Specter's Gamble - 17. Chapter 17

Desmond looked completely calm. Gabriel thought that he almost looked detached.

“Help me to get him in the car,” he said in an even voice, and Rayhe nodded and followed him into the house. “You’ll need to get rid of that chair,” Desmond said after they were almost inside. “And replace the carpet as well.”

“Okay,” Gabriel said.

When they got into the house and when Rayhe saw the living room, he was amazed. He expected to see blood on the walls, or even on the ceiling; a huge mess that cutting off someone’s privates would cause (not that Gabriel knew anything about that, but he imagined that it would be a very messy ordeal); maybe even one of the said privates rolling somewhere on the carpet. There was nothing. Well, the chair was messed up, just like Desmond said, and there were several rather large spots of blood on the carpet – and that was it. There was nothing else. “You don’t get any more professional than this,” Rayhe thought after quickly glancing at Desmond.

LeVoughn-Senior was wrapped in a huge sheet of tarp, and Gabriel wondered where that came from. Finally, he shrugged to himself. It didn’t matter. Desmond and he dragged the tarp-wrapped body to the LeVoughn’s car (it took them almost half an hour to get it into the back seat), and after they shut the door, Desmond straightened up and took a deep breath.

“I wonder what he felt when he was doing that...” Gabriel thought in spite of himself. “I wonder if he enjoyed...”

Desmond shot him a dark look.

“I didn’t enjoy that,” he said evenly, and Rayhe just blinked. Did he say it out loud by accident? “And no,” Desmond continued. “I can’t hear your thoughts... I just read you somewhat okay by now.”

Gabriel blinked again, and then realized that Desmond repeated his own words. That was exactly the same thing he told Specter on the night when they dove out of Rayhe’s kitchen window, landing face-first in that flowerbed. He hemmed and nodded.

“Right...”

“I am going to drive his car,” Desmond said. “You can follow me if you want... Or I can walk home, it doesn’t matter.”

“I’ll follow you,” Gabriel said. “Don’t want you to get knocked out again by someone else this time...”

“Fine,” Desmond said without a smile, and got into LeVoughn’s car.

****

...Desmond parked the car next to some apartment building and climbed out. Gabriel pulled into the spot next to him, rolled down the window, and turned off the engine.

“You just gonna leave it here?” he frowned.

“Yeah,” Desmond slid into the passenger’s seat. “Let’s go. Stop by a payphone, will you? I need to make a phone call.”

“Okay,” Rayhe muttered. He threw the last glance at LeVoughn’s car, and soon enough, he was driving out of the parking lot.

****

Sam LeVoughn was having dinner while blindly staring into the book he opened half an hour ago. He was still on the first page, and he had no idea what the first word on that page was. It was almost time to go to bed, and Sam dreaded that. He knew that he had to sleep (you don’t really have a choice in the matter -- you have to sleep), and he always felt slightly nauseous when he had to do that. The dreams, he thought. It’s the dreams. No, scratch that; those were no dreams -- those were grade-A nightmares. They would happen every goddamn night. Sam would wake up around two in the morning, gasping for air, sweating like a pig; he’d lie in bed shaking for a while, and then he would fall asleep again just so he could wake up around six in the morning from yet another nightmare.

He mechanically chewed on his food, without noticing the taste, when the phone rang. Sam blinked and put the book down. It was after midnight, he thought. Who would call him this late? “Don’t answer that!” the voice in his head shrieked. “Don’t answer that! It’s probably...”

“Hello?” Sam said carefully into the receiver.

“Samuel?” somebody said.

“Yeah,” Sam said as carefully as before. “Who is this?”

“Your father’s car is parked next to your building,” the person on the other end of the line said, and Sam felt a cold shiver running down his spine. “It’s unlocked. Look in the back seat. You might like what you find. Good-bye.”

“Who is...” Sam started saying again, but the line clicked dead.

He replaced the receiver in the cradle and stood there for several minutes, thoughtfully staring at the phone. “It’s unlocked,” he heard in his head again. “Look in the back seat. You might like what you find.”

“It’s a trap!” his inner voice shrieked again. “The minute you get anywhere near that car, they will grab you and shove you inside! And this time you won’t get out! It’s a trap!”

Finally, he grabbed one of the sharpest knives he could find and went outside. He saw the car almost immediately. It seemed there was nobody inside; the lights were off, the car remained still and silent. Sam carefully made his way towards the painfully (hatefully) familiar vehicle and looked inside through the window. There was nobody inside. He glanced at the back seat. Something was there, all right. Something big, wrapped in some sort of material.

Sam pulled the door handle, and the door opened smoothly. He carefully set the knife on the roof of the car and unwrapped the material (it was dark-colored tarp). He stared at what was inside that tarp for almost a full minute without blinking. Then he darted out of the car, ran towards the nearby tree, fell on his knees, and vomited for what felt like ever. Finally, he got up, went back to the car, and this time, he could look at the demented present without feeling nauseous.

