How To Be A Good Sport

[solutioning]

Regrettably, it was morning. Pale sunlight filtered through the blinds. Erwin tossed the file on his desk, set his mug (Number One Dad, though he was nobody's father) next to it, and sank heavily into his chair. The station coffee managed to be both watery and bitter-burnt, so it was really only bearable when it was still steaming. He had developed the trick of distracting himself while he drank so that he would notice as little of the scalding or the taste as possible.

Today's reading was the report Lieutenant Levi had put together after the nasty situation at the chemical plant a few weeks back. He leafed through the pages. A straightforward homicide case, disgruntled worker, two bodies, a co-worker and a supervisor, dumped into a vat of solvent in an attempt to hide the evidence. The suspect had been spotted on site and Levi had run him down on foot, apparently sprinting over a walkway and hauling his ass up a 15-meter scaffold to do so. The thought of it sent a familiar chill down Erwin's spine, not unpleasantly.

He'd see Levi soon enough. Probably he was cleaning up last night's paperwork, and waiting, in his cunning way, for Captain Smith to be awake enough to fully appreciate what was coming to him. And Captain Smith did wonder what it was going to be - ugly sweater? Silly hat? Levi's sense of humor was very strange and Erwin didn't put it past him to show up with some instrument of minor torture, like shoes in the wrong size.

But then, if he didn't want to be a good sport about losing a bet, he shouldn't have been betting with Levi in the first place.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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[solutioning]

The knock came just as he was about to flip his chicken again.

He turned off the burner instead and moved the pan off the heat, and reached for a kitchen towel to wipe his hands down. Nothing changed in his expression; there was no hitch in his step, no haste or reticence, as he came to the door and opened it.

An old saying crossed his mind: only lovers come to the back door. The front door might have been anything. The back door was an intentional trespass, an avoidance of prying neighbors and spies.

Levi's perfect lithe figure straddled the line between soldier and thug. Like this, with his hands concealed and the darkness slouching at his back, young-looking and dangerous, it was a little more thug. Erwin thought about touching him right away, lifting his chin and examining him, stripping off his coat and leaving it on the floor, having sex with him, maybe right up against the wall. A piercing hunger hid in his eyes. He didn't have to think about tomorrow anymore; it had already been planned for.

"Hello," he said, pleasant and neutral. That was the end of his cool act. One hand curled around the back of Levi's head and Erwin bent to him, serious, hungry, to give back the kiss he'd been teased with that afternoon.

[freiflug]

Levi stepped out of the night and into Erwin's solid warmth. A strong hand cradled him and he reached up, slipped his own fingers into Erwin's fine hair and held him there. No more teasing. No more dancing around.

Erwin's open hunger sent a sharp thrill down his spine; Levi tilted his body upwards, pressed into him, kissing back open-mouthed and filthy, like he could convey weeks' worth of fantasies and stolen glances with this gesture alone. His free hand had slipped down Erwin's side to find his perfectly muscular ass. His fingers skittered over it like he could feel the lace beneath, before squeezing with a slightly menacing, greedy glee.

Captain Erwin's ass had also featured prominently in his frame of mind, earlier in the day.