Author's Note: WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK. I'd have to say that was a new record. I'm not going to piss around and give out explanations or promises to 'do better next time', as I clearly can't live up to them. Let's just say this fic and my desire to write are very much alive. I'll update as soon as I can, no later. I love you guys; I wouldn't fuck you over if I could help it.
More 'Lovecraftiness' makes a return, yayyyy!
So yeah, here's this.
"Of the pleasures and pains of opium much has been written. The ecstasies and horrors of De Quincy and the paradis artificiels of Bauelaire are preserved and interpreted with an art which makes them immortal, and the world knows well the beauty, the terror and the mystery of those obscure realms into which the inspired dreamer is transported. But much as has been told, no man has yet dared intimate the nature of the phantasms thus unfolded to the mind, or hint at the direction of the unheard-of roads along whose ornate and exotic course the partaker of the drug is so irresistibly borne."
- H.P. Lovecraft, The Crawling Chaos
U p l o a d e d
He swore he could hear the gushing, swirling noises of Blake's stomach- digesting, no doubt, that muffin and coffee from earlier. Norman wasn't sure if he liked it or not, as being so in-touch with his adversary's bodily processes was a bit too intimate for his liking. Though after being completely quiet in his breathing, and trying his best to filter out the rumbling noises of the car rolling down the road below him, he was now positive he indeed could hear the swirling echoes of the meal being broken down. He wasn't sure if that was a positive thing or not, as it sort of implied a closeness, a bonding he may have craved, but…not for Blake, in particular.
Then he recognized the sound of a loud, hungry growl, and whetted the lips with his heavily used tongue before he very gently, very awkwardly- sat up. The silence in that car right then was profusely uncomfortable… the thick, pulsing combined animosity, affection, and sexual tension combining together to form what had to be the strangest, yet nearly instantly recognizable sensation for both of them.
Simplified, it was lust. Blake felt his mouth pretty much watering, his lower body pulsing in rhythmic surges. No doubt, the beats he felt down below would match any thrusts he would now be dishing out had this been any other place and time. Biting the inside of his lip, he instead felt his hip moving in such ways into the seat beneath him, only hindered by the fact that Jayden was present, his arousal peaked as he watched him (out of the corner of his eye, he certainly couldn't look him in the face right now) wipe away most of his semen off his face with the back of his hand and mouth. One part of him had the urge to tell him to get a napkin out of the glove department, to keep his bodily fluid from marking the car- the other wanted him to keep it on his face for as long as possible.
What disturbed him probably the most was the pulsing in his…well, his ass. He wondered just why that was- it had never happened before. Thing was, it felt…good. It felt fucking wonderful. So much so, that he swallowed as a slight wave of over-powering vertigo washed over him. He tried to gather why that particular area would feel arousal, after all it usually wasn't considered a sexual organ per say; then realized that perhaps it was his prostate- in which the realization made him immediately began to milk the sensation for all it was worth. Each pulse, each tremor, going along with the delightful near-sensation of thrusting into another human being as his cock and internal organs surged with the joy of sexual release.
'Goddamn Norman…Even when he's doing something I like, he's pissin' me off…'
Why did this have to happen? He supposed he should have blamed himself, but his ego wouldn't allow it. Norman, being a fag, had to somehow plant the queer seed in his brain. Not literally of course- but he had to have done something when he started the case to make him fantasize about fucking his mouth raw. There was simply no way... he wasn't gay. It didn't make any semblance of sense to him. All these years, he'd joked with friends and coworkers alike about the homosexual community. It always garnered a laugh, everyone in mutual agreement to his cause.
'What if they saw me now?' He wondered. Not that Blake usually gave two shits about what other people thought, but it was a paradoxical question, regardless.
Though now he thought back, against his will, to all the times in his youth where he was out with other male friends- sneaking a glance when they took a piss, compared dicks while they were drunk or high off their ass, or becoming mesmerized at the sight of his friends pounding into a girl when they thought they were alone, taking a peek through an open door crack. All moments, he was sure, that were completely within his limits of heterosexuality. Now he looked back and reasoned, perhaps, that they weren't so innocent. Or maybe, just maybe, he was always assuming there was a clear line between all of these, between straight and gay. Either you were, or you weren't. Now, in retrospect, he wasn't so sure.
Carter didn't realize at the time that he was, in fact, reasoning his new-found arousal towards the young man beside him. It wasn't so much excitement at the sight of his cock or ass- or even the thought of those organs and using them, specifically- despite the rather male-brained orientation to do so- it was instead the concept of doing something to him, to which he was almost repulsed at what direction he was going.
The fantasies flowed too easily in his brain, working like warm tendrils from the base of his skull downward as it almost relied on the nervous or vascular system to transport; his abdomen tensing as the dreams worked him into a fervor. He thought of thrusting inside of Norman… feeling that smooth skin underneath his chest as his hands held back his legs. The very thought of holding him down as he pummeled into him, heedless, without worry, as Jayden's body constricted around him- the thought nearly sent him into another erection, and he had just ejaculated- he could say with dismay that was the quickest he ever recovered from a sexual experience.
Taking a shuddering breath, he put the back of his head against the seat and swallowed, raising it back up and shaking his head in a very obvious sign of distress. Norman noticed, but didn't say or look in his direction- poor thing still had cum on his face. It would hardly make sense to jest him with that particular appearance.
"Is there enethin I can use in this car tah…you know? Wipe ya'h jizz a'f my fahce?"
