PSOH RIVAL #10
"…You alright?"
Richard Despard nodded, but not convincingly. Jill frowned at him.
"Want another? My treat."
"No. We shouldn't be partaking so early in the day, ma cheri," Despard replied dolefully. "The Chief wouldn't like it. He will be…ah! Most disappointed." Nevertheless, he chuckled softly, as if it knocked his Gallic funny bone and caught him out in a sly hypocrisy to disturb and distress a man who spent a large part of his life existing in that natural state. "Even," he added slowly, as if a startling revelation were dawning upon his leonine head, "with me. That would be bad thing, my sweet. I prefer him, how shall I say? Équilibré!"
"Sure, sure," Jill muttered, knocking back the remnants in her glass in a professional manner. "Whatever, pal. Just 'cause you get away with shit Leon and I would be totally canned for…but whatever."
The visiting detective paid no heed. He propped his cleft chin upon his fist and stared off blindly into the bar's plated glass mirror, lost again in a blue funk—the exact same blue funk that had his self-appointed cheerleader dragging him bodily out of the Precinct office at only ten in the morning with promises of 'Coffee! Donuts! More coffee. Just what you need, Riiichard, trust me…and maybe something stronger!'
A handsome man was reflected there, wavy in the smoky glass; all tawny gold hair and perfectly shaped nose, with eyes of Mediterranean blue and a charming quirk to his rueful lips.
"Just as…as I am," he sighed, despondent despite his perfectly marvelous appearance. "Disappointed."
He earned an offhanded shrug for his troubles.
"As Leon says, 'screw the effing Chief, dude.' Some things are more important, Riiichard."
Jill leered at him, winking, her head tilted just so, like a curious sparrow's. Two Cosmos, one draught lager, three handfuls of peanuts and no lunch had summoned out the woman who lurked always behind the 'lady' detective.
"Screw the Chief, eh?" Despard pulled a face. "I don't think so."
"Is what you need, pal. Comfort food, for one." His mentor flapped a hand at the bar-room's long mirror and the hunk of mahogany they were bellied up to, like ponies to trough. "Beer nuts, baby. And comfort booze, for another. Scotch. Awesome stuff, Scotch. Have one with me, 'kay?"
"Oui, well….I don't know so much about that, my sweet." Despard glanced dubiously at the bar's bowls of brine-encrusted peanuts, shaking his head ever so slightly. "The boozing. I must, how you say? Tread the narrow and the straight now. I have only my job left to me, to occupy me now my love has flown. Life is tedious, Miss Jill, and…life is serious and me –me, I shouldn't be drinking atall."
He sighed theatrically, his hand-woven woolen coat sleeve trailing into his martini in his abstraction.
"Wimp!" Jill h'mmphed merrily and unfazed, raising her nearly empty tumbler in a toast to nothing much in particular and incidentally signaling the hovering bartender for another round. "What's a little broken heart 'tween pals, Riiichard? Come on—be a real man, buddy-boy, not a wuss!"
"What'll it be, folks?"
"Meh," Richard sighed. "I really don't believe it will help, ma cheri…I am too far gone, as they say. So sad. So…miserable…"
Jill shook her bright head impatiently over her fellow detective's sad mumble. If there were shattered hearts to be drowned and put up for pickling, she was the woman for the job. She pinned the barkeep with a look, as he was eyeing the two of them askance. Jill wasn't taking shit from anyone today, no thanks.
"Scotch—the good shit, not that watery crap you feed the tourists, yeah? Doubles, please—straight up, thanks." She nudged Despard with a quick elbow, jolting him out of his reverie. "And…you know, you say that shit, Riiiichard, about not disappointing people, but then you're crying in your beer here, goody two-shoes. He really got you coming and going, didn't he? Leon, I mean." She rolled a shoulder, just as Gallically as the Frenchman she accompanied; snorting softly at his pursed lips and tiny forehead furrow of dispair. "Stupid Leon. Pain in my ass."
"Here you go. That'll be—"
"My tab, if you please," Despard smiled obligingly, "and a generous pourboire for you, m'sieur." He fluttered his fingers at the server.
"Hey! Thanks!" Apparently the bartender knew enough French to translate the word 'tip', even if he didn't speak a word of any language other than English. He obligingly slid two glasses of aged single malt their way and plucked a twenty out of the pile heaped before the handsome foreign gentleman, flashing a grateful grin at them both. Jill ignored him soundly, taking hers up immediately and proceeding to lick the rim; Despard only returned to his grey reverie, ignored the new offering in favour of running a fingertip 'round the lip of his nearly emptied martini glass.
"Riiight, okay. Um, call me if you need me, folks. Enjoy."
The bartender took himself off, returned to lurking at the far end of the mahogany.
"Er, ah…'coming and going', my sweet?" Shaking himself the tiniest bit as if to clear his head, Despard scowled charmingly at the lonely olive, skewered through its heart of pimento on a little plastic sword. "But…but that would imply—and I never. He never."
A small toss of Jill's head cut him off.
"Hey. Leon does that, pal. Fact. S'his thing, oblivion—it's his middle name, get me? Has no clue—not a single one. Dude's too much of a blinkered nitwit to tell his ass from an anthill, okay? Marlene, over in the Filing Room—you met her, right? Brunette, with those V-neck sweaters she always wears? And the nails? Well the poor thing pestered him for years, after any piece of him she could lay those nails of hers on—heh!" she chuckled darkly. "Never got anywhere even close, and he still has no idea why she won't give him the time of day-now. He's hopeless, Richie-baby. Clueless as all get out…and—and brain-dead and, um."
She paused and Despard waited for more, oh, so politely. He'd not long to wait, no, but there was faintest hint of a telltale catch in her voice when she continued.
"Uh-um. Richard? You're…not alone, you know? You and Marlene aren't the only ones."
An elegantly shaped golden eyebrow angled up; his tiny curious scowl slid into a commiserating grin.
"….Yes?" he replied, winningly. "Et tu, ma chéri ? Same ship, eh—you and I. As you say. We are, the both of us, disappointed, then."
"Well! I dunno about that, pal!" Jill humped a shoulder blade, huffing; the same one Despard was patting in a vaguely avuncular way. "But sure. Yeah, why not? Same fucking ship, Riiiichard. No big deal, eh? Happens all the time so get over it."
"..So it does…" The Frenchman gallantly tossed back the remains of his martini, having thoughtfully removed the skewered olive first. 'So it does."
There was a little silence, while Jill mused and Richard Despard stared deeply into his own reflected eyeballs.
"…Hey, um? Richie?" Jill shifted on her stool, fidgeting.
"Hmm?" Sipping his Scotch meditatively, the Interpol detective repetitively tapped a manly manicured fingernail on the sticky surface of the bar. "Jill, m'petite, I am sorry for your affliction, but…yet. The case is not the same. You'll forgive me, I'm sure, but…this Marlene woman you mention and myself—it is not the same. I do not know," he mumbled, waving a hand at it, "I just do not."
"Know what?"
"What to make of it, naturellement!" Despard regarded his separate features in all seriousness, taking in the fine symmetry of them—the cut of his bespoke suit, his knot of silk pinstriped tie. The breadth of shoulder—the sincere expression. "It is—it is not logical, ma cheri!"
"Huh?" Jill gulped and swallowed a bit more than she expected to; she erupted into a bout of coughing that had Despard absentmindedly patting her back.
"You are well, my little flower? Ah, oui—very good."
"Mpgh! –'ank 'oo!"
"Oh, it was as nothing, really…But…I must just ask this of you, as an intimate of my sweet Leon."
"Uh...yeah?" Jill, still a bit pink, nodded encouragingly. "Go ahead, hon. Ask away."
"Is there perhaps something ill-favoured about me?" The Frenchman looked all at once very troubled. "Some…tiny defect I just simply do not see? Is that it, ma petite amie? As, you see," he whined, waving at the mirror, "...I do not see it, no. I am not a troll, ma cheri! I am not a poor specimen at all; others have told me often enough I am even a-a catch, as you Americans call them. Tell me, how could he ever have chosen that wretched popinjay over me?"
