[fic] The Hunted 15/? - PSoH
Jul. 19th, 2008 07:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
yellowhordeDisclaimer: I don’t own Petshop of Horrors and I make no money from this or any other fanfic I write.
Pairing: Leon x D
Category: Supernatural/Alternate Universe
Rating: R
Warning: Violence, Language, Sexual Situations and Hermaphrodite!D
Title: The Hunted
Author: yellowhorde
Notes: This was written for NaNoWriMo 2007
Previous Chapters: Prologue 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14
Hair still damp from his shower, holding a robe in one hand and wearing only a white terrycloth towel he had clumsily knotted around his waist, Leon stood before the full length mirror and glared at his reflection critically.
The gash on his forehead was healing nicely and he suspected that it hadn’t been as bad as he or the paramedics had originally thought. Hell, even small head wounds bled like a son of a bitch and the cut on his forehead was really no more than a nasty scratch. The swelling was gone, too, which meant he wouldn’t have to go out with a huge goose egg on his forehead.
What concerned him, though, was the pallid green bruise that had spread over his shoulder and crept down his torso.
He had never been much of a couch potato. As a physical creature, he had always been on the prowl for the next big thrill. Sports had provided an important outlet for his overabundant energy. Unfortunately, his aggressiveness, quick temper and smart mouth had often landed him into trouble, especially with the bigger, older kids. He smiled a little as he remembered how busy he had kept his mother with all of the resulting cuts, bruises and occasional trips to the emergency room. Looking back on all the stunts he had pulled, he thought it a wonder that he actually made it to adulthood.
Needless to say, he was no strangers to cuts, scrapes and bruises, but this particular bruise caused a small fluttering of alarm deep in the pit of his stomach which he quickly squashed. Here it was, less than twenty-four hours after the attack, and the bruise, which should have been a dark purplish color, looked like it was at least a week old. His mom had always claimed he was a fast healer, but this was ridiculous - almost scary-ridiculous.
When he heard the door open he clumsily draped the robe over his shoulders, effectively hiding the abnormal bruise from view. Slapping a smile on his face, he turned his head as D entered wearing one of his outlandish outfits, this one made of muslin and brocade in shades blue and light green. The blue under layer, similar in style to a Japanese yukata but with long, bell sleeves that draped gracefully to the floor, created a dark contrast to the light green short sleeved over-robe that was cinched at his narrow waist with a wide, ornate sash that blended the two colors into a woven pattern that was Oriental and breathtakingly complicated.
Sometimes it bothered Leon that he was able to identify the materials that made up D’s clothes, the elegant silks, satins and lace and a whole slew of materials he hadn’t even heard of before he met the Count. No matter what he wore - and he had no doubt that the contents of D’s closet together probably cost more than he made in a single year - it always looked fabulous on him even if it did make him look more than a little girlie. He could grudgingly admit that he like them to, though he would never say so aloud. The clothes suited the other man and he had to admit that D just wouldn’t be D wearing a cotton tee-shirt and jeans.
“I would like to eat at the Gardens this morning,” D announced as he made his way over to the bed with an armful of Leon’s clean clothes that they had picked up earlier from his apartment. “The décor is simply divine and the food top-notch. You’ll like it, Detective.”
He held out a small selection of shirts and slacks so Leon could choose what to wear.
“Yeah, sure,” Leon mumbled as he picked a blue casual button-down shirt and pair of khaki slacks and dropped them onto the unmade bed. Smiling his approval, D draped the rest of the clothes over the back of one of the cream and mauve stripped chairs.
Taking a deep breath, Leon self-consciously dropped the robe to the ground and tried to push his concerns aside and focused on the task at hand.
It hadn’t taken him long to figure out that having to live one-armed in a two-armed world was going to suck big time. Everyday simple tasks that he had always taken for granted were proving to be far more difficult than he ever would have imagine because he couldn’t move his left shoulder, which meant that his left arm hung uselessly in his sling. Hell, he couldn’t even move his hand without discomfort.
His morning routine had become a mini obstacle course. Bathing and brushing his teeth hadn’t posed many problems, but now he fell flat on his face as he faced his first real hurdle – getting dressed.
Sharp claws of pain ripped through Leon’s shoulder as he attempted to shrug into the shirt in his usual manner.
“Fuck!” He groaned. “How in the God’s name am I supposed to get this damned thing on?”
“If you would allow me-“ D turned and moved forward helpfully but stopped when Leon held up his hand, palm up in unconscious imitation of a traffic controller. His eyes widened as he saw the large discolored mark marring Leon’s torso clearly for the first time. “Oh, Detective…”
D stepped closer, reached out and tentatively traced the tip of his finger over Leon’s skin, light as a feather. Leon’s body tensed beneath his gentle touch and he pulled away, breaking contact.
“I’m fine, D,” Leon grumbled, turning his head away from D’s inquisitive gaze. “Don’t worry about it.” His hands balled into fists at his side at the concern in the other man’s face.
“If you need any help-“
“I don’t need you fucking help, D,” He snapped. “I’ve been dressing myself since I was three years old. Okay?”
“I think you should reconsider, Detective-” D demurred, but stopped mid-sentence as Leon’s face took on the mottled red shade of temper. He’d seen that warning sign on a few occasions and it always meant his ill-tempered detective was on the verge of a volcanic eruption of epic proportions.
“I’m not a baby, D,” he snarled, biting off each word. “I can dress myself.”
“As you wish,” Deciding that it would be better to not press the point at the moment, he settled himself on the edge of the bed and folded his hands primly in his lap.
Still scowling, Leon repositioned himself in front of the mirror then took a slow calming breath. “I can do this,” he mumbled.
Despite his grim determination, it only took a few seconds for him to come to the embarrassing realization that buttons of any sort were simply going to be out of the question – he could do it, sort of, but it would take him all day just to button his shirt. And while he had considerable dexterity in undoing them single handed, a skill he had perfected while in college, fastening them was proving to be hard as hell.
“Didn’t we pick up anything without buttons?” He asked testily, glancing over his shoulder at D, who was already going through the rest of the small stack of clean clothes.
“Yes, I have several t-shirts and shorts right here, Detective,” D replied, tweezing one of the before mentioned shirts between his fingers. “But I’m afraid the dress code for the Gardens is upscale casual,” he reminded him with a benign smile.
