Norman Jayden had spent a full day of explaining ARI data to a room full of puzzled administrators when the elevator doors opened onto his floor in the hotel he was staying in for just a little bit longer. What a damn mess. It was like trying to explain the experience of colors to the blind.

The sight of Carter Blake standing, weaving slightly, outside of his door, was the last thing he expected. Or wanted.

Jayden's mouth went dry. He twitched a little as his muscles tried to decide just what the hell he should do about it. His adopted asexuality – intensely married to the job – had done a lot to compensate for being gay, but god knew he still needed to get off on a regular basis. God, and Kleenex, and hand lotion, and the Internet, and his own right hand. They all knew. And now Blake was waiting for him.

One of the problems – out of the many – was that Blake had physically always been one of those guys that turned his crank. Short, stocky, hairy, older. When Jayden had first met him, his pants had grown uncomfortably tight. Then Blake had opened his mouth and begun spewing his idiocy. That had made Blake just about as attractive as the muddy ground they'd met on.

Jayden still saw him as desirable, abstractly, but it was much easier to not be aroused once he realized that the brain inside that forceful frame was pretty goddamned hideous.

Now, he posed himself a safe distance from his room. "Blake. What do you want."

"I wanna talk to you."

Oh, that was fucking fantastic: Blake was also visibly drunk. This was probably going to end either with someone in the emergency room, or under arrest. Possibly both.

"Can't talk right now, Blake," Norman managed. Jesus, that little fireplug of a man looked good in the jeans he was oozing out of a bit, ones that had clearly been purchased in leaner times. Ooooh, that very slightly overgenerous belly. "Long day. You're drunk. Go home."

Blake backed up a little. "We," started the detective, "Are gonna sort this shit out."

That didn't sound good, but at least Jayden had access to his door now. He sidled to it and got the electronic key to work as he kept eyeing Blake. "Really," Jayden said. "Go home. You're going to be sorry about this in a couple of hours." He began to step through his door, and Blake hurled himself at the FBI agent so hard that they both tore through the thing. Weighted, it peacefully shut behind the spectacle that was unfolding within Jayden's hotel room. Jayden lost his mind to rage; Blake's was already long gone.

"Fuck you!" Blake screamed, already trying to get his hands around the FBI agent's throat.

They wrestled like they had brain damage. Years and years of combat training went right out the window for both of them, because of their mutual fury. They wrestled like two nine-year-old boys on the floor, no motive but punishing the other, no way to achieve that punishment beyond fighting as hard as they could. Jayden had reach over Blake, was younger, but Blake had far more muscle, more heft to his efforts.

Just as Blake managed to slam the heel of his hand into the bridge of Jayden's nose, Jayden realized what he was feeling. They were so close, their legs kicking stupidly, that Jayden could feel Blake's enormous erection through all of their clothing. Hell, he'd probably have been able to feel it if he were back in Washington, that's how urgent it was. As he jammed his hands at Blake's ribs, he felt his own penis begin to rise. It took a second to readjust.

"Yes," he said. "Fuck you." He didn't even intend the pun as he abruptly shifted all of his weight into not trying to hurt Blake, but in trying to make it on top.

He did it, his longer arms and legs winning out the struggle for balance. As long as all he was trying to do was keep Blake in place on the floor, this was a goddamned pleasure. Their mutual erections were now rubbing against each other heavily.

Blake jerked himself into a new level of frantic: he was hard, he was so hard, because he was about to start beating the shit out of someone who deserved it. And how that little piece of shit was – oh, God.

Norman got both of Blake's wrists onto the floor. The detective had started to scream terrible things: "Fucking stop fuck you fuck you fuck you you fucking fuck!" But Norman could feel Blake's stupendously hard dick through even the shared thickness of their pants. He began to grind against the detective as hard as his own erection could bear.

Blake was simply trying to get away at this point, and Jayden, trying to keep him in place as he pumped at it.

"You shit," Jayden said. "You like it, you bastard. Didn't know that? Or were you always – oh, yeah, asshole."

Their pants were still done up, and Jayden, for one, didn't dare try to unzip anything, in case Blake got free and did more damage to him and his bleeding nose. He kept Blake's wrists in place as the detective realized what he was being forced into.

"Faggot!" Blake screamed. "Fucking faggot cocksucker fairy queen faggot fucking faggot!" Apparently, rubbing dicks didn't improve his verbal creativity.

Jayden wanted to laugh: all this time, he'd seen Blake as a desirable body with a terrible mind, so terrible that he couldn't even use him as masturbation fodder during those long nights in his hotel room. And now, he knew the secret: he hadn't realized before just how much it would be torture for Blake if he knew he was being desired by another man. Fucked. That was hot. That was fucking hot. And Jayden was prepared to torture Blake's crotch as long as possible while he thought about how hot it was.

They were just hammering dicks together through their bulging, still-fastened pants, but Blake was being fucked.

A/N: Just working out the details for the last bits. Should be up in a few days.