Painted Blue - 11. Chapter 11

By Monday morning, Cagg had given clearance for a meetup with Marshal. Lawyers had hemmed and hawed, shook paperwork at each other and eventually come to an agreement on Mink's deal. In return, Mink set up the meet.

“Wednesday at three,” Chase explained to Mandy. “Some hoity-toity sidewalk cafe. His suggestion. Nice and visible for us, but I'd bet we're not going to be the only ones with backup.”

“Did you get anything on the phone number?” Mandy dunked a limp french fry into the mess of ketchup on her burger wrapper.

Chase shook his head. “Mink never even talked to the guy directly. Third party. He made the request and the third party called back. This guy is careful.”

Mandy frowned, eyes staring down the length of the break room table in thought.

“You sure none of the kids from the Hawthorne case mentioned a Marshal?” Chase pressed.

She shook her head. “Only a few of them really talked to me, Dorian. And they didn't report the same handlers. Only one of them had even been reported missing by his parents. A year ago.” Mandy put down her burger, pity and pain crossing her soft features. “A lot can happen in a year.”

Chase mulled over his salad. “Going to be kinda awkward if it's the wrong guy.”

“There is no such thing as catching the wrong child sex trafficker.”

“Let's be serious, though,” He leaned his elbows on the table. “Even thirteen is a little old for 'child' trafficking.”

Mandy grimaced and balled her detritus into the fast food bag. “I really don't want to consider degrees of child molestation over lunch, Dorian.”

“That's the point though, isn't it? It's a completely different animal when you're talking about post-pubescent boys, compared to six year olds. It's really not that difficult to talk a fourteen year old boy into sex and drugs.”

The short woman sighed. “I really don't get your point.”

Chase leaned back in the chair, fingers lacing behind his head thoughtfully. “Just seems like an awfully careful guy when we're talking about teenage boys.”

“You think he deals children too,” Mandy said, wincing and shaking her head as if the thought were an offensive odor.

“Guess we'll find out Wednesday.”

Spenser had pushed his way through the door at the tail end of the conversation. “Find out what on Wednesday?”

“How many licks to the center of a tootsie pop,” Dorian responded.

Mandy rolled her eyes and stood, throwing away her trash. “Be nice to each other.”

The younger detective sat down with a sandwich as she left. “So what's our plan for the Marshal meet?”

“My plan. You're not going, newfish.”

Spenser stopped mid-bite.

“Cagg is pissed enough that I'm going,” Chase went on. “And the only reason he's allowing that is because Mandy can't. Not exactly believable for a five foot plush gnome lady to be looking for kids to rub up on.”

“I don't think she'd like that description.”

“Oh, come on,” the older detective complained. “You can't tell me she doesn't look like a friendly gnome.”

“It was more the 'plush' part,” Spenser explained.

“You should hear how I describe you,” Chase remarked, tossing his trash and leaving the break room.

CID thrummed with the sounds of full case loads. Clattering keyboards and ringing phones supplemented the steady beat of the copier. The few detectives who had the luxury of actual offices had their doors securely latched.

Any empty desks were only so by virtue of some things not being accessible via electronics. Caceda had gone down to the coroner's over the coke case. Hernandez was out conducting interviews for the homicide on 8th. Mandy had gone to a home interview for a kindergartener who had made disturbing allegations toward a caretaker. Meanwhile, Chase was doing research for yet another op.

After four years in CID, Chase had only done roughly a dozen operations. Most of them had been petty drug and prostitution busts. Prostitution had always been particularly difficult. Here you are, looking this broken down woman in the eye, leading her into the right buzz words for money to exchange hands and an arrest to be made. And for what? Her pimp would still be out there, working three or four more girls just like her.

For once, there was a chance to take down one of the scumbags running the show instead of throwing their merchandise in a cell. The only difference this time was Chase would have to play an already distasteful role, but with children.

Cagg shooed the detective from his desk promptly at six o'clock, making grumbling complaints about over time. Once again, a hefty folder followed Chase home.

 

There was an odd twinge in the pit of Dorian's stomach when he came in the door and Felix was gone. It took him a moment to remember he had talked about applying at the store up the road. He had gotten used to the dark-haired teen's smile when he came through the door.

The duplex was oddly quiet. Fish floated serenely in the tank, the aerator making rhythmic bubbling sounds. The kitchen was empty and smelled only of cleaner. The lights were all off. Dorian's place had never felt cold to him before, but it did now.

