Where Do Fallen
Angels Go?
By K9
Blair
Sandburg slid out of the Cadillac with all the grace of a cat. He smiled at the
driver, and winked as the vehicle pulled away.
"Profitable
evening?" a voice asked.
Blair
turned around to see a young man leaning against the wall. He smiled widely,
"Oh yeah, I wish they were all as easy as that one," he sighed,
"I barely touch him, and he comes. I almost feel like charging him half
price for only having to do half the work," Blair laughed,
"Almost!"
"It's
that angelic face of yours, gets 'em every time," the young man smiled.
"Hey,
I'm not knocking it. It won't last forever, I'm getting old man," Blair
said.
The
younger man strolled over, and wrapped his arms around Blair's neck. "No
way are you old," he smiled, leaning in for a kiss, "You can outlast
me even on a good night."
"Mark,
that's called experience, not staying power," Blair grinned, tightening his
grip on the slighter figure, "You ready to call it a day yet?"
"Yeah,
there's not much happening around here today. Not with that maniac around,"
Mark sighed.
"I
know, but it's not always possible."
"Come
on, let's go home," Blair kissed Mark lightly, and slid his arm
protectively around the younger mans shoulder.
"I
fancy Mexican tonight," Mark said with an appreciative smile.
"Just
had one," Blair grinned.
The
slighter figure slapped him on the chest playfully, as they walked away.
The
weather was chilly, the skies gloomy, and rain had driven away 'casual' custom.
Blair looked around with a feeling of intense boredom.
Today
was slow, painfully slow.
It
was not being helped by the presence of several large men hanging around whose
manner positively screamed 'policeman!'.
Everything
about them stank of the law. From their arrogance, and self-righteous posturing
to the pitiful way they tried to ask questions like normal human beings, instead
of the pathetic excuses for men that they were.
Blair
hated the law, and particularly policemen.
He
could see Magnus, his pimp, patrolling the area angrily. He looked so
pissed; someone was going to pay for this later. Blair just hoped it wasn't him.
He
watched as one large man in a blue shirt, and dark pants approached him. If he
hadn't known he was the law, he could have considered the man quite attractive.
"I'm
Detective Ellison, Cascade PD. I just want to ask you some questions, that
okay?" the big cop asked politely.
Blair
eyed him suspiciously, "Not really, Detective. You are like *so* bad for
business," he smiled coldly.
"I'm
sorry about that. But I'm investigating the murder of several of the young
male…" Ellison stopped, and looked away.
"Prostitutes,
Detective. You can say it…it's not painful," Blair sneered, looking the
man up, and down.
Ellison
sighed, "the young male 'prostitutes', and I wondered if you'd seen
anything unusual?"
"In
this job you see the 'unusual' every day, Detective. Occupational hazard,"
Blair grinned at the big cop's discomfort.
"No.
None of my business," Blair replied.
"Young
men getting murdered is none of your business?" Ellison said, with an angry
edge to his voice.
"We're
not exactly choirboys, Detective. Danger comes with the territory," Blair
replied irritably.
Ellison's
jaw twitched, "This isn't just a case of someone getting roughed up here,
these young men are being tortured, and murdered," he said in a low voice.
"Their
bad luck," Blair insisted, his eyes cold shards of ice.
Ellison
shook his head, and pulled out a card, handing it over, "If you see
anything, or hear anything…contact me," he said with a resigned sigh.
"If
*you* ever need anything, Detective, you can always contact *me*," Blair
grinned seductively.
Ellison
regarded the young man for a moment, before walking away in silence.
"You
gettin' friendly with that cop, pretty baby?" Magnus said suddenly, from a
doorway as Blair strolled along Main St.
Blair
automatically cowered slightly, shying away from the bigger man, "No! He
was just asking questions about the slice 'em, and dice 'em guy," he said
defensively.
"I'd
better not find you 'chatting' when you should be working, you fucking lazy
little whore, or I'll slam your ass so hard you'll be spitting out your
balls," Magnus grabbed the smaller man by the shirt, "Do I make myself
clear?"
Blair
nodded meekly.
Magnus
slammed his fist into Blair's ribs, "Answer me you queer little fuck!"
"Yes,
I understand. I'm sorry," The young man gasped, curling over, into the
pain.
"No
fuckin' manners," Magnus spat as he shoved Blair away angrily, "Get
back to work."
"Christ,
I hate this job," Jim Ellison sighed.
Police
Captain Simon Banks looked across the desk wearily, "You only just realized
that?" he asked, shoveling in the last of his take-out.
"No,
but today I was down on the corner of fifty-fourth interviewing the male
prostitutes about the killings, and they just don't seem to give a damn. This
one guy? He must be late teens, or early twenties, though he looks younger. He's
good looking, and obviously smart. He's selling himself for a few bucks. If the
'Knifeman' doesn't get him, AIDS probably will before he's thirty. It's just
so……"
"Depressing?"
Simon suggested.
"That,
and so much more," Jim said sadly.
Simon
placed the fork in the empty carton, "Jim, you can't choose peoples paths
for them, and feeling guilty won't help."
"But
some of the kids down there probably aren't Daryl's age. How would you feel if
it was him?" Jim asked.
"I'd
kill anyone who touched him," Simon replied, "But some of those kids
have never had anyone who cares enough to kill for them. Jim, we both know that
they're the victims not the criminals, but they don't see it that way, and when
it comes down to it, only they can decide to stop doing what they're doing. You
can arrest them until you're blue in the face, it won't stop them."
"I
know, I know. It's just that damn kid, he got to me today. I never thought that
some smart mouthed little hustler could shake me up that way."
