Date: Wed, 10 Apr 2002 02:13:05 EDT
From: Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: Nightsticks

				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
		   Comments, complaints or suggestions?
		      E-Mail me at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM