Chapter Text
The heat was almost visible, hanging in the air like syrup. It was as though the roof was melting away above them. No one in their right might came up here during midday but the chief had been very clear about getting the files checked. Sergeant Troy tried to roll up his sleeves some more. At least Barnaby was suffering alongside him. Sweat was clinging to the chief’s bushy eyebrows and his shirt was sticking to his gut. Even below his belt there were unseemly dark patches. Troy scrunched his nose. Talk about a swamp.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Barnaby said.
“It’s the bloody heat, sir. Makes you mental.”
Barnaby glanced up from his file. “That why you keep looking at my crotch?”
“What…?”
“I knew you had wandering eyes. Thought it only applied to women.”
“Course it’s women,” Troy blurted out, still not trusting his ears. “I wasn’t…”
Barnaby leant back in his chair with a sigh. It was too small for him, making his gut hang out like a trussed Sunday roast.
“Perhaps you’d like a better view?” Barnaby was stretching his legs, spreading them against the flimsy armrests.
Was the old man having a heat stroke? Troy stared at him. It was impossible not to look… the chief’s meat hung heavy in his trousers. Thick, though not very long. The damp folds of Barnaby’s trousers pointed to it like arrows and Troy swallowed, slightly nauseous. He expected more taunting but Barnaby stayed silent, his gaze wandering slowly over Troy.
You wanna play chicken, is that it? Throwing his file on the desk, Troy fixed his eyes on the thick bulge between Barnaby’s legs. Trying not to blink, he wondered what Barnaby’s todger looked like under there. Ruddy like the rest of him? Like a fat old sausage, the kind old blokes in pornos had? He imagined Barnaby, ploughing away at some big-titted broad…
He broke out in a fresh sweat. But he didn’t look away from Barnaby even as his own cock stirred in his trousers.
“Thought you might like it,” Barnaby said. “Not that I’m surprised.”
Barnaby’s big, hairy hand reached down, rubbing a thumb over his meaty bulge.
“You always have a lot to say about queers. The river in Egypt, Troy, remind me what it’s called?”
His thumb kept tracing his cock, a rustling sound in the heat of the room. Troy held his breath. The bloody nerve of the man… In his mind he saw that thick cock go like a piston, buried in a dripping cunt, and he felt he was going to throw up. He gripped at the desk and his own cock jumped in his trousers hard enough to make him flinch.
Chicken… don’t blink, don’t look away. Hit ’em hard.
“Does it still work then?” Troy sneered. The image was stuck in his head, glossy and melting around the edges. Barnaby’s fat, thrusting cock.
“Works just fine. You want to see it, don’t you?”
The button popped open on Barnaby’s straining trousers, giving way to a swell of damp tartan. Troy thought he could smell the hot sweat on him. A stench like in the old changing rooms. Troy grimaced and his cock, just as disgusted, gave a heated throb.
Barnaby pulled down his boxers and his meat bulged into the open. Troy felt the ground sink a bit, like melting tarmac. It was a thick, limp cock with dark veins and the head just poking out, pale pink. Troy could see it before him, hard and full as it kept going balls-deep, slamming into a juicy arse, Barnaby’s huge body shaking with it. Troy was pitching a tent. He wanted to bolt from the room, get out... but he wasn’t going to lose this game of chicken.
“Not quite convinced,” he said.
“Hmm.” Barnaby’s large hand curled around his cock, squeezing it. “I think you are.” He nodded to Troy’s crotch.
The air curled wet and heavy between them and Troy felt the inescapable pull of something he couldn’t grasp. His eyes stung with sweat and he tried to blink them clear. No backing down.
“Gonna show you what a real man looks like,” he hissed.
Tugging hard at the zipper, Troy opened his trousers and pulled out his hard cock, letting it swing in the thick heat. Barnaby let out a low chuckle and Troy could see the hunger in his eyes.
“Show me then.”
Troy stroked a quick hand up and down himself, surprised at how easy it was. How it all swung into gear inside him. Unlike Barnaby, he did use his knob… yeah, let me show you… His cock looked white and slender next to Barnaby’s, but it stood in its curved glory, and it felt good, rock-hard and ever-ready and Troy spit into his hand and started pumping himself, swaying into it with his hips.
“Try and keep up,” he told Barnaby.
Barnaby’s chair creaked and Troy thought he could see the legs bend. With broad fingers Barnaby kept squeezing himself, choking that thick flesh until it rose heavy and red from his sweaty crotch. He was grunting with effort, making his cock drool while his eyes stayed glued to Troy’s knob.
Troy didn’t stop, not even for a second. It wasn’t a game of chicken any more but a race and he was going to win it. His mind dipped into all his favourite pornos, into his best fucks, he was drowning in cunt, always had been, not like Barnaby… what a waste, a cock like that, what a bloody waste… Barnaby was pumping his broad cockhead, spit-like threads hanging from his finger as he stopped to rub it into the tip, and Troy felt it in his balls, felt it eat its way up his spine. His ears were filled with the sound of their wanking. He could come like this… just from watching Barnaby, watching his fat, straining cock, waiting for it to…
He gritted his teeth, wanting to get closer to him. Close enough to push his cock against Barnaby’s and… fuck that cock… make Barnaby come, not just to win but to make him pay. He thrust harder into his hand and his arse clenched with pleasure.
“This is how a real man does it, Chief…”
“Watching another man…” Barnaby smiled, breathing heavily. His eyes never left Troy, sucking up every thrust, every inch of his cock, every stroke.
Troy tuned the words out. He was frantically jerking his shaft, melting into the tightness, the hot, drumming pleasure, into the insanity of all this. It was like his first brawl all those years ago, when he first learned what it was like to want something that made you want to puke your guts out, the rush of that…
It could turn you inside out…
Barnaby was coming. His load was sputtering from his jerking cock, washing down his fingers, and Barnaby was wheezing, his huge mass quaking in the chair, twitching like a wounded boar.
It went dark around Troy. The heat descended on him and took him away and he was quivering, shooting his load into something soft. He didn’t feel his own hand, could barely feel himself. He was in free fall, his cock pumping hard, this is how you do it, eh Chief, this is the real thing, watch and — watch and —
His eyes opened, blinking blindly into a harsh light.
He was lying somewhere. Did he pass out? Did Barnaby see…?
“I’m back!” A familiar voice, coming from far away. “Gav, come on, wake up. Look how hot you are. Wake up.”
“Maur…” He croaked out her name.
The light, it was the one on his nightstand. He was lying in his bed.
“Must have been a bad dream.” Maureen touched his head. “You’re soaking wet.”
Summer flu… he dimly remembered the doctor’s words. Had it been yesterday? He had called in at work and Barnaby… Barnaby had told him to get some rest. Get well soon, Gavin.
“They were out of fever juice, but I brought you some cough syrup. Should do the trick.”
“I don’t have a cough, Maur.” Troy couldn’t keep his eyes open but he grasped the small bottle.
“All right. All right.”
His body was weak and limp, glowing with a heat that was draining him. A fever dream, that’s what it had been. But he felt his pants sticking to him, something real and warm, his cock telling him he’d just come, come in his sleep while dreaming of —
He opened the small bottle and guzzled. The sharp, sweet taste flooded his mouth, already cleansing him. He gulped down some more until he couldn’t feel his tongue or anything else and his thoughts blurred into mushy nothingness.
He never remembered his dreams. But this one was gonna be hard to forget.