He looked at it for probably forty minutes. Then he covered it up with the tarp, grabbed his knife, and closed the door of the car. He went back to his apartment, brushed his teeth, and went to bed.

For the first time in years, he slept soundly throughout the entire night; he dreamt of nothing.

****

When they got back to the apartment, Desmond told Gabriel to go to bed.

“I’ll stay up for a while,” he said unemotionally. “If I feel like sleeping, I’ll just crash on the couch.”

Rayhe didn’t argue with him; he just nodded and went to bed. He woke up several hours later. The dim glow of the clock informed him that it was four in the morning. He got up and went into the living room, trying not to make too much noise. Desmond was asleep on the couch and he looked very serious. Rayhe found that funny. Looking serious while you were asleep – that was something only Specter could do. Gabriel kneeled next to the couch, close enough to be able to feel Desmond’s breath on his skin.

He slowly ran his finger along the assassin’s jawline and carefully kissed his lips, trying not to wake him up. He caught Desmond’s breath in his mouth, and suddenly, Gabriel craved more. He kissed him again, less carefully this time, running his fingers through the assassin’s hair. Prying his unresisting lips apart was easy. Still asleep, Desmond started to respond to the kiss. Finally, he moaned softly and his eyes slowly opened. He blinked several times without interrupting the kiss. Then he pulled away ever so slightly, his green eyes fixed on Rayhe’s brown ones.

“Molesting me while I am unconscious?” he muttered and Rayhe grinned.

“Well, you are conscious now,” he said and got on the couch next to Desmond, pulling the assassin closer.

Desmond closed his eyes when Gabriel’s mouth started caressing his. He needed this right now, he realized. He needed this after what he’d done several hours earlier. The whole thing still felt like a very unpleasant aftertaste. Desmond had never done anything like that before. He knew that he would never do it again. He also knew that right now, Rayhe could tell how much Desmond needed him; he knew that, and he didn’t care anymore. Let him know, he thought hazily. Let him know...

Gabriel was surprised by hunger he found in Desmond’s mouth. Hunger and raw need. That need immediately transferred to Rayhe as well. Kissing him, inhaling him, tasting him... “Oh, God,” Rayhe thinks. “Oh God, I need this so much right now...” Desmond’s arms around Gabriel’s neck, his fingers tangled in Rayhe’s hair, his body moving in sync with Gabriel’s, sending echoes of his heartbeat into Rayhe’s throat, his fingers, his toes...

Rayhe’s mouth slides towards the spot where neck turns into shoulder. He remembers how that spot made Desmond squirm and whimper the first time Gabriel discovered it. He is not disappointed this time as well; the minute he gently bites down on the skin, Desmond gasps and his back arches off the couch ever so slightly.

Gabriel wants more, he wants more of him, he wants everything. Desmond’s shirt is in the way, so Gabriel starts unbuttoning it rather impatiently. Suddenly, the assassin grabs his wrist and makes him stop. Gabriel looks at him silently.

“What is it?” he whispers after Desmond keeps staring at him without blinking.

“Say my name,” Desmond mutters, and Gabriel’s mouth twitches in a small smile.

“Desmond...” he whispers, and the assassin finally blinks.

“Again,” he demands without letting go of Rayhe’s wrist.

“Desmond... Desmond...” Gabriel is kissing him again, and then Desmond’s grip relaxes and Gabriel’s wrist is free, and his fingers are undoing all those buttons on Desmond’s shirt, and finally pulling it off.

Gabriel feels completely intoxicated right now. Lightheaded, dizzy, everything is spinning slowly, and somehow, everything is incredibly focused at the same time. It’s amazing. He realizes that Desmond already pulled off Rayhe’s own shirt as well, and now he is working on the button of his pants. “Huh,” Gabriel thinks with amusement, “I didn’t even notice when he took my shirt off...”

And then he is pulling off Desmond’s pants, and the assassin slightly lifts his hips to help him. Gabriel is looking at him, devouring his entire body with his eyes. Every single protruding little bone of his, every curve, every single angle. And then he is kissing him again, all of him. Rayhe is greedy right now; God, he is so incredibly greedy... Desmond’s lips are already slightly swollen, but Gabriel keeps kissing them anyway. Then he slides down to that spot on the assassin’s neck again, and this time, he is a lot less gentle. Desmond makes this sound in the back of his throat – something between a sob and a growl – and it drives Gabriel wild.

“Desmond, Desmond, Desmond,” he keeps whispering.

Rayhe’s hands are all over the assassin; his mouth is desperate, so desperate... “Desmond...” Trailing down his chest, whispering in between the licks, bites, and nibbles. “Desmond... Desmond...” The assassin is moaning, muttering something, swearing softly when Rayhe bites too hard.