"Jim,
go home and get some rest. Captain's orders."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Everything okay?" Blair asked as Mark walked back into the bedroom.
"Yeah,
of course, nothing to worry about," Mark smiled sadly," Blair, what's
going to happen to me?" he asked sitting down on the side of the bed.
"Nothing!"
Blair smiled, reaching out for Mark's hand, "Come on get in, let Uncle
Blair ride your fears away," he grinned.
"I
don't know what I'd have done without you, Blair. I'd be dead by now if you
hadn't picked me up a few weeks ago. Man, I was a mess wasn't I?"
Blair
pulled the young man onto the bed, and covered him with his body. "Stop it.
I don't want to hear any 'what if's'. You know you're welcome to stay here as
long as you want, indefinitely if you want to," he kissed Mark hungrily,
"And if I don't fuck you soon, I'll explode!"
What
about Magnus?" Mark asked nervously, "I haven't made enough to pay him
this week."
"Just
leave Magnus to me, and stop worrying. We'll sort something out. I have a couple
of guys who might like to see you on a regular basis. They go for younger guys,
I'm getting a little 'old' for 'em," Blair laughed.
"Oh
man, I can't take your guys, this life's hard enough."
Blair
covered the younger man's mouth with his fingers, "Enough. I'll talk to
them, doesn't mean they'll agree. Just you let *me* worry about *my* guys. Now
come on…let's fuck!"
Mark
laughed as Blair tickled him, making him squirm beneath his roommate's more
muscular body. The younger man shuffled down, spreading himself open for his
lover. Blair lifted Mark's legs aloft placing them on his shoulders; he was
already hard, his cock weeping, and engorged. It took only moments to slip on
the condom, and lube himself, and Blair was ready to penetrate his mate.
"I
want it rough, Blair," Mark gasped as Blair buried himself in his ass.
"You
sure?" the older man asked.
Mark
nodded his head, "Yes, hard as you can give it…I can take it."
Blair
smiled gently before withdrawing, and then pounding himself in, again, and
again.
Mark
was such a submissive bottom, and he lacked the fire that it took to survive in
this business, Blair thought, as the young man screamed, and begged for more,
harder.
In
his heart Blair feared for Mark. So many took this path without truly knowing
what they were up against. It ate your pride, and gnawed away on your soul, this
life they'd chosen…or rather that had chosen them. And Blair, in the pit of
his stomach, knew that Mark was not cut out for the fear, and hatred that dogged
their every moment.
"Blair…oh…yes!"
Mark screamed, and thrust as he came, spattering hot semen over them both.
Blair
continued to pound into Mark until he too was satisfied, and fell back with a
gasp. He reached for the wipes, and cleaned them both. Mark already was drifting
into sleep.
Gathering
the younger man into his arms, he followed his partner into a dream-world where
they were always safe from harm.
It
had been a truly shitty day. Jim had chased his tail until he was dizzy. Leads
that went no where, witnesses that saw the killer…holding hands with an alien
and talking to Elvis. And to really finish it all off, his radio had exploded in
the truck, closely followed by the battery in his cell phone expiring.
He'd
had it.
Wandering
into the PD, he threw down the radio, and headed for the coffee machine.
"Hey,
Detective Ellison?" a young officer called, "There's been another
murder. The lab boys are there right now. We tried to contact you."
"Yeah,
my radio's shot, and the cell decided to choose today to die! Any
witnesses?" Jim asked.
The
uniformed officer pointed over the room, "Just the
'roommate' who found the body. Smart mouthed little bastard…" he
said with distaste.
Jim
glanced over at the huddled figure; it was the young man from the street corner.
Jim took a deep breath, and walked over, "I'm Detective Ellison," he
said quietly.
"Fuckin'
bully for you," Blair spat.
"I
need to ask you a few questions," Jim continued.
"What?
Like who sliced up the little queer? As if you give a fuck!"
"What's
your name?"
"Why?
You want to run it through the computer see if I have any outstanding
fines?" Blair looked up into Jim's face defiantly, his face tear streaked,
and blazing with anger.
"No,
I just want to know what to call you," Jim replied calmly.
"How
about fuckin' 'Sir'," Blair growled.
"Very
well, 'Sir'. Now can you tell me what happened earlier?" Jim asked,
watching the young man begin to swell with emotion. He was biting down on his
lip to stop the tears, his pride demanding that he save face.
"Would you like to do this interview somewhere quiet?" Jim
asked.
"Why,
Detective, you cruisin' for a piece of ass, or something?" Blair sneered.
"No.
I'm just trying to allow you the dignity that I would anyone else who was
distraught over the death of his friend. Now if you would like for me to conduct
this interview in a private room, I will do so," Jim's voice remained calm.
Blair
glanced up and nodded, "Sorry," he whispered.
Jim
led the young man into an interview room, and ordered coffee to be brought in.
He asked if there was anything else he needed. The request was answered by a
shake of the head.
"Are
you feeling up to this?" Jim asked.
Blair
shrugged, "Much as I'm ever likely to considering I just found my friend
dissected in my living room," he struggled with the last couple of words.
"Okay.
Now, Sir, is there anything you can tell me about who he was with tonight?"
Jim asked.
"No.
I'd been out since mid afternoon. I had a couple of regular clients, then I went
grocery shopping," Blair took a breath, "What I don't understand is
how it happened there?"
"What
do you mean?"
"We
had a rule. We never took clients back to the apartment," Blair said.
"Never?"
Jim asked.
"No.
It was the one hard, and fast rule we both stuck to. No way did I want to sleep
in the bed I'd just been fucked in by some sweaty, drunken, old guy," Blair
shivered.
Jim
swallowed hard, "So what would he be doing back there with someone?"
he asked.