“Christ, D, I’m not getting dressed up just to eat some eggs and toast. What about that other place?” He fumbled over the name for a moment, before snapping his fingers, “The Cabana? You need to get all dolled up to eat there, too?”
“No, Detective.” D replied, “As they are located poolside, casual or pool attire is acceptable.”
“Good. We’ll eat there then.”
For a moment D opened his mouth as if to argue, but then he closed it again. “Yes, of course.”
Leon selected a turquoise t-shirt with lime green palm trees and a pair of khaki carpenter shorts. While D put the rest of the clothes back in the gym bag, he eventually managed to get the t-shirt on by feeding the sleeve of the bad arm over his useless hand and up to his shoulder. Moving with extreme care, he then pulled it over his head and slid his functioning arm in the other arm hole. He felt much better after accomplishing the task – he wasn’t entirely helpless after all.
The shorts proved a bit easier as they had a simple elastic waistband without zippers or buttons.
“Hey, grab my flip-flops out of the bag, will ya?”
“Flip-flops?” D straightened up and turned his head slowly so he was looking at Leon. Disapproval radiated from him in almost palpable waves.
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
“But, Detective-“
“Oh, come on, D,” Leon turned and glared at the other man. “Give me a break! My arm’s in a fucking sling. If I can’t even button up my shirt, what makes you think I can tie my shoes?”
D had the good grace to look contrite. He pulled the grubby flip-flops from the bag and walked them over to Leon. “You are right, Leon,” he said in way of apology, “Here you are injured and I’m going on about your atrocious lack of fashion sense.”
“That’s more like it,” Leon said, greatly mollified as he slipped his feet into the flip-flops. He had been aware of D’s little dig, but he chose to ignore it if that meant they would finally be heading down for breakfast. “Now, I’m starving, let’s go get something to eat.”
*
The weather was perfect for outdoor dining. The sky was a clear, faultless blue with nary a cloud in sight and thought the sun had almost reached its zenith the temperatures were comfortably in the mid to upper seventies. Fresh breezes breathed through the potted tropical plants and trees carrying a melody of scents including the coconut scent of tan lotions, flower blossoms and lemons and chlorine, and doing a remarkable job at keeping any flying insects away.
“If you would follow me, I will take you to your table.”
Leon and D were led to a small table for two by a young man with curly dark hair, olive skin, and startling light blue eyes. Though he was tall and broad in the shoulders, his face had not yet finished its transformation from teenager to young adult, which left him looking soft around the edges. He barely looked old enough to shave. The name on his metal nametag read Michael.
Menus were laid out before them with expert ease and their server smile benignly at first Leon then D.
“And what would you like to drink this morning, sir?” Michael asked.
“Coffee, black,” Leon grunted, flipping open his menu and scanning the menu items available.
“And you, madam?”
Leon glanced up at that, and grinned at his partner, but quickly suppressed it when D cut him a narrow-eyed glance. He seemed unruffled by the incorrect assumption on the waiter’s part, but then again, he was probably accustomed to people thinking he was a woman.
“Water, please,” D murmured, flashing a warm smile.
“Y-yes, of course,” A flush crept over the young man’s face and Leon found himself sympathizing with him. He had been on the receiving end of D’s charming smiles and he, more than anyone else, knew the devastating reactions they could force on a young impressionable man. Of course, while their server assumed D was a woman, he had pegged D as a man with a taste for cross-dressing, which kind of made it kind of worse now that he thought about it.
D isn’t fully male or female so I guess we were both wrong, Leon thought absently. Proof, I guess, of what happens when you go around making assumptions about people.
After their drink orders had been taken, the young man whisked off to see to any number of the other guests, many of which were happily chatting with their companions or quietly reading the morning newspaper. The atmosphere was one of relaxation and posh leisure and Leon was pleasantly surprised that he didn’t feel out of place at all in his tee-shirt and shorts. In fact, compared to some of the other bathing suit spouting patrons, he was actually overdressed. It made for a nice change of pace. Usually he felt like a duck out of water at some of the more elegant get-togethers he had reluctantly attended over the years.
With his stomach grumbling in expectation, Leon propped open his menu and checked out the breakfast selection. He prided himself on being an omnivore with strong carnivorous leanings and all but drooled when he ogled the menu’s selection of breakfast meats that included link pork sausage and apple wood smoked bacon. He would have preferred simple steak and eggs, but he wasn’t about to turn his nose up at the choice tidbits available.
Michael returned, all smiles, and slipped their drinks before them with a grace Leon found oddly enviable. The young man’s blue eyes darted to D and red splashed across his cheeks. Leon raised his eyebrows at D, who was giving their server his full attention.
Temptation was strong, but he finally decided to go with scrambled eggs, toast and coffee. He wouldn’t put up with someone helping him get dressed, and the very idea of having D cutting up his food like he was a toddler – in public no less – was simply out of the question. And since scrambled eggs didn’t require any cutting at all, that’s what he went with. After all, this as LA and image was everything, even to third-rate detectives with lousy fashion sense.
D’s eyes sparkled in anticipation as he made his selection, the herbivore special - a continental breakfast with toast, preserves, honey, sweet butter and tea. Unable to resist, he also added a slice of key lime pie.
Complimenting their selections, (Leon half suspected he would have approved of their choice of breakfast even if they had opted for cold cereal as long as they left a hefty gratuity), their server gathered up their menus and with one more besotted glance at the smiling D, excused himself with the promise of a quick delivery.
“You did it again, you sly dog,” Leon shook his head in puzzled wonderment, “The poor sap’s in love with you.”
“Just a little infatuation,” D assured him. “It’s nothing, really. But in the meanwhile it will assure us excellent service.”
“You’re something else, you know that?”
D fluttered his eyelashes at Leon coyly. “Oh my, Detective,” he purred, “Are you jealous?”
“You wish,” Leon scoffed and unrolled his silverware from its cloth bundle. “Takes more than a little puppy eyes to get my goat. Besides, look at him,” He jerked his thumb in the direction of their server, who was taking a woman’s order two tables away. Though young, handsome and physically strong, Leon suspected that all those muscles came from working out in the gym. No way that boy could take him on in a fight; he’d get his ass kicked three ways to Sunday. “He’s harmless.”
