*WARNING* - it's getting darker; some may find the content unpleasant or challenging to read. Those with easily offended sensibilities – step away!
Hallelujah!
His heart sings as his mind embraces what he has been denying, just as he yearns to embrace. His inner voice no longer a critic, but a chorus.
Sings at the soft slide of the fine cotton of the shirt across his skin - imagine the soft slide of his fingers, his skin... Sings as his fingers trace a path across the polished wood of his desk - think of fingers tracing a path across your mahogany plains... Sings as he sips from the mug, knowing whose lips had previously lingered there - a remote kiss, separated by porcelain and time, but oh, so delicious... Sings as he sinks into the recently vacated chair, still retaining the warmth from its previous occupant - think of the heat of his lap, think of sinking into it, sinking into him...so deep.
This office, once dry and defined, now so full of sensual shadow; the lingering traces of a man whose impact was so potent he left echoes and refrains as he passed through...
But there were harsher, more dissonant notes.
"Hey, Ron, have you heard the one about the man who went gay clubbing? The only problem was cleaning the blood off the baseball bat afterwards..." The snorting laughter echoing around the corridors of the courthouse.
"I just don't trust that mincing public defender..." "Yeah, don't turn your back on him!" Chuckles around the dinner table.
"So a dead fag, eh?... gotta be homocide. Homocide, geddit? Still, one less to worry about..." Cop talk at a crime scene.
"...stop him from drowning?" "If he were black, I wouldn't bother..." Ushers at the Supreme Court.
"Fucking lawyers! You know what they have in common with blacks and fags? They all look good hanging from a fucking tree..." Courthouse security on a smoke break, bemoaning their plight.
Black. Homosexual. Lawyer. The triple target of revulsion, the full house of hate. Him.
He had denied two in pursuit of the third and the Law had become all to him; his guide, his comfort, his identity. It had opened doors and elevated him, had given him relative wealth, authority, status, power. But now he was caught between the law and love...
A point never more obvious than here, in Judge Blakemore's home; thankful for Goren's antisocial investigative style because he's not sure he can handle the full force of his personality at this time. Damn! Even watching him flip the top on a bin was strangely enthralling...Loyalties still divided as Goren turns on the Judge with arrogant but startling accuracy. The pull of the known, the familiar, and the reliable stronger than secret songs and hidden hopes. He remains faithful to the Law.
Confidence restored, he warns Deakins to tread carefully, and suspicions of murder and plagiarism do not sway him. This man was a justice of the New York Court! And it does not stop there, even when they drag Judge Sabatelli into the mix.
He was angry; angry at the accusations, angry at not being kept informed, at being ambushed by Sabatelli on the stairs, angry at the attack on his foundations, his beliefs, his heroes...Angry at the persecutor, the accuser; angry at the beguiling, bewitching bastard who was tearing at his faith, tearing at his heart, who squeezed his balls as he stroked his soul.
"Sabatelli hates everyone." Marching into his office; the detectives trailing in the wake of his wrath. Eames, as ever, the voice of reason:
"He doesn't hate you."
"I admire him as a maverick." He dares, I dare not... Not the only maverick you admire, is he? So do you, do you dare? That inner voice, another provocateur. "He doesn't see me as a threat." But you should, Goren... Go on, show him who's boss, show him you won't roll over, won't yield...
But Goren is not like his partner, is full of self righteousness, full of arrogance –magnificence!- and storms up to him; the air between them crackling with electricity.
"He's paranoid! Pathological!" Voice raised, eyes sparking.
His own voice rising in reply, no longer sure if he is rising to the bait to defend the Law, or to put the detective in his place - cowed before you, on his knees...
"Is that police code for 'hot-blooded'?" His own blood boiling with rage and lust, turbulent in the torment.
"Well, don't put words in my mouth, or some kind of attitude!" It's not words I want to put in your mouth...
Neither backing down, neither backing off; the argument a resounding anthem trumpeting strength, power, the fight for supremacy. The air thick with heat, with tension, with testosterone.
Eames's clear, calm voice breaking the deadlock, clearing the air, calming tempers.
No time for silk toys to prettify his need, he drives himself deep into his wife's warm depths, driving her face into the pillow. Willing her to fight him, needing her to fight him, needing to feel brawn. No longer deceiving himself with her androgynous form, his mind is filled with visions of pure masculinity; of coarser hair on chest and belly; of longer, stronger arms and legs; of stubble and curls; of Adam's apple bobbing while greedily gobbling, of hotter, tighter channels to plunder, of...of...him!
And if this heartsong had purely been one of power and glory, it may well have faded away. But its melody varied, keeping him listening, keeping him captivated...
Professionalism returning, working together to trap Sabatelli; his loyalty no longer divided but shared. Glowing with the satisfaction of a job well done, savouring the quiet moment with Bobby in the observation room, hand reaching out to briefly clasp his arm, enjoying the feel of forearm under fabric.
The model cars; a reminder of innocent times past. Sat across from Bobby, their legs a hairs breadth from intertwined; two boys playing. He was transported back to childhood, to his grandmother's house; the orphan boy delighting in the salvaged treasures, making tracks with their wheels on the worn and faded rug.
Learning the tempo and the rhythms of their investigations, adjusting to segue and surprises, becoming a collaborator. Learning Bobby's signals and cues in the interrogations and interviews, learning his moves and moods and being inspired, developing a few moves of his own.
And heart swelling, he sings this secret song.