"I
don't know. Only a handful of people even knew where we live.
Friends mostly."
"And
your pimp?"
The
young man glared at Jim, "Yeah, my pimp," he spat.
"Any
chance of you telling me where I can find him?" Jim asked.
"Oh,
sure. Why not just slit my throat now, and save him the bother!" Blair
exclaimed, "I'm sure he'd be thrilled if you turned up on his doorstep,
cute though you are."
Jim
allowed himself a brief smile, "Just thought I'd ask," he sighed.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door, and a young uniformed officer carried in
two coffees and some biscuits. Jim took them from the tray, and handed a cup to
Blair. "Here, drink this. You're in shock, you need something sweet."
"I
never knew cops could be such mother hens," Blair sneered.
"Purely
selfish. You're the nearest thing I have to a witness," Jim smiled, "Gotta
take care of you."
"Blair."
"What?"
Jim frowned.
"My
name. Blair. Blair Sandburg."
"Okay,
Blair. Let's go over this again, one step at a time."
By
the time Blair had described the events of the afternoon and evening, including
finding Mark butchered, he was shaking and gasping for air. Trying to take a
deep breath he glanced up at the cop who had remained silent throughout,
allowing him to tell it in his own words, and at his own pace.
"I'm
sorry," he whispered, "I'm usually *way* more together than
this."
"That's
okay, you've done just fine. It must have been very difficult, and I appreciate
you being so forthcoming," Jim smiled, "You mentioned a phone call
that Mark had last night. Do you know who it was from?"
"No,
we were in bed. Mark got up to answer it, he said that it would be for
him."
"Do
you have a phone by the bed?" Jim asked.
"Yeah,
so?" Blair frowned.
"Why
didn't he answer it in the bedroom?"
"I
guess it was private."
"Did
he have a lot of private calls?"
"No
not really. Where's this leading, Detective?"
"I
just wondered why he would get out of bed to answer a call when he could have
taken it without moving. What could have been so private that he needed to hide
it from you?" Jim pondered.
Blair
stopped for a moment; "It couldn't have been a client. We never give out
our private number to them; they use the cell phone number. That way we can
switch it off when we want some peace," Blair replied checking out Jim's
surprised expression, "Yes Detective. Even whores need a little down-time
sometimes."
"I
never said they didn't," Jim mumbled.
"Your
face did," Blair said with a short, un-amused laugh.
"I'm
not here to judge your lifestyle," Jim defended himself.
"But
you do. They all do," Blair said without emotion.
Jim
looked up at the young man; "Do you have someone you can stay with for a
few days?"
"Why?"
"Well,
obviously you won't be able to return to your apartment, it's a murder
scene."
"Shit.
Homeless too, huh? What a fuckin' day," Blair ran his fingers through his
hair.
"That's
okay, the department will provide you with somewhere for a few days. I'll go
organize something," Jim pushed back the chair.
"Detective?"
Blair said suddenly.
"Er…thanks
for being…okay….I know I've been kinda manic today…er…" the younger
man looked away almost shyly.
Jim
smiled, "Just doing my job, Blair," he said.
"Yeah,
well," Blair shrugged weakly.
"I'll
go find you a place to stay."
Jim
pulled up in front of the motel. He slipped his hand in his pocket, and pulled
out a key.
"Room
208," he said handing Blair the key, "Not exactly the Ritz, but
someplace to rest your head tonight," he smiled.
"I've
slept in worse," Blair said miserably.
"One
request?" Jim said looking over at the young man.
"Oh,
detective!" a forced grin spread across Blair's face.
Jim
sighed, "No business from here, please?" he implored.
Blair
regarded the cop with puzzlement. "Okay, it's a deal. I'll work my usual
stretch of sidewalk."
"I
don't suppose it's any good me asking you to stay off the streets until we find
this maniac, is it?" Jim asked awkwardly.
"Detective
Ellison. When someone shoots at you, do you give up work until they get the bad
guy off the street?"
"No,"
Jim said slowly.
"Thought
as much," Blair sneered
"Just
be careful," the big detective warned.
"Always
am," Blair winked, as he climbed from the truck, and wandered into the
motel.
Blair
watched the man pull up to the curb. For the first time, a chill of fear ran
through him. This could be him. This could be the guy who would end his life. So
easy to slip into that seat, and pull away into the night, never to be seen
again. And who would give a fuck? No one.
"Hey,
" the man gestured for Blair to come closer.
Pushing
himself casually away from the wall, Blair strolled over to the car. It was a
brand new BMW sports, imported, and probably cost both arms, and legs. Bending
to peer into the car, he pushed out his ass, and let his shirt ride up to give a
glimpse of the silver nipple ring that always adorned his left nipple.
"Hey,
you looking for company, man?" he smiled.
"Sure,
get in."
Swallowing
his fear, Blair opened the door, and slipped into the leather seat. The guy was
seventy if he was a day. A beer gut hung over his pants, and he had an expensive
gold tooth fitted. Blair smiled past his natural revulsion, and stroked the
man's thigh.
"Where
do you want to party?" he smiled seductively.
"I
got a hotel room, we can go there. Money isn't a problem," the man leered.
"Mmm,
my kinda guy," Blair said sweeping his hand lightly over the man's crotch.
Ushering
Blair into the hotel room, the man smiled. Blair turned, and began to peel off
the old man's jacket, leaning in to nuzzle his neck.
"Come
on baby, get 'em off, I want to see what I'm paying for," he growled.
Blair
made a show of disrobing. He slipped his shirt over his head, and shook out his
hair, the curls pooling on his shoulders. He ran his fingers lightly down his
chest, ruffling the hair, sighing loudly as he touched his own body.
