It's one of those nights again. I know from the moment we leave the meeting with Billie that Van has his evening plans set and they sure as hell don't include me. Funny, was a time I had to fight to keep him from wanting to hang with me after work, if there IS an after work for people like us. Of course I guess there aren't a lot of people like us and maybe that's part of the problem...

Anyway, I'm giving him a lift back to his hotel and we're talking over the new case, shooting the shit, that kind of thing. But he's only paying half attention. I know ‘cause he's not fighting with me, not arguing. He just agrees with me and that's when I know he might have left the lights on but Van's not really home.

I stop to let him out and he says he'll see me in the morning, says he's going to catch up on sleep. It's all I can do not to snap at him, call his bluff right there. I know what he's gonna do. I damn well know. But what really pisses me off is he says he's going to get some room service. Yeah, I guess that's one name for it. One night, must have been about two months ago, he said the same thing. We'd been working all day and things hadn't turned out all that well. Actually, they'd pretty much fallen to shit...

*****************

Two months earlier:
Van's all kinds of wound up. I can just feel the tension and barely restrained energy coming off him in waves. I start to wondering if he's gonna try and pick a fight with me. I even ask if he wants to go a couple rounds of boxing. Don't really want to but I figure it might make him feel better. I've dropped him off before like this and he won't sleep all night then I have to drag his lazy, tired ass around all the next day. But he says no, that's not what he wants. I was going to ask what the problem was when I see he's got a hard on damn near bursting through his pants. Couldn't miss it in those pants, or any of his pants really. One time I joked with him that he must have to paint them on. He didn't find it funny but Billie and I laughed ourselves sick.

So I drop him off, noticing the casual way he holds his jacket in his hands, hiding. Anybody else does that and it's obvious they either got a hard on or a coffee stain in a really bad spot. But not Van, it's all so casual, it suits, like you'd never know. But I know, I notice. I always do.

So he said he was going to order room service and there's something about the way he said it that was funny. I chock it up to him being wound up in more ways than I'd realized before. I leave and get half way home before I notice he left his copy of the new file in the car. Normally Billie'd just fill us in, maybe toss a little paper our way but things are complicated, and like I said, they'd fallen to shit so we have our homework to read if we're going to save the case.

I turn around and head back to the hotel, cursing him all the way. I'm not really mad, just keeping up appearances. There isn't anyone else in the car so I guess it's just for me. Just keep saying one thing even if it's bull and maybe I make myself believe it. Say it enough and then it's truth. Still ain't working though...

I know my way up to his room. Elevator's too long a wait and I don't feel like squeezing in with a bunch of old people and all their luggage so I take the stairs. I come up on the other end of the hallway from where we usually do. I notice how there's an angle from here where you can see his door in the large mirror in the hallway but he'd never see you standing there. I think I should tell him about that, security and all.

I'm standing there in that bend in the wall and I see there's a hotel worker at his door. Not sure why but I hold back, I guess I just want to see what he says, how he acts to her when he thinks nobody's looking.

He opens the door and says something to her, smiling. He glances haphazardly down the hallway both ways - a real half ass job of looking for people considering he's a cop. He looks down at the little serving cart and lifts the bottle of champaign out of the ice bucket. He leers at her and runs a hand up and down the bottle suggestively. I can't hear what he was saying but a see her nod and then he pulls her into the room shutting the door behind them.

Well, I should leave right now. What business of mine is it how he gets his rocks off? It's not like I'm jealous of him. I mean she was fine and all but I can go and get whoever I want. Almost. The ladies like me just fine and all. So do a number of guys but what I really want ... Let's just say I'm not jealous of him but I do find myself jealous of HER. I mean there she is, getting it on with him and I still can't work up the nerve to say a damn thing. I think I've left it too long, like he'd never believe it anyway. Or never care...

Smart thing to do would be to jump in the car and leave. Just forget about it. But I can't let it go. I walk up the hallway, telling myself all the way I'm just going to take the elevator down and that's the ONLY reason for walking by his door. But I stop and stand there staring at the little "do not disturb" sign on the door handle. I can hear them, just barely. Laughing over something and I tell myself it's not like they're laughing at me, at how pathetic I'm being. Then I hear her moaning. She's not a quiet one either. I lean closer to the door, listening. She keeps moaning and then I hear Van making this amazing noise, kind of a grunt/sigh. It finally dons on me that they must be on the sofa nearest the door else I'd never be able to hear them so clearly.

Van says something that catches my attention: he asks her her name. Here I've been thinking she was some semi-girlfriend to him. She says her name's Sandy and he does something that makes her giggle then I hear them moving farther into the suite and out of range.

It's a sick moment of realization: catching myself standing here listening in on my partner having sex through the door. What's worse is that until now I haven't even noticed I'd been stroking myself through my pants, listening to them. I finally leave.

****************

Now that I'm home, and I've wacked off, I try to convince myself that my little escapade was a freak moment of misjudgement, that it was just listening to any two people getting it on. Hell, it was like the plot of a bad porn film. I lay here, alone in bed and trying to convince myself that I wasn't turned on because I knew it was Van. And it's bullshit.

