Owner of the Five O’Clock

By Sean Michael

"Last call! Last call for alcohol!" Craig reached up, rang the big brass bell under the old clock above the bar, the sound cutting through the music from the jukebox, the laughter over by the pool tables and the fight that was trying to start at the edge of the dance floor. Twinks. Fucking save him.

"Bob, honey? Go break that shit up for me? Hank and Lew are going kill each other over that slimy little whore. Kid was fucking Jimmy not four hours ago in the men's room."

The big, beautiful cop nodded, flexed for him and waded in, the crowd breaking up just like that.

Man, that was too damn cool.

He poured out beers and whiskey, three vodka and tonics, four margaritas and a salty dog, whistling happily. Had to love a busy Thursday night. It boded well for the weekend take.

"Hey barkeep, am I too late to get a whiskey shooter and a beer?"

He turned at the question, Barney sitting there, large as life, looking tired, but happy.

"Almost, luckily I know the owner." He leaned over the bar for a quick kiss hello, Frankie and Oliver hooting and clapping for them. Then he pulled a Bud for Barney, poured two fingers of Jack.

Barney's smile was warm, the look in those eyes even warmer as they slid over him in a way he'd been missing the last six days.

Bad weather had extended Barney's latest run by over two days.

"Good to be home?" He started packing up the garnishes. The snacks were already squared away and the crowds were slowly heading out.

"Shit, yes. That snow storm up north nearly killed me. Bumper to fucking bumper for nearly two days straight."

Barney shot back the whiskey, throat working, the shot glass tiny in that beefy hand.

"You home for the holidays?" He stacked shotglasses, got them in the little Hobart to wash, even as he nodded to a couple of leather daddies who dumped money in the tip jar.

"I am. Got a little tree in the cab." Barney tilted his head side to side, cracking his neck. "A thing or two in a box, too."

"Good." Craig pushed his ponytail back over his shoulder, the whole thing wrapped in a leather sheath while he was working. "All I have to do is close up and count money and we can head to the house."

"You want me to hurry the stragglers on out, babe?" Barney drained his beer mug and stood, broad shoulders and thick chest testament to his lover's strength.

"Between you and Bob, you could clear it out..." His prick jumped a little.

"Anything to hurry you up." Barney gave him a wink and moved on down to the bar, clapping the big cop on the shoulder. "What do you say, man. Gonna help me empty this place out so Craig can close up?"

"You know it, cutie. I need to get home to my man. Doc's pulling doubles this week so we can go to Vermont for Christmas."

"Yeah? I'm done 'til the new year. Told dispatch not to disturb me. I've paid my dues, you know?"

Barney and Bob started moving everyone out, nobody willing to argue with the two hard bodies pushing them toward the door.

Craig turned the key and started running totals, dancing a little over the thought of Barn home for almost three straight weeks.

He wasn't going to be able to walk straight.

Continued in First Section