Blake ignored him for a second, his mind still locked back in the actual situation that just occurred. He was already analyzing it, and once the affectionate, kindred bonding feeling began to wear off, he could feel anger once again creeping in. As far as he was concerned, he was taken advantage of-
'Now wait a minute, he sucked your dick, how's that work?'
Goddamn it, he needed to stop this shit. What exactly he had to stop per say; he wasn't sure. His heart hammered in stress as his blood pressure spiked- continuing to drive towards his destination. As of right now, the car's clock said he was late. Only to the viewing however- as long as he didn't get a call from Perry, he was still in the clear. The phone had been silent throughout their whole "ordeal". That was the one thing he was able to keep a hold on. Thank fucking Christ for small victories.
"There's some napkins in the glove department…" He said as a way to get the kid off his back- thankfully, not literally.
Watching out of the corner of his eye as Norman opened said glove box and began to search; he was struck by a sudden realization. Just where the fuck was he supposed to stay as he went to the funeral? Holy shit! Why didn't he think of this before? How fucking stupid could he be?
Norman pulled one out from the large supply of packaged wet- naps inside, all decorated with the McDonalds label, pulling one open as he tried desperately to get some sort of cleanliness. It wasn't easy, and it took a couple more to do the job. He organized them into a pile on the center console and shifted in his seat as he felt a shot of pleasure- once again realizing his hardness. Biting his lower lip, he looked out with the window with an attempt to draw attention away from himself- he didn't need Blake's goading about the bulge in his lap to add to this discomfort. Fuck! He wished he could jack off-
"Fuck, Norm…What's I gonna do with you?" Blake lamented; his tone out of place as he shattered the moment.
"Saw'hry?" Norman's body jumped at the question, he wanted to kick himself as his voice came out as more of a squeak.
"Wher'm I gonna put you while I attend your goddamn funeral?"
Norman stuttered- he never really put too much thought into that. He simply assumed he would…wait in the car. Only now did he realize the fault in that plan.
"I, uh…Thought I could…stay in the ca'hr?"
Blake shook his head just as he made a wide turn, his focus nearly completely on his driving as he maneuvered through a part of town he hadn't been in years. Sure, he'd been to D.C. before- but God knows he couldn't remember when. He was already feeling the flutters of nervousness when it came to meeting Jayden's family in a few short minutes, and the urgency to do something with their dead son was mounting. Time was coming to a head, and it wasn't a comfortable position to be in, to say the least.
"No- I can't risk you being found…" He trailed off, then witnessed a privately owned, cheap motel in the distance along the busy route.
"I'm taking you to a motel." He said under his breath, putting on his turn signal and moving into the right lane.
Norman smirked a little at that, sitting up with some new energy surging through him, nearly forgetting taking it in the face but minutes before.
"Tak'n me to a motel? But Cartah, I don't do one-night stands!"
Smirking, he watched as the cop looked towards him with a gleam in his eye he could have sworn was a rapist's glare. It made him nearly regret the off-color comment, and looked away, feeling those eyes on the back of his head the whole way. Though he had to admit…He was going to like the idea of being by himself for a little while- maybe he could catch some sleep?
'I feel like I can't get enough…Exhausted doesn't even begin t'ah describe it...'
He knew it wasn't just the drugs, either. Something like a combination of being put through the wringer in various places and being brought back from the dead. No wonder all he wanted to do was pass out. Though, it was the dreams that he was concerned about. Before, when it was just the night terrors, he would still be able to sleep for the most part, though it was far from perfect or restful. Now there was the added danger of perhaps being able to actually die within them. That wasn't exactly a 'goodnight, sleep tight.' mentality to fall asleep to.
Blake's words one again jolted his thoughts- He said it in a surprisingly serious tone, and for a second Norman hesitated. It was meant to be a joke, and expected Blake to fire back at him for being a smart ass. After all, after what had just happened, he honestly thought the older lieutenant was taking a liking to him.
"I uh…Well- a few times-"
He watched the older cop look over towards his window, smirking, then upwards, craning his neck to see a particular sign better.
"Vacancy, here we go…"
Norman glanced over, wrinkling his face in response. It was one of those cheap, 70's era, locally owned dives. No way.
"Naw, there's a good Radisson down the road…Just keep go'in."
Blake wanted to argue, but instead simply turned on his signal, and sailed into the parking lot of the shitty motel, regardless. He got a kick out of hearing the beginnings of Jayden bitch, only to have him fall back against the seat, exhausted from the entire day's proceedings.
"Settle down, Norm…All you need is somewhere to hide, not somewhere to fuck'n vacation."
"I'd 'of paid 'fah it…" Jayden lamented beneath his fingers as his hand rested miserably on his face.
"Not now, you wouldn't. Besides…it's good for 'yah, builds character…"
"Sleep'in in a bedbug-ridden whore mattress is your idea of 'charactah'? How'm I suppose' tah be comfortable?"
"Who the fuck said you had to sleep? You can just watch some TV!"
Norman made a face of disgust as Carter parked the car in front of the office, something that appeared about as welcoming as a dark alley.
"Those gawda'hnm pills you gave me- they make me wanna pass out."