He
fingered the ring threaded through his nipple, tugging slightly, moaning in
appreciation as it stood to attention.
Glancing
up at the old man Blair turned on his most seductive smile, and fingered the
button on his jeans, Slowly, he lowered the zip to display nothing but flesh
beneath. He heard the man draw in a breath at the sight of the base of his cock
peeking from inside the soft denim.
Blair
moved across to stand in front of his eager customer, lightly he stroked his
finger down the man's chest "You like what you see, baby?" he purred.
"Finish
it up and I'll tell ya."
Stepping
back, Blair slowly pushed the jeans down, and shook them off his feet. He
stroked his hands down his body again, this time lingering over his cock, which
jumped at the touch.
"Oh
yeah, you're a pretty one," the man salivated.
"An'
I taste even better than I look. You wanna taste of me darlin'?" Blair sank
back onto the bed, stretching, and flexing his muscles, giving the man a show.
He knew that he had a nice body. He was on the short side, but he had hard
muscles, and a toned body, though slim. His cock was lengthy, and thick, curving
gracefully downwards, and impressive enough even when at rest.
"I'm
gonna fuck you raw, son," the man leered, "And I want you to call me
daddy. My own boy left home, and I
miss him to death. We were *real* close, you know?"
"Sure
baby, I understand. Come on daddy, fuck my ass…please!" Blair spread his
legs, and stroked himself, cupping his balls.
The
man shed the remains of his clothes, and climbed on the bed, "Gonna have to
whup you if you misbehave, son," he murmured as he fingered Blair's cock,
"But it's for your own good."
"Yes
daddy, I understand."
The
big man grunted as Blair reached down, and began stroking his cock, "Can I
taste it?" he asked, "Can I suck you, daddy please? Just to help you
get nice, and hard for me?"
"Okay,
son. If that's what you want," the man dropped back on the bed, and allowed
Blair to scoot down, and begin nuzzling his limp organ. After a few moments of
attention, it began to harden, slowly. Blair was good, and he knew that. He was
talented at what he did, but this was still proving to be hard work.
Suddenly
a sharp slap on his ass made him jump.
"Just
keep going boy, but I'm gonna to have to punish ya," the old man partly sat
up, and started hitting Blair across the ass in slow heavy strokes. With each
blow the man grew harder until he pulled Blair from his cock-sucking duty, and
shoved him face down on the bed.
The
old man fumbled a condom onto his now rigid cock, and absently rubbed lube along
its length. In one brutal stroke he skewered Blair's ass. The younger man
gasped, despite his experience he was unprepared, and the lube used was woefully
insufficient.
It
hurt like a bitch.
"That
hurting boy?" the man grunted.
"It's
okay daddy, I know you don't mean to hurt me," Blair choked out the words.
"I
like to hear you scream boy, like to feel my rod up your ass giving you
pain."
"Yes,
daddy. It hurts…"
The
man withdrew all the way, and slammed back in; sweat dripping from him, the
smell of sweat, sex and stale beer caught in Blair's throat as he gasped for
breath.
"Beg."
The man instructed, "Beg for more."
"Oh
daddy, please, hurt me more, please," Blair cried out between clenched
teeth, "I
want to feel you in me, giving me everything, hurting me lots."
It
took only minutes for the man to come with a strangled groan, and drop back onto
the bed heavily.
He
grabbed Blair by the arm, and pulled him into his side. Reaching down, he fisted
Blair's cock brutally until the young man spilled into his hand.
Pulling
on his jeans, and slipping his feet into his sneakers, Blair tried to control
the shaking of his hands.
He
turned and smiled at the man as he took the bundle of bills from his fingers.
"I'll
be seeing you again, sweet thing," the man grinned.
"Sure,
you know where to find me," Blair winked slowly, and strutted from the
room.
Once
out in the open, the fresh air seared his lungs, and he lost the contents of his
stomach in the alley. He leaned against the wall as he took deep breaths, and
tried to bring himself under control.
The
guy had been no more brutal, or repulsive than any other, the pain he'd
inflicted was minimal, and he'd paid up.
But
Blair had never been more afraid in his life.
"I
want to see a Detective named Ellison," the big man demanded.
Rhonda
looked the man up and down. He was around six feet three, blond Caucasian, a muscular
two hundred, and fifty pounds, and everything about him screamed 'Pimp'.
"May
I ask what about, Sir?" she said politely.
"He
has one of my…'friends' hidden away some where, and I want to know
where."
At
that moment, Jim wandered in.
"Detective
Ellison, this gentleman would like a word with you," Rhonda smiled.
Looking
the man up, and down, Jim gestured to the interview room.
"What
can I do for you, Sir?" Jim asked.
"I
want to know where you're keeping Blair Sandburg?"
"And
you are?" Jim asked, already knowing the answer.
"I'm
a friend of his, Magnus, and I want to see him," the big man demanded.
Jim
smiled slightly, amused that this idiot thought he could bully, and intimidate
*him* with his sheer size.
"Mr
Sandburg is not in custody, he has merely been placed in a safer environment
after the death of his roommate. I presume you heard about that?"
"Yeah,"
Magnus huffed.
Laughing
to himself, Jim Ellison watched Magnus stride from the PD angrily. He had
wandered in here with the idea of making waves, and ended up giving a statement
as to his where-abouts on the day of the murder.
Not
for a minute did Jim think this lumbering oaf was anything to do with the serial
killings. The man who was doing this was an organized killer, he had things
planned, and his victims chosen before hand, Jim was pretty sure about that.
Whereas Magnus was a common, or garden pimp with too much muscle, and not enough
brain.
No,
this killer was no fool.
Rubbing
his already aching temple, Jim decided that the paperwork could wait a while; he
needed to get out on the street and try to get a feel of the crime scenes.
He
knew that his senses would help him, but he didn't have enough control to open
them fully, and allow them to search. He'd only once done that while he was
working, and almost gotten himself, and Simon Banks killed.
Jim
thought back to his childhood, when his father had first sought help with his
son's 'odd behavior'. It hadn't been a doctor, or an expensive specialist who
had helped finally, but a dotty Professor from the university. He had recognized
Jim's talent as a 'throwback' gene to an earlier civilization. But, before he
could do much more than teach Jim the rudiments of how control them, stop them
spinning off into oblivion, the kindly old man had died of cancer.
He
had always maintained that somewhere lay Jim's one 'true guide'. Someone who
would have a natural calming effect on him; be able to 'ground' him when he was
in danger of zoning. But, they hadn't had time to investigate anything more
before his death.
Jim
had long since given up his search for the answers to his 'condition,' and just
accepted them as a part of what he was, a part that must be suppressed for his
own good, and the safety of those around him.
Shaking
himself from his pondering, he set off for the last crime scene.
As
Jim pulled out of 54th Street, and down onto the main road, he
spotted a familiar figure standing talking to a guy in a black Chevy.
Parking
the truck for a moment he watched, inexorably, as Blair smiled, and flirted with
the older man.
His
skin-tight jeans, and cropped tee shirt hinting at his slender but muscular body
beneath, and wild curls framing a beautiful, if careworn, face.
It
was not as though Jim hadn't met prostitutes before, and all of them had their
own stories to tell, most demanding more sympathy than this cocky, headstrong
young man. But somehow he couldn't get Blair Sandburg out of his mind, and
sitting here, watching him offer his body to other men, was painful beyond
belief.
He
watched as Blair slid into the car, and it pulled away. Before he knew it, Jim
was following. He saw the car pull into an alley, the loneliness of the location
caused his heart rate to increase, this place was so dangerous, Blair could be
such an easy target.
Without
conscious thought, he reached out with his sensitive hearing, just to check that
his young witness was okay, he told himself.
"Come
on, beautiful, earn your money," a rough edged voice growled.
"Don't
I always?" Blair replied.
"Just
get to it, and use that mouth for something useful. I've got a business meeting
in thirty minutes, and I don't intend to be late because some little whore was
busy 'chatting'."
Jim
listened to the sound of a zipper being lowered, followed by low moans from the
older man.
Closing
his eyes, he could visualize Blair, his tawny curls framing his face, eyes
looking up from beneath those long eyelashes, as he took the straining erection
in his mouth. The only difference was that in Jim's mind the recipient of this
favor was a desperate, sad, old cop, who should know better than get emotional
about a whore.
He
stroked his hand across his groin feeling the growing tightness, <Jeezus,
Ellison. When are you going to learn?> he thought irritably, <How many wet
dreams have you had about this damn kid in the past few days?>
The
sounds from the Chevy were increasing, the groans coming more regularly, and the
breathless rasping of the older mans voice was testimony to Blair's skill.
Jim
rubbed his fingers across the head of his cock, painfully encased in the heavy
fabric of his pants. The sound of Blair's client panting, while the young man
teased, and sucked him into submission, caused Jim to take deep breaths, in a
vain attempt to quell his rising ardor.
'For
God's sake, get a grip!' Jim thought desperately, 'He's a foul-mouthed little
whore with a seriously bad attitude, why are you getting yourself so damned
worked up over him?'
He
pressed his head back into the headrest, still listening to the man in the
Chevy, enjoying what he was forever to be denied, 'Christ, I want him so badly'
Jim thought, finally allowing the thought to fly free, 'Why? Because, for
whatever reason, and by whatever cruel quirk of fate ordained it…it feels
right. *He* feels right. Like I knew him in another life,' he answered himself.
Oh
God, he was getting philosophical about it now, he thought miserably. 'Of course
it has *nothing* to do with the fact that when he looks at me I almost come in
my pants…oh no, nothing as base that surely?' Jim mocked.
Suddenly
the sounds changed. The older man gave a strangled grunt, and mumbled something
incoherent. Then Jim heard the rustle of money exchanging hands.
"Pleasure
to do business with you," he heard Blair purr.
"Just
get out, I'm running late," the man growled.
Jim
dialed up his vision and watched Blair climb from the vehicle. He was sorely
tempted to drive over, and offer to take him back to the motel.
'Bad idea, Ellison, seriously bad idea. Firstly, don't you think he'd be
kind of suspicious when you just 'happen' along?
And do you really trust yourself enough to be alone with him right now?'
Jim
watched the young man stroll out onto the main street, and head back for the
corner of 54th and Main. He took a deep breath, and started up the
truck, deliberately heading in the opposite direction.
Jim
wandered into the Precinct. He was feeling refreshed after what passed for a
good nights sleep these days. It had only taken two showers, and a serious jerk
off session to enable him to finally sink into his lonely bed, and sleep.
Entering the Major Crimes bullpen, he was greeted by the scowling face of Joel
Taggert
"Jim,
there's someone in lock-up been screaming for you since last night,"
Taggert said.
"What
for? Don't tell me….they're innocent!" Jim grinned.
"As
usual," Taggert smiled. Picking up the piece of paper from the desk he
checked the message, "Two uniforms picked up some hustler covered in blood,
not his own, who wouldn't explain himself, and kept insisting on seeing you.
They reckoned he was high, and threw him in lock-up…er….Sandburg."
"Blair
Sandburg?" Jim said with a feeling of dread, "Call lock-up, tell them
I'm on my way, I want him handed over to me, and me only. Got that?"
"Sure,
Jim."
"Fuckin'
fascist fuckin' bastard," Blair spat.
"Watch
your mouth you little punk," the guard snarled.
Just
as Blair was about to begin another barrage, Jim stepped forward, "It's
okay, Murphy, I'll take it from here," he said eyeing Blair.
"Ellison!
At fuckin' last!" Blair gasped, "I've been asking for you since last
night. Didn't disturb your sleep did I?" he growled.
"Just
calm down. What the hell happened to you?" Jim asked seeing the bruises
beginning to surface on Blair's face.
"Oh,
I just made some new 'friends' in your lock-up last night," Blair grunted.
"What?"
Jim gasped.
Blair
sighed, "I got my ass fucked by your guests last night. Oh, and again this
morning…"
"Jeezus,
I'll arrange for you to go to the hospital," Jim said sickly.
"The
fuck you will!" Blair exclaimed, "Just get me a coffee, huh? I feel
like shit."
Jim
placed Blair in a private office, and called out for some coffee, and food plus
a med-kit.
"What
do you want a med-kit for?" Blair asked.
"Well
if you won't have any medical treatment, at least let someone clean those cuts
on your face, and wrists?" the older man implored.
"You?"
Blair said suspiciously.
"We
have a nurse in the building."
"No.
You, or no one," Blair replied.
Jim
sighed, "Okay, I'll do it. Just don't blame me when I get clumsy with
you," he said looking over the battered face with concern.
"I'll
survive," Blair said unsmiling.
"So,
what happened?" Jim asked.
"Someone
attacked me last night."
"What?"
"As
I walked back to the motel. I'd just put the key in the door, and I felt
something sharp in my back," Blair took a breath, he tucked his hair behind
his ear nervously, "Luckily, I didn't have the door open yet, so I ducked
down, and twisted giving him a shove. It was so dark that I couldn't see
anything. I must have pushed the knife into him somehow, because when your
storm-trooper squad picked me up I was covered in blood, and it wasn't mine. I
have no idea how I got away. It all happened so fast…" his voice began to
crack.
Jim
reached out, and grabbed his arm, giving it a light squeeze, "Okay, take it
easy. We can go through all of this once you're cleaned up, and you've had time
to gather your thoughts," he said softly.
Suddenly
there was a knock at the door, a young woman officer entered with the med-kit,
food, and coffee. Jim nodded, and took them from her.
"Sit
down, I'll clean these cuts first," Jim instructed.
Blair
frowned, "Mind if I don't?" he asked.
"Why?"
"Because
my ass hurts!" Blair said finally, "After eight guys have played with
it all night, it gets a little uncomfortable."
Jim
flushed, "Sorry," he muttered.
"Why
are you sorry? You weren't one of them," Blair said with annoyance. Jim
looked away, and began to sort through the med-kit. "Man, I'm sorry,"
Blair said suddenly, "I didn't mean to snap your head off. Shit, you're the
only person who treats me like a human being around here, and I'm doing my best
to piss you off!"
"It's
okay," Jim said looking back at the younger man, "You have every right
to be annoyed, and scared."
"Fuckin'
scared don't even begin to cover it, man," Blair laughed nervously, "I
was so totally freaked last night, no wonder they thought I was using."
"You
know that whoever attacked you could be the killer, don't you," Jim said.
"Yeah,
even a dumb-fuck like me worked that one out," Blair replied.
"We
can't leave you at that motel, and I'm loathe to just move you to another,"
Jim thought for a moment as he began to wipe the gash on Blair's forehead,
"I think the safest bet would be if you stayed at my place for a few
days."
Blair
looked up at the big detective with an astonished grin, "I'll bet your
wife's gonna love that," he laughed.
"I
live alone," Jim stated.
"Oh,
detective, is this a proposal?" Blair teased.
"You
wanna go back into lock up?" Jim asked, smiling down at the young man.
Blair
let fly a delighted grin, "Take me home, Detective Ellison!"
"Wow,
police officers must get paid more than I thought," Blair whistled as they
entered the loft apartment at 852 Prospect, "Either that, or you've been
hooking on the side."
"Make
yourself comfortable. That's the spare room over there, and that's the bathroom
if you want to take a shower," Jim instructed.
"Yeah,
thanks. Just wish you'd let me go back, and pick up some clothes, these things
stink," Blair wrinkled his nose at the blood stained garments.
"I'll
have your stuff picked up later, until then you can borrow some sweats from me.
I want those blood stained clothes bagged ready for forensics to check
out," Jim said.
"Okay.
I'll go take a shower then," Blair smiled.
Jim
stirred the sauce, and watched the pasta simmer. He could still hear Blair
scrubbing at himself beneath the running water. Despite his unconcerned
appearance, he knew that last nights assault had been the last straw for the
young mans nerves. Suddenly, he heard the water stop, and moments later the door
opened.
"I've
put you some sweat pants, and a tee shirt on the bed," Jim said as Blair
walked out of the bathroom.
"Thanks,
man," the young man replied.
Jim
turned around to see Blair dressed in only a fluffy towel, his body black with
bruises. "Oh God," Jim grimaced, "That looks painful."
"Oh
yeah, you could say that," Blair winced.
"Look,
I have some bruise liniment in the cupboard, if you want to treat those bruises
before you seize up."
"Thanks,
but I don't think I can get my arm around the back at the moment. Don't suppose
you're volunteering, huh?" Blair said with a weak smile.
Jim
pondered for a moment, "Sure, no problem," he said.
"Okay
if I lie on the bed?" Blair asked.
"Yeah."