He changed out of his work clothes and had been on his way to the file on his desk when he stopped in the hall outside what was now Felix's room. On the bed laid an open book on ancient burial rituals, a notebook with neat scrawling laying next to it. Clothes were laid over the foot board in disarray and on the small desk was the collar. He stood in the doorway for a moment, eyes fixed on the smooth black leather, mind wandering.

Dorian could have gotten headway on work before Felix got back. Instead, he ended up researching dom/sub relationships on his laptop. He even took notes. He was well down the rabbit hole by the time Felix walked in.

“Hey! Sorry, didn't think I'd be gone that long. I can start cooking in a minute.”

Dorian grunted in response, not turning away from his laptop. “Did you get the job?”

“They're supposed to call. I gave them your number. What are you working on?”

“Reading about kink. Making a list of all the things I'm going to do to you,” Dorian said, turning his head over his shoulder to look at Felix.

“Oh. I guess that's OK then.” He smoothed his palms down his thighs nervously. “Is sausage OK?”

Dorian raised a brow. “Is that a request for the list or a menu item?”

Felix opened his mouth for a moment, then closed it, busying himself in the kitchen.

“Aren't you forgetting something?” Dorian asked as he approached the smaller man from behind.

Felix turned as if to say something but fell silent the moment he saw the collar. The older man slipped the leather around the teen's neck, holding his gaze as he buckled it.

“That's better.” Dorian grinned.

The boy's mouth opened again, but Dorian pressed the flat of his thumb into his lower lip, leaning in as if to kiss him.

“I've been thinking . . .” He dragged the digit down the younger man's lips, down his chin, Felix's eyes drifting shut. “How often do you jerk off?”

Felix's eyes opened again, blinking away the haze that had silenced him. “Um . . . I don't know. Twice a day?”

Dorian sucked a breath in through his teeth, brows furrowed. “Then this is really going to be difficult for you.”

“What is?”

“You don't anymore,” Dorian said.

“I don't what?” Felix asked.

“Jerk off.” Felix only stared in confusion. “Not without permission,” Dorian explained. “You don't cum unless it's with me. You don't touch yourself unless it's for my amusement.”

Felix's eyes went wide with realization. Dorian watched what had to have been the first twenty responses go through his mind before he decided on “what if it's an . . . accident?”

The older man laughed. “I guess I'll have to make sure that doesn't happen.”

Felix eyed him. “You're quitting your job?”

Dorian slapped the teen's butt. “You give me a lot of lip considering I can toss you over my shoulder.”

Felix tucked his hips forward, pelvis flush with Dorian's. “If I keep it up, will you make that a promise?”

“Keeping it up is the least of your problems,” Dorian said, pushing the teen's hips back. “Aren't you supposed to be making me dinner?”

Felix frowned as the older man walked away. “I've only done it once today. Since you're keeping track.”

Dorian scoffed as he sat on the couch with the CID file, feet up on the table. “I'm not keeping track of anything. I'm just going to enjoy watching you squirm.”

The detective reviewed the file, a frown settling on his face. He had the building plans for the cafe and had compiled images from the internet for the street view. Mink had no idea what the guy looked like. Hawthorne's lawyer had once again made it clear that the creep had no intention of cooperating with the investigation into the minors. And Mandy wasn't giving up the victims' statements. There wasn't a single lead into whomever Dorian was meeting with in two days.

Dorian eyed Felix in the kitchen, every sensible caution telling him to keep his mouth shut. He didn't. “You know anyone named Marshal?”

The teen looked up from a boiling pot. “What?”

“Marshal. Ring any bells?” Dorian asked.

Felix's eyes went to the file in Dorian's lap, then back up to his face. “Is this about James?”

The name coming from Felix's lips set a cold weight in Dorian's stomach and he was grateful that 'Mister' hadn't preceded it.

“I wouldn't be able to tell you if it was,” Dorian said, expression carefully blank.

“I only heard the name once,” Felix said. “I remember because of the creepy way he said it.” He put on a faux voice as he pushed around sizzling sausage in the pan. “'Usually I'd have to pay Marshal five hundred for something like you'.”

Dorian's stomach turned. “Shame that you won't testify.” He dropped the file on the coffee table and slumped back on the couch.

“Oh, yea.” Felix gave him a look. “We'll just carpool to court. We can explain how we talked about it after discussing my masturbation habits.”