Blake shrugged, "You'll be fine, Norm. Don't tell me you need tucked the fuck in or I'll feed you to the goddamn FBI myself. Now stay here…"
He didn't even bother looking at his personal cabana boy as he parked and stepped out of the car, closing it behind with some irritation. Not that he could blame Norman for not wanting to sleep in a bedbug-ridden mattress, but he didn't feel the need to get a fancy, high-class room for what was going to be an event that only lasted a few hours. Everything from the short, unintended nap before to his recent ejaculation had made him tired; wishing he could push Norman from the room and claim the bed for himself, responsibilities be damned.
Besides, his tone was coming off bitchy. He didn't need some damn incessant pissing and moaning, it wasn't making his day any better. Man up, and fucking shut up. He nearly said this to the dead man himself, but decided to be relatively nice to the guy that just gave him some magnificent head.
Exiting the car, Blake was sure to cast a weary glance left and right, keeping an eye on anybody who might be watching back. There was the FBI pair as well as anybody who might be after them from the crash; or hell, maybe even one of the funeral party that might witness a very much alive Norman Jayden in his passenger seat.
A surge of what felt like electricity hit him- it felt sudden, nearly making him stop in place- the realization at the amount of danger he was in hit him; he was playing with fire. It wouldn't take much for someone to pull in and get him on something. The fact that he made it this far was either some sort of luck he didn't know he had, or pure and simple good maneuvering on his part. He knew to get out of the situation back there, and it had proved to be a good decision. The cop just hoped he didn't have a search out for him.
Entering the hotel office with some renewed stress, he talked to the hard-to-comprehend Indian clerk and paid for a thirty-six dollar room. It was still operating under an old, traditional key system, taking the old bronze set- one key with a plastic tag attached- and walking with some renewed excitement back to the car. Norman sat up at his arrival, sighing to himself as he watched the man open the door and sit back inside.
"Alright…Room 9..." He released with an exerted sigh, putting the shifter back into reverse and turning around.
"…Drop you off…Stay put, I'll get you when this is over…"
Norman nodded as he sat back, nervousness flooding him from top to bottom. He watched the older man park the car quickly, then jump back out as if his hair was of fire and his ass was catching- no doubt, Blake wanted this over with. He wasn't sure how to feel about that, he couldn't blame him, but…somehow, he expected the man to be a bit more disturbed about his funeral. Call him crazy.
Getting out of the car, the walking-dead profiler made his way to his designated room, the lieutenant in tow behind him. The keys jingled as he came in behind him and unlocked the door, Jayden himself scratching the back of his neck nervously as he turned from left to right, keeping eyes open like Blake previous as he made the same frightening conclusion that they may have been watched right then and there.
The door creaked as it opened, a smell of stale air and cleaning materials filling his nose as he stepped inside, a crass look on his face. It was the typical 70's styling, lamps on the wall on either side of the queen-sized bed with a plain brown comforter on top. There was a modest TV, dresser, and small fridge below it. A closet was to the right on the wall, with what had to be a sad bathroom next to it behind the next door.
"Nice…" Norman sarcastically stated.
"Right, well- I guess I'll be going-"
Spinning around, Norman didn't hesitate to stop the man from leaving. The whole reason why they were even doing this was to have Carter attend to his after-death needs. What, did he forget already?
"Ah, no 'yah don't…"
Blake gave the young man a slight smile and turned around, one of the corners of his mouth up slightly; the one thing with Blake he hadd noticed was that he smiled more with his eyes then anything. At this point, he witnessed just one of those smiles…and at the realization that he had in fact recognized this admirable trait in this man, did he instantly feel closer and nearly had a chill of delight.
"Did 'yah forget-"
"No, I didn't forget, shithead." It was said with more of a laugh, a marked moment of joking and affection between the two.
"I know head that good don't come cheap."
Norman's attitude changed, head dropping and avoiding eye contact as his face heated up. He'd rather it wasn't even brought up.
"What is it you want me to do, Norm? I owe you that much." Blake admitted after a sigh.
There was a moment of absolute silence as Norman analyzed the moment, not just the words spoken…In themselves, quite the surprise- but also, the look that Carter was giving him. Not lust, not anger, not even those puppy-dog eye smiles, but instead, something of a longing. Was Blake actually feeling bad about something? Trying to make it up to him, so to speak?
The psychologist that was the young (former) agent could see the cop's mind evolving by the minute. Although still operating on the frame of the old, rough and dirty cop from Philly, he could see how he reacted after sexual release. Happy, reasonable, satisfied, joking, even affectionate. Quite similar to a mania phase that either swung in one extreme to another. It wouldn't take much to send him into a rage, he determined, so he decided to remain submissive for the time being. Pushing him too far would break a fragile operation, he needed a surgeon's scalpel, not a stick of dynamite.
"I uh…Well, Cartuh…" He looked away, coughing lightly as nervousness crept into his stomach.
'Blew it…' Came Norman's thoughts.
"Can we uh…Sit down? I gotta explain a lot…"
He heard a slight sigh as the raven-haired brute turned his back to sit down, feeling a bit concerned if everything he was going to put forth would be acceptable. There was a whole list of things he'd been compiling from the beginning of their 'agreement', and was wondering which ones may have been too much; or perhaps the entire list itself was too long, but he decided trying was better than nothing. There was only going to be one way to find out, he reasoned.
The bed dipped once more as the cop took a seat next to him, giving him a good few feet. It surprised him the most how he felt nearly disappointed that it wasn't closer, his outer thighs tingling already at the concept of being this close as he was. His analytical nature took in the thought of being on the same bed as Carter, just like when he gave him that back massage the other night; funny how it seemed like forever ago. Despite that, it felt wholly more intimate this time. Perhaps because it was now obvious that Carter had something more of an doting attitude towards him now, bringing feelings of similar affection out of the younger man.