"Jeezus!" Jill giggled and batted at him, tresses flying. "Youare full of yourself, aren't you? What an ass! It's just like Leon said!"
"Eh? Pardon? Full...of myself?" Despard looked down at his trim belly, currently clothed in a very nice waistcoat. "What does that mean, precisely? And…Leon has said this? To you?"
"Yep." Jill nodded firmly, no nonsense. "He did."
"…Oh…"
The cleft chin wobbled, just a bit. Jill, catching sight of it, huffed and gave him a fast forearm rub with her knuckles.
"Look. S'not important, okay?" She pushed the same restless hand through her hair, dislodging the clip so it tumbled down upon her shoulders, instantly removing the last vestiges of 'professional female'. "What Leon said. Leon's an asshole, remember? What's important now is—you,asshole.Riiichard." Fingers grabbed at her fellow detective's shoulder and joggled it fiercely. "There's not a thing wrong with you, alright? You're great—really. Just. Great. Easy on the eye, really well dressed, charming—Frenchified, got this excellent accent—all that."
"Oh, but—"
"Shut up, I'm talking here, okay? Lemme finish. I mean, Richard, it's like you hold the door for me. Me! That never happens! I'm your goddamn fan for life, okay? And I know for fact a lot of other people are, too. You've got the whole goddamned Precinct eating out of your hand, pal; believe me. So don't you worry your pretty li'l head over Leon. Wasn't you, bud—it was him."
"…Yes?" The Interpol officer seemed very dubious. "You are certain there was absolutely…nothing…I could've…might've…? I mean, I can change my appearance—ah! my wardrobe." He flapped his fingers at his fine suiting. "My wardrobe! It was too much, wasn't it? He is fond of this denim—these ridiculous t-shirts, is he not? But…it is but a simple thing to procure another!"
"Oh, jeez…" Jill slapped her forehead in a gesture of frustration. "You're not listening, are you?"
Despard evidently wasn't.
"Or-or is it my hair?" he babbled on. "Is it that he prefers the brunet ones, ma petite? I can, of course, dye it—"
"No, dumb ass—nothing! Don't dye your damned hair, alright? Really, really. It was never gonna happen, you know? You and Leon. This thing with Count D, right? Been a long time comin'.That was gonna happen—no doubt about it. Not your fault, Richard. Not. Your. Fault."
"No?" Despard's face fell. "Nothing? ….And you are, beyond any doubt, certain he won't—there isn't—?"
"No, Richard. No! Give it up, already, okay? No hope. Dead in the water—DOA. But—uh. Look, buddy, you. You're kinda blue right now. An' I can surely understand that. Positive you don't want another? I kinda think you need it, you know what I mean?"
She poked him in the ribs with an elbow, meeting his eyes in the smoky mirror.
"What?" she demanded. "I do!"
"Ah…well…" Despard began to shake his head, but Jill cosied her person right up close to him, practically tipping her bar stool over. "I shouldn't, I know…and yet—"
"You should," Jill ordered emphatically. "Have one anyway, alright? Keep me company. 'Cause you know for fact they're already going at it, bud, Leon and the Count. Probably right now; pro'bly hot and heavy, too, I'll bet. Might as well drink." She poked his pristine suited shoulder with a pink-polished nail. "Nothing to better to do, yeah? Might as well just… drink."
"Argh!" The Interpol officer recoiled and let loose a strangled moan, dropping his leonine head into his elegant hands. "Miss Jill! Darling girl! A favour I beg of you-don't remind me of that bastard faux Count—do not, please, I beg of you! He leaves me so—I just wish to rend his—and—argh!"
"Yup." Jill bobbed her chin and wrapped a quick arm 'round her flailing fellow detective's body. "No, no, there, there, Riiichard. I am so sorry, babyface. Won't mention Count D again, I promise—"
"Please to make certain you don't, ma petite," he friend sniffed sullenly into his Scotch. "It is…painful."
She nodded slowly, all sympathy.
"Sucks, yeah, to be you right now. Tough luck, pal. Now…drink up, Richie baby. Make the best of it. M'not doing this alone, here. You hafta' help me." She laughed, pointing to herself in the mirror. "Can't be a woman drinking alone, Richard, or a p'lice officer. S'not right. Not kosher. Gotta help me."
"Non?" Despard sighed heavily. "Ah! Well…if you were to put it like that…I suppose I must, oui?"
"I'm putting it just like that, Riiichard. Drink, damn you!"
0o0o0o0o
Elsewhere, in Chinatown, the atmosphere was perhaps not quite so convivial, though certainly there had been laughter and lots of it. Trouble was, it was the maniacal sort. The sort that sent shivers through one innocent L.A. Homicide detective's innards.
He stared, nonplussed, at his probably-best-friend-and- sometime-maybe-could be lover, laying prone atop his own prized Oriental carpet, literally shaking with mirth. Snorting with it, gasping with it—with tears in his very unusual eyes because of it.
It was…eerie. Leon didn't like it—not one effing bit. And he made no bones over saying so.
"Jeeeezus gawd, D! Stop with this shit! Get hold of yourself!"
No response but yet more freaking oddball Chinese hilarity—interspersed with tiny gulping snorts every time the Count lifted his lashes and caught a glimpse of his perplexed friend. Leon ground his teeth, irritated and growing more upset with every passing moment.
Count D just fucking laughed.
"Oh, forfuck's sake, D—just! Just please, okay? You're beingreally weird here; weirder even than normal!"
The Count sputtered, squeezing his eyelids shut so tightly together yet more happy tears seeped from beneath them.
"Oh-my-gawd!" Reluctantly, Leon released the upper arms of the perp and took a moment to glower darkly down at him—the asshole, this utter asshole, the who kissed him passionately one instant and then the next instantly lost it to hysteria. "Damn it…What's so fucking funny, huh? Is it me, D? Huh? Huh?"
That earned him a feeble hand flutter and the Count only sailed into another freaky fit of the giggles.
"Well, fuck!"
He sodidn't get this, Leon thought. It wasn't even funny in the least. It was so far from 'funny' it was goddamn in the next effing country! Like maybe in the Baja it was funny, but not here, not now, damn it! And his Count was acting like a total freak-show—and being difficult about it, too. Probably on purpose—it would be just like D to do that to him.
"You crazy person!"
Leon scowled dark as a summer thundercloud, chewing on his lower lip and emitting a species of muffled growl when the semi-muffled laughter didn't cease. But—he peered down carefully-at least it finally looked like D was at last trying to exert a little control.
"Oh—come on, D," he begged hopefully, in a gap between giggles. "Stop already, yeah? Enough's enough—I get the picture. Well, I don't, really, but, could you, now, please? For…for me?"
"Oh—ah! Ahh-hah-hah! Leee-on!"" The magic word only sent D into tiny choking fits. Leon growled again, loudly.
"Fine—be that way. Are you done yet?"
Clearly not. D covered his eyes with his forearm and snorted up his damned silk sleeve.
"…Please be done, D."
…Still not.
"D!"
Nope. Nothing doing.
"…Christ!"
"Ah….hah! Snirk!"
"Dumbass."
"Ooof!"
The Count ceased his wheezing bout of merriment but only—apparently—because he was literally gasping for air, being hopelessly deprived of it, and this well after Leon had passed through over his mini-tantrum and was reduced to semi-patiently sitting back on his haunches to wait it out.
"…Finished yet?"
"Hmmm-ngh!"
The detective had rather thoughtfully kept D's legs trapped between his, on the odd chance that they might yet resume their previously interrupted tryst. He shifted forward to his kneecaps, staring down at the creature laying beneath him, so close and yet clearly so far away, mentally.
This was sexhe was hopefully in the midst of having—'leastways he'd thought it was sex, as it started out that way—and really stupendous sex at that, Leon reasoned. Soft hair, firm ass, great skin. Silk and teeth and some smokin' hot lips on him. Yep. Sex! And the first chance to get off with someone other than his own hand he'd snagged in a very long time, too. He wasn't leaving go of the opportunity for more of same unless he absolutely had to.
