HardLuck

The bitter smoke of a shrinking cigarette circled above us as we stepped over the gaudy yellow tape that barred the crime scene from the rest of the hungry world. The painstakingly scrubbed white tiles were drenched in a deep crimson , the smell of copper and metal masking the lavender of the scented candles. It was a suburban kitchen this time, the kind that could have been anyone's. If I stood still a moment, I could still smell their last supper over the stench of rotting flesh and blood. Wednesdays....
My partner, Detective Evans, is busy rattling off to some bimbo on the telephone. He's fairly new to the precinct, having only been assigned to a few homicide cases before this one, but he's more comfortable amongst the victims than even I am. Has it really been five years already? Every day runs together in a city like this one. Every time I breathe all that fills my lungs is smog and garbage. Sometimes I think I'm sick...sometimes I think I'm dead just like all these faceless carcasses. I was like my partner once, eager and sociable and actually caring about catching the perps. Now I think I've seen too much.
Before we let the forensics guys sweep the place, Evans and I inspect the scene like usual. Still oozing is the body of a young wife, an arm still half-stretched towards her deceased child who lay in a sea of his own blood. Both of their clothes are torn and stained, multiple stab wounds and lacerations adorning their fair skin with deliberate brutality. Its all so goddamn sad and I feel stupid and useless standing here like a voyeur. If Lizz hadn't left me, I'd have run right over to her place after this.
"Gray...I think you'll want to take a look at this." Evans sounds grim and disgusted but I go to him anyway.
"I looks like we've got a third body."
He's standing next to a half-way open hallway closet, shoulders hunched and hands in the pockets of his overcoat. I can see a man, presumably the husband, swinging back and forth from a noose. Below him, there was a gun and a bloodied knife. Ah, so a crime of passion was it? I couldn't keep from wondering whether She had cheated on him and He's gone crazy. Or maybe John and Jane Doe's marriage had finally disintegrated after so many years. The kid was sure old enough. Jesus Christ... I couldn't stand it...
"Should I let the forensics guys in, d'you think?" Evans asks, watching me with those clear blue eyes of his.
I light a cigarette and shrug, "Yeah. Let 'em come. Let the lab rats have their fun dustin' and photographing this. There isn't much we can do without evidence, but this one looks pretty straightforward to me."
His phone rings and he instinctively takes it out, but seems to remember where he is is and puts it back. He gives me a wry smile, the kind that only young and arrogant people can give when they know they'll be forgiven for being wrong. I only shake my head at him and head towards the blockade waiting for us outside. I assume the press will be here soon, it was a pretty well known neighborhood. I'll let the chief take care of that, me all I want is to get a good nights rest. Cases like this rattle me up more than the fuckin' psychos.
"Hey Gray! Detective Gray!" Evans stops me just as I step back into the fading daylight. He's smiling like usual, like someone didn't just die in the other room. I think for a moment I hate him.
"Did you forget something?" I ask coolly, tossing the burning cigarette butt to the ground.
"No...well yeah..." His dark black hair falls into his eyes for a minute and he pauses to push it back absently, "You look kinda shook up. Wanna go for a beer after this?"
I don't know whether to laugh or ignore him. I do neither, I just stare back evenly until his damn cell starts ringing again.
"What about whats-her-name? She seems to keep you on a pretty short leash." I challenge him, wanting another cigarette all of a sudden
"Meredith." He checks the caller ID and drops it back into his pocket, "And no, she won't mind. So what'ya say?"
"I say we should get back to work." I turn away from the younger man and head towards the chief. Wednesdays...
****
Its dark out and I'm sitting on a bar stool gazing down at a glass of scotch. I don't particularly care for the stuff but hell, I just spent the last few hours among the dead I figure I deserve it. I remember some girl from another time telling me I shouldn't drink, that It'd make me look old. Too late for that, toots. Every minute seems to be etched onto my face, a merciless reminder that time doesn't move backwards. But it doesn't matter, because I'm not laying wasted on a college frat party's floor with Her looking down at me with scorn; I'm in some crappy bar drinking the good stuff with my partner hovering somewhere nearby. I ain't a homo or anything, but the scent that comes off him is pleasant to me. He smells like vanilla and wood, apparently because he lives somewhere out in the country. Its good, organic. After the synthetic stench of the city, he actually smells human; alive. Why hadn't I noticed it before? Maybe it was because in the seven months since he transferred we'd only sat down and talked once before. Its funny how the living interact less than the dead.