Blake absolutely made his side of the bed weigh down more, and it gave him chills at the thought of being so close…on a goddamn bed. For the briefest of seconds, he felt a surge in his abdomen- then tried as he might, did his best to keep the sensation of arousal down as he instead focused on the job at hand. He hoped dearly that the burning in his face wasn't translating into a far-too-noticeable blush on the outside.
"Well uh, first…I want 'yah to check in on my Mom'n Dad…Make sure they're doin' okay."
He looked towards the Carter Blake perched ever so closely on the bed, the glance he did catch- that look of intent, his whole demeanor reminding him of the way he sat so eloquently on the edge of the desk when he interviewed Ethan Mars, his expression bored, yet eyes alert and watching with the keenest of interest.
Out of nervousness, he turned back, only after observing Blake nod slightly in acknowledgement.
"So…You want me to report back, too? Is that it? This a spy mission?"
Smiling just a little, he took Blake's sarcastic tone to be one more on the playful side, and tilted his cheek towards the floor as he nodded.
"Yeah- sure…Take some notes, will yah?"
A small, awkward chuckle arouse, yet it didn't last long as the seriousness of the situation sunk in.
"Listen I..uh…I'm not gonna lie." Norman began, deciding that honesty was appropriate considering their situation, the feeling in the air, which was odd and awkward enough as it was.
Carter's face was one of absolute non-amusement, though he had to say, it wasn't one of anger, either. It seemed to be the man's "patient" face. It was a rare sight, that was for sure. Blake may have wanted to explode, but a recent blowjob seemed to have soothed the savage beast.
"I was mak'n a mental list…An' it grew. So I'm ask'in a lot from you..."
There was his sister who needed tending to, his Triptocaine and some other choice belongings he didn't need getting into the hands of not only the FBI, but any family members afterwards. His mother, his father, even his brothers if he was feeling generous enough- he wanted to make sure they were doing okay. They would be upset, sure…He just wanted to make sure nobody was ready to set up the noose in his name.
Blake took a deep breath, putting a hand behind his head and ran it from the base of his hairline on up. His jacket flared out as his body moved and flexed for the seemingly insignificant move was amplified by the massive shadow the man personified. The bed made very audible creaks as it struggled to contain the beast of a man.
"Okay…" He huffed, hand falling to his lap. It quite resembled the 'okay' Blake uttered before he beat Ethan Mar's face in, and for a moment considered this to be his possible fate.
Instead, the cop slouched forward as he looked upward towards the agent, a combination of brewing impatience yet ironic curiosity coming to a boil as his darker blue eyes turned up from beneath his heavy eyebrows.
"Make it quick- I'm running late as it is…"
Carter drove with his heart in his throat, and he'd nearly believe the actuality of that statement if he didn't feel it thudding away behind his sternum. He was nervous as shit. Not only was he twenty- five minutes late for the viewing, but he was about to meet up with Leighton Perry, James Ash, and all of Norman's family. It wasn't exactly something he was looking forward to, save for maybe the food.
That was it; too, he found his thoughts once more turning to food. Not exact hunger, really, not yet. Just an obsession with what could or even was unlikely to be there. Those little hotdogs in a blanket, crackers, cheese- or maybe even full plate of hamburgers stacked to the ceiling, a giant sub, plates of barbeque chicken…or pickles, lots and lots of pickles and an unhealthy desire to consume ice cream along with it, anchovies on pizza…
He wasn't even disgusted at such desires, either. Not revolted to the point of not even considering such foods, but in fact spurred on. Licking his lips subconsciously as he turned onto the street the funeral home sat on, surprised when it came up- way before he expected, putting on the brakes early and taking a deep breath as he turned into the rather large, impressive funeral home that loomed from the street side.
A chill ran up his spine at the sight of the dark structure. He was sure that many others probably saw the place as "charming" and "beautiful", perhaps even "peaceful." It could have been…years ago, or perhaps even in a different light. Maybe when the sun was shining through the clouds and providing the earth with all her sunlight, it looked like the perfect near-end stop for the dead before their final rest…
Not to the police lieutenant on this day, however, instead he found himself overwhelmed with the feeling of an impossible chill that sank deep into his bones. The unknown yet somehow familiar scent of what he assumed embalming fluid would smell like, acidic and nausea-inducing. Then the overpowering aroma of dank, moldy wood and soil inundated with what he somehow knew was decaying bodily fluids. It washed like a wave over the already stressed lieutenant, and he found himself nearly paralyzed with the sensation as his stomach nearly lurched, looking up in fascination as he passed closer by the building, looking up at its spiraling, dark form as it ascended horribly into the sky.
The words "Arkham Funeral Home" lined the memorial-style sign outside by the steps. Said sign appeared quite new in comparison to the rest of the building, to which he couldn't help but find odd. It was obviously a mansion at some point, something akin to what people would expect a haunted house to look like. It spread out to the left and right, the entrance and the windows looked ancient as the paint flaked off the panes, the weather vanes on top pointing into the sky like sharp, rusty swords stabbing the clouds. It all seemed so terribly fitting, almost too perfect considering the building's purpose.
