Chapter Twenty-Four -- How to Educate Your Dom
The elevator was out of order, so he took the stairs, climbing them two at a time. The exercise did him good, the ache in his muscles once he reached his floor a good indication that there was a lot he needed to work out of his system. After seeing Angel on the screen of Watkins's phone, his mind had become a nest of snakes. What was Angel's role in all of this? As he had suspected -- one of the versions of truth he had examined on his way to 'that room' -- Angel appeared to be in cahoots with Watkins.
Those young men, the victims, had been prey for these predators. Some people were in charge, like Watkins and Keres, but someone had to be the hand that killed. Was that Angel's role in the organization? Hudson remembered quite clearly what great delight lit Angel's flawless face while roughing up Jasper on stage during the show Hudson had been asked to immortalize in pictures, the first test of his gullibility in a string of many.
Throughout his career, he had met many people who fell into the trap of believing that a beautiful face couldn't hide darkness behind it, while only average or ugly looking people could be, in their book, committing crimes. It was a common human fallacy; it had an explanation. And if anyone looked at someone like Keres, his face so akin to a character from a horror movie, they would immediately believe him to be as bad as they come. They wouldn't think the same thing about Angel for a moment. His physical beauty made the perfect cover-up.
Hudson preferred to keep his options open. Angel could or couldn't be the one in charge of the actual killing. One thing was certain, and it had been quite clear from the first moment he had laid his eyes on Angel. There was no way the guy was innocent, no way that he didn't know, at least partially, that his boss's dealings involved things that were beyond the sort of stuff BDSM clubs were usually known for.
But then, that night with the police raid, Angel had looked freaked out by something. Hudson wished he knew what that was; the guy had just proven his abilities as an actor, putting on a show for Hudson. He had looked every bit like a trapped animal, behaved like someone being kept inside a creepy room against his will, and yet--
Hudson rested his feet against a chair and tipped his head back, searching the ceiling for answers. Angel's performance in that room had been just that, a performance. He had acted as expected, from lying unmoving on the floor to the dramatic way he had thrown the half-drunk can of soda at the mirror wall.
And all the time he had had a phone with him. For the next part, Hudson closed his eyes. He'd been told, on more than one occasion, that he had an excellent memory, pretty much like a camera; he could remember details like no one could from those snapshots of flashbacks, things that had helped him a lot in his work as a detective.
Where had Angel kept the phone? At first glance, the room had appeared to be exceptionally bare, nothing on the floor, nothing on the walls. That wasn't entirely true. The wall opposite the mirror had a window, as Watkins couldn't wall that in or else the people in charge of the building maintenance would have taken notice. The window had been covered with heavy burlap curtains, but the sill...
Yes, now Hudson could see it. He reached for his camera to see if his memory served him well, as usual. He flicked through the pictures taken earlier in the afternoon and zoomed in. There it was, a thin flicker of silver, the phone case. Next thing, he focused on Angel's expressions. It was in the eyes, of course. There was no fear in them, no matter how twisted his mouth was in a snarl. His eyes were relaxed and now that Hudson saw it, he couldn't un-see it.
Angel was an element that fit in place. Whatever the thing that had spooked him during the night of the raid, it could have no connection whatsoever to the things happening on the dark side of Twinlight. The young man was a complicated fellow, after all.
The knock on the door took him by surprise. He smiled as he realized who it might be. Even the way he knocked was polite. This time, Hudson had no reason to tiptoe to the door and examine the person on the other side, as usual. He did it, nonetheless, part force of habit, part the anticipation of seeing Otis standing there, his face serene and void of any malice.
***
Hudson could very well be late from work, although that was a stretch since he didn't seem to keep regular hours like other people did. Otis had opted against sending a message or calling on the phone as he didn't want to meet with refusal again. He had read that people often had a harder time refusing something when face to face with the person asking them something than over the phone. In hindsight, he was surprised that door-to-door marketing wasn't still as big a thing as it had been in the past. Marketers preferred calling nowadays, even sending emails which were so easy to discard.