“Indeed, he is.” D agreed and sipped his water.
True to his word, the harmless Michael had their order out to them in record speed. As business seemed to be picking up, he wasn’t able to make eyes at D for long, which was a good thing. Harmless or not, the whole cow-eyes thing was getting old fast.
“It’s amazing you don’t get fat with all the sweet shit you eat,” Leon observed as their server reluctantly departed.
“I’ve been blessed with a high metabolism,” D replied simply, “And cursed with a strong sweet tooth.”
Leon’s comment and it’s more polite variations were common and D thought that this answer seemed the most appropriate and acceptable. He didn’t want to have to explain to the detective, or anyone else for that matter, that sugar consumption was vitally important to him and his family. Humans wouldn’t fully understand anyway, thus the small lie.
“Must play hell on your teeth, though,” Leon said, savoring the rich aroma of his coffee.
“Yes,” D mumbled under his breath, thinking of his sadistic dentist. The woman was quite the character, a frightening mix between Orin Scrivello, DDS and a leather-clad dominatrix. Despite her obvious… quirks, she was a competent dentist and known to be discrete, or at least as far as her patient’s lives and medical information was concerned. Unfortunately, something about D brought out her more flamboyant nature. A small price to pay for affordable dentistry, he rationalized, but still, he would rather not put himself at her mercy again if he could possibly avoid it.
For a time the two of them ate their breakfast in silence, D savoring the rich tastes and textures of his meal, Leon rubbernecking at some of the beautiful women parading around in skimpy swimsuits which was proving to be a veritable feast for the eyes.
“Hey, D, do you know that guy?” Leon finally asked, speaking around a mouthful of scrambled egg.
D, who had been smearing sweet butter on his toast with his knife, glanced up from his task and frowned at him from across the table. “I’m sorry?”
Figuring that D’s frown indicated he had put on his invisible Miss Manners hat and was about to start harping at him about his atrocious table manners, Leon chewed the food in his mouth with exaggerated care before swallowing. Then, just because he liked pulling D’s chain now and again, he dropped his mouth open to prove there was nothing else inside. This little display earned him a scoff and an eye roll.
“Well,” Leon prompted, scooping up another pile of scrambled eggs with his fork. “Do you?”
“Do I what?” D asked, setting his buttered toast down on his plate.
“Know that guy!” Leon growled, stabbing his heavily laden fork in the general direction of the man he was speaking of, “Mr. Suntan over there, dark hair and eyes. Bleached smile? Do you know him? Cause he’s been giving you the hairy eyeball every since we sat down.”
D blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
Leon shrugged and stuffed the last of his eggs in his mouth, figuring that that particular phrase was probably not a part of D’s antiquated vernacular. “He’s glaring at you something fierce.” He clarified. D’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “See for yourself if you don’t believe me.”
Discretely, D turned his head in the direction Leon had indicated. The Cabana Restaurant was doing brisk business and there were several men clustered around the round wooden tables sipping their various breakfast drinks of juice, coffee or tea, enjoying breakfast entrees or just reading the morning newspaper. But it didn’t take long for him to locate the one the detective was referring to – with those dark, angry eyes and the obvious scowl on his handsome face, there was no mistaking Charles Wilkinson.
With a soundless gasp, D dropped his knife, where it clattered noisily against his plate. Quickly, he brought his face around and dropped his eyes to his plate. The air, once so fragrant with the mingling of tropical flowers and lemon, now seemed heavy with the cloying stench of too-sweet cologne. He could feel the heat of Charles’ hands greedy on his body, the pressure of his tongue as it jammed its way into his mouth.
No, D fought those sensory memories off with a shake of his head. No, that didn’t mean anything. It was a mistake. And one I never intend to repeat.
“D?” There was confusion in Leon’s voice, but also an undercurrent of anger… and suspicion.
He could feel the heat of his gaze on his skin, burning, demanding an answer. The man was a police detective with years of interrogation experience. Could he read his expressions? His body language? He desperately didn’t want things to get out of hand, but he was afraid that if Leon found out what had happened between them there would be trouble.
“No, Detective,” D replied with false nonchalance as he fixed a smile on his face, “I do not know him, not really. He’s a guest staying at the hotel and I ran into him at the pool the other day.”
“The pool, huh?” Leon’s expression was rather intense and D couldn’t help but feel guilty, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Yes, that is correct,” he replied a little more sharply than intended.
“What did you two talk about?” Leon demanded, setting his fork down on his plate with exaggerated care. The fingers of his good hand, now resting on the table, curled into a fist, sporting white crescent moons at each knuckle.
“Oh, nothing much, really,” D’s throat was suddenly dry as he felt hot waves of energy - Leon’s boiling temper - swirling around him, beating against his skin with such awful intensity. Licking his lips, he reached for his water glass with trembling fingers.
“You’re lying, D,” Leon’s hand flashed out and he caught hold of D’s wrist, his fingers digging into his flesh. D gasped as the detective leaned forward, his voice pitched low and hoarse so that it didn’t carry beyond their table. “I don’t why, and I don’t care. But you’re hiding something from me and I don’t like it.”
Narrowing his eyes, D tugged his hand away and Leon let him. “Nothing happened, Detective.”
“Then why are you shaking?”
Because I can feel your rage dancing along my skin like electricity and it frightens me, D thought. But instead he simply pleaded, “Please, can’t we talk about this somewhere else?”
“No. I want to talk about it now.”
D averted his gaze from Leon’s angry blue eyes. The truth in and of itself was not so horrible, he knew, but Leon’s temper, always on a hair trigger, seemed even more unpredictable than it had ever been before and he knew he would end up blowing things out of proportion. He always did. And he would not drop the subject until he got the answers he thought he wanted.
With a slow, steady breath, he closed his eyes and finally whispered, “He made sexual advances toward me.”
“He what?”
Leon’s voice exploded loudly in enraged disbelief, causing several patrons at nearby tables to stop what they were doing and turn their attention to their little table as if eagerly anticipating some new kind of stage performance. D cast a glance toward Charles Wilkinson and the damnable man was smirking. Mortified, he turned his face away hastily, his cheeks burning.
“Detective, please lower your voice.”