"You gonna drink that or bring it home to meet your mother?" He jokes with me, setting down his second finished glass.
"I'm sure the old lady'd have a heart attack if I did." I try to smile, why do my muscles feel so stiff? "Father was an alcoholic and all..."
"Ah, jeez...shit, I'm sorry Gray."
"Nah, don't worry about it. I put the bastard behind bars the minute I got the chance." I feel myself talking, but I don't know why. I never talk about myself.
"Yeah I read the file. I always wondered where you got that courage." He signals the bar keep for another glass but doesn't touch it.
I reach in my pocket for another pack of cigs, only to find out I smoked the last one. Had I forgotten to go to the store again? Damn...wednesdays...
"It ain't courage kid. He just finally got what was comin' to him."
He chokes, looking kinda upset at something. Did I talk too much? I don't know how to relate to people much anymore.
"You talk like an old man, did you ever realize that?" He's staring at me, really staring as If he's looking for a piece to some greater puzzle.
"I feel old..."
"You're only twenty-eight. You and me are the youngest guys in the whole precinct, didn't you realize?" Still he's staring.
"Twenty-eight..." I repeat it out loud, the weight of the number not registering with me until just now. This kid...this guy, he's twenty-three... the same age I was when I joined up in this whole mess. Life seemed to have a whole different shade now, could five years really do so much? Who knew?
Suddenly, I toss the whole glass back in one gulp, reveling in the warmth that burns down my throat, floods my lungs and saturates in my belly. I felt like I need the strength of that aged buzz only good scotch can give you. Mechanically, I throw some money down on the bar, I don't even count it, I'm not sure how much there is, and get up. I feel tired and lonely and I want the comfort of my cramped, two-bedroom apartment. Its only a block away from this whole in the wall so I make for the door, mumbling some excuse even I can't quite discern. I feel Evans get up behind me, he's faster than I am, catching up even if I caught him by surprise.
"You headin home already, Gray?"
"I'm tired. I'll see you at the office, Evans. Thanks for the drinks" Numbly, I stumble out into the rain. What is this? I've never been like this before.
Casual, so casual, "You mind If I walk with you? I think I've had a few too many to be drivin' home. We are cops and all, gotta set the example"
I don't think I agree, but then again I don't think I disagree either.
*****
The heat of the scalding shower water makes me feel better. Nothing like the comforts of home. Somewhere I'm aware that Evans is still in my flat, waiting an possibly nursing a hangover. I don't care. This is the first time anyone from work has seen the miserly conditions I live in. Still, I don't care. For all his youth and arrogance, there doesn't seem anything wrong about having him here. He's always been unobtrusive, more a help than a burden, even If his quirks pissed me off. He just gave off that feeling of being old friends to anyone, even if they were complete strangers. I sound like such a queer, thinking aobut him like this in the shower. I need to get dressed.
Evans is sitting in my chair, staring at an old family photograph solemnly as if it'll reveal its secrets to him. I walk up behind him, tawny hair still damp and clinging to my neck. Even when he's sitting down he seems taller than me. Maybe its because we've both taken our coats off, or maybe its because he's not wearing that "Detective" face anymore. As two regular men, he has the greater presence.
"Satisfied your curiosity, Evans?" I can't help but refer to him by his last name, even if we're off the clock
He grins with unchecked mischief, "Not even close"
Two things happen at the same time. I reach out to grab the photograph from his hands as he gets up rather abruptly. Losing my balance , I push down on him but find myself falling anyway. I roll onto him, the cold rain still sticking to his skin and clashing with my heat. The world is out of my hands, tumbling and crashing down around me as I fight for self control. All I see is his sculpted face with its even jaw and thin eye-brows and ocean-blue eyes, so serious and beautiful and disgusting. A truth eluded me in that moment, something that seemed important but I just could put my finger on.