He must have been still wondering about the mysterious evolution of marketing when Hudson opened the door because the hint of laughter in his boyfriend's voice let him know he looked sort of weird.
"Where do you plan on taking me? To try some exotic food out? The kind with insects in it?"
Otis opened his mouth to deny any such thing and then remembered his decision to be as truthful as he could be with the man sharing his bed. "I was wondering why people who sell things now prefer emails and phone calls to door-to-door marketing."
"I see," Hudson said as if he really did understand where Otis was coming from with saying things like that. "I promised to take you out, so I suppose that is why you are here."
"No," Otis replied truthfully. "I am here because I do not intend to make the same mistake as other marketers today. I am here in person to invite you over. And you must sleep with me."
Hudson leaned against the door jamb and gave him a long look. Otis felt his skin prickling and his ears getting hot.
"Not like that," he protested. "I mean it as real sleep."
"If you really mean it like that, you disappoint me," Hudson said as he walked back into his apartment. He left the door wide open but didn't invite Otis in, leaving him to crane his neck to watch him. "Come on, let's go to your place," Hudson added as he came back.
Otis nodded shortly and walked in front so that he could open the door. Would Hudson believe that he was addicted to sex? Addiction was a stranger to him, in the sense that he didn't drink or smoke. He liked to buy his figurines and have a good night sleep, but that was the extent of things he believed he couldn't very well live without.
Sex with Hudson, however, was stronger stuff than his liking of tiny figurines and need for eight hours of sleep each night. As he thought about it, he felt his skin only growing hotter. It wasn't a thing he could hide, and Hudson was walking right behind him, which only meant that he was a first-hand witness to all of his embarrassment.
All those things went out of his mind the moment they were inside, because Hudson grabbed him and kissed him hard on the lips.
"I hope this is the main reason why you want me here, or otherwise I fear that I'm losing my appeal."
It was a joke. Hudson was good at joking, and Otis made a mental note to ask him later how it came so easily to him to say amusing things. Again, his thoughts were cut short as Hudson cupped one hand around his head and kissed his lips. Their tongues moved together, and it was a good exercise to forget about everything else. Maybe that was the reason why sex could be addictive. It took over your mind, and you became unaware of anything else.
Because it was with Hudson, Otis wasn't scared. His boyfriend made him sit on the bed and then climbed on it, holding him between his strong thighs. When he looked up, their eyes met. Hudson's dark eyes burned, making his skin burn even hotter.
Wild wasn't a word to describe him. He had never been like that, but there was a part of him that ached to be free. Otis put his impatient hands on Hudson's chest and grabbed at the fabric of his t-shirt, feeling the hard chest underneath. He pushed them up in an effort to get his man out of the thing as quickly as possible.
"Ouch, I think you pulled some hair out there," Hudson said.
"I'm sorry," Otis murmured, although he was far from being any sort of sorry. He only continued to pull at Hudson's t-shirt until he gained access to bare skin.
Hudson took it upon himself to pull his t-shirt over his head and render himself naked from the waist up. Otis put his hands on the handsome chest again and pulled at the coarse hair with intention this time.
"You cheeky--" Hudson sucked in a breath as Otis went for his prize, a pert nipple that grew harder in his mouth.
Otis didn't protest in the slightest at being subjected to the same treatment. His shirt was pulled out of his pants and Hudson worked his hands up underneath it until he reached Otis's chest. They played with each other's nipples, as little thrills thrummed through both of them. Their bodies vibrated in synch. This had to be the sort of thing that meant they were compatible.
"I want to taste you, baby," Hudson said pleadingly.
With reluctance, Otis let go of the nipple in his mouth and fell onto his back. Hudson was an expert at taking him out of his clothes, but he worked with naked men all day long, so he had to be.
The question left his mouth before he had a chance to stop it. "Have you done this with your models?"
"Are you jealous?" Hudson asked and grinned as he unbuckled his belt.
Otis's eyes remained fixed on his boyfriend's moves. He was fascinated by everything Hudson did.
"Are you asking me if I taste them the way I taste you?" Hudson pulled at the belt slowly, freeing it from the loops of his jeans.