“Desmond... Desmond... Desmond...” It’s not even a mantra by now -- it’s a sacred chant. A spell of an incredible power. “Desmond, Desmond, Desmond...” The assassin’s entire body trembles when Rayhe uses that spell with him inside his mouth. Gabriel hums the spell and Desmond’s fingers grasp the back of the couch so hard that his knuckles turn white. Hunger, oh God, how can Rayhe be so hungry all of a sudden?

“Desmond, Desmond, Desmond...” The assassin is trying to lie still, he is trying not to shove himself deeper into Gabriel’s throat, but it’s a battle he is losing. “Desmond, Desmond, Desmond...”

Gabriel lifts his arm and runs his fingers over Desmond’s neck, before stroking his lips. The assassin understands immediately and wraps his mouth around those fingers, his tongue quick, warm, and unbelievably firm and soft at the same time. “Desmond, Desmond, Desmond...” The spell makes Desmond to bite down on Rayhe’s fingers, and his hips thrust upwards. Gabriel pulls his hand out of the assassin’s mouth, his fingers traveling to the point of their destination. “God,” he thinks. “I need him so bad, so bad, so desperately bad...” He is right here, under Rayhe’s spell, but he still needs him, craves him...

Gabriel knows that if he uses the spell at the same time as he finds that one sweet spot of his, it will drive Desmond over the edge, and he doesn’t want that. Not yet, not this soon. So he makes sure it doesn’t happen, squeezing him just tight enough to keep him on the very edge, but not tight enough to hurt him. Desmond immediately understands what Rayhe is doing, and he growls:

“Not again!”

Gabriel laughs softly and that sends another shiver through Desmond’s body. Rayhe’s fingers searching, rotating. It’s there, it’s right there, he thinks. No, not quite... It’s...

“You son of a...”

“Desmond, Desmond, Desmond...”

“Oh, holy hell!!”

It’s right there. The assassin is almost sobbing now, his hips living a life of their own.

“Desmond, Desmond, Desmond...”

“You son of a... Oh, God! Don’t do that again... Don’t... Oh, God, yes!”

“Desmond, Desmond, Desmond...”

“Oh, God... Ohh... Harder... No, don’t... Oh, yes! Oh, God, yes!”

Gabriel needs him so bad, so desperately bad... He finally lets him out of his mouth, but not out of his grasp, and travels towards his face. Desmond is kissing him, hungrily, almost viciously, biting, and sucking, and digging his short fingernails into Rayhe’s back. “Desmond, Desmond, Desmond...” Chanting into his mouth now. The assassin is swallowing every single sound, every single breath; he is sucking all air out of Gabriel. Rayhe doesn’t need air; he is breathing Desmond right now, and it is better than air, oh so much better...

“Desmond, Desmond, Desmond...” The assassin groans when Rayhe finally merges them together, when they are one, when there is no space between them. He feverishly mutters Rayhe’s name, and combined with Gabriel’s spell...

“Desmond, Desmond, Desmond...”

...it becomes something else; a different spell, a different chant, a different language altogether. A few experimental thrusts, and Desmond is shaking underneath Rayhe, trying to shake off that hand, but no, not yet, not yet... “Oh, God,” Rayhe thinks hazily. “I don’t think I can control myself much longer...” The spell, the power of it is too huge, too incredible, too impossible... Gabriel is no longer in charge of it; he is no longer in charge of anything. Hunger, oh God, that hunger...

“Desmond, Desmond, Desmond...”

“I can’t take it anymore...! Oh, God... You... Ohh... I can’t take it anymore! Just... Oh, just let me... Please let me...”

Gabriel can’t take it much longer himself, so he releases his grasp, and then he strokes instead. Rhythm, quick powerful rhythm... “Desmond, Desmond, Desmond...” Rhythm... The same one for his chant, his hips, and his hand. “Desmond, Desmond, Desmond... Desmond!!”

“Oh, holy... Hell!!”

Everything around Rayhe shifts slightly. He doesn’t know who he is anymore, he doesn’t know where he is anymore, he doesn’t know anything. The only thing he knows is... “Desmond, Desmond, Desmond...” An explosion of white brilliancy beneath his eyelids, ringing in his ears, the wave keeps growing, it’s unbelievable, but it keeps growing. He can’t breathe, he is convulsing, and he can’t stop.

Oh, God... The wave slowly, reluctantly, bit by bit, goes down, sending some air into Rayhe’s lungs, giving him back his senses.

“Oh, oh, oh... Go...d... I... Oh...”

“Des...mond...”

Neither of them is coherent right now. It’s all right though. It’s better than all right, to be honest. Gabriel buries his face in Desmond’s hair, and the assassin is trying to wrap his arms around him, but it seems that he can’t even move, so he gives up. “I need him so much,” he thinks while inhaling Rayhe’s scent. “I need him so much, so much, so bloody-unbelievably much...”

He is closing his eyes, sleep tugging him down rapidly. He thinks that Rayhe is asleep already; his breathing is somewhat even now. Desmond wants to look at him, look at his face, look at his eyes. He can’t move. He just kisses Gabriel’s shoulder, and then he falls asleep.

“Desmond...”