My private office was just as I'd left it just moments before.
It was a small space that reeked a bit of failure and under-achievement...but it was mine.
After gettin' the breeze off from the coppers, I'd branched out on my own.
My own.
The only place I'd ever belonged. I ain't never been too good at small talk and socializing.
Moonlight illuminated the room through the venetian blinds.
Slated shadows striped the blond's form. Those damn stars he called eyes twinkled in spite of the darkness.
Seeing Sunshine lined with moonbeams delivered to me, a sudden interest in Astronomy.
It seemed almost unjust to turn on the light, but this was business.
I switched on the lamp at the same time I switched from lust filled man to sexually stifled professional.
My cock invited him to sit down, he didn't oblige.
My hands in turn gestured to a nearby chair, that seat he took.
His eyes swept my office. They'd been the only thing to have swept it since I'd moved in.
I'd found reliable roommates in the dust bunnies. They appeared harmless enough, but I maintained my suspicions.
My attention was drawn to the man's nervously tapping fingers on the armrest of the worn wooden chair. "Relax, Mr. Taylor." I told him, though I don't know that my own trembling voice helped to put him at ease. "I won't bite." I said, "Unless you ask real nice." the lust filled man disobediently added.
The rush of blood to his cheeks had my overeager nether-regions anxious to follow suit.
He sat with excellent posture, had a sort of innocent aura about him. An innocent nature I'd only heard myths about but had never actually witnessed.
His boyish charm reminded me of my days in school. Or as I'd call it, if I were ever to write a memoir 'The 12 years I spent in the Principal's Office.' Of course, I'd never write a memoir. I didn't spend enough time in class to learn grammar.
"Now, what can I do for you this evening Mr. Taylor?" I asked pouring a bit of Jack Daniels and offering it to him. I poured myself a bit more of this moonlight cocktail.
We had a good thing goin' me and Ol' Jack Daniels. Kept me warm and comforted me on many a nights. A relationship far better than mine with Jack Kinney. Though the latter did introduce me to the first; which was the only thing I was grateful to the bastard for.
He took the tumbler from my hand and placed it on his lap. I put mine to my lips and took a warming gulp. It helped the remainder of my body to catch up to the heat of my libido.
He spoke for the first time since we'd entered the room, I had already forgotten how musical his voice was. It was quickly becoming my new favorite tune.
"My boyfriend," he started slowly and looked at the floor. I looked at the ceiling and silently cursed whoever, if anyone, was up there. Whatever cruel S.O.B. that had sent this boy to me...unavailable.
Then I remembered I was Brian Fucking Kinney and when I found a new ride I wanted to take for a spin, I cared very little about it's previous owner.
As long as the body work was flawless and it handled like a dream, and I had an inkling this boy would do exactly that.
His curves were dangerous, but with me behind the wheel, it'd be a helluva ride.
Reluctantly, I reminded myself that he was here on business. This was no time for a test drive.
"My boyfriend," he said again "is missing. He's a jazz musician see, maybe you've heard of him, Ethan Gold?" he paused giving me a chance to respond.
Gold's name rang fewer bells than Santa's sleigh in July. I shook my head.
He went on, "He's been in Harrisburg at a recital. He was set to return this afternoon, but," he stopped and took a sip of his whiskey.
As I watched the amber liquid pass his lips, I licked my own.
"When I got home earlier, his luggage was on the walk and keys were still in the door. Ethan however was nowhere in sight."
"Why come to me? Why not go to the police?" I asked.
"I did. They pretty much gave me the brush off because of my," he lowered his already soft voice "alternative life choices." he finished almost embarrassed. A fact for which I was content with, seein' as how it brought that delicious blush back to his face.
"They practically told me that Ethan left me on his own volition. But, he loves me, he wouldn't do that. He's never even told me a fib." he declared, biting his bottom lip a little.
This kid was naive to the ways of the world. Everyone lied. Those who claimed they didn't...were liars.
I had to admit I was intrigued. Something hinky was definitely going on, for I was positive no man would leave this blond if not by force and threats of torture.
"A gentleman by the name of Horvath gave me your card. Told me I should come to you because of our," he whispered again "common interests."
By 'common interests' I knew he meant our shared fondness for backseat driving.
Carl Horvath was a lot of things, but a gentleman was not among them. Nevertheless, he was a stand up cat. We used to drink from the same glass and every once in a while he'd throw business my way.
For this particular job, I almost felt inclined to send him a cigar and a thank you note written in a pretentious script.
"You weren't with your boyfriend," the word tried to stick to my tongue and refuse to exit "in Harrisburg, where were you? Mind if I ask what it is you do for a living Mr. Talyor?"
