Moloney grinned; he had given his dong that name after a butcher shop/delicatessen near his old home, "James' Meats & Deli", where the sausages and salamis hung long and fat in the window to entice the shoppers. His prick had reminded him of that one time when it was semi-hard, hanging down between his legs and all fat and dark, looking just like one of those long sausages!
Well, James wasn't lying down now, he hadn't felt this hard in a long time. Having this kid whomping his meat alongside him had a lot to do with it, he admitted to himself.
He began to pump his meat slowly, skinning it back and letting the tingling feeling come from the way he pulled the foreskin all the way back, to strain the skin super-tight until it elongated the glans. He shucked it back up and pre-come glistened and smeared as he worked his prong.
"Yeah, buddy." Anderson had slown down to something like Moloney's own working. "Come on, let me see that mother turn all red and angry. I want to see you pump that wad all the way out. Come on, let's race!"
"Well, I like to take my time." Moloney teased Anderson. "Nice and slow, that's my motto."
"Shit!" Anderson said. "Well, we can have a race as to who lasts longest."
"I am not going to whomp my pud. It likes it when I work it slow. I get the creamiest loads of jizz out of it that way."
Anderson reached over and Moloney was surprised to feel Anderson's hands at his shirt, unbuttoning him. "Mmm, yeah, I knew you weren't wearing a t-shirt tonight." he murmured as Moloney's hairy chest revealed itself. Anderson's fingers roamed through that hair, feeling it out, and Moloney gasped as those fingertips woke up nerves he had forgotten he had. Damn, it had been so long since anyone had touched him. Too many guys were afraid of coming on to a cop, and those that did wanted you to play fantasies with them, handcuff them and shit. And he wanted attention and loving, not slapping a lover around and calling him a punk! And even without the uniform, going to a bar was tricky; what if he walked out and a squad car was going by? Officially the force didn't care, but in reality...he wasn't ready for that, just yet.
Moloney braved enough to reach over and palp one of Anderson's breasts, feeling the taut nipple as a hard button under his palm, the fatty tissue there wafer-thin, bulging with muscle below that.
"Maybe we can race after all." Anderson said as if sleep-walking, in a trance.
"How's that?" Moloney asked. "I'm not going to pound my pud hard. I like it slow."
He felt Anderson's hand at his crotch and let go of his pud in wonderment as Anderson grabbed a hand-hold on him and skinned him back, pumped him up.
"Yeah, that's a hot piece of meat you got there, partner." Anderson said. "I knew when I saw it in the shower it would feel like this, all warm and nearly mushy in my hand even when it was hard."
Moloney gasped and fell back, his hat fell off somewhere and he didn't bother to look for it. God, this kid's hands were on his prick! Jesus, it had been such a long time since someone had put a hand on his cock like this! Anderson squeezed him tight and began to pump him harder, and Moloney felt his cock get hard, really hard, for the first time in a long time! A tower of steel, a rod of iron, no limp sausage here!
"Yeah, I knew this would do it." Anderson said. "Race you, buddy, bet I can hold out longer than you can."
"Sure, if you're working both of them." Moloney gasped. "That's not fair."
Anderson's response was to let go of his own pud. "Go for it." he said. "Come on, I need you to touch it, buddy, I need you to hold it for me."
Moloney put his hand around that pink prick reverently, the way you pick up a statue of a god even when it's not any part of your own faith. Like touching Buddha's rotund belly for luck, you reverenced it even when you didn't believe any of it. This was Anderson's altar of manhood, and he was worshiping there. The same way you rubbed Buddha's belly, you took this shaft of power in your hand and you worked it with all five fingers clinging tightly, feeling the bulbous glans as a ring-shaped bump under your fingers as you shucked it up, to rippled under you again as you skinned it back.
Anderson was doing wonders with his prong, and Moloney knew he couldn't last long. "You like it hard and fast, don't you kid?" He asked.
"You bet, buddy." Anderson crooned. "The harder the better."
"Like this?" Moloney's hand sped up to a blur on Anderson's pud and Anderson groaned, and one of his legs jumped over Moloney's as he scooted in closer in the dark patrol car, lit only by the lights from before and behind from above, turning their world into midnight black and gleaming flesh tones.
