Samoan Thor II
Hobbs shut and bolted his door behind him out of habit. He moved to the bedroom putting his duffel bag on the bed and unpacking it before repacking it so it was ready for his next trip. There was always a next trip. Then instead of undressing himself and showering off work as he usually did he simply sat down on the bed. For several minutes he sat there staring at nothing before giving in and laying down, his legs hanging off the side, boots still on.
He didn't know what was wrong with him. Why he couldn't stick to his usual routine. But he didn't move. Hours later he woke with a stiff back. Sitting up he leaned down and unlaced and removed his boots. Then he padded to the bathroom. He was a big man and his work was physically demanding. The reason he'd taken this specific apartment even though the rent was steep was the bathroom. It was luxurious in the extreme. Marble, separate bath and shower. And the shower head was a work of art. The settings he could get with it were beyond belief. His body needed them with the abuse it took as well as the abuse he doled out to it. He knew he pushed it to the limits physically, he liked being fit, he liked being strong. So he made himself that way.
He is half way through his shower just relaxing under the water when he feels it. He clasps a hand to his chest as he feels his heart start thudding uncontrollably. Beating erratically without reason. And he cannot get his breath no matter how he tries. He doubles over as pain fills every fiber of his being. His mouth is open but no sound is coming out. Heart attack is what he thinks at first but he has no tingling, no numbness in his arms. He manages to stand upright, the hot water running down his frame. As he moves to turn it off his eyes see the newly inked parts of his tattoo and he thinks of how Tej used to lick at them when they were together.
And he knows. He knows he is not having a heart attack. He leans his palm on the wall instead, letting the water run. His other hand clenches into a fist pushing on his chest. He wishes he could push it right into his chest and cut out that traitorous piece of shit called a heart. Then he wouldn't be feeling this way. Because he knows now what is happening is punishment for letting the best thing that had happened to him walk out of his life. He'd been fucking stupid to get together with Tej at all. Or at least that's what he'd told himself. When they'd been comforting each other over Giselle and he'd discovered Tej liked his ears being played with he hadn't been able to help himself. He'd had to, needed to touch him, to be touched and comforted in return.
But it was his own fault he'd returned to him. He could have and should have left it after he'd given them their pardons. But he'd come home one night to this empty place he called home. He'd been lying in bed and he'd needed Tej. He hadn't questioned it. He'd simply called. And Tej had been there. He tries to smile when he remembers how hungry he was with him that night. But what crosses his face is anything but a smile. And he feels his heart begin to shatter inside his chest. He moves his fist away before bringing it back in viciously punching himself in the chest, once, twice, three times in hopes of easing the pain.
Of course it doesn't work. If anything the physical ache combined with the emotional ache simply makes it worse. He comes to himself hours later on the floor, the water running cold over him now causing him to shiver uncontrollably. He stands up, bent over like an old man. He switches off the water and steps out grabbing a towel. He rubs himself down vigorously trying to warm his skin. And when he gets to his chest he flinches in pain. He looks down at himself. He has a bruise on his chest. And he remembers. He remembers punching himself to try to beat the pain out of his body. Talk about fucked up. He cleans his teeth and moves back into the bedroom leaving his clothes on the floor. Something else he'd never normally do. But tonight is not normal. Tonight his heart is breaking. He dresses casually as always but not work casually. He heads out.
Hours later he is home, he'd eaten, drunk enough to numb the pain and then made the horrendous mistake of trying to pick someone up. Well not trying, that hadn't been hard at all, but he'd been unable to have sex with them. They weren't Tej. It's been weeks since he's seen him. Weeks. He has no doubt Tej had moved on. He'd told him to fuck off after all. He'd never been told to fuck off before in a relationship, he'd always been the one who broke it off. He lay down on his bed again without undressing, simply unlaced his boots and slid himself back. Hasn't cleaned his teeth either.
If wouldn't work, of course it wouldn't work, there were a myriad of reasons why it wouldn't work. He ignores the voice that told him he'd never even bothered to try. Why bother with something that was doomed to fail? But what if it didn't fail? His voice says in a whisper. Fuck. He slides his hand into his pants palming his cock as he glances at his phone. Tej never knew he'd taken these few pictures of him while he was sleeping. Naked. One of him on his stomach, sheet barely covering his arse and a hand hanging off the bed, his head facing away from him. His medallion had worked itself around so it was hanging down his back. Another on his side facing the camera, curled up like he was in the womb. Another on his back and so on. He jerks himself off as his thumb moves the pictures back and forth on his screen. Watching Tej each time. His orgasm rolls up from his toes and his neck arches as he imagines Tej kissing and biting his neck while his fingers work inside him.
Tej had never fucked him. He'd never thought he'd wanted to though he would have liked it. He wasn't an exclusive topper like some men. But men assumed he'd only top because of his size. Tej had never asked and he'd assumed he wasn't interested. He'd assumed a lot of things he thought. One thing he knew he wasn't assuming was the fact that he was a brainless fuck. He rolls on his side letting his come dry on his hand and clothes uncaring. When he wakes the next morning he is calm. He has decided what he's going to do.
Hobbs sat himself on the edge of the bed for some minutes before standing. He stretched as he did. He headed back to the bathroom and dumped his clothes on the floor before showering again. No breakdown this time. His mind is clear. He picks up both sets of clothes and heads to the laundry throwing them all in the machine and putting in the laundry liquid. He has breakfast as he thinks about what he's going to do and he cleans his weapon after switching the clothes from the washer to the dryer. When they're finished as are his weapons he takes them out and folds them. Then he simply sits in the kitchen with his everyday weapon in front of him. It is life he thinks. And death. It or another weapon has saved his life many times at the cost of another life. And really when you think about it his life has no meaning. When he dies there will not even be a ripple to mark it.
Yes he has a gift for catching criminals. He has a gift for pulling threads of evidence and putting them together and postulating from it where a criminal will be and more often that not he is right. But plenty of people can track criminals. Hobbs takes a deep breath and picks up his weapon. Slides in the clip, racks a round and pops the clip out again. He pushes in the last bullet and makes sure the safety is on as he slides the clip back in.
Then he stands and holsters his weapon. He takes his keys and wallet and badge along with a pair of sunglasses and leaves the sterile place he calls home.