Painted Blue - 13. Chapter 13

“You look terrible.”

Chase scowled. “One of your tits is bigger than the other.”

Mandy leveled a look at him. “You make it hard for people to be nice to you.”

“That was being nice?”

The coffee machine sputtered steam as Chase stared at the dark fluid dripping into the pot.

“I was going to follow it up with something supportive and comforting.” Mandy pouted, cradling her empty cup.

“If I want that, I'll call my mommy.” His head snapped up. “Shit.”

“What?” She straightened with alarm.

“I have to call my mommy.” He groaned and leaned his hip on the counter. “She's going to be in town Monday.”

He snatched the pot of coffee impatiently, sloshing its contents into a Styrofoam cup. Half a cup a would do for now. Mandy frowned as he jammed the pot back into the machine.

“Are you going to tell her about yesterday?”

“Hell no.” Chase dumped an unmeasured amount of sugar into the little cup, swirling it roughly. “She'd have half her side of the family camped on my lawn.”

“There are perks to coming from a long line of law enforcement.” She eyed the slow dribble of the coffee machine.

“Like hell,” he complained. “Every time I got into a fight as a kid I'd have my granddad telling me to palm strike the other kid in the face and my uncle would follow me home in a patrol car. When I got caught drinking at fourteen, they stripped me down to my underwear, threw me in the drunk tank and turned the hose on me when I puked.” He took a swig of too bitter coffee and grimaced. “If they knew someone like Marshal had my number, I'd never be able to piss in peace again. There's a reason I live six hundred miles from those people.”

“Well,” Mandy said, “your mom seemed nice.”

Chase suppressed a smile. “She's a junky for this shit. Grew up with it. Every time she comes down here she wants to follow me to work.”

“She really held it together when you were in the hospital.” She looked at him warmly but he fixed his eyes on the floor.

She filled her colorful ceramic mug with coffee before continuing. “I told her how you were the only guy on patrol who was ever willing to help me with some of my bad cases.” She added creamer in the same dainty spiral she always did. “Told her about that case where you stood between that little girl and her dad as we pulled her out of the window.” Her eyes were distant for a moment before she looked back at Chase with a smile. “She was really proud of you.”

He shifted, shoving a hand in his pocket.

“I'm just saying she could handle it. If you wanted to tell her.”

“I don't,” Chase said. “It's bad enough the whole PD knows. If Cagg decides to put a unit on my house, it really won't improve things.”

She tipped her head back slowly, lips pursed. “Oh. It's that serious?”

His shoulders fell as he frowned at his inky reflection in his cup. “I really don't know. Some times I think so, other times . . .”

She hummed in response, holding her coffee mug near her face and breathing in the steam. “Anyone I know?”

He gave her a warning glance.

“Right, right. Don't ask, don't tell.” She rolled her eyes.

The break room door swung open.

“There you are,” Spenser said, looking frazzled. “I'm supposed to go over all the reports with you before you look through the footage.”

Mandy patted Chase's shoulder. “Good luck, Paperwork Warrior.”

Chase yawned for the third time and blinked at the file in his hand, willing the letters to stop jumbling together.

“Read it to me,” he grumbled then tossed the stack at Spenser and pressed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets.

Spenser sighed dramatically. “Subject is approximately five foot eight, one hundred fifty pounds.”

“One thirty,” Chase interrupted, leaning back with his eyes closed.

“He looked bigger than that.”
“It was a well-tailored suit. He opened his jacket at me so I wouldn't get jumpy.”

There was a pause and scribbling as Spenser corrected. “One hundred thirty pounds, dark, greying hair. Any distinctive features?”

The image of the man's dark, depthless eyes came to mind. Chase forced his eyelids open in an effort to clear the memory.

He sat up suddenly. “A tattoo.”

Spenser was about to say something but Chase flapped his hand at him for silence.

The older detective clenched his eyes closed, replaying the scene in his head. The creep had reached across the table and grabbed the sunglasses.

He looked at Spenser. “His right wrist. I didn't see any of it. Just the edge on the inside of his arm, just under his shirt cuff.” He jumped up, fatigue forgotten. “Did you say they had the footage set up?”

Spenser scrabbled to get everything together and follow after Chase.

One of the small side rooms had been purposed as a sort of footage booth. The whole back wall was taken up by an old entertainment center filled with blank tapes, VCRs, a DVD player and an old crappy CRT TV that had been a donation to replace the old black and white one. Most of the footage they ended up with was digital, but Howard insisted on everything being transferred to VHS. He was somehow convinced it was more secure and reliable.

Chase and Spenser peered into the glare of the TV as Chase impatiently fast forwarded through his drive to the cafe.

“You are the most text book driver I have ever seen,” Spenser said. The high speed video made it obvious every time Chase's head moved to check his mirrors or speedometer. “You're even at ten and two.”

Chase set the footage to play just before the moment he had spotted Marshal.

The older man stepped onto the patio. He never glanced at Caceda and Hernandez, but he had passed so closely that his sleeve nearly touched Hernandez's chair.

“Damn, that's creepy,” Spenser said.

Chase watched the footage from his own perspective, trying to glean more details that he may have missed.

The limp wasn't dramatic. The cane seemed more of a prop than a necessity. His hand didn't tense on the curved handle on the down step. He only leaned his weight on it when he stood still in front of Chase's table.

The Chase in the video stood and offered his hand. Over Marshal's shoulder, Hernandez had stupidly squared his attention on the older man. He would have to chew his ass for that later. He was looking forward to the excuse.

Spenser curled his nose when Marshal spoke. “The accent just makes him sound like more of a dick.”

“We need to send a clip of it off to see if we can get an analysis.” Chase found a pen to fiddle with. “The UK has a lot of distinct accents.”

“We won't be doing business together, Detective Chase.”

Chase went cold as the voice in the video mocked him. The spans of time before Marshal moved was much shorter than it had felt. It was only three seconds of video between the statement and reaching toward Chase's face.

He staved off a wave of panic at the same perspective of the hand coming toward the camera.

“There.” He quickly paused, pointing to the slight gap between Marshal's wrist and crisp white cuff.

Spenser squinted and leaned forward. “You can barely see the edge of it.”

“The original is probably a little better. It's something. Write down the time stamp.”

He played the video again.

“You have such pretty eyes, you shouldn't hide them.”

Spenser made exaggerated gagging noises.

The creep opened his jacket.

“See? Skinny dude.”

The bill was tossed onto the table.

Chase watched the way the man's hand gripped the cane as he stood, even though he put the bulk of his weight on one leg.

“It's his hip . . .” the senior detective mused.

“Eh? How can you tell?”

Chase ran the footage back, pointing. “He needs the cane to stand, but he's not putting any weight on that leg. If it were his foot, it would only be a problem when standing and walking. If it were his knee, he wouldn't bend it as much. I heard him cross his legs under the table.”

“That's a lot to speculate.” Spenser's voice was skeptical.

Chase scowled, remembering the indignation of having a cane during his recovery. Remembering how he tried to mask every discomfort.

“Trust me, it's his hip.”

They both tipped their heads as the footage suddenly jerked to the side. Chase had ripped the glasses off and thrown them in the seat next to him. The rest of the video was a sideways angle of Chase's lower half.

Chase stopped the playback, rocking in the chair thoughtfully. “Have Tim pull just the audio on Marshal's side. We'll send it off to the linguistics department at the university. And have him get the best frame of that tattoo.”

“What are you going to do?” the junior detective asked.

“Going to make sure I don't miss anything.” Chase rewound the footage.

 

The detective barely made it in the front door and out of his shoes before he collapsed on the couch. He slipped into haunting dreams filled with shark-like eyes and faceless dangers.

He had been running down a dark hallway after he discovered he had no hands when the sound of a key in the door jerked him out of sleep. He half sat up in bleary-eyed confusion as Felix came through the door.

“Hey,” Dorian croaked, wincing and shifting onto his back, his magazines and badge had dug bruises into his side. “What time is it?”

Felix slipped out of his shoes. “Eight. I was hanging out with my 'supervisor'. I'm totally getting paid to organize shelves and read magazines all day. And Spike is really cool.”

“Spike? Seriously? Is that the guy with all the metal in his face?”