Or if the Count absolutely made him. Told him to get off—not in a good way—and skedaddle. 'Cause D might. He…just…might do exactly that, the weirdo, the uptight, foreign animal lover who hated people and probably wasn't all that copacetic with having one—a male one with a hard-on—crouched over him.
Leon sighed bitterly, the corners of his lips curling down.
Problem was…it was sex with D, too, whom he'd occasionally caught himself thinking of as sorta…well, good-looking. In a kinda, sorta girly way, 'cause D was….well, he was pretty, damn it—but not really. More like—not so much 'girly' as just…plain…beautiful.
There wasn't much Leon considered 'beautiful'. But D…D was that. And more.
It was thoughts such as that which had kept Leon pretty much tongue-tied and hamstrung for eons. He'd no idea what to do with them—not a clue. And he wasn't about to say a damned thing about them to the object of those peculiar thoughts, either, 'cause he liked his balls right where they were, thanks. Attached firmly. And his dick, too. And D might very well rip 'em off if Leon were to, say, grope him. Or something. Suddenly.
D, meanwhile, pressed two shaking palms over his mouth to stifle the very last of it, obviously doing his very Zen Master best to regain his legendary control.
"I'm!" he gasped, "I'm—so sorry, Detective. I did not mean—"
"To scare the pants off me?" Leon asked acerbically, scowling darkly. "Cause you did. Really, D, are you—are you done yet?" The demand was petulant.
"Nh! Ngh! Stop-stop, Detective, I beg you!" The Count gargled in response, just a little, swallowing hard.
"No?" Leon clicked his teeth when his tactic didn't work too well and resumed his blue-eyed glaring tactic. It always worked on criminals before; maybe D would finally notice he was a little…call it unhappy, yeah? "'Cause this is getting really old, Count. Fucking moldy-dead thing kinda old. Rotten."
"Oh? R-Really?" That made Count D's eyes widen. He clamped his red lips shut finally and swallowed down the last of his fit. "Is it, Detective? You d-don't say?"
"Um, yeah," Leon shrugged, resentful. "What'd'you think, D—Ilike being laughed at? Think it's funny, do you? 'Cause notice I'm not laughing, D. I don't even know what's going on here."
"Um—hah! But—but most assuredly, Detective," the Count replied as serenely as he could manage, being pink of cheek and with his eyes still sparkling. He settled his shoulders into the plush carpet comfortably, squirming a little as he did and casting a wry glance down between the two of them. Leon knew D was clearly noting where it was on his mostly unclothed person he was pinned immobile by 'his' Detective and how exactly it was Leon had him subdued. "I meant no disrespect, believe me."
"Sure, sure, D," Leon brushed it off. "You've been laughing your ass off at me for five full fucking minutes, okay? I timed it, alright?"
"Oh? Indeed, my dearest Detective. I had no intention of disconcerting you. I was merely—only—"
"Well, fuck me on a stick," Leon swore, shaking his head. "You—you honestly had no idea, D?"
"Indeed. It is so, Detective."
What Leon did not know was that Count D had quite subtly checked him out. There it was, the Count exulted internally—that swell of manly bulge behind his detective's straining zipper. A very handsome swell it was, too. He licked his lips, focusing his eyes upon it, the sign that Leon's libido was still fully engaged. "I am finished. My sincere apologies if I disconcerted you."
"Disconcerted!" Leon shouted, temper threatening once more. "Try fucking freaked me out, D. Jeez!"
And D smiled, his eyelids discreetly lowered; for their pelvic bones were nudged together in a rather exquisite manner and the Detective was very obviously still interested. Very obviously. Approximately nine fully erect inches of 'obviously' and all of it delicious to contemplate.
"Hmm. Yes, yes," D nodded. "I do believe I am, Detective. Finished with that, at least."
"Well, fucking excellent," Leon snapped, bits of him jiggling with ill-hidden impatience as he shifted about above his maybe-would-be-was-possibly-still gonna-be lover. He rocked back on his heels, causing various swells and 'obviouslys' to interact with other 'obviouslys'. "That's just 'effing great, Count! And I'm damned happy for you, alright? You know why?I'll tell you why! 'CauseI want to know what's going on with you, D—sotalk. Talk now and talk fast or I'll haul you down the precinct so quick your frigging Chinese head'll spin and you won't know what hit you. You act like you're on drugs or something, D," he accused, pointing a stolid forefinger. "S'gotta stop."
"No!" A conciliatory hand was raised after the Count regained his composure and long fingers spidered across Leon's bent kneecap in a silent caress. "No, Detective…truly, it is alright. I am…perfectly well, I assure you. I was only—you were so very—"
"What? What was I, D? Talk, damn you! You're confusing the shit outta me! I don't know what to think!"
The detective leaned closer, frowning with all his might, and grasping the tentative hand insinuating itself ever so subtly into the creases of his thighs.
"I mean, first we were…and then we—"
He caught at it, as he'd catch at a lifeline, incredibly grateful that D was no longer laughing maniacally and even more grateful that D didn't appear to be unduly upset or girlishly jealous or in the throes of any other impossibly dangerous emotion. Cause he wanted so badly to touch. All that beauty before him. He…wanted it.
"And-and, I thought, but then you—you!"
Emotions he hadn't the remotest hope of dealing with—the weird-ass laughter had been strange enough!
Itwasrelief—Leon told himself—and not something else that had his heart thumping so wildly. He just didn't like…just really didn't like it when D went all mysterious on him.
…And laughing his ass off during sex was certainly in the category of 'mysterious'. Too fucking right!
"Detective?" D's eyes were soft; that might be a hint of a real smile on those curving usually sneering lips.
"Come on, please, D?" Leon pleaded, changing tactics mid-stream; all big blue eyes and impatient 'little boy' twitching. "I thought we were—and—then, um, you know, okay? And…I really, really don't get it; why you laughed at me, I mean, so? Was I that funny, thinking-? Um. Talk to me. What'd I do? Did I do something wrong?"
The long cool fingers clasped between his own instantly curled tight to his, reassuringly.
"Hmm. My poor Detective. You did nothing untoward, Leon…believe me." Leon noticed the Count kept on with his mysteriously mad smiling act, though he sported a lovely new rose-coloured flush on his pale cheeks. "I was not…displeased, Leon. Far from it."
"Yeah?" Taking heart, the detective waited yet another interminable minute, hoping the Count would say more. When he didn't Leon swallowed, taking his courage by both hands. He was a fucking man, not a weasel, right? He could do this. "O…kay. If you say so." He fumbled with the fingers he was holding, transferring his stare to them instead of directed at D's expression. 'Cause he still didn't get it…and it might be that the sex wasn't ever gonna happen and then where would he be? "…But? Then what happened?"
"…Leon." D purred. Fucking purred. Leon jumped, startled.
It would be so frigging awkward. The detective gulped with a great deal of difficulty, blinking fast. Change—he wasn't too fond of change, nope. Not if it was gonna to be bad. What did that tone of voice mean, exactly? Was it only a deceptive prelude to more giggling?"
"Leon." The Count beckoned him closer, his odd eyes sparkling with secretive amusement. "Cease your pointless fretting, Leon. It is only…it is that it appears—and this to my utter and entire astonishment, believe me—I find I don't much care about this Riiiichard person…nor even Miss Jill. Nor your unfortunate hangers-on down at your place of work—nor even those horrible posters you keep upon your walls, my dearest detective. They are—" He freed his hand from Leon's absentmindedly tight grip to wave it about, like a bird. "Not what matters now. It's you, Detective Orcot…Leon. You're the one."
"Me? Me, me, you mean?" Somehow Leon was managing to make sense of this, though it didn't make any sense at all. "….Really me?"
"Yes, Leon," the Count nodded promptly, eyes very bright. "You. You, my so-dear detective." Like strange stars in the equally strange universe Leon had apparently stumbled into, quite by accident. "You have finally kissed me, my detective –and I would dearly wish you would do it again!"