“There's that mouth again,” Dorian grumbled, wrist draped across his eyes.

“Wasn't it my mouth that got your attention in the first place?” Felix asked playfully.

The older man moved his arm to peer at the teen who was holding a plate out to him. “It was your eyes.”

The flirtatious expression melted from Felix's features and was replaced with reddening cheeks. He looked away as Dorian took the plate.

Pasta, Italian sausage, colorful peppers and ribbons of translucent onion adorned the plate.

“You're eighteen and you cook better than my mom. What gives?”

Felix sat with his own plate and a shrug. “I cooked most of the time at home.”

“What were you, the male version of Cinderella? Just instead of a shoe, you have a collar,” Dorian said.

“I wasn't locked in my room or anything.” Felix twirled pasta around his fork. “Not most of the time, anyway,” he muttered.

Dorian regarded the teen for a moment, expression solemn. “Did they ever hurt you?”

Felix's fork froze, his eyes meeting Dorian's with disapproval. “Dude, can you not? You're off the clock.”

“Fine.” The detective fixed his attention on his plate, busying himself with eating.

“I'm Carl.” Felix announced suddenly.

Dorian blinked. “Pardon?”

The younger man tipped his chin at the fish tank. “Just skimming around on the bottom, hoping scraps will filter down. He takes care of all the others, but they don't even know it.”

“Which one am I?” Dorian asked.

“You're Gonzo.”

Dorian frowned. “I eat my friends?”

The teen smiled slightly, watching the blue gourami float listlessly. “I don't think he means to. I think he just got so big that he forgot the others are so small. He has to eat so much, he just gets carried away and gobbles them up.”

Dorian looked the slight boy over. “Are you afraid I'll gobble you up?”

Felix's eyes slid toward the older man with a grin. “There are worse ways to go.”

 

Chase had barely started his morning before Eugene called.

“Dawg, you didn't hear nothin' from me, but there's some shit goin' down.”

Chase abandoned Caceda's updated reports, leaning back in his chair. “What are you talking about, Eugene?”

“You know Trey Smalls? Punk-ass nigga Reggie used to roll wit 'till he sold him out.”

Sometimes there's that one kid you can't get through to. The one who is fully content to inherit a life of crime and disregard for human life. For Chase, that kid was Trey Smalls. He had been instrumental in Reggie's death, and, as a result, Chase being shot.

“I know him,” Chase said, tone distasteful.

“That nigga like the mine canary, you feel me? He makin' mad bank all'a sudden. Keep meetin' with niggas in nice cars and shit. I ain't talkin' hood-nice. Tinted windows too.”

Chase smiled slightly. “You still remember that damn mine canary story?”

“Aw shit, Eugene actually listen to some shit?” The voice on the line had gone high pitched. “Don't play me, man.”

“I'll roll by and have a chat with Trey. You stay out of his way. Did you get the job?”

“Hell yea, I got the job.” Pride and a smile were both audible in the young man's voice. “We got the hook up, though. Moms gave us Reggie'n me's old crib. Buncha females from Chandra's beauty school givin' her baby clothes and shit. My little nigga gonna live rich, dawg.”

“You let me know if you need anything, you understand? We have a lady here who helps out all kind of people.” Chase paused, apprehension working its way into his voice. “Keep your ass off the street, Eugene.”

“I feel you. Gotta go to work like a respectable nigga. Peace.”

Chase hung up with a thoughtful frown.

Homicide investigation is where all the glamour is. It's what people think of when they hear 'detective'. It also has a bad burn-out rate. Caceda had been in homicide for four years without losing her mind, as a result, she had one of the few private CID offices.

Chase tapped lightly on the mostly closed door.

Caceda leaned into view and smiled when she saw him. “Get in here.” She turned her head slightly with a grin as he slid in the office. “I knew it was you. No one else knocks.”

Chase slumped bodily into the chair across from her desk. “Homicide on 8^th. Thoughts?”

She leaned on her elbows, chin resting in her palms. “Why, yes, Detective Chase. My day has been lovely, and you?”

“Somewhat bloated from a bran muffin this morning. I really should know better than to trust anything labeled 'home made' at a stop-n-rob.” Chase said.

Caceda rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair, legs crossing. “All work and no play, Chase.”

“Puts the bad guy in jail,” he finished.

She chuckled richly. “He was a small-time dealer. Overstepped his bounds. We don't know who the shooter is. Or even who they work with. No one has anything to say, of course.” She pressed her lips together, eyes tired. “It was an execution.”

