The Witness Wore a Puppy Tail, chapter 13 (Patreon)

Ken lived in a schizophrenic neighborhood where row houses and red brick apartments filled the gaps where old Victorian houses had crumbled away. Now they all crowded together under towering green ash and boxelder trees. He hadn’t realized how late—or rather how early—it was, but a pre-dawn gray had replaced the darkness. Reclaiming his parking spot in front of the house, he neatly parallel parked between a white Toyota truck and a blue sedan.

“Nice house,” Robert said. It was a nice house—a gray Victorian with red trim and tapered columns set on stone corner walls. The landlord had split the house in half, and Ken rented the square half and an accounting auditor rented the larger half with the round front rooms.  However, Ken suspected Robert’s observation was a sad attempt at small talk.

"Let’s get some sleep," Ken said as hit the trunk release. He hurried to claim Robert’s bag before the man could grab it and run. It was too damn early in the morning to go chasing after him. He was a little surprised when Robert followed without complaint. The front door creaked as Ken opened it, but then most of the house did. What didn’t creak would squeak or groan or in the case of the upstairs back balcony door, squeal. Ken tossed Robert’s bag on the couch before he turned to lock the door and set the alarm.

“Paranoid much?” Robert asked.

“You have no idea.” Ken didn’t feel guilty for his precautions, especially considering that someone had attacked Robert. “I have one bedroom upstairs. You can take that bed, but beware the upstairs balcony. You might end up with one foot in the kitchen ceiling if you walk around on it.” And with the noisy door, Ken would definitely know if his guest tried to escape that way.

“I’m not taking your bed,” Robert protested.

“I sleep down here as often as up there,” Ken said. He grabbed a bed pillow off his chair and tossed it at the couch. “Some days I come home too tired to make it up those stairs.” He wasn’t kidding, either. They had definitely been installed before modern building codes. Either that or the landlord had bribed someone because they were narrow and steep.

“Look, I appreciate you doing this, but there has to be a regulation against this.”

“Several,” Ken said, although technically he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t going to sleep with Robert, so that didn’t apply, and Robert wasn’t a viable witness for the prosecution, so the DA couldn’t skin him alive. Somewhere a regulation probably existed, although Ken couldn’t remember one. He knew he couldn’t sit on public transportation if he was in uniform and a member of the public was standing. He couldn’t associate with a felon or give gifts to non-family members over three dollars to anyone unless it involved a birthday, a hospitalization, or prior approval. 

But funny enough, he couldn’t remember any rule about taking witnesses home and putting them up for the night. The captain would probably lump it under rule two—conduct that discredits the department. Given what Robert did for a living, it might discredit Ken, but he doubted the department would suffer any black eye over it.

Robert was shaking his head. “I should go. I can call a car to take me up to Lake Forest. I have friends up there, and I promise they have security. As an added bonus, the roads up there are so twisted that once you turn into one of those rabbit warrens, it’s at least a week before you can find your way out again.”

Lake Forest. That was a neighborhood Ken couldn’t afford, and anyone up there would have security, but Ken didn’t feel right about it. “You just had three suspects try to shut you up. That probably means you’re closer to identifying them than you think. Stay here and after we’ve both had some sleep, we can talk about where you’ve been and why they think you’re dangerous.” Ken caught Robert’s arm and pulled him toward the kitchen. “Come on, I’ll make some hot chocolate.” They both needed it.

“I’d rather have coffee.”

“I’d rather we both get some sleep,” Ken countered. He pointed Robert toward the small kitchen table and then grabbed some mix out of one of the cupboards. His microwave sat on the kitchen window shelf above the radiator, so it was so small that the two mugs barely fit. “How are you feeling?”

Robert propped his chin on his hand. “Annoyed, but too tired to complain. You do remember I’m an adult who can choose to walk out if I want, right?”

“I thought we already had this discussion,” Ken said as he tore open the packets and grabbed a spoon. “I threatened to follow you around until I found a reason to arrest you.”

“Have you looked up the definition of bully?”

“Hey, my captain offered to chip in if I wanted to pay you to let me tie you up and put you on a leash.” Ken had no idea why he said that. It was a little mean spirited, especially after all the shit the other officers had given Robert about his job. He tried to undo his mistake by talking faster. “I would offer you marshmallows, but I don’t have any. I’m a bit of a workaholic, and when I have time to go out with someone, this kitchen isn’t the sort that makes me want to play host.” The microwave dinged, and Ken took the hot water out and started mixing the chocolate into the water.

When Ken turned, Robert was on his feet. He rolled his hips seductively in time to some music in his head. "You know, if there’s only one bed, we could share." 

Ken was almost certain he was going to get emotional whiplash because that had not been the reaction he expected. Robert licked his lips salaciously, but that just drew Ken's attention to his fat lip.

"I’m fine on the couch.” Ken thrust a hot cup at Robert. Robert took it with a coy smile and tilt of his head, but then he set it down on the table.

"Oh, come on. I always pay my way, so customer's choice," Robert shimmied forward and looked up at Ken through his lashes. "Want to play puppy?" He twitched his body. Ken's cock warmed to the idea, but Ken clenched his teeth as he gave Millan his darkest glare.

"That’s not funny.”

“I never joke about all the creative ways to use the body and enjoy sexuality and sensuality. Hey, I have an idea. You really wanted to arrest me earlier. Is that your kink? Want to play bad cop and arrest the suspect?" Robert held out his hands, wrists together. "If you're good, I'll even resist."

"I’m going to grab some sheets for the couch." Ken pushed past Robert and fled to the living room, but then he hesitated. He didn’t want to go upstairs, leaving Robert access to the front door. But he really needed to get a little distance before his traitorous body staged a coup.