"What?" The detective didn't quite fully comprehend what D was saying about 'not caring', but he definitely keyed on in the 'do it again' part. He lowered his lecherously achy body back down upon D's again anyway, even with a head stuffed full of the Count's nonsense words and a not-quite-getting it feeling swirling between his ears. He went full-length and sprawling over D while he was at it, figuring maybe he couldn't go too far wrong if D was offering what it sure as hell sounded like he was offering. "This, you mean? Well, shit! Shit yeah, D!"
He did do—the kissing part—but meanwhile scrambling around to hunch over D's prone form quite carefully. Delicately positioned, as if one single wrong move, one slight pressure point exerted a little too hard on that revealed white skin might act to send his Count straight back into that strange place he'd just been…or possibly-maybe might tip Leon right off the surface of known world altogether.
Because he was falling—but not quite over the edge. He was fallen but D's eyes were closed and Leon wasn't sure what to think.
Their lips met; just clung for a few heart-stopping moments.
Good sense aside, the edge began to seem very inviting; Leon groaned, clamping down on his natural urge just to take the Count then and there. Nope—that would be really rude.
"Um….mhhmm," D managed through a mouthful of eager tongue. "Mmmm. Very good, Detective…you are a fast learner. I…like that about you, yes? Very much so. Come here, please. Closer."
Scarlet nails dug into Leon's neck, just lightly. A poke, a prod. Compelling.
"More. And…again."
"…'kay…" Leon mumbled gruffly. "Can do." He lowered himself by another scant degree—barely respirating. Barely anything but the minimum of bodily functions. For his poor heart was pretty much a goner—and so was his equally unfortunate dick. Both felt amazingly full, as if they'd burst their seams any second. Like they were in a lot of danger of exploding—and so was he.
He didn't so much as deepen the kiss as fall into it, blinking.
"Mmm," D purred again, pleased. "Leon…"
D's other hand crept up, cupping Leon's clean-cut jaw fondly, and then slithered through Leon's hair, raking it back off his damp frown-marked forehead. His swollen scarlet lips curved further as his odd eyes opened only to narrow piercingly upon Leon's worried face. It all came together, that look of his, culminating in a particularly inviting, intriguing smile, one that promised a great deal.
Leon jerked, grinding his hips down. Groaned, mainly because he was pretty much speechless.
"Closer, Detective," D urged him, when they paused for a little air. Leon, gasping, had to strain to hear him; his ears were buzzing louder than the drill that SM dentist bitch had used. "I...enjoy this very much, what you're doing. But then…I rather enjoy you, don't I? Did you know?"
"Huh?" Leon blinked blankly. Know what now? Shook his head once at D, his neck bones creaking from being stiff as a rail for so long. Took a lot of out of a guy, not smashing himself into another and just tearing his clothes off. And that was such a wild idea—such a fabulous idea, Leon shuddered. "What's that you say, D? You—you do like?" Well, duh! Of course!
"Of course I do, Leon."
...But not 'duh', either, Leon knew. Not at all. He'd never had much luck just assuming, not when it came down to D. So he wasn't gonna assume anything now, damn it! Wasn't going to even think-!
"Shhh. Don't think. Kiss me, Detective. I beg you," D pleaded, derailing him, his voice molten sugar with cherries on top. Leon swallowed. D seemed totally stuck on this one thing—but it was by no means a bad thing. "Kiss me. Again."
"…Well, okay," Leon sighed, befuddled completely, and he leaned down to peck at D's painted mouth. "I can do that, sure." It thrilled him, definitely—he could get into it damn quick, yeah. Fuck, he was into it already! "If you want—ah! Ah—wait a sec…"
But he drew back from the contact almost immediately, eyeing the Count with some severity and tightening his thankfully not-painful jaw. This was—this was fucking scary. Yes, it was.
"Um. Ah…D? Er…when you say you like this—d'you mean?"
"Enjoy, Leon," D replied pertly, scraping those scarlet talons of his straight down the length of Leon's flinching spine. He rubbed them in circles and Leon could feel himself sagging. "Relax and enjoy; I won't bite you…much."
Leon hesitated yet; the better part of valour considering the odds. He never knew with D…that was always the problem.
"Are-are you sureyou're not going to freak out again? That was really weird, okay, you laughing like that." The detective shook his shaggy head slightly, at a complete loss. "Kinda freaky, and I don't know if I—I mean, it wasn't exactly a joke, you know?" He nodded at their close circumstances. "This. Before. You know—before," he repeated, meaningfully. "When we—and then you—"
"Mmm…Leon." Wordlessly, the fingernails did their magic. Leon went to their urging, his mouth parted slightly and not much good for talking anymore. "Lee…on…"
"Mmh?"
Closed his eyes when it happened. Three times lucky, maybe?
"…'kay…"
Warm mouths touching, gentle this time. But not tentative, no. These mouths had it all figured out, they did. Even if certain blond brains were still stuck back in LaLa Land, floundering.
"Lovely, but. Not like that," D whispered breathily, a moment after, wrapping his arms 'round the hapless Detective's neck and tugging him back down to level most impatiently. "Not so…soft. Harder, Leon. Like this!"
"Mnphf! …so, uh?" Leon's eyebrows went up as he angled his jaw, "you want more? H-Harder? Like—huhnnn?"
"Nhn."
Count D nipped him, hard enough for Leon's lower lip to swell poutily.
"Ouch! Fu-hey, D! What wasthat for?" Leon licked at the tiny wound slowly, cogitating, somehow liking the taste of his own blood…that is, if D did.
"Exactly so, Detective," the Count smirked. "Punishment. You're a fast learner, my dear sir, but not fast enough."
"Er—I don't wanna hurt you, D."
"Harder is like this, Detective." The Count brought his knees up, clamping his thighs tight to Leon's loins; ground his pelvis upwards, so there was no possible way the Detective could mistake what was happening between D's legs for anything other than a very serious matter. One that needed attention, stat. "More means this, Detective." He rolled his hips seductively; Leon moaned aloud. "Do you understand now?"
"Hey!" Leon yelped again—but that was soon swallowed. "I can—I can go in? Oh? Ohhhhh!"
"Detective…" the Count murmured some little while later, that cultured voice smooth as cream and rich with promise. "Detective, by 'like this', I certainly was referring toharder-and more. Faster—and deeper…and yet more, Detective. Yes, of course you may 'go in', my idiot detective. Give me everything you have, Leon. Because I very much want it."
"You—you do?" Leon brightened instantly. By one million watts. "Really? All the way in, D?"
"Mmmm…hnh-nn." The slather of sharp tongue over Leon's flinching Adam's apple went a long way toward convincing him. "All…the…way, assuredly."
"Well—fuck yeah, D!—I can do that, sure—mmph!" Leon nodded madly, grinning like an idiot till the Count impatiently yanked him floorwards again and basically licked the goofy curve right off his stupidly stretched lips. Okay! His brain trilled. Okay-okay—okay! Thisisgood—reallygood! Cooking with gas, now—notjustanaberration!
"Lee…on…"
Leon's brain was promptly short-circuited by the long-nailed hand cupping his balls and squeezing.
"Oh—oh,yeah, D….like that, yeah!"
"Precisely so, Detective!"
They rolled over, folding in upon one another, wrestling like wild animals and rutting like them, too…and when D's favourite teapot bit the proverbial dust with a clatter-and-crash, neither gave a flying fuck or a hot damn. Not at all.
0o0o0o0o
The afternoon had not been without decent result elsewhere. Copious amounts of single-malt and a distinct lack of lunch had led the Interpol officer completely off-base. No longer disappointed so much, he was far more…distracted.
Of course, there were benefits to a liquid lunch with a colleague. The particular hotel the visiting Interpol Inspector was staying in was a very cushy one and located close by the precinct. The mattress was king-sized and the sheets were high-count thread Egyptian cotton. The bathroom was opulent and room service was five-star, but—none of that mattered much to one particular otherHomicide detective. The visiting one's self-appointment mentor and cheerleader, a certain 'Miss Jill'.