“I have a contact. Eugene Turnbuckle. I put his statement in your reports last week.”

“I saw it,” Caceda said.

“He just gave me a call. Says another small timer by name of Trey Smalls is doing suspiciously well for himself in the wake of all this. Seems he's been having conversations with men in nice cars with tinted windows.”

She worked the end of a pen between her teeth. “Sounds a lot like the kind of car the shooter used.”

“Thought I'd roll by and pay him a visit.” Chase said.

Caceda laughed, throat flashing as she tipped her head back. “My god, Chase. I thought Cagg was just mindlessly bitching, but you really are trying to work every case.”

“Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to go,” Chase began.

Caceda stood, jerking her jacket off the back of her chair. “Bout time you asked me out. I'm driving.”

Chase groaned and followed after her. “You drive like my grandmother.”

She looked back at him with an arched brow. “I do not drive like a grandmother.”

“Not a grandmother, my grandmother. She drives like a psycho.”

“You just don't like giving up control to a woman.” Her eyes sparkled. “If you let go, you might enjoy it.”

“I doubt it,” Chase muttered.

 

“Thank god you didn't hit anyone. I'd be eating my knees.” Chase made a show of struggling to find a place for his legs in Caceda's little sport coupe.

“We can't all be six feet of Nordic muscle, dear.” Caceda sipped her coffee as they watched the street.

“I'm Polish,” Chase protested. “And I don't know where you people get this idea that I'm walking around with a six pack.”

“Honey, where do you think Poland is? And have you seen the other men you work with?”

He scoffed. “Poles are like Germanic or Slavic or something. And Hernandez is way bigger than me.”

“Poles are definitely Nordic.” She dragged her coffee stirrer across her tongue and then trapped it between her teeth, giving him a look. “And Hernandez is compensating. Foreverything.”

“Put that on the list of things I didn't need to know. Like the fact that you slept with him at all.”

She sighed dramatically, watching a group of Hispanic teens walk passed the car. “He was new then. How was I supposed to know he was an asshole?”

“If only it were possible to have conversations with peoplebeforesex to weed out the jerks.” Chase said.

She looked back at him, lips slightly pursed in amusement. “Is that why you never get any? Too many conversations?”

“Nice,” Chase conceded.

He sat up anxiously. “There he is.”

Caceda was out of the car before he wedged his knees off of the glove box.

Eugene hadn't been kidding. Trey was sporting a fresh new tight wave instead of his normally unkempt braids. His shoes were new and his ears shimmered with diamond studs.

Caceda strode directly up to him and fell in stride to his left.

“Aye, lil' momma.” Trey's plush lips pulled back from gleaming teeth as he looked Caceda over. He was good-looking enough for minimal effort and he knew it.

With his attention squarely on Caceda, Chase fell in on his right unseen. “Sup, Trey.”

The younger man jerked his attention to his right and scowled. “The hell you want?”

“We need to talk,” Caceda said. Trey looked back at her and was met with her badge.

“Now you bringing bitches for backup?” Trey's lip curled at Chase. “I don't gotta talk to neither of ya'll.”

“That's true,” Chase said. “But since we're all going the same way, we might as well.”

“How 'bout I just dip out then? You ain't gonna catch me with your gimp leg. And this bitch wearing heels.”

“I'm not going to chase you, Trey. If you run, I'll just shoot you. Fleeing felon and all that.” Chase said.

“Felon? Bitch you got nothin' on me,” Trey snarled.

“I don't know, Sergeant,” Caceda launched into a narrative. “Next thing I knew the suspect reached into his waistband and refused to comply with orders. Detective Chase saved my life.”

Trey Smalls stopped walking, stepping back so that he could watch both of them. “The fuck you want?”

“The shooting on 8^thlast week and now you have new friends. How about that, Mister Smalls?” Caceda tipped her head thoughtfully.

“One might even think they're connected,” Chase added, clasping his hands over his belt buckle.

Trey's honey-colored eyes looked between them for a moment. He smiled. “You really don't know shit.” His nostrils flared. “When this is my street, you'll know better than to show your face on it.” His tawny features soured. “I got business to tend to, officers.”

“Detectives,” Chase called to Trey's back as he left. “Smug piece of shit.”

“We'll get a unit on him,” Caceda said, turning to cross the street again.