“Don't judge,” Felix chided, leaning over the larger man to wedge a knee between him and the couch, sliding on to his lap.

“Have a nice nap?”

Dorian only became aware of the semi hard length in his pants when Felix squirmed against it.

He looked down and grumbled. “Just a standard system check.” He yawned and stretched his arms up over his head, sorely tempted to slip right back into sleep.

Felix leaned his palms against Dorian's chest, his hips shifting. “Would hate to waste it.” His voice was heady.

Dorian forced his eyes open and frowned at the slight teen perched on his lap. “You just walked in the door.”

Felix's expression turned serious. “Dude, you haven't touched me in two days. I haven't touched me in two days. I'm lucky I work behind a counter most of the time.”

Dorian scoffed. “Are you going to die?”

“I might. I've never tested it. Maybe this whole time I've been self medicating a rare condition. Maybe I'll drop dead. Then won't you feel silly?”

The older man huffed and sat up, peeling Felix off of him. “I have to call my mom.”

The teen sprawled on the couch, draping his legs across Dorian's lap just to be obtrusive. The detective sighed and wrestled out of his holster, dropping it over the back of the couch.

Phone calls with his mother often turned into an hour long ordeal where she felt the need to catch him up on everything every family member was doing. It was as if she felt this was an even trade for the work stories that she rarely got.

Fifteen minutes in, she had just started retelling a conversation she had had with someone Dorian hardly even remembered when Felix's foot started edging up the inside of his thigh. It was easy to ignore at first, but Felix turned out to have weirdly flexible feet.

He was midway through an internal debate over whether he had changed his stance on foot fetishes being gross or if it was just Felix's monkey-like dexterity when his mother's tone made it clear she had just asked a question.

He gripped the teen's ankle.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said don't you think she's too young for three kids?”

“Mom, I can barely remember how long vaginas cook babies for.” The conversation was doing a good job of ruining his interest, but Felix managed to keep gripping with his toes.

“They don't grow in the vagina, Dorian. I could have sworn we had this talk.”

Dorian gave the younger man a look and shoved his foot away.

“I'm just saying, I'm not the best judge on what she should or should not be doing with her baby cannon.”

“Baby canon?” Her voice went up an octave.

Meanwhile, Felix had slid forward, his hand working Dorian's tie loose.

“So, uh, you'll be here Monday, right?” Dorian asked as his top shirt button was undone.

“First thing,” she answered.

Button two.

“Lisa got a new kitten.” Three. “We'll see if my allergies flare up.” Four.

“You going to come by CID for lunch?”

The larger man grabbed the hand that had been working its way into his shirt. The second look he gave Felix was far less stern, and he let the hand go after pulling it from his shirt, rather than pushing it away.

“Probably not,” his mother said. “We can do dinner, though.”

Felix slipped onto the floor with a smirk, sliding his lean torso between Dorian's knees.

“Sounds good to me,” Dorian said, hoping his tone was the appropriate level of impatience. Pale fingers smoothed firmly up his thighs.

“Have you been to that new steak house yet?”

The sight of Felix eyeing the hard sway in his pants and licking his swollen lips almost looked as good as his hands felt.

He swallowed. “No.”

His zipper was peeled down slow, the minuscule vibrations of it traveling the length of his erection and causing an involuntary twitch.
“We can try that if you want. Or I can cook.”

Felix struggled with the button for a moment.

“I'll call you over the weekend,” Dorian said, watching the teen smile triumphantly when the button came free. “Gotta go.”

He tossed his phone aside with a growl. “You are the kinky version of an unruly toddler.”

Felix grinned mischievously. “Whatever works.”

Dorian ran his fingers along the boy's jaw, feeling the heat of his cheeks in his palm. “What have I told you about teasing me?”

The teen bit his lip, the soft, red flesh sliding out from between his teeth as his grin widened. “I don't know, it tends to go pretty well for me.” His fingers found their way into the hem of Dorian's boxer briefs and tugged down.

A bolt of panic shot through the older man and he snatched Felix's wrists roughly, thrusting them arm's length away.