*******************

Now:
Every few days the same thing would happen. It got so that I could tell what nights he planned on doing that. He wasn't obvious but there was something about the way he acted on the drive, a distraction in his words, a distance in his tone. Even when we both took our own cars I could tell so I started taking alternate routes to get to the hotel just after he did. Or if I dropped him off then I'd pull around back and walk in after him. I figured he might catch me. Maybe that's part of the sick thrill of it. But he never does. It's like once he hits the hotel he lets his guard down. I don't like that. I mean true, it let me get close without him ever knowing I was there, but it's just not safe. If I wasn't following him, watching his back, I'd probably warn him to be on guard even on home turf but really how could I tell him that without giving the secret away?

Every time I'd go up the stairs and watch behind the bend in the wall just to see who it would be this time. He has his favorites but there's a number of different maids, waitresses and front desk women who come up. I'd stand there, hiding, wondering what he said to them, how he was with them. Did he love them or just screw them?

I've made my decision. I'm tired of just watching and listening for a few brief moments at the door before their voices and moans become so faint that I can't hear them anymore. I pull my car into a spot around back. Can't see it from Van's window. It's a familiar spot.

I go up to the front desk to get a room. I ask for the room beside Van's by number, say it was where me and my late wife had spent our anniversary together. Give them a fake ass story about a fake ass dead wife and how I just want to be there in THAT room to remember her. And no, I don't feel guilty in the least. When you lie as much as I do little things like that just don't make much impact anymore.

So they give me the key. When one of the reception ladies asked if she's seen me in the hotel before I say that I do have a friend staying here but I'd rather he not know what I was doing, that he won't understand on account of him not knowing what it was like to lose a wife. They assure me the staff will be discreet and not mention my being there if anyone asks. Recognizing two of the counter staff as previous "visitors" of Van's I know just how discreet they can be.

I go upstairs and duck into the room. I can hear Van's shower's on in the next room. For such an expensive place I'm surprised how little soundproofing there is between rooms at Van's hotel. I wait until the shower stops. I stand here knowing from the sounds of it that he's only a few feet away on the other side of the wall right now. I spare a moment to think on how sick and twisted this all is, that's it's not chance, that I'm here on purpose. There's no reasonable excuse for me to be here, doing this.

I hear the chain on his door rattle then his voice softly greeting someone. I hear another voice and it's definitely male. It's muffled and I can't catch what they're saying. I wonder if maybe he really IS just getting some food sent up or something. But even with the muffling I can just make out the tones of their exchange. This guy isn't there dropping off dinner.

Suddenly there's a thump against the wall and then I know for a fact that they're only inches away. I hear them, clothes rustling, moaning. I can't believe I'm standing here with my ear pressed against the wall. They're just a few inches away. Van's just a few inches away. Van lets out a groan and I wonder if the guy's proud of himself for pulling such beautiful sounds from him. I know I would be. There's a soft thump at the wall again and I hear only Van's low groans of ecstacy. I wonder just what the guy's doing to him make so pleased.

I lean back against the wall, standing there just how I imagine Van must be on the other side. I lean my head back against the wallpaper careful not to thump it - like the slightest sound could give me away. I spread my stance a bit and undo my belt. I shove down my pants and shorts. I hear Van moaning softly and as I grab myself I let the sound sink in and fill me. With every moan and grunt and sigh of pleasure I imagine that mouth on me. Not whatever hotel fuck he has in there but him. His soft lips pulling me in, deeper and deeper till I reach some kind of impossible end.

He's getting close. I can tell ‘cause he's breathing hard enough that I can just make out the end of each exhalation marked by a little grunt. I squeeze harder, so much so that it almost hurts. Suddenly he tells the guy to stop which I guess he doesn't since Van says it again in a tone that makes it plenty clear that this guy had better quit it now. And I'll be damned if he isn't asking the guy what his name is. Why the hell is he stopping for that? I don't know what the guy's answer is, I can't quite make it out but whatever he says Van isn't pleased. He tells him to get the fuck out. Says it loud enough that I can hear it very clearly.

There's more rustling and a few words from the other guy but they're too muffled to make out since he's not near the wall. The door slams. I realize I'm holding my breath. Actually that's not all I'm holding. I strain to hear him, though I know I won't. Van's probably gone now, left for the bedroom on the other side of the suite. Then there's another low moan. I'll be damned! He never left his spot against the wall.

He slowly starts building again. Soft moans at first then louder and much deeper. He won't last long even if it's by his own hand, not after he was so ready. As I push back against the wall I can almost feel the heat from his shoulders against mine through the wall. He's so close, to me, to cumming. He grunts a few times then sighs. I give a few more strokes and I'm almost gone. I hear him sigh again and say something then I'm cumming so hard my vision becomes a beautiful mass of stars and haze. I stay there, leaning against the wall, gasping and shaking a bit. I slide down to sit on the floor, too spent to even move. I hear him on the other side and I think he's doing the same thing. So close, all that's between us is this shitty wall, so thin I can hear right through it.

He's getting up now, I hear his shoes scrape on the floor. I stand up too, still a little wobbly though. I make myself presentable, grab my coat and leave.

I turn in the key at the desk and the girl looks at me funny but I'm so far beyond caring right now. I almost ask her how much one of the uniforms for the hotel costs. Walking to my car I think how I could show up at Van's door dressed in one the next time he orders "room service." But really, what can I do? I can't tell him what I've done and it's late now. He'd never believe me anyway. Funny, I could tell him about ANYTHING but this, this sick mess. The following, the spying, somehow I think he'd forgive all that but the part where I tell him what I think about him, what I want with him, what I feel about him ... maybe it's been too long now. Too much between us but never enough. Always the damn thin walls.

But when he sighed ... I swear he said my name.

End

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