Despite his feeling of dismay, he looked away, doing his best to focus on the situation at hand. The situation, ironically enough, that he had completely forgotten about despite the absolute drama that led to this point in time. Instead, he had an odd feeling that could only be described as creeping death- the totality of primal fear inundate him as he drove, quite akin to a ghost, through the parking lot in search of a space. He wasn't focused, wasn't actually looking for a parking space…but instead in a trance. His normal detective-esque attention to detail practically erased as he steered through the crowds of black-adorned pedestrians, all appearing faceless as he did his best not to look them in the eye.
A spot was apparent, and in his zombie- like state, he did his best to park. Much like the millions of times before, not exactly giving it any real thought. It didn't bother Carter in the slightest to have to stop and think, to take a deep breath, then another, as he sought to collect himself. He sat back in his seat, swallowing the lump that formed as a multitude of emotions claimed his body, nausea, then hunger- dread, and near- elation at finally getting this all over with…
Norman had done his best to tell him what he needed to do…He ended up giving him a rather long list of things he would do his best to work into a conversation with family members. Part of him told Carter that he could always not do it and say he did, but something told him that could very well come back to bite him in the ass, later. It wouldn't hurt to at least try, right?
He couldn't help but feel sorry for Norman; the details he'd explained about his family were confusing and depressing to say the least. His own childhood had been the near-opposite, although far from cheery, it had been at least simply miserable as opposed to complicated and forcefully sabotaged by whoever was sleeping with who on that particular day. It left him in a strange way, playing into his protective nature and working against the grain on his rough personally- he was actually feeling quite angry at Jayden's father especially. According to his son, who was the one who originally started the affair, though his mother was no saint herself.
Everyone in Norman's family, save his sister, from what he could ascertain…was a total fucking asshole. This was going to be interesting.
With a can-do attitude, Blake opened the door and took a step out. He practically hauled himself out of there, knowing that if he took his time, he very well might decide to stay behind. So much was riding on him, and quite frankly, it wasn't happy about it. The man was used to juggling a million things at once, busy from morning to night, pressure weighing down on him…and for some reason, this was worse, far worse- giving a shit about something turned out to be quite stressful.
His tired and stressed expression turned up, looking at the foreboding funeral home once more. He wondered if anybody else thought the way he did, or if it was him just being paranoid. Really, who would hire this place? There was no way he was the only one who found it unsettling, could it?
Around him, he spied the occasional couple or single individual walking towards the building. Car doors slammed, voices echoing throughout the chilly air as a lady's high-heels clapped on the asphalt past him. He felt an awkward surge as he realized he was a wolf among sheep, a sore thumb in a group of people that knew Jayden quite better than he did…Though for a second, he considered in the time they actually spent together…if he in fact had been quite more intimate then any of them had been.
'Funny how that works…' The cop mused.
Stuffing his hand in his pockets, Carter tried to keep his head down to a moderate level as he began the walk towards the doors of the looming, macabre funeral home. He did his best to hide his keen, experienced detective's eyes and senses- after all; he didn't particularly want to look threatening in the family's eyes. It was bad enough he didn't particularly fit in…he'd been to enough fallen cop's funerals to know the feeling of being stared down his nose at. It wasn't a comfortable sensation, sure, but mostly it would make his job of mingling with the group all the more difficult.
He passed by a couple and looked up to just notice that the male was tall with brown hair- the female in high heels and clutching his arm. Hearing him talk, he immediately heard a Bostonian slur to his muttering.
"Yup, defiantly part of the family. Wonder if he's one of the scumbag brothers he's mentioned?"
That was entirely possible, as he seemed to look like a near exact copy of Jayden's backside. Still, he didn't look up, and instead hurried along as he let them walk in front, opening the door as Blake himself grabbed it before it closed, entering the large, archaic looking doors of the fateful building itself.
What reached him first was the music, a piano being played in relative vicinity. It was a tune Blake sure as hell didn't realize, only that it was actually rather lovely and calmed his nerves just a little. On cue, he took a deep breath and took in the next sensation, the sight of his most esteemed colleagues talking face-to-face, Perry holding what had to be some sort of champagne in a glass as he seemed to be filling Ash in on an issue or another- hopefully, not his twenty-minute lateness.
Then they, inevitably, looked towards the people entering the building, spying the lieutenant as he made awkward eye contact and walked forward. Their expressions were hard to place, Ash looking up into his eyes, then away, and Perry glancing at him quickly before exchanging a glance with Ash before looking back at him. Were they just fucking talking about him? Usually the man didn't give two shits…but things had become worrisome. Now he had a reason to have to care- because now he had a dead man back at a hotel room in his name.
"Lieutenant! Good to see you made it-" His tone, though slightly condescending, gave the man no real hint to him being angry at his tardiness.
Not entirely surprising, as Perry wasn't a stickler for being on time, really. He was quite guilty of being tardy unless the press was involved. Though he often found a way to sarcastically state the issue later in the conversation when it came to someone else, just when you let your guard down- an asshole move, for certain.
"-Yeah, there was a pile up on the turnpike…" He plead his innocence, putting a hand behind his head to scratch the hairline, making only modest eye contact.
"So I heard!" Perry nearly laughed, and Blake couldn't help but feel a bit mystified on how the news reached the man so quickly, had it been on TV? The radio? Since when would he have caught either of those while he was busy kissing the Jaydens family's ass?
The surprise on his face must have been obvious, as Perry quickly indicated behind him, by means of shrugging and nodding towards the back of the room, to which the cop's eyes followed suite. It was then when Blake's body got a chill that rocked him to the core; the two FBI agents were walking casually in their direction, to which the older male felt himself virtually crucified before them.