Anderson's hand was working wonders on Moloney's pud, he was being sent into a sea of pleasure crashing over him in waves, one wave for each movement of Anderson's hand. "Oh, God, Anderson, faster now, faster!" He begged.
"Yeah, going to make you come, buddy." Anderson said. "My partner, my friend, my best bud, going to make you squirt your jizz and have it land all over you, then I'm going to laugh at the mess you made!"
"Not if I make you shoot it first!" Moloney crowed triumphantly. He felt this turgid rod in his hand, felt how it burbled and boiled from within. Anderson wouldn't last much longer, he need only make sure Anderson came first.
Anderson did something odd with his hand, he began to pump and pause, pump-pump, pause, pump-pump-pause. And God, that was turning him on!
"Ah, Jesus!" Moloney grunted. "What are you doing to my pud, you bastard? You're making me crazy!"
"Yeah, yeah!" Anderson groaned. "Come on, shoot that wad, cream all over yourself, I want you white and sticky, come on, shoot it, shoot it!"
And Anderson was winning, Moloney felt the orgasm building behind his eyeballs, he was about to make a thorough mess of himself. He retaliated by whipping Anderson's pud into a fury, and Anderson groaned, Moloney sobbed gutteral curses as his climax built up now, not now, please, not now! "Shit! Shit! Fuck!" he complained as his cock exploded in a hundred neon-colored delights that played before his dazzled eyes, and the eruption of his jism was just a small added part of the show.
But he had Anderson groaning louder, louder, even in his ejaculation, he worked Anderson with a violent jerking on his pud, and Anderson gave a long, long, low groan that suddenly rose to a shriek, and Anderson was shooting his wad along with Moloney.
"Ah! Hah! Ah! Hah!"
Moloney grinned while his pud blasted still, watching how Anderson's cock sprayed him all over, ignoring the splashes on his own hand and arm, he had matched Anderson. "Hah, hah, ah, a, a tie! Hah, hah!" He grunted as his climax released him at last, and such was the residual adrenaline inside of him that he didn't feel the least bit lethargic, he felt energized, ready to face the world again, this time with his head screwed down tight and in no danger of going off crazy like they had before.
Anderson still jetted, squirting for an amazingly long time, until he finally finished, and Moloney was playing with a soggy mass of what had been a majestic pud but now was so much dumpling batter and just as sticky from the wads that had landed on him and down there.
"Oh, oh, oh, partner!" he gasped out in final joy.
"That's me." Moloney grinned. "Well, kid, are we messy enough to suit you?"
Anderson looked down at himself, at the splotches of white on his uniform, but that was soaking in quickly and a few rubs of his fingers made it nearly invisible. Then over at Moloney, who had a more cohesive, and therefore whiter and less wide-spread pattern on him.
Without a word, as if he had permission, Anderson reached over and smeared Moloney's jizz, ending up with a big wad of it on one index finger when he was done. Moloney waited in silent happiness for Anderson to find a place to wipe it off, but to his goggle-eyed amazement, Anderson took the finger into his mouth and sucked on it, eyes closed, in apparent bliss.
"Ahh, that's the real Irish cream." Anderson said. "It's a fake that they serve you in Clancy's tavern near the station."
"Well, there's more here when you want it." Moloney said carefully. "Assuming you ever do." There, that did it. He'd made an offer and left an opening at the same time for Anderson to dodge it. He could treat it as a rough joke if he had to.
"Oh, I'll want more." Anderson said. "If we stay on night shift, I'm going to need help coming down from a bust like tonight sure as shit."
"I have to admit that this was a great way to come down." Moloney said. "I feel all relaxed and ready to be a good cop again, rather than a hood in a uniform."
"Yeah." Anderson said. "From now on, we get all buzzed like that, we come out here and take care of it."
From now on? Yeah! his heart sang with joy at those words. "Sure, kid." Moloney said, with a warmth in his stomach. "From now on, all right. You got yourself a fucking deal."
THE END
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