“He hit on you and you let him?” Leon hissed.
“I most certainly did not let him do anything, Detective.” D shot back fiercely, his own temper rising quickly. “I declined his so-called offer and sent him on his way.”
With visible effort, Leon controlled the anger that reflected itself in his mottled face and the fierce hostility gripping his body. His blue eyes bore into D’s own, searching for the truth in his words, his eyes. He blew out a sigh. Evidently he had found the answer he sought for the tension leaked out of his shoulders along with another, deeper breath of relief. The fearful frown dissolved and was replaced by a rather rueful smile.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, extending his hand toward D in apology. “I should never have doubted you. Hell, I know you can take care of yourself, I’ve seen you do it. And that jerk is so not your type.” He forced a light chuckle. “I just…”
Leon trailed off uncertainly, his smile wilting around the edges. “I don’t know. Let’s just blow this Popsicle stand. What do you say?”
D took his hand and smiled, brushing his lips against his knuckles. “I say that that is an excellent idea, Detective.”
Together they rose. Leon fumbled some dollar bills out of his pocket to cover the tip and dropped them on the table. He had just turned back to D and was beginning to say something to break the last bit of tension that still lingered between them when the harsh scraping of a chair being pushed back from a table
Charles Wilkinson, wearing a crisp dress shirt and black slacks and loafers, stalked toward them with stiff, long strides, a generous smile on his face at odds with the anger that blazed in his eyes. Without thinking, D stepped closer to Leon and laid a restraining hand on his chest. Leon glanced down at him, nodded his head in silent understanding and dropped his arm around D’s shoulder in a deliberate show of possessiveness.
“Leaving so soon?” Charles’ voice was warm as he stepped in front of them. He glanced over at Leon contemptuously, taking in the sling, the tacky shirt and cheap shorts, then just as quickly dismissed him, turning his full attention to D. “But we haven’t even had a chance to chat.”
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Wilkinson,” D’s smile was cordial, his voice steely. “But we really must be going.”
“Charles,” The other man insisted, looking pained. D had to admit that the man was a consummate actor, one deserving of an Academy Award – but he was not going to fall for any of his tricks. “Have you forgotten already?”
D sighed inwardly, certain that they wouldn’t make it out of the restaurant without another scene unless he made some token effort to soothe the man’s ruffled feathers. “Of course not, Charles, how could I ever forget you?”
“I never got your name.” Charles pouted.
“That’s because he never gave it.” Leon snarled, pulling away from D to glare at the other man.
Something about this man – besides the fact that the fucker had hit on D – set off some unknown instinct buried deep inside, a warning. He was good-looking, athletically built, but there was something more, something almost predatory about him that raised his inner alarms. This was not a man to be taken lightly, his inner voice whispered. He was dangerous.
Charles regarded him with cool eyes. “And you are?”
“Detective Leon Orcot of the LAPD, asshole.”
“Oh, my,” Charles rocked back on his heels, obviously amused. “A cop, are we? What are you doing here, Detective?” He uttered Leon’s rank with a snarling tone of utter loathing. Obviously not a man who respected the police. But then again, most scumbags didn’t.
“It’s a little out of your price range, wouldn’t you say?” He threw back his head and laughed as Leon’s face darkened in a scowl. “On a stakeout, perhaps?”
His laughter died immediately as he turned his attention back to D. “You told me that you were already taken. So, tell me,” He jerked his thumb at Leon. “Is this lowlife your lover?”
“Yes.” D replied coolly. “He is.”
Charles scoffed and threw up his hands in disgust. “Obviously, not someone I had expected to see you with. Pity.” He shrugged his broad shoulders in a dismissive manner. “And here I had thought higher of you,” he sneered, “My mistake.”
“Come on, D” Leon growled, “We don’t have to stand here and listen to this bullshit.” He put his hand on the small of D’s back and started to herd him toward the door. “Let’s go.”
“Oh, there’s just one more little thing I’d like to know, Detective Orcot.”
Exasperated and holding onto his temper by the flimsiest of threads, Leon turned on the man, unconsciously lowering his body into a semi-crouch as if to prepare himself from a physical confrontation.
“What?”
If Charles noticed, he gave no indication. He leaned forward in a conspiring manner, a wicked grin twisting his lips. He held up a hand as if to keep his question confidential, just between the guys, but made no effort to lower his voice.
“So tell me, Detective, how does he taste?”
Shock, indignation then finally rage flashed across Leon’s face in a matter of nanoseconds. Then he pulled back his fist and delivered an uppercut directly to Charles Wilkinson’s face. “You son of a bitch!”
Charles shot backward with a pained grunt and crashed into the table they had just left. It toppled onto its side under his weight and the force of his landing. Glasses and dishes exploded on the ground like miniature bombs and the clatter of silverware was very loud in the suddenly silent dining area.
With a roar of rage, Leon was crouched next to him, dragging him up by the front of his shirt with his good hand. No doubt, if his other arm hadn’t been next to useless he would have held him with his left hand while he bashed his face in with his right.
“Wanna say that again, punk?” He snarled, giving him a fearsome shake that caused his head to bounce and lull. Charles’ eyes rolled white and blood was flowed from him his broken nose.
Suddenly, D was at his side, tugging on his arm. “Detective, no,” he gasped, “He’s not worth it. Let him go.” He curled his fingers over Leon’s and squeezed. “Please.”
Leon turned to him and blinked, as if coming back to himself. He glanced at Charles, horrified, and abruptly released him, which knocked his head solidly against the floor. Charles moaned, then his eyes flickered and he was glaring groggily up at his assailant.
“This…” He coughed and spit up blood, “Not over… yet.”
Leon stood a bit unsteadily, dazed at what he had done, and D leaned against him, lending him his strength without being obvious about it. “Please,” he whispered, “let it go, Detective.”
Straitening his shoulders as well as he was able, Leon’s cop’s gaze swept the speechless audience of restaurant patrons and staff. “Show’s over, folks. Nothing to see here. Go back to whatever the fuck you were doing.”
“And you,” He snarled, turning back to the pathetic man trying to pull himself to his feet. “If I ever see you again, I’m going to dropkick your ass from here to Taiwan. Got it?”
TO BE CONTINUED…
CHAPTER 16
I am SO sorry about the long wait. RL sometimes takes over.