She sat up abruptly, sateen duvet falling promptly off her kiss-marked breasts, and glared down at the handsome foreign lout lying stretched out full-length and replete beside her. The one with the accent—the one with the extremely gifted, abnormally long tongue.
"You, there!" She jostled him roughly. "Wake up, damn it!"
The one who'd been whining his little ass off not long ago in lovelorn despair over Leon.
"Wh-wha?" came the sleepy mutter. "Mmm…no, thank you," it mumbled politely, its owner rolling over to bury his touseled head farther in the pillows. "Maybe later, ma cherie…ngh."
"Sheesh! You really have no head for your liquor, do you?" Jill complained, whapping a tanned buttock in passing and flailing about for the side of the wide mattress. The bed was a tleast a full city block wide, damn it. She had to crawl to reach the night table. "Thought you were kidding me," she snarled, making her way carefully, "but guess not. By god, how bigis this bed, anyway? I can't find the goddamn end!"
Despard—politely—moaned quietly, snuggling into the covers.
"…'orry."
"Richard—damn it, payattention." Jill wasn't by means satisfied with stupid 'Sorry's from stupid Frenchmen. "Wake the hell up and listen to me already—it's not even dinner time yet! What the fuck did we do all day long?"
"Mnmhhh." The Frenchman did mutely consent to roll over, so Jill could at least glare at his face. "Erm..fuck, actually. Yes? You did not like it?"
"Immaterial!" Jill snapped instantly, settling down against the second heap of pillows. "So, look, bub." She jabbed a finger into the air inquisitively. "What're we going to do about your murder victims, hon?" The finger fell to poking Richard fiercely on his naked bicep when he remained inert and mostly unresponsive. "Really, Riiichard, we should be getting back to that…kinda urgent, you know? There's the Chief—he'd probably livid now. And it's two damned homeless guys dead in a row now and it can't keep happening. So the Chief's right, yeah? Has to be stopped, asshole. We can't be sleeping away the day when we're supposed to be working. I don't know what the hell you were thinking, dragging me to the bar like that! I mean, we're detectives, Riiiichard—we're supposed to be out detecting, okay? Richard?"
"Hmm? But—but! I was not me, my little flower! I object!"
"Yes it was," Jill was adamant. "Of course it was you. I never go boozing that early in the day, Richard. All you fault, damn it."
"Ah….I see now. So be it, then, ma petite. I shall take the blame for our little…indiscretion."
Jill huffed, crossing her arms over her breasts.
"You're damned well right you will—so there, pal! Not my fault!"
"Hmm…" The handsome lout blinked slowly and yawned, stretching. He then regarded the visible parts of Jill narrowly, like a hungry lion. After a moment he ventured, cautiously, "Jill, my sweet, are you not the littlest bit…sleepy?" He waved a languid hand in the dusky environs of his bedroom. "Worn out? Fatigué, perhaps? Just a little?" he wheedled. "I am. Me, I am exhausted now. I've been wrung dry, mon ange. You—you are a tigress in bed, my darling—a tigress!"
"Right, right," she nodded, absentmindedly. "Thanks. Sure thing, bub. But…you know, work?"
"Nhmm…" Despard only rolled away again, shrugging. "Bah," he mumbled, facing the window. "No work. Head hurts. Maybe…maybe tomorrow, my heart. For now—sleep. Food. And…perhaps—"
"No—really. No more, Richard; we can't be doing this. And you-you're a total wimp, dude. Jeez! You try my patience. I am so having a cigarette right now. Shit!"
Jill gathered the lavender-scented linen sheet about her, a little off-balance after several very physical rolls in the hay with the visiting detective (not to mention the shower!...and also the emergency stairwell on the way up to the tenth floor, by friggin' god, as they'd haphazardly stumbled their way to the place where 'Riiiichard' was flopping, having been not-so-politely ushered from the hotel bar). The same visiting detective who was honestly supposed to have a serious 'thing' for her partner.
Hmmm…couldn't prove that by her. No. Nuh-huh. No way.
"Work." Leaning over the side of the mattress, she dug in her purse for her smokes – the ones she used rarely, but generally on occasions like this. "Work, work, work. We should do some, as Leon definitely isn't. You get me?"
"Work? Ah, bah!"
Her bedmate shrugged away the question of work, his face completely relaxed in the light of the dimmed, watery, late afternoon sunlight when he shifted again to face her.
"You," Richard announced accusingly, "are very focused, my sweet. Did you know?"
"Yeah, work," Jill frowned at him. "I do know, thanks. I happen to have a job, okay—pays the bills, bub. So do you, Mister Lotus Eater. Pays for your really nice—" she flapped her half-smoked cigarette—"digs, okay? And…hey, hey! I thought you were gay, Detective Despard?" She grinned over hunched shoulder blade at the recumbent Richard, who'd his nicely muscled arms casually crossed behind his head. "'Cause you're been sort of sending me some mixed signals, pal. You know?"
"Hngh."
Richard grunted, grinning faintly. He flexed his long lean body, stifling another languorous yawn and making very sure his bed partner caught a glimpse of his package. Even limp and somewhat sticky, it was—as Riiichardwould say—magnifique.
Jill refused to be impressed. She snorted.
"Hmphff!"
Well…more impressed. She'd been there, done that—owned the t-shirt. Was a card-toting Detective Despard groupie, yes indeedy. But….but now was the time to get bustling back to business, yeah. Before Chief had their respective asses hauled to his office….and maybe, too, they clear up a few niggling questions, more of a personal nature. Such as why her passing crush had made such a huge about-face, after sobbing into his Scotch over stupid, silly—very much taken—Detective Leon Orcot
"Care to explain this?" She waved the smoke of the cigarette in an amused question at their general state of undress, including the really posh hotel room and the undeniable fact they were together in it. "'Cause it's not looking too gay right now, Riiichard. I mean,really. That's some impressive equipment you've been packing. I'm impressed."
Richard grinned even more widely, entirely at his ease. Cleared his throat importantly and—and winked!
"Bi, actually, my sweet. I happen to like both sexes. Or maybe…all." He winked a second time at Jill's blush. "Though it's usually the gentlemen for me. But, eh." He bobbed his handsome chin at her, smiling sweetly. "Women are so prettily made that at times I just can't seem to help myself." He sat up beside her abruptly, uncoiling his length and deftly tucking down pillows behind them, and then helped himself to a drag from Jill's cigarette. Man was smooth; he did it effortlessly even though his head must be pounding. Jill's eyes widened in silent appreciation. "You, for example, ma petite. You are very pretty, Miss Jill. Enchante."
"Huh? Really? I didn't know." Jill pulled a disbelieving face. "Neat."
"Hmm." Despard leant far more closely, draping himself familiarly over her bent arm and upper body but deftly avoiding the descending smoke from her cigarette. It tainted the air blue between them, like a ghost, perhaps. Of things past. "Perhaps you did not hear me? Let me repeat, yes? Like you, for example," he breathed it in her ear, making her giggle. "You're verrrypretty. So delightfully so I couldn't prevent myself…Jill."
"'Pretty', huh? Is that what you're looking for—that type? Then how'd you end up with me, Richard? You must've been really wasted." Jill giggled again, half-teasing, half-shy, but very much blushing all over. "Really wasted, man." She stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray he promptly handed her, inordinately pleased at the compliment. "'Specially after Leon. That stupid idiot's not 'pretty'—he's just plain hot!"
"…Ah, well. Yes."
Richard only slid a comforting arm about her, tugging her closer, so that she lay back against it. He stashed the dirtied ashtray on the oak bedside table and smiled serenely into her tumbled mass of blonde hair, with all his winsome charm broadcasting loud and clear, so that Jill couldn't help but feel it enveloping her like a cloud of manly pheromones.
"As to that. Say…if life is but a garden, my sweet Jill, if you will allow me the fancy? If it is, then you," he kissed her neck softly, sucking in an earlobe and letting it go most sinfully slowly after he'd indented it with his teeth.