"Justin." he corrected me and I felt a touch over excited about this tiny sliver of intimacy. "I'm an artist, or at least I'm trying to be." he answered shyly.
An artist. The occupation seemed appropriate. I knew shit about art but it seemed only logical that a man with skin as creamy as canvas, and eyes too blue to name, would create beauty. A masterpiece in the flesh.
That thought came from somewhere deep inside me. A place that I wasn't familiar with. I took another drink of Jack, hoping he would help drown the thought...wherever it lingered.
"I spent the day at a Galleria with my mentor, Lindsay Peterson." he provided an alibi.
He didn't need it.
He didn't not.
If all the years of mistakes had taught me anything, it was that nothing was as it appeared on the surface. For the sake of my sexual desire, I hoped that Justin Taylor would only get better the deeper I got.
The name Lindsay Peterson resurfaced a hazy memory from a drunken stupor of bad decisions. One night, five years ago, five years previously, 1,825 days before today; I had done the unthinkable. The unfathomable. A Dame.
She'd been the first skirt to say 'Yes' when she meant 'Yes.' I could never think about our time together without...nausea.
The heebie-jeebies found me even now.
I finished my drink and cleared my throat.
"Let's not panic just yet. Have you heard anything, perhaps received a ransom note?" I inquired.
He shook his head, his gold locks swayed with the movement. I enjoyed the view.
"Alright. Can you think of anyone that might have wanted to hurt Ethan? Did he have any enemies. How about you?" I asked though I highly doubted as such.
His silence paused my wonder. Like I said, nothing is as it appears.
I waited.
"Are you kidding?" he responded sadly, "Even my own father hates me. Tossed me out when he found out I was queer."
My chest warmed a little at his words. I was sure it was the liquor.
I knew a little something about useless fathers. Jack's idea of doing good for his family was to completely avoid us. I can't say that he'd been wrong.
They say 'You can't ever really go home again.' Hell, I couldn't even get on the porch.
I was certain the blond's old man was a bastard, yet I didn't like him for whatever was happening here.
And I was sure something was happening.
Justin was too. Albeit his suspicions were a tad more theatrical.
He stood and threw his delicate hands over his face. I heard his sobs but was too uncomfortable to look for tears.
"What's happened to him? Do you think he's been killed? Murdered? Offed? Rubbed Out? Is he sleepin' with the fishes? Pushin' up daisies, takin' the big sleep?" he rushed his dramatic cliche's as he rushed to me, and buried his face in my chest.
My discomfort increased ten fold, as did my want.
It surprised me how turned on I was even with this man crying. I usually steered clear of men with faulty plumbing and leaking emotions.
As I felt a hot wetness begin to seep it's way through my jacket, I pondered the facts. 'Killed? Murdered?'
My glory days behind the tin were salivating for the case. My current days as a shamus weren't as thrilled.
I wasn't homicide no more. I was freelance now. Small cases for big dough. Maximum cabbage, minimum bullshit.
My glory days were coming out ahead. I was becoming increasingly excited to once again prove myself a worthy man of the law.
Besides, this poor kid was really behind the eight ball. Who better than me to help him out. After all, hard times and tight spots fell in my area of expertise.
He needed someone to watch his back, which I'd prefer to do from behind as I attended to his ass, which coincidently also needed looking after.
I decided instantly that I'd keep a close eye on it. You know, as a public service.
"I'll take the case." I told him and felt him pull away from my torso. I liked that very little.
He wiped away the remaining tears from his eyes and stared at me through reddened rims. "I..I, I'm afraid I can't pay you too much upfront. But if you could wait until I sell a painting or…" he rambled hurriedly.
I wanted to cut off his words with my tongue, though I settled for my finger.
"Don't worry, I'm sure we can arrange something." I assured him, trying to sound professional all the while laying heavy the innuendo. I laid it down, hoping he may pick it up.
He didn't.
But Rome wasn't built in a day and this case wasn't yet solved.
"I'd like to see Ethan's bags." I requested, ushering us both toward the door.
I turned off the lights.
I remained turned on.
Breeze Off: Let go/escorted out
Coppers: Police Force
Cat: Great guy
Hinky: Off kilter/Suspicious
Dame/skirt: Woman
Rubbed out... ect: Murdered
Drink from the same glass: Be close friends
Heebie-Jeebies: Creeps/Weirded out
Shamus: Private Detective
Dough/Cabbage: Money
Behind the eight ball: In a tight spot/Hard times
Behind the tin: Certified Police officer
*Content is born from my own silly mind, however there will be several classic lines I'm going to adapt throughout the story. They'll be listed at the bottom of each chapter they're used. No Copyright infringement intended.
"I'll never think about our moments together without nausea."-Hollow Triumph 1948