And, as always, constructive criticism is welcomed.
Pairing: Leon x D
Category: Supernatural/Alternate Universe
Rating: R
Warning: Violence, Language, Sexual Situations and Hermaphrodite!D
Title: The Hunted
Author: yellowhorde
Notes: This was written for NaNoWriMo 2007
Previous Chapters: Prologue 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14
Hair still damp from his shower, holding a robe in one hand and wearing only a white terrycloth towel he had clumsily knotted around his waist, Leon stood before the full length mirror and glared at his reflection critically.
The gash on his forehead was healing nicely and he suspected that it hadn’t been as bad as he or the paramedics had originally thought. Hell, even small head wounds bled like a son of a bitch and the cut on his forehead was really no more than a nasty scratch. The swelling was gone, too, which meant he wouldn’t have to go out with a huge goose egg on his forehead.
What concerned him, though, was the pallid green bruise that had spread over his shoulder and crept down his torso.
He had never been much of a couch potato. As a physical creature, he had always been on the prowl for the next big thrill. Sports had provided an important outlet for his overabundant energy. Unfortunately, his aggressiveness, quick temper and smart mouth had often landed him into trouble, especially with the bigger, older kids. He smiled a little as he remembered how busy he had kept his mother with all of the resulting cuts, bruises and occasional trips to the emergency room. Looking back on all the stunts he had pulled, he thought it a wonder that he actually made it to adulthood.
Needless to say, he was no strangers to cuts, scrapes and bruises, but this particular bruise caused a small fluttering of alarm deep in the pit of his stomach which he quickly squashed. Here it was, less than twenty-four hours after the attack, and the bruise, which should have been a dark purplish color, looked like it was at least a week old. His mom had always claimed he was a fast healer, but this was ridiculous - almost scary-ridiculous.
When he heard the door open he clumsily draped the robe over his shoulders, effectively hiding the abnormal bruise from view. Slapping a smile on his face, he turned his head as D entered wearing one of his outlandish outfits, this one made of muslin and brocade in shades blue and light green. The blue under layer, similar in style to a Japanese yukata but with long, bell sleeves that draped gracefully to the floor, created a dark contrast to the light green short sleeved over-robe that was cinched at his narrow waist with a wide, ornate sash that blended the two colors into a woven pattern that was Oriental and breathtakingly complicated.
Sometimes it bothered Leon that he was able to identify the materials that made up D’s clothes, the elegant silks, satins and lace and a whole slew of materials he hadn’t even heard of before he met the Count. No matter what he wore - and he had no doubt that the contents of D’s closet together probably cost more than he made in a single year - it always looked fabulous on him even if it did make him look more than a little girlie. He could grudgingly admit that he like them to, though he would never say so aloud. The clothes suited the other man and he had to admit that D just wouldn’t be D wearing a cotton tee-shirt and jeans.
“I would like to eat at the Gardens this morning,” D announced as he made his way over to the bed with an armful of Leon’s clean clothes that they had picked up earlier from his apartment. “The décor is simply divine and the food top-notch. You’ll like it, Detective.”
He held out a small selection of shirts and slacks so Leon could choose what to wear.
“Yeah, sure,” Leon mumbled as he picked a blue casual button-down shirt and pair of khaki slacks and dropped them onto the unmade bed. Smiling his approval, D draped the rest of the clothes over the back of one of the cream and mauve stripped chairs.
Taking a deep breath, Leon self-consciously dropped the robe to the ground and tried to push his concerns aside and focused on the task at hand.
It hadn’t taken him long to figure out that having to live one-armed in a two-armed world was going to suck big time. Everyday simple tasks that he had always taken for granted were proving to be far more difficult than he ever would have imagine because he couldn’t move his left shoulder, which meant that his left arm hung uselessly in his sling. Hell, he couldn’t even move his hand without discomfort.
His morning routine had become a mini obstacle course. Bathing and brushing his teeth hadn’t posed many problems, but now he fell flat on his face as he faced his first real hurdle – getting dressed.
Sharp claws of pain ripped through Leon’s shoulder as he attempted to shrug into the shirt in his usual manner.
“Fuck!” He groaned. “How in the God’s name am I supposed to get this damned thing on?”
“If you would allow me-“ D turned and moved forward helpfully but stopped when Leon held up his hand, palm up in unconscious imitation of a traffic controller. His eyes widened as he saw the large discolored mark marring Leon’s torso clearly for the first time. “Oh, Detective…”
D stepped closer, reached out and tentatively traced the tip of his finger over Leon’s skin, light as a feather. Leon’s body tensed beneath his gentle touch and he pulled away, breaking contact.
“I’m fine, D,” Leon grumbled, turning his head away from D’s inquisitive gaze. “Don’t worry about it.” His hands balled into fists at his side at the concern in the other man’s face.
“If you need any help-“
“I don’t need you fucking help, D,” He snapped. “I’ve been dressing myself since I was three years old. Okay?”
“I think you should reconsider, Detective-” D demurred, but stopped mid-sentence as Leon’s face took on the mottled red shade of temper. He’d seen that warning sign on a few occasions and it always meant his ill-tempered detective was on the verge of a volcanic eruption of epic proportions.
“I’m not a baby, D,” he snarled, biting off each word. “I can dress myself.”
“As you wish,” Deciding that it would be better to not press the point at the moment, he settled himself on the edge of the bed and folded his hands primly in his lap.
Still scowling, Leon repositioned himself in front of the mirror then took a slow calming breath. “I can do this,” he mumbled.
Despite his grim determination, it only took a few seconds for him to come to the embarrassing realization that buttons of any sort were simply going to be out of the question – he could do it, sort of, but it would take him all day just to button his shirt. And while he had considerable dexterity in undoing them single handed, a skill he had perfected while in college, fastening them was proving to be hard as hell.
“Didn’t we pick up anything without buttons?” He asked testily, glancing over his shoulder at D, who was already going through the rest of the small stack of clean clothes.
“Yes, I have several t-shirts and shorts right here, Detective,” D replied, tweezing one of the before mentioned shirts between his fingers. “But I’m afraid the dress code for the Gardens is upscale casual,” he reminded him with a benign smile.