Felix froze, his eyes wide and startled, the color draining from his face. Dorian fixed his attention on the thin wrists trapped in his fists, willing his fingers to loosen. When he finally forced his hands open, the pale flesh was striped with white finger shapes outlined in red. Felix never pulled away, he only stared at the older man silently.

Dorian gave an awkward half-smile. “Sorry. Too rough.”

He bent forward to kiss the pale boy, hoping he wouldn't pull away. Hoping they could just pretend that hadn't happened. Felix accepted his mouth, but it was tentative, hesitant. Dorian gripped the edge of the smaller man's shirt, peeling it off of him, aiming to put the need back in the teen's eyes.

“Come here,” he beckoned, leaning back for Felix to climb on his lap.

The whole dynamic was far more awkward when neither one of them was too turned on to see straight. This wouldn't do.

Dorian fished his forgotten tie out of the couch cushions and pulled Felix's arms behind his back, looping the heavy silk around his wrists. It was tight enough to be restrictive, loose enough that he could struggle out of it if he wanted.

Felix squirmed against his bonds briefly, seeming satisfied. The tension and hesitance had eased out of his body. Not good enough.

Dorian swiftly turned and dropped Felix onto his back on the couch, leaning over his smaller body and pinning him with his weight. The gasp had barely cleared his throat before Dorian's mouth swallowed it. Felix arched into him, hands trapped beneath himself. Calloused fingers found one of his nipples, rolling roughly as he moaned into the older man's lips.

“You think teasing me goes well for you?” Dorian muttered against the teen's jaw line, nipping down the curve of his neck.

The teen hummed agreeably in response, the end of it rising into a whine as teeth closed on his shoulder. He tried to buck up against the man above him, but Dorian slid his hips to the side, their pelvises askew, denying him any contact. Dorian, however, had his length pressed against the outside of Felix's thigh, grinding in small circles as the boy squirmed.

“Please,” the needy voice started.

“I don't think so.” He dragged blunt fingers down Felix's stomach, pleased with the way he arched and let out a shuddering breath.

“More.” He was using that breathless voice that always sent a bolt of heat straight to Dorian's groin. His flushed lips were parted and moist, eyes dark and wanton.

Dorian shoved two fingers straight into his mouth. “Do I need to get you a gag?”

Felix immediately started working the intruding digits with lips and tongue, hips grinding the air uselessly. The flat of his tongue pressed languidly along the underside of Dorian's fingers, teeth grazing their tips as he pulled his head back. He let his lips drag along their length before drawing them entirely back into his mouth with heavy suction. Dorian was a hot, throbbing line of need against the boy's thigh as he watched his fingers disappear into Felix's mouth.

He pulled his hand free before he lost all measure of control. Wet fingers found the previously neglected nipple and circled it teasingly before descending. Felix jerked uncontrollably as fingernails scraped slowly down the outline of his erection through his jeans. Dorian's fingertips barely brushed along the strained denim, his teeth and mouth making a sharp contrast along the teen's neck and shoulder.

The feather-light touches continued until Felix's breaths were a seething heave in his chest.

“Still think this is going well for you?” Dorian breathed into the shell of Felix's ear.

The sound that came out of the smaller man could only be described as pitiful.

Dorian watched his own hand smooth down the hard curve in Felix's pants. The rigid line tensed involuntarily, a new bead of anticipatory fluid bleeding through the already soaked denim.

“You have no idea how hot that is,” Dorian growled. “I bet you drip everywhere when you're being fucked.”

Felix choked on a sob, writhing plaintively. Dorian grinned at the response, turning his attention to the teen's red face.

“I could have had you day one.” He traced the ridge of the swollen glans. His voice was low and slow. “I could have fucked you right in the interrogation room and you would have begged me for it.”

“Yes, sir,” Felix hissed, throwing his head back.

“I thought about it.” Dorian firmly gripped the tip of Felix's length between forefinger and thumb, rubbing and rolling slowly. “You don't know how many times I wanted to bend you over before I finally fucked your mouth in that hotel room.”

That did it.

Felix's stomach muscles tensed, curling forward silently for a split second before arching back violently, his cries following the crests of his spasms. Days worth of denial poured out of him with abandon.