"These two agents, here…They came in about…Oh, three minutes ago? Came in right before you did. Same thing happened to them."
It was a good thing Blake had been in some nasty situations before; otherwise he may have lost it right then in there. Instead it took a deep breath, and tried not to think he was completely fucked at this point.
'They were there. They were fucking there!'
'Don't panic.' Was his only logical thought. 'Don't fuck'n panic, they'll know.'
Crawford approached, his expression at first had been neutral, but upon noticing the cop in their midst, his mouth turned into a heinous smile. Sure, the actual lifting of the corners of the lips wasn't unusual…it was the way his eyes didn't smile along with it, as though they were completely unattached by the natural muscles- Yet it still hovered between him being entirely devious, or simply a manifestation of his own paranoia.
'Maybe they really don't suspect anything?' Carter wondered; 'Even if they did…I have a good lawyer. Don't admit to shit, you hear me?"
"Lieutenant Blake! So glad to see you made it…"
A hand was extended towards him as he stared down blankly, just barely registering the entirety of the action. It took him a second, but he finally got his arm to move up, without thought, to shake the hand of the man who had started to haunt him. His grip was disconcertingly strong- he wished he put the effort through to make his just as solid- but the desire simply wasn't there. So it ended up having his arm pumped up and down forcefully by the taller, leaner figure. It was emasculating to say the least. Thankfully, it didn't last long.
"Yeah, uh…had a hard time getting here-"
"Yes, the pile-up on the motorway." (Blake was rather confused what the fuck a "motorway" was supposed to be.) "We passed it on the way in…" Letting go of Blake's hand, he indicated with a wave of his hand towards the door, his eyes not even meeting Carter's in a show of what the older cop took to be disinterest- and therefore, disrespect.
The man seemed oddly disenchanted, only giving the cop a condescending glare back as he finished his sentence.
"Yeah, me too…" Blake murmured as he looked away, scratching the side of his nose and clearing his throat- fuck, why was it so hard to lie to this guy? It was usually so easy, even to people who were far above him in terms of the chain of command, like the fucking mayor. All those times his conduct had been questioned, and he was slipping up now?
"Is there a problem, lieutenant?"
Blake found himself enraged at that snide fucking prick tone, and nearly instantly, his pride and confidence returned. With a bit of a bite, at that.
"Yeah, there's a problem..." He got closer to the nosey FBI bastard, looking up into his face as he came within inches of his face, to which the agent predictably leaned back.
"You keep pok'n your nose in my business? You keep getting on my ass? You're gonna get kicked off like the annoying little fuck you are. You got it, asshole?"
If Blake had eyes in the back of his head, he'd had loved Perry and Ash's reaction. Blake's act wasn't exactly kosher. Talking shit to an FBI agent was one thing, but clearly, this was one of their higher-ups. The stakes were just a touch higher.
"Is that right?" Just as he thought, the agent's tone was more amused then afraid. He didn't care.
Blake's stomach felt as though it had metamorphosis into the deepest pit- sinking down in his gut and into the earth's core. He tried not to make the feeling evident, didn't swallow or let his face go white- instead remembering the blind rage he felt but seconds earlier. He felt like a raging bull, forcing his way into a pen only to be castrated shortly thereafter.
"Yeah." He sneered, lip lifting as he looked into Crawford's dark, and disparaging eyes. The man was immovable, like some unnatural fucking thing. Carter knew now for a fact, this asshole was never going to let him alone.
"That's right- Now get the fuck outta my face- this is a funeral…show some goddamn respect."
Blake turned around, high on emotion, on anger; power- as he grabbed the glass of champagne from Ash's outstretched hand, and drank it as he faced the fuming agent. His face wasn't filled with quite the rage Carter may have wanted, but it was obvious Richard Crawford was not a happy camper; his statuesque exterior had been disrupted by the man's sudden attitude.
Throwing back the last bit of alcohol, Carter handed the glass back to Ash, whom took it awkwardly. Licking his lips, he gave the agent a final, dirty look as he turned around and walked away, through the crowd, stomach growling all the way
Suddenly, he found himself very hungry again.
Norman sat on the edge of the hotel bed- he'd love to say "his" bed, would love to be back at his house right then…but knew that was unrealistic. His house was downtown, and navigating the crowded streets at this time of day was going to be time-consuming as it was, nonetheless in the amount of time Carter needed to make it back to his own funeral. No, he supposed being at a hotel was the right decision, he'd just rather it wasn't a coach roach-ridden shit-hole like this one.
For a moment, he was blinded by how strange this situation was. Many times had he thought he was, in fact, dead. Living through some twisted idea of purgatory or Hell. Not that Norman was a religious man; his family was Catholic and used to go to church, and maybe they still did. Yet the minute the young agent went to college and didn't have to go to church, he soon found himself questioning the rules put in place, rules that only made sense because of his limited view of the world. Having his first gay sexual experience in high school changed that- but it wasn't until he actually had sex with another man that he knew.
It felt right; it made him feel whole. Like a man- not like the sinful creature his parents and the world made him out to be. He never wished himself to be like others, to be 'normal', this was normal to him. This was his life, his world. Norman never apologized; but he did wish things were different- the world, his upbringing, simply being raised in a more accepting atmosphere. Somehow having someone to lean on instead of trying to open up to the men he fucked, or the occasional friend. He never had friends that strong, that close…Ones he could honestly depend on.