“Christ, D, I’m not getting dressed up just to eat some eggs and toast. What about that other place?” He fumbled over the name for a moment, before snapping his fingers, “The Cabana? You need to get all dolled up to eat there, too?”
“No, Detective.” D replied, “As they are located poolside, casual or pool attire is acceptable.”
“Good. We’ll eat there then.”
For a moment D opened his mouth as if to argue, but then he closed it again. “Yes, of course.”
Leon selected a turquoise t-shirt with lime green palm trees and a pair of khaki carpenter shorts. While D put the rest of the clothes back in the gym bag, he eventually managed to get the t-shirt on by feeding the sleeve of the bad arm over his useless hand and up to his shoulder. Moving with extreme care, he then pulled it over his head and slid his functioning arm in the other arm hole. He felt much better after accomplishing the task – he wasn’t entirely helpless after all.
The shorts proved a bit easier as they had a simple elastic waistband without zippers or buttons.
“Hey, grab my flip-flops out of the bag, will ya?”
“Flip-flops?” D straightened up and turned his head slowly so he was looking at Leon. Disapproval radiated from him in almost palpable waves.
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
“But, Detective-“
“Oh, come on, D,” Leon turned and glared at the other man. “Give me a break! My arm’s in a fucking sling. If I can’t even button up my shirt, what makes you think I can tie my shoes?”
D had the good grace to look contrite. He pulled the grubby flip-flops from the bag and walked them over to Leon. “You are right, Leon,” he said in way of apology, “Here you are injured and I’m going on about your atrocious lack of fashion sense.”
“That’s more like it,” Leon said, greatly mollified as he slipped his feet into the flip-flops. He had been aware of D’s little dig, but he chose to ignore it if that meant they would finally be heading down for breakfast. “Now, I’m starving, let’s go get something to eat.”
*
The weather was perfect for outdoor dining. The sky was a clear, faultless blue with nary a cloud in sight and thought the sun had almost reached its zenith the temperatures were comfortably in the mid to upper seventies. Fresh breezes breathed through the potted tropical plants and trees carrying a melody of scents including the coconut scent of tan lotions, flower blossoms and lemons and chlorine, and doing a remarkable job at keeping any flying insects away.
“If you would follow me, I will take you to your table.”
Leon and D were led to a small table for two by a young man with curly dark hair, olive skin, and startling light blue eyes. Though he was tall and broad in the shoulders, his face had not yet finished its transformation from teenager to young adult, which left him looking soft around the edges. He barely looked old enough to shave. The name on his metal nametag read Michael.
Menus were laid out before them with expert ease and their server smile benignly at first Leon then D.
“And what would you like to drink this morning, sir?” Michael asked.
“Coffee, black,” Leon grunted, flipping open his menu and scanning the menu items available.
“And you, madam?”
Leon glanced up at that, and grinned at his partner, but quickly suppressed it when D cut him a narrow-eyed glance. He seemed unruffled by the incorrect assumption on the waiter’s part, but then again, he was probably accustomed to people thinking he was a woman.
“Water, please,” D murmured, flashing a warm smile.
“Y-yes, of course,” A flush crept over the young man’s face and Leon found himself sympathizing with him. He had been on the receiving end of D’s charming smiles and he, more than anyone else, knew the devastating reactions they could force on a young impressionable man. Of course, while their server assumed D was a woman, he had pegged D as a man with a taste for cross-dressing, which kind of made it kind of worse now that he thought about it.
D isn’t fully male or female so I guess we were both wrong, Leon thought absently. Proof, I guess, of what happens when you go around making assumptions about people.
After their drink orders had been taken, the young man whisked off to see to any number of the other guests, many of which were happily chatting with their companions or quietly reading the morning newspaper. The atmosphere was one of relaxation and posh leisure and Leon was pleasantly surprised that he didn’t feel out of place at all in his tee-shirt and shorts. In fact, compared to some of the other bathing suit spouting patrons, he was actually overdressed. It made for a nice change of pace. Usually he felt like a duck out of water at some of the more elegant get-togethers he had reluctantly attended over the years.
With his stomach grumbling in expectation, Leon propped open his menu and checked out the breakfast selection. He prided himself on being an omnivore with strong carnivorous leanings and all but drooled when he ogled the menu’s selection of breakfast meats that included link pork sausage and apple wood smoked bacon. He would have preferred simple steak and eggs, but he wasn’t about to turn his nose up at the choice tidbits available.
Michael returned, all smiles, and slipped their drinks before them with a grace Leon found oddly enviable. The young man’s blue eyes darted to D and red splashed across his cheeks. Leon raised his eyebrows at D, who was giving their server his full attention.
Temptation was strong, but he finally decided to go with scrambled eggs, toast and coffee. He wouldn’t put up with someone helping him get dressed, and the very idea of having D cutting up his food like he was a toddler – in public no less – was simply out of the question. And since scrambled eggs didn’t require any cutting at all, that’s what he went with. After all, this as LA and image was everything, even to third-rate detectives with lousy fashion sense.
D’s eyes sparkled in anticipation as he made his selection, the herbivore special - a continental breakfast with toast, preserves, honey, sweet butter and tea. Unable to resist, he also added a slice of key lime pie.
Complimenting their selections, (Leon half suspected he would have approved of their choice of breakfast even if they had opted for cold cereal as long as they left a hefty gratuity), their server gathered up their menus and with one more besotted glance at the smiling D, excused himself with the promise of a quick delivery.
“You did it again, you sly dog,” Leon shook his head in puzzled wonderment, “The poor sap’s in love with you.”
“Just a little infatuation,” D assured him. “It’s nothing, really. But in the meanwhile it will assure us excellent service.”
“You’re something else, you know that?”
D fluttered his eyelashes at Leon coyly. “Oh my, Detective,” he purred, “Are you jealous?”
“You wish,” Leon scoffed and unrolled his silverware from its cloth bundle. “Takes more than a little puppy eyes to get my goat. Besides, look at him,” He jerked his thumb in the direction of their server, who was taking a woman’s order two tables away. Though young, handsome and physically strong, Leon suspected that all those muscles came from working out in the gym. No way that boy could take him on in a fight; he’d get his ass kicked three ways to Sunday. “He’s harmless.”