When he finally settled back into the couch, panting, all he had to say was “f-fuck”.

Dorian smirked. “That's one word for it.”

Felix pouted. “You didn't even get my pants off.” He looked down and groaned. “I'm still hard.” He side glanced at Dorian who hadn't moved. “You're still hard.” He bit his lip and pressed into the heat against his thigh. “More.”

Dorian leaned in to kiss the teen briefly before untying his hands and pulling away. “No.”

Felix sat up with a frown as the detective stood from the couch. “That's it?”

Dorian buttoned and zipped his pants over the insistent heat. “That's it.”

“You don't want me to . . .”
“Nope. I'm going to take a shower.”

Felix only stared at him confused as he walked away.

Cold water and guilt made quick work of Dorian's waning interest. He stared at his open palm as the water poured down his body. He'd never meant to react that badly. The image of Felix's slim wrists trapped in his fists came back. The look of fear in his eyes.

Dorian leaned his head against the cold, dark shower tiles, fingertips finding the angry ridge of scar tissue that ran the length of his hip. It was a stupid thing to be self-conscious of. A stupid thing to hide.

It's not like Felix was the first person he'd been involved with since the incident, but this wasn't a drunken tryst in the dark. Not only that, but Felix had a specific image of him that didn't include knowing he wasn't invincible and always in control.

In the beginning, there was no point in not hiding it. He was just some kid who got off on being dominated. Now it was clear he wasn't going anywhere. He had a spare key. A job. For whatever reason, this was where he wanted to be.

It had sneaked up on the detective uninvited, and it wasn't what he thought of when he heard the word “relationship”, but it clearly was something. Maybe it wasn't conventional, but it was serious in it's own way.

Dorian turned off the shower. He couldn't conduct the entire relationship with his pants on; amazing blow jobs aside.

Felix had just been slipping into a fresh pair of pants when Dorian peered into his room. He was still shirtless.

“Need to talk to you,” Dorian said, tipping his head toward his room.

The teen followed slowly, suspicious. He grinned when he saw Dorian was in nothing but thin flannel pants. “Change your mind?”

The older man took his hand and pulled him closer, looking down at his wrist with a frown. The bruises were faint, but they were there.

Felix followed his eyes and shrugged. “I don't mind them.”

“I didn't mean to grab you like that.”

“Dude, it's fine. It wasn't that hard.”

Dorian met his eyes seriously. “No, I didn't mean to grab youat all. It was a paranoid, knee-jerk reaction.”

Felix blinked. “To what?”

Dorian forced the words out. “To you trying to pull my pants down.”

The teen only stared for a moment before his eyes went wide. “Oh my god, do you have three testicles?”

“What?” Dorian sputtered. “No!”

“Butt acne?”

The older man rolled his eyes with annoyance and jerked the edge of his pants down, shoving the slim hand against the ugly slash of scar tissue.

Felix looked down with a tip of his head, fingers tracing the line of puckered skin.

“What happened?”

“Gun shot wound.”

Green eyes snapped up to meet Dorian's. “What? When?”

“Almost five years ago.”

Felix looked back at the scar with a frown. “What's with the lines down it?”

“Staple scars. I had surgery to remove the bullet and put my hip back together. It actually went in . . .” He shifted Felix's hand to his upper thigh, behind the rise of his hip. “Here.” Fingertips circled the chunky recess of the entrance wound and Dorian grit his teeth through the urge to slap them away.

“How did it happen?”

“Long version or short?”

“Long.”

Dorian sighed, pulled the hem of his pants back up over his hip and sat on the edge of the bed. He puffed his cheeks out for a moment and peered at the wall. “Where to start . . .”

Felix flopped on the bed next to him. “You don't have a script? I would have a big epic story every time someone asked.”

Dorian shrugged. “Never really told anyone.”
“Really? Why not?” Felix asked.

“Most of the people I knew at the time worked at the PD so they knew when it happened. And of course my family knew. There was no real reason to start telling random people.”

Felix leaned back on his hands, ankles crossed and swaying. “Did you shoot the guy?”

“No.”

The teen frowned. “Did some one else shoot him?”

“Do you want the story or not?”