"Oh! Oh, stop!"
"You are a daffodil, Mademoiselle," the Frenchman murmured huskily, taking full advantage of the fact that he was really very French indeed. "A narcissus, as our dear Leon is a proud upstanding tulip – both golden-hued flowers in the glorious garden of Love, begging to be plucked. So hard to choose between you, you see. There is so much to admire, here—" he kissed his way up her neck, till she gasped helplessly, slumping sideways and across his lap.
"…And here—and here. Indeed," Despard growled in her ear, "you are both most attractive to me, no matter whom it is I may have…feelings for. For all that, ma cheri, I truly—truly—" he nipped her throat, "have no difficulty at all 'getting it up'—as you Americans say so crudely—for you, my sweet Jill."
"Idiot!" Jill flushed at the intriguing tickle of his lips against her throat…and nestled closer. "Um. Want to go again?"
"Maisoui, my little flower." Richard deftly turned her naked body in his arms, brushing his well-shaped mouth against hers in passing, murmuring lewd things through the wet trail of their saliva. "We shall fuck until we can forget, yes? And…'screw the Chief, shall we? Let us take our dear Leon's advice."
A breathless Jill laughed again, nodding helplessly, and let herself be tenderly wrestled atop Detective Despard's hips, enjoying the grasp of his long-fingered hands 'round her own soft ones.
She grasped his sturdy manhood firmly, already rising to the pulse of blood thundering at her wrists and her crotch. Heady it was, the feel of cock throbbing beneath her bottom—the ultimate seduction. And—though she didn't know it and never, ever would-her kiss-smeared lips curved into the twin-sister of that same exact smile Count D was, at just that very exact moment, turning brilliantly upon his paramour.
"Oui, oui, Monsieur!" she agreed, diverted. "I think—ah! I think… I can… may-ooo!—whee!-be help you with that!"
0o0o0o0o
The Parlour of the Pet Shop was an utter shambles. For once in a blue moon the proprietor could care less about the mess. He sighed instead; a whisper of purest satiation, his odd eyes closed and blind to the shards of porcelain, the scattered remnants of cake and scone, butter and cream and crumbs.
"Mmmm," he groaned throatily. "Leon!"
"This way, babe. Lean toward me." Leon was situated on the bottom, spine pressed into crumb-strewn carpet, with D's pretty ass perched like a velvet butterfly spread atop the jutting bones of his pelvis. He put a greedy hand around one smooth buttock and silently urged the Count into position. Their skin slipped as it met, wet as it was with come and perspiration. Saliva, too, partially dried.
Hands and mouths were all very well; this was the real thing—the kicker, as it were. And D knew it. Leon knew it.
But D purred.
"Mnn." He bit his upper lip in concentration, his white teeth making a small indentation in the scarlet bow. He frowned, curious as to how to fit the puzzle together properly. "This is…this awkward, Detective. Most…awkward. Are you certain…?"
He edged down gingerly, millimeter by scant millimeter and scowled faintly all the while.
"Shit! Does it hurt, D?" Leon frowned in return, worried shitless and head swimming, for it was unbearably tight at the very beginning and D had drawn his elegant black brows together in a faint grimace of what might have been pain…or possibly a single-minded, steely determination. One never could guess with D.
They'd both come already—couple of times now; hands, mouth, tongues, yeah—but not inside. And inside D was where Leon longed to be…but not if it would hurt him. The idea of hurting D made him glower so feociously the Count literally leapt in shock, tensing.
"Leon!…Leon?"
"Hey!" Leon fretted, running his hands down a lean ribcage, petting, petting away. "You really alright up there, D? 'Cause I'm going as slow as I can, babe, but you—you're really tight. Like—really effing tight, D."
He clenched his jaw, sending a silent wild thanks off to D's evil dentist, who'd made that possible again…somehow.
"You ever do this—ack!—before? I mean…I can stop." He shrugged. Or tried to, and tried to look sorta sincere while he was doing it. "If…if you want?"
"Ungh! No – no, it doesn't, Leon," D assured him through gritted teeth. "It. Does. Not. Hurt! Ahh! A little more, please – yes! Just like that! Don't you dare stop!"
D smacked him, right across the left nipple, and pushed himself down, wincing. Leon took that as a command. He thrust accordingly, hips lifting high off the woven roses and vines.
"Ahh! D! Baby!" With a squelching noise and a nerve-singeing friction, they meshed fully together at last in a swift and sure motion. "Easy-easy-easy!" A resounding jolt which rendered them both unable to do much more than gasp at the suddenness of their intimate connection. "D!"
"Nrrgh! Lee—" the Count was yanked down by fierce fingers and kissed thoroughly by his captive, whose hard hips ground upward and sideways in a mind-shattering echo of the slow dance of their tongues. "Oh, Le—ugh!"
"Just—like—that!" gasped the detective, red-faced again and panting. "Better, yeah? Now it's better? Oh-fuck-me, it's so much better! Ooooh, baby!"
"—on!" Leon bucked up forcefully and D bore down, riding him instinctively, clenching his thighs together, plummeting and rising up on his knees—and moaning throatily when Leon drove deep. "Leon!" he panted. "That's—I can't—you're so!"
"I—!"
"Hmn?"
"I….think – thinkI—I-think-I!"
The detective was reduced to wordless lip-flapping, his handsome face screwed up in an animal mask of pleasure.
"Wha—what?" The Count leant closer, trying to catch whatever it was his lover might be struggling to utter. "Leon?"
"I-I-I!" the Detective stuttered, waving a hand around madly. "You!"
"What, Leon? Wh-ohhh—! Great Buddha!"
He was incapable of completing his question, the hapless Count, for his detective was mightily engorged within him and a subtle ripple along the length of his throbbing organ sent D into nervous spasms; happy ones. Ones that made everything in the world seem blindingly wonderful. Supremely delicious; mortifyingly superb. And then Leon shoved repeatedly, jack-hammer style: up and down-up and up-up, his back arching manic off the floor, his short, stubby fingernails nearly biting through the carpet, and screamed. Screamed!
"—thinkIloveyou!"
"Oh!" the Count gasped. "Oh-ho! Hah—hah—hah! Mer—mercy!"
It was cataclysmic, the effect upon D. He rose high, impaled and writhing, and then collapsed down, weightless and floating as he, too, ejaculated, spraying a thin, milky veil of cum all over Leon's clenched face and corded neck, his upper chest and taut-clenched abdomen.
"Mh-mh-nnnnnh!" Leon exhaled noisily, going completely limp beneath his burden. "Nnh!"
"Agh," Count D mumbled, undone, already in the process of falling down 'splat!' "Mmmm…Le—Leon."
"Oh. God." Leon said after a long silent moment of staring blankly at the dim plaster rosettes of the corniced ceiling. Languidly he swiped a rueful hand across his blond-stubbled jaw. It felt fantastic—everything felt fantastic—but.
"Hey…" But! Damn it all! "Um. D. Um, sorry. That was fast. Little too fast, yeah. I'm…um, I'm sorry 'bout that. Kinda…kinda out of practice—like I said, sorry. Er…ah? Do better next time?"
"Um-hmm," D agreed, his head lying limply atop Leon's damp chest. He didn't have the energy left to smile, but he would've if he could've – Leon was just that good. "S'alright, Detective. No worries."
"Um…really sorry," Leon muttered, looking anywhere but at D in his shame. "Usually I can go a little longer; make it last, but—well, you."
His fingers curled stiffly, grasping at D's faintly heaving sides. His body might be flattened into an inert leap but his dick was still rigidly hard. He remained sheathed in the froth of his own cum and the tight, warm walls that clasped him, fluttering softly. It couldn't possibly get better than this – except he now knew that it could, and just how to make it so.
Which he'd really like to do, yeah. If D could maybe find it in his Grinchy heart to forgive Leon for coming like a thirteen year old kid.
"Um, you," Leon mumbled, determined to set this situation to rights. "You're just…and I…so it…y'see? I mean I couldn't help it, D. Been a while, too. Not that that's an excuse or anything. But…um."