They had been walking back into the CID offices when Caceda firmly patted Chase's rear right in front of Spenser's desk.

“It was fun,” she said, dark eyes mischievous as she continued to her office.

Chase met Spenser's disapproving glare with a sigh. “She does it to make you jealous.”

“It works,” the younger detective scowled. “And I'm not the only one.” Spenser pointed his pen across the room.

Mandy couldn't quite ditch the frown before Chase turned. “I'm not jealous,” she announced, small round nose curling. “I just don't think it's polite to grab coworkers.”

Spenser snorted. “You dragged him into a closet the other day.”

“Jesus Christ, is this high school?” Chase interrupted. “Go check on the return warrant for Mink's place. He made bail this morning.”

Spenser silently pushed away from his desk and walked out.

Chase flopped into his chair, the hall-office now empty but for him and Mandy. “The hell was that about?”

She pushed her keyboard aside and looked him in the eye. “When are you going to tell her you're gay?”

“Never,” Chase responded sharply. “Why the hell would I?”

“Do you want her to find out like I did? I kissed you, Dorian,” she hissed.

He winced. “You know I had no idea you liked me.”

“I'm telling you she does,” she said. “And when she makes a move on you and you freak out and avoid her for a week, I don't think she'll be as understanding.”

“I didn't freak out.”

Mandy crossed her arms. “You told me you forgot to feed your fish and left me at the bar alone. I felt like a fat, slutty hag and you didn't tell me you were gay until I broke down crying about it.”

“You cried about that, too,” Chase muttered, uncomfortable.

“No girl likes to hear that the guy she's been flirting with for months is gay, Dorian. Which is why you need to tell her.”

Chase rolled his eyes. “I will never understand why women take it so personally.”

Her expression softened. “Its not just that. A lot of the time we've already imagined marriage and children and growing old with a guy before we ever let him know we like him. We've measured him as a man, a father. To have pictured an entire life with a person and then find out that you've misjudged such a fundamental part of them? It's embarrassing. We feel like fools.”

“So,” Chase squinted, “because women are neurotic, daydreaming romantics, I have to announce I'm gay to every woman who flirts with me?”

“Yes.”

He scoffed and turned his chair back to his desk. “I'll get her a card. Roses are red, violets are blue, I like dick, so I don't want you.”

 

Dinner smelled delicious.

Dorian followed the scent into the kitchen, setting his chin on Felix's shoulder and watching him cook.

“What's that?”

“Chicken Florentine,” Felix answered.

Dorian made a pleased sound. “The store called today.”

Felix turned to the older man with a smile. “Yea?”

“You start Thursday at nine. And you're going to need this.” Dorian pressed a phone into the teen's hand.

Felix looked down at it, stunned. “You got me a phone? Seriously?”

The detective shrugged. “It only cost like thirty bucks to add it on my plan. You can consider it your first bill when you start getting paid.”

Felix smiled broadly and started fiddling with the device. “Does it get internet? Aw, you already put your number in.”

Dorian rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “It wasn't a very good idea for you to have no way to call me anyway. Now your work can contact you and everything.”

“Ooh, aps!”

“Don't go crazy with the charges, you're the one who will be paying for them,” Dorian said.

“Yes, sir.” Felix grinned, slipping the phone in his pocket.

Dinner tasted as good as it smelled.

Dorian was laid out on the couch, belly comfortably full as Felix did dishes. “I could get used to this,” he announced.

“You look like you already have,” Felix said, drying his hands.

“You are going to make me so fat,” Dorian complained.

“I hope not. I like you this way.”

Dorian grunted in complaint as the younger man straddled his distended stomach. “Too high.” He shoved the teen down by the hips until he was on Dorian's lap.

“You sure you want me here?” Felix shifted his hips briefly.

Felix was one of those people who looked amazing in jeans. His position on Dorian's lap just made it difficult to ignore. Dull, washed fabric clung tightly to his thighs, thick denim wrinkled in the creases of his hips. The crotch of the jeans were just tight enough for a modest bulge without being obscene. That is, until Dorian started sliding his hands up the boy's thighs.

“Did you touch yourself today?” Dorian asked, eyes fixed on the shift in the boy's jeans.

“No.”

“Good boy. Get on the table.”

Felix blinked. “The . . . table?” He looked over at the coffee table. “I don't think it will hold me.”

“It's held heavier than you before.” Dorian regretted the statement the moment it was out of his mouth, but was grateful he at least hadn't said it held him.