Felix stuck his tongue out but said nothing.

Dorian took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “There was this kid about your age.”

“Don't,” Felix cut in.

Dorian blinked. “What?”

“It's weird when you call other people my age 'kid'.”

“Bah,” Dorian scoffed. “You're all kids to me.” Felix frowned. “OK, fine, there was this male person around eighteen years old. Name was Reggie. Smart, but so goddamn stupid at the same time.” Dorian narrowed his eyes at the wall.

“Their whole family was dirt poor. Dad wasn't part of the picture. He thought he was doing them a favor by getting into illegal shit. Started small. Shell games, unlocking phones and laptops for resale. Started dealing weed, him and his brother. I was just on patrol then, there wasn't much I could do.”

“You couldn't arrest him?” Felix asked.

“For what? Being poor? He'd just get out of jail poorer. He knew not to do anything overt when I rolled by, so I rolled by a lot. Tried to get him to hold down a job, but he always fucked it up some how. Had a smart mouth.” He gave Felix a look.

“Hah, hah.”

“He thought he was clever enough to start dealing cocaine on someone else's turf. They made promises to take him out so I started spending all the time I could on his block. My sergeant chewed my ass for it, so I stopped reporting where I was.” The detective rubbed his stubbled face, leaning his elbows on his knees.

“Tried to get him to leave town. To take his mom and brother and get a goddamn job somewhere, but his fucking pride and street rep were more important to him.” Dorian paused, taking a slow, measured breath. He gripped his fist in his opposite palm to stave off the shake that had started in his hand. His leg shook instead.

“I was on the street corner arguing with him about staying inside the damn house, but he wanted to go to the stop-n-rob for some tea.” He stared at the floor, suddenly still, the look on Reggie's face clear in his mind. “I never heard the car coming, just heard the shots. Reggie had started running. I remember pushing his brother down. Firing three rounds into the back of the car as it drove off. They just sprayed that whole side of the street with bullets.” He swallowed. “Reggie took two in the chest. Choked on his own blood right in front of his brother.” He clenched his eyes closed, the young man's gurgling gasps a distant echo in his ears.

“I didn't even know I'd been hit.” He snorted, giving a bitter half-smile. “Was confused as hell when I realized my pants were wet. Thought I pissed myself in some sort of Olympic fashion. I don't really remember much else. Passed out. Reggie's mom called 911, said Reggie was dead. Didn't mention me. I mean, I don't blame her, her son just got killed. But they had no idea I was there. The officer who was supposed to respond didn't really give a shit about some dead drug dealer. She apparently stopped for coffee first. Got put on the booking desk after that, has hated me ever since.

“Anyway, that's about it.”

When Dorian finally looked at Felix again, his head was tipped curiously and his expression was absent of the pity Dorian had been afraid to find there.

“Did you just recite the whole police report?”

Dorian cleared his throat and looked away.

“Did they catch him?” Felix asked.

“No.”

He frowned. “Is the brother OK?”

Dorian couldn't quite help a small smile. “Yea. He's twenty now, I think. Going to have a baby. Got an actual job. He's a good ki—” Dorian stopped himself, eyeing Felix obliquely. “Guy.”

“Does it still hurt?” the younger man asked softly.

“Sometimes. It gets stiff if I push it too much. I can't run like I used to. Couldn't stay on patrol.”

Felix looked him over. “Is that why you walk weird after . . . you know.”

The older man stared at him for a moment before laughing sharply. “You are literally the first person to make that link. Everyone else just thinks I walk funny.”

“Well, now it's going to distract me,” Felix muttered, looking away.

“Distract you? Why?”

“Now I'll know it's because of things we did. No one else will know but me.” The blush had started on his cheeks.

“Mandy kind of knows. Or at least she's noticed a correlation, but she probably just think I bottom all the time.” Dorian said.

“She knows 'knows'?” Felix asked.

“Well, no, not exactly. She doesn't know it's you. She just knows it's a guy who likes being tied up. I was fairly vague about it.”

“You've still never tied me up,” Felix complained.

“I just did like an hour ago.”