"Detective?" The Count rolled his heavy head across Leon's breastbone, peering upwards through his lashes. "Detective, be quiet. You were perfect. Perfect."
"Oh, hey! Really?" Leon grinned like a fool - and twitched his muscles, meaningfully. By which he meant his cock. Which was still quite, quite obvious, up D's ass and all. Opened his mouth to maybe say something more—likely foolish shit to match the smile he knew he was wearing. "Er…?"
Visibly thought better of it. And blinked a lot at D, who was..beautiful. Yep.
"Detective?" D cocked a puzzled brow at him. "You wish to say something to me?"
Leon blushed. Like a fire hydrant—that colour of red. His neck felt hot, he was blushing so much. This was. This was really difficult, and no wonder he'd never gotten himself in this position before, because he obviously sucked at it, saying stuff to somebody. Else.
"Er. D. It's just—it's not my fault you're so pretty, D. 'Cause…you kinda are, you know? Don't take offense, okay? But youare and s'not fair. I mean—you cheat. You're always in those dress things and they're almost see-thru' sometimes and then you bend over and you smile—"
"Excuse me?"
"I mean, you've got kind of a built-in advantage, yeah? I'm just sort of…well, when I see you, like, I just want…I want you. A lot, D. Can't—um. Can't help it, sorry."
"Leon," D groaned, enervated by any number of feelings, the large part of them being composed of blissful relief. He shifted slightly, enough to eye his still vaguely mumbling, completely inarticulate detective severely. As a secondary part of the emotion coursing through his veins was sheer disbelief. Had he not be glaringly obvious in his preferences? No one could be this dense….could they?
"—so I—and you—there's that smile. S'pretty. All teeth—"
Apparently they—he—could.
"Leon Orcot," D interrupted loudly, "you are not the most diplomatic of gentleman, are you? I am hardly 'pretty'," he went on to sneer. "Indeed!" he tutted. "I am—most definitely, Leon—not 'pretty'. You may call me any number of other things, Leon, but not that, please. Understand? However…"
Leon gulped, eyeing his Count nervously.
"Huh. Right, D. Whatever you say, then.Not pretty. Hoo-kay. Gotcha."
But D, for all his momentary ire, couldn't ignore the suggestive little sideways hump-and-roll of the detective's hips nor the calloused fingertips that slid so softly-sweetly down his flanks, nor the expanding heat within him that stretched him so sweetly. For his detective's lovely cock had never quite exited him, not even when semi-flaccid.
"Mmm. Hmm?"
D wriggled experimentally and found the answering motion exciting, and then he found himself suddenly sideways, lying on the carpet, with a bright-eyed and amorous detective grinning right up close to the tip of his elegant nose.
"Uh…D? Whatcha' doing?"
"….Hmmm…."
"You didn't answer me," Leon prodded. He bit the point of D's chin in retribution. "Before. You know? You alright, Count? I didn't hurt you or anything? Go too hard?"
"Hmm? What do you—oh!" D's pesky detective had begun a species of rocking motion; a seaside sway that had the intriguing effect of carrying the Count along with the metaphorical waves. And he had his thumbprint planted firmly—slyly-on the slit of D's cock, pressing down. "Ah! A-again, Detective? So soon again?"
"Oh, yeah!" Leon growled, vastly encouraged. Even D's prick was pretty, all white and pink like that. And sticking straight out, leaking like a faucet with a bad drip. "S'okay?" He ducked his chin, blushing. "I mean. Said I was sorry, right? Make it up to you now, okay? Show you a good time."
D forgot to breathe for a second. He gulped, which he'd never in his life done before—not like this, with his jaw slack and his eyes wide, wider than imaginable, and all he could see was the shy gleam in blue, blue eyes.
"D?"
It was the faint note of worry emerging in Leon's voice that brought D abruptly back to the fact the detective was waiting for an answer. Patiently waiting, bless him. And not just the obvious answer, either. As there'd been yet another rather burning question tucked into their inane conversation about 'making it up' and 'going again'…something momentous the detective had burst out with, in his usual ragtag fashion. And he was clearly fretting over it, even as he kept up that delightful motion of hip-rock and thumb-swirl.
"That's—that's if you want me to…? 'Cause if you don't—I mean, I understand and all. It's your first time—"
"Shush, Detective." D smiled, long, lean-eyed and sweet. Squinted and regarded the bulge of his lover's bicep most particularly, smirking. "I'm thinking."
"Hey, D!"
D knew the answer; had been waiting to mention it aloud for ages now, but the time hadn't been right, what with the fact that he'd been relatively mindless for the last little while. And laughing like a loon before that.
"So…" his detective asked carefully, "that means you are up for it?"
D grinned over the memories: full- out, his lips stretched thin and his teeth gleaming white in the gathering dusk-in an unintentional mirror of his brand-new lover's current sappy expression.
"Oh…Leon. You idiot man."
"What? Hey!" Leon glared. "I amnot an idiot, D—why does everyone keep calling me that, anyway? I'm a detective, damn it—and because I'm a detective, it kinda follows I've got a brain, okay? And I use it—all the damned time! Trust me on that!"
"Shhh, Detective," D smiled. "I know it, believe me." His elegant features crinkled in unguarded delight, and then he embraced the idiot as hard as he possibly could at that awkward angle, ever mindful of the heated flesh that filled him. "I was but attempting to let you know, my dear Detective, how it is I…well. May I say simply: and I you, my dearest detective."
Leon—as usual—had no clue. Didn't get it. But he startled anyway, sending his prick another inch or so into D to the great though unspoken satisfaction of them both. He grunted; the Count moaned happily.
"H-Huh? Oh-fuck-ouch! How can you still be so tight, damn it? Stop squeezing my dick like that, D! You'll make me cum again or something! And—hey, uh? D?"
"Nhgh-eh?" D, having said his piece, was in process of checking out of the House of Logic. He only grinned, fluttering his lashes.
"Oh…oh, fuck!"
Leon shoved—mainly as he couldn't seem to stop, or even pause for too long a time, and thrust. Threw his hips forward again when D's mouth dropped open, gaping unashamedly, and his brilliant purple-and-gold eyes clenched tight shut in reaction.
"D. D! You're so hot—yes you are—but! What did'ja mean before, D? The 'I, you' thing? Speak English, damn you—oh! Oh,shit! It's—um—it's not too soon, is it? Am I going too fast for you? Cause I—see, I. Wanna make it last, this time. If—if you—can I?"
Count D was made of stern stuff; not even having his insides rearranged by an ardent human could completely discompose him…most times. Granted… there was effort involved. Inhuman amounts of it.
"Yes?"
"D?"
"Mmmm…is that not the general idea, Detective? That I 'make you come'…or something?" D teased. "You would like that I do this?"
That was stupid, Leon thought. He was stupid, too, though. They made no sense, either of them; no sense at all…except maybe to each other.
"Sure! I mean, good, yes—please!"He went red again, blustering. And then paled abruptly. "But – but you have to promise me something, D."
Because the vision that had just struck Leon was a very horrible one—and very humiliating.
"Uh?" The Count started, swallowing, for the rhythm had become quite persuasive and he wasn't really in the mood to pay attention even if Leon wanted to talk. Conversation could occur—would occur, if he'd anything to do with it—later. Much later. Over tea.
And cake.
Having decided this, he opened his eyes wide and made an effort to focus on Leon's face. "Mmh?"
"Er." Leon stared fixedly over D's one shoulder, his face carefully composed. "Um. Please don't tell Jill about this, okay? Aboutus, for chrissake, doing this, that is. Um. Er, not yet, anyway. I don't want to hear it, you know? She'll never stop."
"Ah?" A raven brow quirked nastily. "Ah?"
"Yeah!" Leon nodded furiously, mistaking the eyebrow for acceptance. "It's scary, you know? What she'll say to me?"
He flinched at the thought of Jill's raillery – the way she'd tease him unmercifully of she ever found out he and D were an item. He'd rather suffer the drills of D's dentist without Novocain first.