Jim followed Blair into the small bedroom. The younger man stretched out
painfully on the bed. With a tug, Blair pulled the towel from around his waist.
Jim stood watching the now naked young man shuffle to get comfortable.
"Whenever
you're ready," Blair said, his face buried in the pillow. After a few
moments he glanced around to see Jim standing, staring, his face slightly
flushed. "It's okay, detective, I'm not gonna jump ya," he teased,
"Not in any shape for it at the moment, and as you can see, I'm not looking
my best!"
Suddenly
he felt a cool hand on his shoulder, and the gentle massaging of his tender
muscles.
"Just
yell if it hurts," Jim said quietly.
"Oh
you can bet I will," Blair sniggered.
"You
should have had treatment for the assault, you know," the cop mused.
"I
hate hospitals," Blair grunted, "Anyway, they'd have just thought what
most of the cops did….that I got what I deserved."
"Who
said that?" Jim growled angrily, "No one deserves to be raped, and
beaten."
"That's
not what your brother officers were saying as they walked past while it was
happening, detective."
"Are
you trying to tell me that someone saw this happen?"
"Yeah,
I can still hear the laughter," Blair's voice tensed.
"Tell
me who it was and I'll have his badge," Jim replied with growing anger.
"Chill
out, detective. No point in making more trouble….no one would believe me over
some cop. I'm just a cheap little hustler..."
"You're
a human being, and deserve the same consideration as anyone else."
"Detective
Ellison, forget it," Blair insisted, "But thanks."
Jim
massaged the liniment into Blair's shoulder, and back, but stopped as he reached
the cheeks of the young mans ass, "Er…"
"It's
okay, I'm not shy if you're not," Blair said with amusement, almost as if
he'd read Jim's mind, "But if it's gonna make you blush?" Suddenly
there was a sharp slap on his ass, "Ow! That hurt!"
"Serves
you right for having such a smart mouth," Jim smiled.
Jim
stopped, stunned at the sudden change in conversation, "Divorced," he
replied finally.
"She
was one too."
"Oh,
man. You married another cop?" Blair giggled, "So did you divorce her,
or did she divorce you?"
"What's
with the sudden interest in my personal life?" Jim asked.
"Well
when a guy is rubbing your naked ass it kinda makes you see him in a more
'personal' light," Blair smirked.
Jim
smiled to himself, "I can see how that might happen," he grinned.
"She
divorced me. Since we're getting personal here, how come a smart kid like you is
on the streets?" Jim asked.
Blair
sighed, "My mom was a sixties lovechild, I was an unexpected nuisance who
got dumped on relatives who didn't give a shit, so I learned to take care of
myself. Why did she divorce you then?"
"Because
I was a jerk. So, how old were you when you turned your first trick?"
"Ten.
You dating at the moment?"
"No.
Ten years old? How the hell have you survived?"
"Like
you said, I have a smart mouth," Blair turned his head to look at Jim,
"and I know how to use it. You only date women, or do men get a look
in?"
Jim
stared at the younger man for a minute, "Okay, all done. I've cooked some
pasta if you're hungry," he said standing up, and walking out.
Blair
watched him go, a smile playing across his face, "Mmm, interesting!"
he muttered to himself.
Blair
walked into the dining area, the table was set out, and something smelled
delicious. He pulled out the chair to find a large cushion placed upon it. He
felt himself smile widely at the extremely touching gesture.
"Everything
okay?" Jim asked.
"Wha…Oh
yeah, thanks…for this," Blair said awkwardly.
Jim
walked over as Blair gingerly sat down, and ladled out some pasta, "You
want water or wine with this?"
"Wine?"
Blair exclaimed, "You trying to get me drunk, detective?" he teased.
Jim
sighed, "Well, which?"
"Wine,
please."
Jim
replaced the pot on the stove, and carried the wine over, pouring out two
glasses before sitting opposite Blair.
"Wow,
I feel like I'm on a date," Blair grinned, noting the slight discomfort on
the big cops face.
"Just
eat and keep that smart mouth shut," Jim said trying to sound serious.
Blair
began to shovel down the pasta, "Mmm, she didn't divorce you because you
couldn't cook, anyway," he smiled.
"Why
are you so fascinated with my failed marriage?" Jim grumbled.
"Because
you're an enigma, detective. I haven't quite worked you out yet, and I don't
like mysteries."
"I'm
just a simple, boring old cop."
"Now,
I don't believe that for a minute. Trust me, I've met a lot of cops, but never
one like you before."
"Oh
there are plenty."
"No
way, man. There are plenty like the ones who stood there last night while those
animals fucked me."
"That's
not true," Jim said defensively.
"Oh
yes it is. They're not the first ones to get off on seeing some two bit hustler
get what's coming!"
"I
don't know of any officer I've ever worked with who would stand there, and watch
a man get raped…and *enjoy* it," Jim said with distaste.
"Well,
we're gonna have to agree to disagree on that point," Blair decided,
"So, you always been a cop?"
"No,
I was in the military," Jim replied.
"Wow,
a real action man, huh? Why'd you leave?"
"Circumstances,"
Jim shot Blair a smile, "And I was getting too old for all that shit."
"So
you became a big, bad-ass cop instead," Blair smiled back.
"Yeah,
that's about it," Jim replied, "You should get yourself tested, you
know, after that assault."
Blair
placed his fork down on the plate, his face darkened, "How do you know I
wasn't infected before I got my ass fucked last night?" he said with
irritation.
"Were
you?" Jim asked looking him in the eye.
"No.
I had my test results back two weeks ago, they were clean."
"Get
re-tested."
"That
an order, detective?" Blair growled.
Jim
stared down the angry glare, "Okay, please get yourself re-tested, for your
own good."