"Daddy going to take care of me?" Robert asked sweetly. Ken turned and Robert leaned against the door the separated the kitchen from the living room. "Are you going to take a hairbrush to my ass for being bad?"

A cold shudder shook Ken. “No cop who has ever worked a pedophile case has a Daddy kink.” He shivered in horror again.

"Oh, Daddy's mad," Robert mocked with wide-eyed innocence.

"Don't—" Ken took a step toward Robert, but then Robert’s body language shifted.

"Or maybe I'm trying the wrong approach. I bet you get tired of being in charge, of always having to be in control. Maybe you need someone to tie you to the bed and take control away. Let you go free by tying you down."

Ken froze as Robert closed in on him until they stood chest to chest and Robert looked up predatorily.

"I don't normally switch, but for this body, I'd do it." Robert rested his hand on Ken's arm. Ken stepped back and he hit the wall. Looking at Robert in shock, he suddenly realized that Robert wasn’t scared or sorry or even particularly lustful; he looked expectant. 

That little shit. Ken knew exactly what he was doing. "It's not going to work. I'm not throwing you out of here, so if it makes you happy, you get as crass as you want." He patted Robert on the arm and headed back to the kitchen. "You can’t provoke a case of gay panic because that sort of reaction is all about prejudice and hatred, and I’m lacking both." He retrieved both mugs of hot chocolate before heading back into the living room. Robert stood near the bottom of the stairs, his arms wrapped around his own stomach. 

“Why aren’t you acting like a normal pig?”

“Insulting me won’t make me throw you out, either,” Ken said. He held out the hot chocolate. To be honest, he probably would have lost his temper, but he deserved a few insults after making the crack about paying Robert. 

Robert took the hot chocolate and sipped it as he studied Ken like he was an alien specimen. "There’s no way in hell you’re straight." Robert headed for the couch.

"Excuse me?" Ken asked. He was exhausted, which left him with too few active brain cells for a debate with Millan.

"Please, you're about as straight as a paperclip. If you were straight, that would have worked," Robert said irritably. He propped his feet on the coffee table.  "Straight and a prick would have meant you chasing me out of here with your fists. Straight and a decent guy would have led to stumbled excuses and you pointing out that you're not gay right before rushing to explain that there's nothing wrong with being gay."

"You think you know me that well?" Now Ken regretted bringing the man home. Regulations scared him less than Robert’s power of deduction. Ken had invested significant amounts of time and personal energy building himself a nicely heterosexual façade, and he didn’t need Robert poking any holes in it.

"I know human nature," Robert said.

Ken walked over and shoved Robert’s feet. “Then you should know that responsible humans don’t put their shoes on the furniture.

Robert had the audacity to smirk.  "At first, I so totally misjudged you, but I have you nailed now.”

"I am running on very little sleep, so I’ll show you where the bedroom is, and then I’m going to get some sleep."

“I don’t think I can sleep,” Robert said. Considering that he’d been passed out in the backseat of Ken’s car, Ken had trouble believing that.

“Then you can watch the sunrise,” Ken said. “Come on.” He headed for the stairs, groaning when he had to climb the damn things. It was like doing fucking cardio. 

“I want to go on the record as saying this is a bad idea. I can find another place to sleep.”

“One where you’re safe? Where you feel safe?” Ken turned around to look at Robert. The man stood on the bottom step and stared up. 

After a time, Robert sighed. “Security that would pass your unreasonable standards? Probably not.” He trudged up the stairs, and Ken headed up. His bathroom was at the top of the stairs, and then his bedroom to the left. Between the two was the world’s smallest linen closet. Ken kept one set of spare sheets, and he started digging behind the bathroom products to find them. Most of the time he just washed his sheets and put them back on the bed. 

“Oh man, you have good taste in mattresses. I’m feeling guilty about sleeping up here.”

Ken looked around the closet door, and Robert was face down on the bed, his shoes off, but the rest of his clothing still untouched. “The couch is equally comfortable, and I would prefer staying near the door.”

“Yeah, yeah. Pretend to be the macho protector type. We both know you’re a fluffy mother hen,” Robert muttered into the pillow. He raised one hand and then let if fall back down. Ken wasn’t even sure he was supposed to hear that, so he chose to ignore it. After more digging, he found the second set of sheets. His mother had sent them one Christmas. They used fancy bamboo fibers or something, and Ken liked them in the deepest part of summer. However, the fabric was so light that it was pretty much worthless against Chicago winters or falls or springs or that false spring that would make the flowers stick their first leaves out only to get slammed with another ice storm.

Ken closed the closet door and then turned to check on his guest. Robert showed every sign of being deeply asleep. He was even drooling a little. But he hadn’t managed to pull any of the covers up before dropping off. Ken slipped into the room and pulled the sheet up and over Robert. 

Maybe he was a bit of a mother hen. Funny. In six years of the military, four walking a beat as a Chicago cop, and a year as a detective, no one had ever called him that. He’d been called everything from a pig and a monster to a hero and a savior. He’d fussed over other witnesses, and even over injured cops. The supervisor who pushed him to take the detective’s exam had told him that he had a talent with traumatized victims. Ken had gone into Violent Crimes Section to help those who needed a little extra attention and patience. 

None of them had ever identified that as an important part of Kenneth James Hoffman. He wondered why.

Chapter 14: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-14-18835280 

Chapter 15: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-15-19009742 

Chapter 16: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-16-19049610 

Chapter 17: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-17-19064720 

Chapter 18: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-18-19083274 

Chapter 19: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-19-19142224 

Chapter 20: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-20-19153311 

Chapter 21, 22, 23: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-21-21192263 

Chapter 24: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-24-21260957