When Janos Kovacs calls 911 about an intruder at his home, hot cops Dean and Brock are first on scene. When Janos's story doesn't quite tally, they decide they will have to punish him for wasting police time.
Janos soon realises that there isn't a bad cop, good cop here, only bad cop, worse cop...
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The report of a breaking and entering at 1278 Woodbine Drive came in at two am and the nearest officers to the scene were Dean Carey and Brock Brennan. It had been a quiet night so far, taking turns to doze in the patrol car parked up in a peaceful stretch of town.
The house stood dark and alone at the end of the cul de sac. Dean followed Brock along the side path through a gate to the yard, stifling a yawn all the way. Nights killed him. Anything that would keep him awake was a bonus. Watching his partner’s broad-shouldered physique, the equipment jiggling on his belt and tight pants stretched across his firm ass was definitely a bonus and guaranteed to keep him up as well as awake.
Brock was blond, six feet four and built like a brick shithouse. Gay with no shortage of admirers and a list of conquests as long as his arm, he liked it rough and ready and treated his lovers meanly.
While lean with muscle, Dean wasn’t nearly so burly, a shade over six feet, dark-haired and more clean-cut. They made a striking pair while out on patrol; the amount of propositions they garnered was testament to that fact.
Brock stopped, flashlight trained on the rear door, trying the handle and finding it open. He glanced at Dean, who nodded, drawing his gun at the same time as his partner.
The two cops stepped over the threshold. The kitchen beyond was dark, the small, neat space lit up by the bright flashlight beam as Brock swung it around. They stood listening a moment to the dead silence before Brock led the way down the hall, peering in through a doorway, gun levelled. He backed out, shook his head, craned his neck to look up the stairs.
Dean had noticed an alarm box on the wall. Wondered why it wasn’t going off if there had been a disturbance. He gestured to his partner to go up. Brock ascended the stairs on noiseless feet, gun held out, Dean following. The total silence suggested either any burglar had long gone or he’d injured the occupant to incapacity. Three doors opened out from the landing, one of them closed. Brock and Dean looked into a bathroom and a guest room, finding them clear before they approached the closed door, standing on either side.
Brock spoke up. “Hello? Is there anybody in there?”
The two waited. Dean had no particular instinct that anything bad had happened here and his partner’s fairly relaxed body language suggested he thought the same.
It was a few seconds before a quavering male voice answered them. “Yes.”
“Sir,” Dean said. “It’s the police. Are you alone?”
“Then come out please.”
A shuffling noise sounded before the door was slowly cranked open. A slender man barely five feet six in stature stood in the entrance, blinking owlishly as Brock shone the flashlight in his face. He was in his late twenties, pale and dark haired, wearing nothing but a pair of pyjama bottoms.
“Sir?” Brock said. “What are you doing here in the dark?”
“I… I was too afraid to come out,” the man said timidly, staring up at the two cops who towered over him, his blue eyes wide with fear.
Dean’s gaze drifted down his lean torso, noticed the PJ pants rode low on his hips, barely covering his pubic hair. He swallowed, stepped back, let Brock carry the conversation.
“I heard somebody downstairs.” The man crossed his arms over his bare chest and shivered even though the night was balmy. “I was afraid.”
“There’s nobody here now,” Brock said patiently, voice soothing. “Why don’t you put some clothes on and come down. We’ll have a chat.”
The man glanced at Dean unsurely before nodding. He closed the door in their faces.
Brock looked at Dean. He shook his head and smiled wryly. Dean followed him downstairs, hoping to at least get a cup of coffee out of this visit for their trouble.
He flicked the light on and the two of them stood in the kitchen, one leaning against the sink, the other against the work surface, both waiting for the house owner to show. The man appeared within a couple of minutes. His concession to getting dressed had apparently been to pull a robe on over his pants, a flimsy thing that ended at his knees and gaped over his chest.
Dean folded his arms and gestured to the table in the middle of the room. “Why don’t you take a seat, sir?”
The man regarded them both warily and pulled out a chair to sit. He looked at them from eyes that were even more startlingly blue under the bright kitchen lights. With a good look, he was more handsome than Dean had initially thought too, his rather delicate features complimenting his compact little body, his dark hair cut short and neat.
“What’s your name?” Brock asked. “Dispatch says you hung up before telling them.”
“Janos Kovacs,” the man said. He looked at Dean, ran his tongue nervously over his lips in a gesture which made the cop shiver. A sudden arousal started to fizz down his spine and his cock began to fill. Something about this man was deeply attractive and excited him no end.
“Are you Hungarian?” Brock asked.
“My parents are.” Again Janos looked at Dean, anxiety radiating off him in waves.
“All right, so why don’t you tell us what happened this morning?”
Janos licked his lips again. “I was asleep. I heard a noise downstairs and voices. It might have been two men. I phoned 911 and I hid upstairs.”
“Then what?” Brock asked.
“Then you arrived,” Janos said.
Brock looked at Dean. He raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Mr. Kovacs, why wasn’t your alarm going off if someone had broken in?”
“It wasn’t set,” Janos said nervously. “My cat walks about during the night.”
Brock’s voice remained patient and steady. He had all the time in the world for time-wasters, while Dean usually wanted to slap a citation on them. “That’s not a reason not to set your alarm. Plenty of other people find a way around that.”
Janos nodded quickly. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“And your back door was open.”
“I guess they must have picked the lock?” Janos said, a feeble question. He twisted his hands together on the table, glancing at Dean again.
Brock walked to the door and opened it. He examined the Yale lock and then the inside of the door. “There’re no signs of forced entry. And there’re two bolts here, top and bottom. You can’t have put these on before you went to bed.”
“I must have forgotten,” Janos said meekly.
Dean blew out his breath in a loud sigh. “All right, enough. You didn’t set your alarm and you didn’t lock your door and then someone breaks in. What did you expect?”
Janos shook his head, wide eyes fixed on Dean. “I’m sorry.” Something about the directness of his gaze, his meek submission made Dean’s cock even harder. He put a hand in his pocket, tried to adjust it discreetly and the house owner’s gaze immediately darted down to his groin. Janos’s mouth opened a little, his eyes widened and he sat back in his chair, shooting a glance at Brock.
Dean pushed off the work surface and went to stand at the sink next to Brock. “I’m not sure sorry cuts it, Mr. Kovacs,” he said sternly. “You wasted police time. In fact, I’m beginning to question if there ever was an intruder.”
“There was!” Janos exclaimed. He addressed Brock, perhaps starting to realise who was the good cop in the duo. “You believe me, don’t you?”
Brock regarded him placidly. “I don’t know, Mr. Kovacs. My partner’s instincts are usually right. If he thinks you made this up, then maybe you did.”
Brock looked at Dean. Something passed between them, some green light and Dean had to swallow a smirk, almost telepathic when it came to Brock’s desires.
“Officer Carey is right when he says you wasted police time,” Brock said, his voice a little cooler than it had been. “I’m going to bow to him here and let him deliver what punishment he feels is necessary.”
Janos paled. His eyes swung rapidly between the two cops. “Punishment? You’re not going to arrest me are you?”
Dean regarded him as though debating what to do. “Tell me why we shouldn’t?”
“B-because… because I’m a law-abiding citizen. I’ve never done anything wrong! I didn’t mean to waste your time. Please believe me!”
“Hmm,” Brock said. “I guess we could let him off this time.”
Janos looked like he was holding his breath, his hands clasped together in front of him as though in prayer.
“I don’t think so,” Dean said with an inward smile.
Janos leapt to his feet. “Oh please! I’m sorry!”
Dean regarded him scornfully. “So you keep saying. Why don’t you show us how sorry you are?”
Janos bit his lip, eyes filled with confusion. “How?”
Dean spread his feet, pelvis tilted forward, cock straining his tight pants to bursting so Janos’s gaze was again drawn down between his legs. “Come here,” he commanded.
Janos stumbled forward so he stood small and defensive in front of the two cops.
Dean took his hat off. Laid it on the sink. “On your knees.”