Felix eyed him obliquely. “Should I be jealous?”

“No,” Dorian said. “It was more than a year ago. And it was only once. He was terrible.”

“You didn't seem the one-night-stand type,” Felix said.

“I'm not. I was drunk and he had a thing for badges. It hasn't happened since.” The young man's position on his lap was becoming awkward for the conversation.

“What hasn't? A one-night-stand or . . . anything?”

Dorian huffed with annoyance. “Look, are you going to jerk off or are we going to talk about everyone I've ever been with and when?”

Felix's eyebrows shot up. “Is that what I'm supposed to be doing?”

The older man turned his head with a sigh. “Doesn't matter, I've lost interest.”

“No,” Felix mewled, drawing out the vowel. “You can't do this to me. I have rights.” He pouted at Dorian.

“Nope, you've lost your privileges for the night.” Dorian laced his hands behind his head, looking bored. “Maybe next time you won't question your orders.”

Felix tucked his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes searching Dorian's face for a moment before the corners of his mouth curled slightly. The older man watched as the teen slowly peeled his shirt up over his head, pale skin catching tones of green from the fish tank.

The combination of black leather, naked flesh and washed denim set a sudden heat in Dorian's loins that he fought to suppress. He kept telling his face to maintain indifference, but had no idea how successful he was.

The teen planted his hands back above Dorian's knees, back arched as he dragged his hips back and forth, friction adding to the heat between them. All pretense of disinterest was lost as Felix's head lolled back, throat exposed, the ring of the collar glinting in the light. Every drag of his hips coaxed more response from the length in Dorian's pants. The younger man leaned forward with a grin, obviously pleased with himself. He had bent in for a kiss when Dorian's swift hand on his throat made him freeze, eyes wide.

“Are you trying to tease me?” The older man's voice was hard. He felt Felix's Adam's apple slide against his palm as he swallowed.

“Yes, sir.” The flush had set into his face, his eyes a narrow ring of green around black pupils.

“Did you think I would let that slide?”

Felix took in a shuddering breath, leaning his throat into Dorian's hand. “No, sir.”

“Get.On.The.Table.” The larger man breathed the command through clenched teeth.

Felix was in immediate, clumsy motion.

Dorian regarded the smaller man from his seated position on the couch, frowning. “I think I've been too lenient with you.”

“Yes, sir,” the teen commented, eyes shimmering.

“That wasn't a question, kid.”

Felix pressed his lips together and remained silent.

“Lose the pants,” Dorian ordered.

The slight boy peeled the pants down his legs, kicking them free hastily.

“And the trunks.”

The orange striped underwear joined the jeans on the floor. The now naked Felix sat nervously on the table. Dorian grabbed his ankles, placing his feet on either side of Dorian's knees on the couch.

“Lean back.” The command left Dorian with a full view and Felix with very little control. “Well? Are you just going to lay there?” the older man taunted.

Watching Felix sliding his hand up and down his erection on the coffee table was definitely a better past-time than watching fish. Every movement the lithe youth made was somehow attractive. The way his hips rose to meet his hand on every down stroke, throwing a ripple of shadow in the dips of abdominal muscles. The way his calves tensed every time his thumb slicked down the tip of his length. Especially the way his bottom teeth showed between parted lips each time he let out a heady breath.

It wasn't long before his thighs started to twitch, testicles tightening as his hips rose up against his hand with greater speed and desperation. Dorian had never watched the younger man orgasm from this angle, but he quickly decided he never wanted to miss it again.

Thick, viscous ropes of pearly fluid marked a trail up Felix's stomach and chest in waves, each spasm followed by a moan from his flush lips until the muscle clenches in his glans produced nothing more than shudders.

The boy's hand went lax, torso glistening obscenely as he laid back on the table panting.

“Don't stop,” Dorian said.

Felix lifted his head slightly in bleary-eyed confusion. “Huh?”

The older man grabbed the teen behind the knees, dragging his hips onto Dorian's thighs. Felix's back was forced flat on the table, his expression a mixture of alarm and disorientation.

“I said don't stop.”

Felix gasped sharply as a hand closed roughly around sensitive flesh. “W, wa—” Whatever the teen had been about to say was abruptly cut off by a crisp moan as Dorian's hand started on a rapid pace.