The former agent, now deceased man, sat on the edge of the bed as he looked towards his shoes, breathing deeply. He was tired and he knew it, eyes fluttering shut. Though he was also too driven with thought to actually fall asleep, mind coursing with concern for Blake mingling with his family. If it didn't go well, he honestly didn't know what he would do. He'd rather not think about it.
'So what am I supposed 'tah do? Watch TV…?'
Well he could, couldn't he? Looking around, he saw the cheap remote up near the top of the almost even cheaper television. Standing up, feeling his body crack and pop from bones adjusting, he grabbed it and very expertly sat back down with an audible 'huff', squinting as he tried to make out the buttons in the dimly lit room. Managing to find and hit the power button, the old tube TV crackled to life. It had been left on cartoons, and Norman almost cringed at the thought of someone actually bringing kids to an obvious hooker-fuck-pad like this.
Flicking through the channels, he couldn't help but find himself curious as to if there were some adult content on this particular set up. He soon found out as he stumbled upon the Playboy channel, which caught his attention as a young lady with bleach-blonde hair and fake breasts was getting hammered by a rather large black gentlemen as she lay with her back on the bed. Norman's eyes grew at the sight, finding himself not helping to watch a few minutes, only to change it with a blush burning at his face.
He just so happened to land on the channel after that, however. A threesome- one woman, two men. One of the men was on bottom, and was licking the breasts of the female as he took it from the other- for some reason, Norman found himself both shamed and aroused, as if his parents would walk in on him at any minute. As if fucking Carter Blake would walk in at any minute. He didn't bother to think and realize just how ridiculous these thoughts were…just that it was uncomfortable, and so he shut the TV off.
Of course, that didn't help the subtle erection he was now developing. It brewed as a hardening, growing mass between his legs, a warmth building in his core. He reached down without thinking and rubbed his crotch, squeezing it gently as he fondled it carefully, almost as though it was a casual, everyday scratch that got a bit more adventurous.
'You COULD jack-off…'
His first reaction was "nah", out of simply shame. Though he stopped to realize- why not? He was a full-grown man; he was alone…what was holding him back?
It could be all the years he felt ashamed for doing an act that tended to be considered only the act of loners, of those who simply 'couldn't get' someone to have sex with. He knew deep down, based on the sexual psychology he knew that he was taught in class, read in research books, applied to murderers and rapists alike- that this wasn't correct. That desires for masturbation were quite healthy and even good for one's sexual and normal mental health.
Slightly comforted by these facts, Norman leaned back on his arms, bracing himself up by his long, stilt-like appendages as he took a deep breath. Part of him was very terrified at the concept of Carter bursting through that door all of a sudden, and his eyes scanned the room for something he would come back for- a wallet, whatever- and found the same empty room as before.
'I nevah did get any release from before…'
Giving Blake head in the car had caused him to receive a hard, insufferable erection. It wasn't something he was willing to share, and he must have hid it well- So Blake didn't even levy an attack on the young agent when he sported an, although lessening, still apparent, bulge in his pants. It had gone down since then- he was used to ignoring his needs, and it wasn't until now that he realized he by all means, should tend to his own body.
Pressing into it with some new fervor, he rubbed it thoroughly as he began to grope himself, kneading his genitalia as a whole before moving onto his actual dick through his clothing. He began to breathe deeply from excitement, lungs inside fluttering as the body moved, gyrating slowly as he undulated his body back and forth, as if fucking an invisible man above him.
He hated to stop, but he did just this as he lowered his ass to the bed. Now his hands flew to his belt, undoing it slowly, savoring the moment as he tried to envision some unknown, happily ready male doing the action for him. Now the button, and with anticipation, the zipper. He swore the sounds rung far too loud in the empty room, heart pounding with the slight fear of being discovered.
Again, his ass sailed into the air, high up as his hips crested and he moved his pants up to get them off instead of down, exposing his underwear. A new flutter of excitement wormed into him, and the fear of being discovered again resurfaced.
'Maybe I should use the chain-lock, too?'
'No, leave it.'
It was a very strange moment he just had with himself- he just came to the realization that he almost wanted Blake to walk in on him pleasuring himself. It would have been embarrassing, sure, but for the briefest of seconds, it would communicate that he had needs, too. He needed sexual fulfillment just as much as the other did, and his needs weren't being met even in the slightest.
The groping resumed as his underwear felt a good middle-ground before he went to the final application- he almost preferred it this way, it was clean, warm, hiding his masculinity to even himself, imagining someone fondling himself through the briefs. His bottom lowered to the bed, and proceeded to do this for a good ten minutes, mind wondering in and out of the current situation as his sexual thoughts waxed and waned, his body not quite complying as his thoughts drifted from scenario to scenario- to men and woman alike.
It wasn't until he thought of Blake again; did he feel his arousal peak. He had fought to keep the older man from his thoughts, but like the man himself, it proved to be too stubborn and brutally honest for its own good. The craving to be touched increased, as did the throbbing in his cock. He released a breath in surprise, and with more intent on taking advantage of the situation then why it elicited such feelings in him, he quickly lowered the briefs, even shedding them off his legs and kicking them and his pants to the floor.
'Christ! I'm so fuhk'n hard- it almost fuck'n hurts!'
He spread his legs on the comforter, toes pointing to one another in an almost-semi-circle. He stroked his cock in long, sweeping motions, cupping over the head at each one and scooping upwards, biting his lip as a shot of joy erupted in his prostate, the center of the male orgasm. It was felt in his abdomen, a wonderful warmth that radiated outward and consumed everything below his chest.