“That doesn't count. It was just a loose tie that I could get out of. I mean, like . . .” He bit his lip, eyelids getting heavy. “Handcuffs. Or straps. The less I can move, the better.” Blotches of color had spread to his chest.

Dorian smirked. “Guess I'll have to do some shopping, then.”

Felix put his hands over his face, mumbling into his palms. “You need to put a shirt on or something.”

“Or something?” Dorian raised an eyebrow.

The younger man peered through splayed fingers, attention focused everywhere but Dorian's face. “Something like finishing what you started.”

“Oh, you finished,” Dorian teased.

“I wanted something . . . more.”

“More?”

“Like what we did in the living room . . .” Felix's voice was quiet with an edge of embarrassment.

“That is not narrowing it down,” Dorian said, “we have done a lot of things in there.”

“. . . on the floor.”

“What's that?”

Felix spoke up; “what we did on the floor. With the . . . you know.”

Dorian knew. The memory had sent a renewed sense of interest straight down his pants. He only gave the younger man an amused look.

“You're going to make me say it, aren't you?”

“No,” Dorian said simply. “I'm going to make you show me.”

Felix's eyes widened. Silent seconds passed before he broke eye contact with the older man, staring down at his fidgeting hands.

“No?” Dorian shrugged indifferently. “Oh, well.” He propped up pillows and leaned his back against the head board, legs outstretched. “I'll just take care of this myself.”

Felix's attention snapped toward Dorian, lips parting as he watched the older man's hand. Fingers gripped around thin fabric, shape and form obscenely plain as the hand stroked lazily.

There was something undeniably arousing about the way Felix watched him. The way his pale eyes darkened and fixated on every movement of his hand. The way he licked his lips, but never really closed his mouth. The blush that had bloomed through to his ears, his pulse a visible throbbing on the sides of his throat. The tense of his stomach muscles on every exhale as if he had to force his lungs to release each breath.

Dorian was absolutely drunk on the image and had nearly forgotten everything else when Felix suddenly stood, jerked open the night stand and grabbed the black anal plug, thumping it unceremoniously on the table top.

The detective managed not to laugh. He only glanced over at it and raised a brow at Felix. “No thanks, I'm good.” He ignored the frustrated furrow of Felix's brow and slipped his hand into his pants.

Dorian's head rolled back, eyes fluttering closed as his hand fell into a familiar rhythm.

“What do you want me to do, sir?”

The soft question made him open his eyes to an expression that caused his erection to jolt in his hand.

Absolute surrender. The lust was still there, the need. The snark, the defiance, the embarrassment were all gone, replaced with an open willingness that pulled at something in Dorian that he never knew was there. He could only stare for a moment.

“Take off your clothes,” he commanded, show completely forgotten as he focused his attention on the pale boy stripping in front of him. “Get on the bed, on your knees.” Felix complied without a sound. “Head down.”

Dorian hastily snatched the little black toy and the bottle of lubricant, positioning himself behind the supplicant body in his bed.

“Christ, you're beautiful,” Dorian breathed, hands running along pallid thighs, over firm buttocks, up his back.

“Hands over your head, hold your opposite elbows.” Dorian pinned the arms with one hand, satisfied that this position would avoid additional bruising of his fragile wrists. “Good boy.”

The slight body beneath him rose with a deep, appreciative breath. He jerked with a gasp when the lubricant drizzled a thin stream down from his tail bone.

“You're not wearing your collar,” Dorian scolded as his fingers worked a slick path downward.

“No, sir.” The voice was shaky and on the edge of a moan, but there was no excuse. No 'I just got home, jackass'.

Dorian grinned. “Don't let it happen again.”

“Yes, s—ah.” The first digit pressed deeper.

“Think you can do two yet?” Felix moaned on what might have been a 'yes'. “You don't sound sure,” Dorian taunted. “Maybe next time.”

A feeble complaint stopped short as pressure hit the spot that made his toes curl.

“You're so sensitive,” the larger man said in an approving tone.

A hallow sound of loss escaped Felix's lips as Dorian pulled his hand free.

“Don't stop,” he mewled into the sheets.

His protest was followed by a short grunt as the plug was pressed against the sensitive ring of flesh.