Felix writhed. His hands were above his head, gripping the edges of the table, his torso twisted onto one shoulder as he poured open mouthed moans and high pitched cries into the crease of his arm. His hips jerked and twisted against Dorian's thighs, knees clenching tightly against the larger man's shoulders as his feet curled into the couch cushions.

Dorian maintained the merciless pace, working slick fluid into a lather along the length of the smaller man's erection. The sounds coming out of Felix's mouth had melted into incoherent half-words and curses mostly consisting of “yes” and “fuck”.

The second orgasm seemed to roll through him twice as long, hot, rigid flesh throbbing against the tight confines of Dorian's fist as he spilled even more semen onto his stomach. His cries had turned into something half between whimpers and hiccups.

Felix slumped bonelessly between Dorian's lap and the table, breath settling back to a reasonable pace.

“Foot cramp,” Felix announced, dragging himself out of Dorian's lap and to the floor, leaning back against the table with a sigh.

The older man slid forward on the couch cushions, taking the boy's chin in his fingers and kissing him. A soft, contented hum worked its way from Felix's throat to Dorian's lips.

“One more,” Dorian said.

Felix only stared. “What? No way,” he whimpered.

Dorian's grip on the pale boy's chin tightened, forcing his head back. “Did you just tell me no?”

Felix gulped. “No, sir.”

“Good. Use your fingers this time.”

“My fing. . .?” Realization marked his pale features. “Oh. Um . . . lube?”

Dorian smirked. “You're covered in it.”

Felix looked down at himself, blood rushing to his face in embarrassment.

Felix working his own fluids onto his fingers quickly jumped to the top of the list of things Dorian thought was incredibly hot.

“Bring your smart mouth over here,” Dorian breathed, easing his erection free of his zipper.

The detective couldn't see what Felix was doing with his hands from his angle, but he could feel it in every moan of the boy's mouth. He found the rhythm Felix had set with his fingers and matched it with his hands tangled in the teen's hair. Every whimper, every moan was a clenching vibration in Felix's throat and Dorian pressed against each one, head falling back onto the couch as sensation consumed him.

After the show he had just watched, it didn't take long. It was starting to become an impressive parlor trick that Felix never once gagged. Not even in the final moments where control was at best a theory. Dorian pressed into the depths of Felix's mouth through the waves of orgasm, swallowing sensations drawing out groans of pleasure until he was spent.

“Christ, kid.” Dorian pulled back, blinking away stars. “You could write a manual.”

When Felix didn't laugh, the older man remembered what he was still doing. “Need some help?” He smirked.

The boy's brows were furrowed, lip trapped between his teeth as he nodded.

“Sorry, can't hear you.”

“Yes,” he whimpered pitifully. “Please. I can't—” The end of his sentence was cut off as Dorian grabbed him by the legs. Felix's hands were suddenly too busy with trying to keep his head from hitting the table edge.

The younger man once again found himself on his back on the table, Dorian leaning over him.

“Going to need some of this,” Dorian said, dragging his index finger down the sticky mess coating Felix's stomach. The teen turned his head away, clearly embarrassed.

After sex with couch cushions and admission of snuff fantasies, Dorian was surprised there was anything left to be embarrassed about, but he took note of the reaction anyway.

“Kiss me,” Dorian demanded, drawing the smaller man's attention back. He bent to take the boy's mouth the moment his head turned. Dorian's mouth mimicked the movement of his hand, tongue and finger both slipping into warm, wet depths. Felix arched in to it, every part of him pliant and receptive.

The slight lump of the slim teen's prostate was incredibly easy to locate and all it took was a firm, stroking pressure for him to start sounding like he was making a porn debut. Dorian had never been more grateful for a deaf landlady.

Dorian drew release out of Felix with patient precision, both hands building tension in tandem. When the sensations finally crested, it seemed to come as a surprise to the younger of the two who arched abruptly with a gasp, body frozen in rigid silence for a heartbeat before tremors seized his lower half.

Dorian slowly withdrew all touch, grinning. “Looks like you're tapped out.”

Felix struggled to raise his head, looking down at the meager puddle pooling in the valley of his hip. He let himself drop limply back on the table.

“I can't move.” It was more of a slur than a coherent statement.

Dorian stood. “Clean yourself up when you can feel your legs again.” He leaned over, wrapping his fingers around the front of the collar and pulling Felix up toward his face. “And don't think you can ever get away with teasing me.”

A hint of a grin started on Felix's face before the older man released him, his shoulders falling back to the table with a huff.