His legs bend at the knees as he lifted up his hands without shame or worry, absolutely concentrated on his arousal as it devoured all conscious thought- and spit in them, providing lubrication for the traction. Precum was just now dribbling down his member, though slowly, he was never a real big producer of the stuff. Sometimes it didn't come out at all- but when it did, he knew it was a state of full-on arousal, his body tingling at the concept of just jacking off to thoughts he voyeurism and appealing enemies.
Norman began to pump with an increasing enthusiasm, eyes closed and hips lifted slightly as he began to move his hips in time with his motion. A swirl of arousal struck him, catching him unaware as he hitched his breath and increased his fantasy; Carter jacking him off. He didn't care right now what that meant, but it was wonderful, and he let it go, let it take him into whatever realm it wanted. He could just imagine those calloused, aged hands- large, experienced hands, ones that could consume his cock without effort and make him swear and groan as he laid back, the tingling and warmth increasing as it felt about ready to burst forth.
He cupped his testicles, caressing and groping them with a fervor he hadn't had in ages- fingers slipped down to his perineum, the area between his anus and testes. He'd touched this area before, let others touch this area before… but now that same touch made him jump, nearly squealing at his own hand.
Those fingers were imagined to be Blake's hands on his body, touching, fondling, exploring untold realms with his own excitement. In his fantasy, however, there was no caution. The area was instead rubbed with two thick fingers, back and forth as it mimicked the stroking of his cock. This continued for a few short minutes, resulting in a shot of sudden joy that sent him whining- his head hit the mattress below him. His pace increased, smoothing up and down his perineum as he huffed in and out.
Without thought, his fingertips moved further between his legs. They brushed his anus just as his fantasy progressed; the older man exploring, caressing every inch as he hungered for the destitute federal agent.
'Ah…Ah…Ah, no…Not yet-'
Indeed, the young man didn't want to orgasm quite yet, this had been the best masturbatory session he'd had in quite some time. It was usually just a task to relieve stress, not in actual desire to feel sexual gratification- except this time had obviously been different. Perhaps it was the long lull in the activity, or maybe it was the situation…Except he knew neither of those wasn't as responsible as the main reason, and that was the fantasy involved.
In his mind's eye, Carter's hand swept into the area between his legs. Those rough, calloused and large fingers searching for his opening, lubed and warm, teasing it as it swept around the ring in a circular motion. It was too much, too soon, and the tightness in his abdomen squeezed as he released the tension fully, the pressure in his testicles diminishing as he exploded, cumming as he felt his muscles squeeze and contract in the attempt to push the semen out while simultaneously rewarding him for the sexual act as a plethora of pleasure swam to his brain.
Except he didn't know if he wanted to feel 'rewarded'. With a huff of exhaustion, his body fell completely to the bed, not paying attention to where his fluids were- except that there was a noticeably wet sensation of something cooling between his legs. He'd clean that up, later…Right now, he needed to recover from what the fuck just happened.
'I masturbated tah Cartuh fuck'n Blake…'
The man's face had entered his sexual fantasies- his touch, his breath on his bare skin, his erotic odor of musk and sweat; All of it, as livid as an ARI experience- maybe more. It had been the first time, in a long time…when he didn't need ARI to envision a world to escape into.
He stared at the ceiling for what felt like ages, at times his heart beat so high he could hear it in his ears. Swallowing, a tear slipping from his eyes at it collected in a cooling sensation in those very same ears as they fell alongside his head. He sighed, huffing out the air in frustration. The tears weren't from sadness or despair- it was from the intensity and stress of the contortions his face had caused during the act- but it might has well had been tears of longing. Not for Blake specifically; but for belonging, of finally having something to long for. He wished he himself could accept what had just happened; let alone anybody else. Specifically, the masculine lieutenant.
It wasn't just that he had jacked off to Blake, it was that it was so fucking wonderful, the best sexual experience he'd ever had. Better than any man or woman he'd had before; and it had been to his own hand, under the guise of a fantasy involving that twisted lunatic…
'So what? It was fun, wasn't it?'
Norman swore he was embodying the typical angel on one shoulder, devil on the other cliché fantasy. One part of his brain told him it was wrong, the other didn't care…It didn't hurt him, or anybody else, and he got a nice orgasm out of it. So what did it matter? 'It matters...' The angel would cry; 'because he nearly beat Ethan Mars to death, because he embodies everything you hate, everything you stand for. He uses and abuses you. Or, how about he's almost twenty years older then you? Rough around the edges- and inside, too. Insane, mad with arrogance and incessant domination. He's alive...and you're dead.'
'Oh, that's right... I've nearly f'ahgotten...I'm dead.'
'But he's so warm.' His devil cooed- 'So sensuous, so passionate...So filling.'
That last thought made him heat up at it's implication. He could feel himself, against his will, being actually filled by Blake... right up to the brim. His cock pushing inside slowly with each new thrust until he could feel that thick pubic hair literally tickle his buttocks. He suddenly felt taken aback, an heat once again building inside of his neither regions against his will.
His cheeks flushed again as he finally sat up, looking to his legs and bed to see his semen gathered on the bed a few feet away and on his thighs. A rather good amount of precum slathered on his hands, all evidence of his apparent sexual lusting for the lieutenant.
'You should shower…You'd feel bettah.'
That was something they could both agree with- angel and devil alike.