We were two awkward guys tangled together on a smelly old armchair. I would have gotten up but he was holding me, smothering me with that perfume of his. 'He's like a woman' I thought without meaning to.
"Are you alright?" He asks, if only to break the silence that had fallen
"Peachy."
Another few seconds and we're still sitting here. I can smell the alcohol on his breath, but it doesn't bother me. Why is that? I hate drunks. I put them away on a daily basis. But he doesn't bother me.
"I never noticed...but you're eyes are different colors....One's brown and the other's gray..." He says it simply, glaring at me and almost brooding.
He kisses me. It doesn't last more than six seconds, but my entire life seems to shatter before my eyes. His lips are hot and soft, bearing down on me like Christ's last Temptation. 'I'm in hell' I think, cursing myself for all of six seconds for letting it happen. Am I gay? Am I a flaming homo? I must be, for not pushing this asshole off of me and kicking the crap out of him. Ah, what would Lizz say if she saw me now?
We don't speak for a long time, just catching our breath. I still haven't gotten up yet and he still hasn't released me. What are we doing? Why are we doing it? Are we really just drunk? Could I have let this happen?
"V-Volk..." He tries using my first name, my nickname, as if trying to lighten the situation. I don't feel like playing at his game, I remain silent.
"We don't need to talk about it...."
Fuck it all. I attack him suddenly, lips latching onto his. Our tongues wrestling each other hungrily in our mouths, heat rising from my stomach all the way to my cheeks. I don't know what I'm doing, but it feels good. I should stop but I can't. I let him take over, cold fingers hovering over my body as I cling like some cheap whore. Everything is hot, so damn hot, I want to be out of these clothes. I can't stand it, feeling the usually breezy underwear constrict around me as every one of his touches drew a reaction from my body.
We both panted, breathing only when we had to and burrowing as deep into the embrace as humanly possible. Every inch of me was standing at alert, most noticeably the muscle below my waist. I could feel his hips grinding into mine, crushing member against member and reveling in the decadent friction. Somehow my shirt was off and my pants unbuttoned, his tongue and teeth teasing my hardened nipples like playthings. The hand that wasn't busy cradling my flushed face wandered dangerously to touch the tender skin of my excited sex, stiffened and swollen. It was a soft touch, an exquisite touch that was so immediately gratifying I could have wept from the pleasure. He whispered in my ear as he did this, running his cool palm down the length of the heated flesh, pumping slowly at first. Despite myself, I moaned, arching into him and mumbling incoherent pleas for satisfaction.
It was wrong, so very wrong. I should be beating him, not laying back and allowing him to have his way with me. As detectives, the balance of power was always the same. But here, here it had shifted in his favor. My legs were spread suddenly, the swollen sex engulfed in the mouth that had been kissing me only moments ago. I struggled against him, pleaded to be let go but wanted it no more than he would give. A tongue flicked to my anus, pushing its way past the tight ring of muscle. I felt myself seize up, realizing entirely what he was up to. In a few more moments, he would enter me. I cried out as his fingers slid inside, prying my most untouched passage for his further use. If i let him inside, what would that make me? How could I deny it after this? No, it wasn't just a fluke. I was enjoying it, enjoying every agonizing second of it.
"Gray..." It was the first he'd spoken since we'd begun and his voice had deepened, more husky
"Yes Evans?" mine was the same monotone I always used to address him
"I love you."
"I know kid. I know."
The minute he penetrated me I could feel more than the flesh of my ass tear. Everything I had ever thought of myself vanished. The curtain was pulled back and this ugly little world got its color back. With each thrust I felt myself get younger, more human. He pounded into me so mercilessly and I demanded more. These strong hands clung to him, needing to be completely smothered in his body, warming him with mine. My stiffened sex crushed between our writhing forms, causing the orgasm to roll over me even as he pounded against my prostate.
The rain beat against the dirty windows relentlessly in a futile effort to wash this city clean. Nothing has changed, in the morning I'll get a call about another murder. Both of us will put on our coats an badges and guns. But when I get up, the bed won't be so cold because I'll have my partner's warmth clinging to me until the sun rises.