Blair
sighed and shrugged, "Yeah, I probably will," he muttered shifting
uncomfortably.
"You
okay?" the older man asked.
"No,
my ass hurts! Why? You want to rub it a little more?" Blair blazed. Jim
looked back at his meal, and remained silent. "Man, I'm sorry, I didn't
mean to go off at you like that," he rubbed his hand across his face
wearily.
"It's
okay, you must be pretty tired," Jim said still not meeting Blair's eyes.
"That's
no excuse. Shit, you're the only person who's shown any damn concern about me. I
am *so* fuckin' stupid!"
"No
you're not. You're just tired, angry, and scared. And you have every right to be
all of those, and more. Don't beat yourself up about it," Jim smiled.
Blair
nodded, "So how come a good looking guy like you lives alone?" he
asked.
Jim
gave a strangled laugh, "What *is* it with you, and my personal life?"
he asked.
"I'm
just endlessly curious," Blair laughed, "So why do you?"
"I
like it this way."
"Oh,
the anti-social type, huh?" Blair smiled eyeing Jim carefully, "Are
you attracted to men?"
"What?"
Jim gasped, "When did *that* thread change?"
"You
haven't answered the question though, have you?"
"No.
Now eat your meal, and mind your own damned business."
"Okay,"
Blair said breezily, but, unknowingly, Jim had already given him all the answer
he needed.
"There
are more blankets in the cupboard over there if you get cold," Jim said
pointing to the corner of the small bedroom, "You sure you're okay?"
"Me?
I'm fine. Of course, if you're really worried about me getting cold, you could
always slip between the sheets, and keep me warm," Blair grinned as Jim's
face colored slightly.
"Get
some sleep," Jim sighed.
"Thanks
detective."
"Jim."
"What?"
Blair said turning to look at the older man.
"My
name's Jim."
Blair's
face lit up in a mind-shattering smile, "Thanks, Jim."
Blair
slid the key in the door; not an easy task with two grocery bags balanced
precariously on one arm, and pushed it open.
"Mark?"
he called. No one answered. Blair grunted, "Lazy little bastard, I'll bet
you're still in bed," he complained, as he made his way to the kitchen, and
dropped the bags on the counter. "Come
on, you're supposed to be cooking tonight," he yelled, passing the bedroom,
and entering the living room.
As
the door swung open, a smell hit Blair like a sledgehammer, "What the
fuck…." he gagged.
Suddenly
he looked down; there was something sticky on the floor, clinging to his
sneakers.
Picking
his way across the darkened room, kicking something on the floor along the way,
Blair swished open the drapes.
Blood…everywhere.
Black, and sticky, the smell; like an abattoir heavy, and sickly.
With
a growing terror, Blair looked down at whatever it was he'd kicked on his
journey across the floor…..Mark, or at least a piece of him. The younger man
had been dissected like a lab rodent, and staked out on the floor. Impossible
amounts of blood dripped from every surface…Blair screamed, only he heard no
sound…….
"Blair?"
Jim's voice pierced the nightmare.
Blair's
eyes shot open, the sweat dripped from his chin. Instinctively, he launched
himself at the figure bending over him, hurling himself into Jim's arms, which
thankfully wrapped around him like a security blanket, "Oh God," he
gasped.
"It's
okay, you were having a nightmare," Jim whispered, pulling the trembling
body into his chest, stroking Blair's hair gently.
"No
shit?" the younger man whispered finally, giving a short, cold laugh.
"Could
you just hold me a minute longer?" Blair asked almost shyly, "Hey,
this isn't a come on or anything…I.." he said quickly noting Jim's
expression.
The
big cop suddenly smiled, "Sure," he said pulling Blair back into his
embrace, "This reaction isn't unusual after what you've been through
recently. Just take some deep breaths."
Blair
clung to the bigger man with a desperation he never thought he could feel,
"Oh man, that was *harsh,*" he muttered into Jim's chest.
"You
want a drink or anything?" Jim asked.
"No,
I just want to sit here for a minute until I've pulled myself together,
okay?" Blair replied nervously.
"Yeah,
that's okay," Jim smiled, rubbing his hand up, and down Blair's back.
"Oh
man, will this ever go away?"
"Yeah,
in time," Jim said, settling against the younger man.
Blair
closed his eyes, and let the warmth from Jim wash over him.
God
this felt so good. Part of him was disgusted that he could feel this way after
what had happened, and about a cop.
He
took a deep breath, and pulled out of Jim's arms, it wouldn't do to let this man
see how attracted he was. Emotional attachment was dangerous, emotional
attachment to a cop was suicidal.
This
guy wasn't really any different to the rest, he saw a whore, and a male one at
that; the lowest order of life on the planet. He was being kind because he
needed a live witness, not because he had any interest in Blair as a human
being, no one did. And even if he could, by some miracle, be interested, why
would a cop jeopardize everything for a hustler that he could 'rent' on a
regular basis without the complications?
"You
all right?" Jim asked.
"Yeah,
fine. Sorry about that, man. Sorry I disturbed your sleep too," Blair said
rubbing at his face.
Jim
looked into Blair's eyes, a strange expression flitted across his face,
"That's okay. No problem. You want me to sit here with you a while?"
"No,
no. It's okay. I'm cool now," Blair nodded. His mask slipping back into
place.
Jim
stood up, and awkwardly shrugged his shoulders, "Okay, if you need
anything, just give me a call," he said not looking at the younger man.
"Thanks,"
Blair replied. He watched the big cop walk from the room before sinking back
onto the pillow. Scrubbing a tear from his eye, he buried his face in the
pillow. Praying that he would be spared the nightmare this time.