“Indeed, he is.” D agreed and sipped his water.
True to his word, the harmless Michael had their order out to them in record speed. As business seemed to be picking up, he wasn’t able to make eyes at D for long, which was a good thing. Harmless or not, the whole cow-eyes thing was getting old fast.
“It’s amazing you don’t get fat with all the sweet shit you eat,” Leon observed as their server reluctantly departed.
“I’ve been blessed with a high metabolism,” D replied simply, “And cursed with a strong sweet tooth.”
Leon’s comment and it’s more polite variations were common and D thought that this answer seemed the most appropriate and acceptable. He didn’t want to have to explain to the detective, or anyone else for that matter, that sugar consumption was vitally important to him and his family. Humans wouldn’t fully understand anyway, thus the small lie.
“Must play hell on your teeth, though,” Leon said, savoring the rich aroma of his coffee.
“Yes,” D mumbled under his breath, thinking of his sadistic dentist. The woman was quite the character, a frightening mix between Orin Scrivello, DDS and a leather-clad dominatrix. Despite her obvious… quirks, she was a competent dentist and known to be discrete, or at least as far as her patient’s lives and medical information was concerned. Unfortunately, something about D brought out her more flamboyant nature. A small price to pay for affordable dentistry, he rationalized, but still, he would rather not put himself at her mercy again if he could possibly avoid it.
For a time the two of them ate their breakfast in silence, D savoring the rich tastes and textures of his meal, Leon rubbernecking at some of the beautiful women parading around in skimpy swimsuits which was proving to be a veritable feast for the eyes.
“Hey, D, do you know that guy?” Leon finally asked, speaking around a mouthful of scrambled egg.
D, who had been smearing sweet butter on his toast with his knife, glanced up from his task and frowned at him from across the table. “I’m sorry?”
Figuring that D’s frown indicated he had put on his invisible Miss Manners hat and was about to start harping at him about his atrocious table manners, Leon chewed the food in his mouth with exaggerated care before swallowing. Then, just because he liked pulling D’s chain now and again, he dropped his mouth open to prove there was nothing else inside. This little display earned him a scoff and an eye roll.
“Well,” Leon prompted, scooping up another pile of scrambled eggs with his fork. “Do you?”
“Do I what?” D asked, setting his buttered toast down on his plate.
“Know that guy!” Leon growled, stabbing his heavily laden fork in the general direction of the man he was speaking of, “Mr. Suntan over there, dark hair and eyes. Bleached smile? Do you know him? Cause he’s been giving you the hairy eyeball every since we sat down.”
D blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
Leon shrugged and stuffed the last of his eggs in his mouth, figuring that that particular phrase was probably not a part of D’s antiquated vernacular. “He’s glaring at you something fierce.” He clarified. D’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “See for yourself if you don’t believe me.”
Discretely, D turned his head in the direction Leon had indicated. The Cabana Restaurant was doing brisk business and there were several men clustered around the round wooden tables sipping their various breakfast drinks of juice, coffee or tea, enjoying breakfast entrees or just reading the morning newspaper. But it didn’t take long for him to locate the one the detective was referring to – with those dark, angry eyes and the obvious scowl on his handsome face, there was no mistaking Charles Wilkinson.
With a soundless gasp, D dropped his knife, where it clattered noisily against his plate. Quickly, he brought his face around and dropped his eyes to his plate. The air, once so fragrant with the mingling of tropical flowers and lemon, now seemed heavy with the cloying stench of too-sweet cologne. He could feel the heat of Charles’ hands greedy on his body, the pressure of his tongue as it jammed its way into his mouth.
No, D fought those sensory memories off with a shake of his head. No, that didn’t mean anything. It was a mistake. And one I never intend to repeat.
“D?” There was confusion in Leon’s voice, but also an undercurrent of anger… and suspicion.
He could feel the heat of his gaze on his skin, burning, demanding an answer. The man was a police detective with years of interrogation experience. Could he read his expressions? His body language? He desperately didn’t want things to get out of hand, but he was afraid that if Leon found out what had happened between them there would be trouble.
“No, Detective,” D replied with false nonchalance as he fixed a smile on his face, “I do not know him, not really. He’s a guest staying at the hotel and I ran into him at the pool the other day.”
“The pool, huh?” Leon’s expression was rather intense and D couldn’t help but feel guilty, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Yes, that is correct,” he replied a little more sharply than intended.
“What did you two talk about?” Leon demanded, setting his fork down on his plate with exaggerated care. The fingers of his good hand, now resting on the table, curled into a fist, sporting white crescent moons at each knuckle.
“Oh, nothing much, really,” D’s throat was suddenly dry as he felt hot waves of energy - Leon’s boiling temper - swirling around him, beating against his skin with such awful intensity. Licking his lips, he reached for his water glass with trembling fingers.
“You’re lying, D,” Leon’s hand flashed out and he caught hold of D’s wrist, his fingers digging into his flesh. D gasped as the detective leaned forward, his voice pitched low and hoarse so that it didn’t carry beyond their table. “I don’t why, and I don’t care. But you’re hiding something from me and I don’t like it.”
Narrowing his eyes, D tugged his hand away and Leon let him. “Nothing happened, Detective.”
“Then why are you shaking?”
Because I can feel your rage dancing along my skin like electricity and it frightens me, D thought. But instead he simply pleaded, “Please, can’t we talk about this somewhere else?”
“No. I want to talk about it now.”
D averted his gaze from Leon’s angry blue eyes. The truth in and of itself was not so horrible, he knew, but Leon’s temper, always on a hair trigger, seemed even more unpredictable than it had ever been before and he knew he would end up blowing things out of proportion. He always did. And he would not drop the subject until he got the answers he thought he wanted.
With a slow, steady breath, he closed his eyes and finally whispered, “He made sexual advances toward me.”
“He what?”
Leon’s voice exploded loudly in enraged disbelief, causing several patrons at nearby tables to stop what they were doing and turn their attention to their little table as if eagerly anticipating some new kind of stage performance. D cast a glance toward Charles Wilkinson and the damnable man was smirking. Mortified, he turned his face away hastily, his cheeks burning.
“Detective, please lower your voice.”
“He hit on you and you let him?” Leon hissed.