"Hmm," D murmured blandly. "Go on."
"I mean, it'll be…it'll be really awful, D, and I kinda hafta to go to work, you know? So…um. If you wouldn't mind not…not saying anything, I'd sure appreciate it. Okay?"
"I see."
The Count smiled frostily, his eyes flashing sharp as cut glass, and ceased all his many elegant motions of answering interest abruptly—without warning.
"He-hey!"
"And why not?" he demanded sharply. "Miss Jill is your friend, is she not? Why should she care so much, Mr. Detective Orcot? Or, is it…is it that you are ashamed of me, Mr. Detective? You are—you are uneasy that you are involved with a man, perhaps? A dubious foreigner bearing a false title? I am certain your so-self-important Detective Despard thinks of me exactly in that manner.So, Detective," he continued inexorably. "So. You wish to—to hide me? Deny-" he fluttered fingers, indicating all they shared between them. "This?"
"What? Whaaaat?" Leon was shocked. But not speechless, for once, thank fuck. "No! No, no, no; not that—never that! Jeez! I just want–" He paused, thinking fast. He scowled in thoughtful worry, shrugging. "Look, I just want to–to keep it private a little longer, okay? So we can get to know each other, ah, um, 'better', before we start off by telling the world."
"…Hmm. 'Better', you say, Detective?"
D eyed his detective suspiciously for a long moment, his body tense as spun steel, before he relaxed a barest millimeter at a time, his shoulders slumping. "…Better, you say…"
Leon breathed a tiny, silent sigh of relief, for D had been clenching him tightly, and the pressure had not been pleasant at all.
"Hm. We do not know one another well enough now, Detective? I, for one, would say we do. Pardon me if I am assuming, but-" D gestured broadly, his fingers quite expressive.
"But…" Leon cycled back to his usual dull red, gulping, and stared piercingly at the juncture of their thighs and the sight of himself, swallowed up by that tight pink hole. "But, what you're saying is, you don't really think of me that way anyway and I—I just made an ass of my-"
"No! This is certainly…intimate. Detective." The eyebrows slanted nastily; the Count's eyes flashed. "No? My mistake?"
"No!" Leon gulped, flushing. "No—that is! It's goddamned intimate, for god's sake, okay? Yes—and there's no wayI'm ashamed of you, babe! I'm not—really I'm not! You're hot—hotter than hellfire, D! And—and you're the best thing that's ever happened to me, I swear! Really you are—I mean it! You're my friend—I mean I—I…"
"Hmm." D nodded, after a split-second pause of utter silence. "But…you wish to wait, despite that. And that's it? A brief period of…privacy, Leon? For an unspecified period of time. You merely wish to wait, perhaps a few days, perhaps a month, maybe more, merely to allow the anticipated disquiet in the office to settle? Then—and only then—you will be sure to let her know?"
"Um—ah, yeah! Yes—yes I will! Promise!" Leon nodded briskly, grinning like a moron at the face of diverted disaster, and slid his fingertips up D's spine in an effort to distract him from setting a specific date. "Absolutely, D. I just don't—didn't!—want to share you with anybody, babe – not just yet."
"…Really, now?" Evidently the Count liked the thought of that, for he tilted his face for Leon's kiss. "I…see, perhaps." But he seemed dubious, all the same. "Or perhaps not, but…I hope so," he murmured and Leon caught a barest glimpse of a vast loneliness behind the fan of his black lashes as they swept his flushed cheek. "Leon."
"No. Oh, fuck, no!" Leon cringed in terror. He'd screwed up again; he just knew it. "That's not it, D! I'm wrong, okay—completely wrong. I'm sorry—so sorry—you don't know how sorry I am-"
He couldn't help it, the rush of regret and anger and pride that ripped through him: to hell with Jill and with stupid kissy-face ,clingy Richard and anyone who might make fun of them! To hell with his own cowardice and indecision— to hell with everyone who wasn't D!
"…Leon?"
"No! No – look! Forget it, okay? I changed my mind, D! I'll call her right now – right this minute! Just let me get my phone—"
"Leon."
"—so you don't have to worry, okay, baby? It'll be fine, I swear. We'll tell everyone we know, okay? The Chief and Chris and all the Pets, too. Everybody and their fucking brother! We can just deal with it and I'm sure she'll stop after a month or so—"
The Count blinked at him.
"Leon, that's not necessary. I've as much as agreed-"
"But I want to! You're special, D! I – I loveyou! Said it earlier—guess you didn't hear me—but that's okay, so—"
"I did indeed hear you, Leon. Hush, now."
D stopped him with a kiss. Leon pouted, 'cause he really, really did—love D, that was. A…lot. More than—more than most anything. Even if D was maybe pretending he hadn't noticed; even if D never…never felt the way Leon felt. In return.
It was okay. It would work out. For a while—and that was all he asked for, really. Just a while. A while would be great. Better—much better—than nothing at all.
"D!" he whined, "come on, let me? I mean it! I can call 'em right now. All of 'em."
D shook his head, black locks falling into their shiny smooth curve. He was beautiful, yes.
"It's not necessary, Leon. You were right; we don't need to tell anyone, not as long as we know. I was being but stupidly jealous—I admit, this is the first-"
"Jealous?"
"But of course, Detective." The Count stared down at the detective as if he were crazy. "Of Miss Jill and that unfortunate Richard person," he swallowed with some difficulty. "And Them – and all those young women you used to chase after. Who had the gall to chase after you. Silly, I know." The Count ducked his head, so that it rested right under Leon's chin. "So…ridiculous of me. Do forgive it, Leon, my lapse. I'm sorry to press you—I am," he added and even seemed a little apologetic to Leon's amazed eyes. "It isn't seemly to—for two such as we are to be so demonstrative—certainly not before your colleagues—or mine, for that matter…no. No, of course not."
"Oh, no! No, no, no! No—fucking—no! Hold it right there, D. Stop—shut up."
Leon very carefully wrapped his arms around D, holding him gently, securely, as though he held the most precious treasure in the entire world. He buried his mouth in the black, scented silk that was D's hair as he tugged him down and whispered, his breath warming the thin skin beneath it. He whispered, because someone had to say it out loud but it didn't need to be that loud. It was loud enough already—right in his face kind of unavoidable, like. Like it was a long time coming, and yeah, Leon guessed it was, too.
…Because Jill would rub his nose in it. And Richard Despard would pout at him. And probably stare and then maybe ask questions…searching questions, because he was actually a decent detective, even if he was…was…whatever. That wasn't important. What wasimportant was that Leon wouldn't know what to do—or say—because he wouldn't have told Count D out loud. To his face. D, who had the most right—of them all—t o know.
Leon gulped. He was a man, right? A real man, the kind of man who could say shit like this and survive. That kind. Just like D was the kind of man who could wear dresses and still be scary as shit. And…beautiful with it. That kind.
"I love you, for fuck's sake! I mean I – I didn't evenknow I loved you, not until we did it, but I do, somuch – and I would be happy to tell everybodythat, babe, anytime, anywhere. You—you're just—you're fantastic, D. You're just…so…so—"
"Leon."
"I mean, believe me, D, when I say I—"
"Leon. Be quiet!"
The Count's head twisted; his face turned, and he covered Leon's mouth with his own soft lips, nipping, sipping, teasing a smile from Leon's grave face. Such an earnest face, and the eyes—those blue eyes were his downfall.
No…it was all of him. This silly Detective of his—all of him, every particle. So much…so much to love. And yet—
Yet, and really, a man—even a not-quite-human man—a gentleman shouldn't be so free and easy with all his secrets. There was that question hanging, yes, but it could hang for a while longer, could it not?
"Kiss me, Detective," he purred, his eyes bright again, and Leon did so, wordlessly, for they needed no more words for the moment. "Put that mouth of yours to better use, Detective," D ordered softly, between slurps of tongue and fond nips. "Show me—as you say?—a 'good time'? Won't you?"
END
With XOXO's and apologies to everyone who waited so long and so patiently; I hope it pleases you. Happy Hollydaze, Tiger