“You couldn't pay me to stop,” Dorian growled, pressing the toy firmly. “Relax. Arch your back.” Felix complied, hips jerking as the slick, conical silicone slipped in further. Dorian partially withdrew the toy before sliding it back in all the way to the base.

Felix's thighs shook.

Dorian patted his hand over the sheets between Felix's knees. “I knew it. You're dripping all over my bed.”

“S-sorry.”

“It's OK. Don't have to worry about my place being a crime scene anymore,” he teased, “I've decided to keep you.”

He snaked his free arm around Felix's hips, hand closing around hot, rigid flesh. The teen jerked beneath him, pressing down into the loose grip. The hand tightened and made a long, firm stroke all the way to the tip, a bead of Cowper's fluid swelling before making it's viscous descent to the dark pool in the grey fabric.

“But you'll be washing these sheets.”

“Yes, sir,” Felix purred. For a moment he attempted to grind his hips back against Dorian, but made a sound of surprise when he realized it only drove the toy inside him deeper.

“You sure you want to do that?”

“Yes,” Felix mewled, pushing back.

The rounded, broad base of the plug pressed against Dorian's erection. He rolled his hips forward in response, drawing a sharp moan out of Felix.

The sudden need to feel the boy's heat, his skin gliding against his own was overwhelming. Dorian hastily jerked the flannel pants down with one hand, kicking them free and arching forward into the curve of Felix's body.

Each roll of his hips dragged his length down the valley of the teen's rear, sensitive tip hitting the crest of tailbone, the end of the toy pressing into the space above his testicles. His free hand worked it's way around Felix again, closing on his swollen member and matching the pace of his hips.

“Faster,” Felix pleaded, cries rising sharply as Dorian complied.

For a moment, the larger man seriously considered jerking that damn plug out and fucking the boy in earnest, but somewhere in the back of what was left of his rational mind, he was glad it was there to prevent him from doing just that. He would have to settle for grinding into his bare skin.

Which was proving to be more than good enough, truth be told. Felix was doing his porn impersonation under him, his voice—and especially his cursing—was providing ample encouragement. The angle of Dorian's thrusts must have been pressing the toy directly into his prostate because the amount of wetness coating the older man's fingers was ridiculous.

Felix had started a slurred chorus of “don'tstopdon'tstopdon'tstop”. So Dorian stopped. With his hand at least. He continued driving his hardness against the cleft of the teen's rear.

“Please,” The voice was nearly a sob.

“Not until I'm ready,” Dorian snarled, leaning more weight onto Felix's body, his own breaths turning ragged. He dropped his head forward, lips pressing into the teen's back, teeth grazing his shoulder blade.

“God, I want to fuck you,” he mouthed the obscenity into the pale flesh.

“Do it, please.”

Felix begging to be plowed jumped straight to the top of Dorian's List. He set his jaw against rising temptation and roughly closed his fist around Felix's erection, pumping rapidly.

“You better cum before I take you up on the offer.”

On cue, hard, wet flesh swelled against the confines of Dorian's fist, Felix's body stiffening as he cried out, release throbbing out of him in waves.

Dorian wasn't far behind, rhythm lost as his last few thrusts were punctuated with a series of deep groans, hot, thick fluid marking a trail up the younger man's back.

He slumped forward breathlessly. “Sonovabitch.”

Felix groaned, knees sliding out from underneath him as he rolled half on his side.

“Can't feel my toes.”

He gasped sharply as Dorian made a movement that bumped against the end of the plug.

“Sorry,” Dorian laughed. “You, uh, want me to get that?”

“I got it,” Felix grumbled, embarrassment returning. His hands descended and he winced for a moment before dropping the solid toy on the bed. “How the hell do you clean those things anyway?”

“Toy cleaner,” Dorian said around a yawn, rolling on to his back. “Over there somewhere.” He gestured vaguely at the night stand.

He jerked at the sudden touch on his hip. Felix's fingertips traced the length of the scar idly. His chin was in his palm, propped up on his elbow as he watched his fingers. Dorian managed to keep the discomfort at bay.

“You should have showed me this sooner,” Felix said.

“Why?”

He grinned, pond-colored eyes sparkling. “I think scars are kinda hot.”