“I most certainly did not let him do anything, Detective.” D shot back fiercely, his own temper rising quickly. “I declined his so-called offer and sent him on his way.”
With visible effort, Leon controlled the anger that reflected itself in his mottled face and the fierce hostility gripping his body. His blue eyes bore into D’s own, searching for the truth in his words, his eyes. He blew out a sigh. Evidently he had found the answer he sought for the tension leaked out of his shoulders along with another, deeper breath of relief. The fearful frown dissolved and was replaced by a rather rueful smile.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, extending his hand toward D in apology. “I should never have doubted you. Hell, I know you can take care of yourself, I’ve seen you do it. And that jerk is so not your type.” He forced a light chuckle. “I just…”
Leon trailed off uncertainly, his smile wilting around the edges. “I don’t know. Let’s just blow this Popsicle stand. What do you say?”
D took his hand and smiled, brushing his lips against his knuckles. “I say that that is an excellent idea, Detective.”
Together they rose. Leon fumbled some dollar bills out of his pocket to cover the tip and dropped them on the table. He had just turned back to D and was beginning to say something to break the last bit of tension that still lingered between them when the harsh scraping of a chair being pushed back from a table
Charles Wilkinson, wearing a crisp dress shirt and black slacks and loafers, stalked toward them with stiff, long strides, a generous smile on his face at odds with the anger that blazed in his eyes. Without thinking, D stepped closer to Leon and laid a restraining hand on his chest. Leon glanced down at him, nodded his head in silent understanding and dropped his arm around D’s shoulder in a deliberate show of possessiveness.
“Leaving so soon?” Charles’ voice was warm as he stepped in front of them. He glanced over at Leon contemptuously, taking in the sling, the tacky shirt and cheap shorts, then just as quickly dismissed him, turning his full attention to D. “But we haven’t even had a chance to chat.”
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Wilkinson,” D’s smile was cordial, his voice steely. “But we really must be going.”
“Charles,” The other man insisted, looking pained. D had to admit that the man was a consummate actor, one deserving of an Academy Award – but he was not going to fall for any of his tricks. “Have you forgotten already?”
D sighed inwardly, certain that they wouldn’t make it out of the restaurant without another scene unless he made some token effort to soothe the man’s ruffled feathers. “Of course not, Charles, how could I ever forget you?”
“I never got your name.” Charles pouted.
“That’s because he never gave it.” Leon snarled, pulling away from D to glare at the other man.
Something about this man – besides the fact that the fucker had hit on D – set off some unknown instinct buried deep inside, a warning. He was good-looking, athletically built, but there was something more, something almost predatory about him that raised his inner alarms. This was not a man to be taken lightly, his inner voice whispered. He was dangerous.
Charles regarded him with cool eyes. “And you are?”
“Detective Leon Orcot of the LAPD, asshole.”
“Oh, my,” Charles rocked back on his heels, obviously amused. “A cop, are we? What are you doing here, Detective?” He uttered Leon’s rank with a snarling tone of utter loathing. Obviously not a man who respected the police. But then again, most scumbags didn’t.
“It’s a little out of your price range, wouldn’t you say?” He threw back his head and laughed as Leon’s face darkened in a scowl. “On a stakeout, perhaps?”
His laughter died immediately as he turned his attention back to D. “You told me that you were already taken. So, tell me,” He jerked his thumb at Leon. “Is this lowlife your lover?”
“Yes.” D replied coolly. “He is.”
Charles scoffed and threw up his hands in disgust. “Obviously, not someone I had expected to see you with. Pity.” He shrugged his broad shoulders in a dismissive manner. “And here I had thought higher of you,” he sneered, “My mistake.”
“Come on, D” Leon growled, “We don’t have to stand here and listen to this bullshit.” He put his hand on the small of D’s back and started to herd him toward the door. “Let’s go.”
“Oh, there’s just one more little thing I’d like to know, Detective Orcot.”
Exasperated and holding onto his temper by the flimsiest of threads, Leon turned on the man, unconsciously lowering his body into a semi-crouch as if to prepare himself from a physical confrontation.
“What?”
If Charles noticed, he gave no indication. He leaned forward in a conspiring manner, a wicked grin twisting his lips. He held up a hand as if to keep his question confidential, just between the guys, but made no effort to lower his voice.
“So tell me, Detective, how does he taste?”
Shock, indignation then finally rage flashed across Leon’s face in a matter of nanoseconds. Then he pulled back his fist and delivered an uppercut directly to Charles Wilkinson’s face. “You son of a bitch!”
Charles shot backward with a pained grunt and crashed into the table they had just left. It toppled onto its side under his weight and the force of his landing. Glasses and dishes exploded on the ground like miniature bombs and the clatter of silverware was very loud in the suddenly silent dining area.
With a roar of rage, Leon was crouched next to him, dragging him up by the front of his shirt with his good hand. No doubt, if his other arm hadn’t been next to useless he would have held him with his left hand while he bashed his face in with his right.
“Wanna say that again, punk?” He snarled, giving him a fearsome shake that caused his head to bounce and lull. Charles’ eyes rolled white and blood was flowed from him his broken nose.
Suddenly, D was at his side, tugging on his arm. “Detective, no,” he gasped, “He’s not worth it. Let him go.” He curled his fingers over Leon’s and squeezed. “Please.”
Leon turned to him and blinked, as if coming back to himself. He glanced at Charles, horrified, and abruptly released him, which knocked his head solidly against the floor. Charles moaned, then his eyes flickered and he was glaring groggily up at his assailant.
“This…” He coughed and spit up blood, “Not over… yet.”
Leon stood a bit unsteadily, dazed at what he had done, and D leaned against him, lending him his strength without being obvious about it. “Please,” he whispered, “let it go, Detective.”
Straitening his shoulders as well as he was able, Leon’s cop’s gaze swept the speechless audience of restaurant patrons and staff. “Show’s over, folks. Nothing to see here. Go back to whatever the fuck you were doing.”
“And you,” He snarled, turning back to the pathetic man trying to pull himself to his feet. “If I ever see you again, I’m going to dropkick your ass from here to Taiwan. Got it?”
TO BE CONTINUED…
CHAPTER 16
I am SO sorry about the long wait. RL sometimes takes over.
And, as always, constructive criticism is welcomed.
