For this week's prompt (in bold within the story), I revisited some characters...well, kind of. This bit (which turned out waaaaay loner than I anticipated) takes place well before the flash fiction I wrote with these characters. I also broke the prompt up....because well, I did.
Also, this is a male/male pairing and some graphic sexual things happen--you have been warned.
This would normally be where the story ended, Harris Porter thought. If this were a story, the world has been saved (okay, maybe not the world but a lot of people, damn it), the prince has found his bride (so there’s no prince or bride to be seen, but that’s beside the point), and there's nothing left to do (except the fucking reams of paperwork because there was always more of that, no matter the outcome). Only this wasn’t a story. It was the real world, and the loose ends that were left belong to people that weren’t the prince, or the dragon, or the little goose girl.
Nope, tying up the loose ends fell to Harris and the team he’d been working with for the last month and a half to track a serial killer who had been escalating and becoming more and more bold with each kill. Harris had been assigned to the team temporarily to help with the case, though there was talk that perhaps the assignment would be made permanent. Finding his footing had been a challenge—this case being complicated in so many ways—and he had no idea what Liam, the team lead, thought of him. And in the end, it was Liam’s call whether Harris was now a part of the team or would be sent to another.
It had been too much to hope that the decision would come now. The case was essentially closed, yes, but they still needed confirmation that the body found was actually their killer. So it was a waiting game—to actually close the case and for Harris to learn his fate.
Harris looked at each of the team members—all of them looked as tired as he felt. Going on little to no sleep every night had definitely caught up with them. He was a bit envious of Sarah, the lone woman on the team, as she dozed curled up on the chair behind her desk. And he had no clue how Scott could be sleeping, stretched out on the hard floor as he was, but from the sounds of the quiet snuffling snores, he was managing just fine.
Liam stood with his second, Adam, and as they talked in low voices, they kept looking toward the final member of the team, Justin, sadness and concern clear in their dark expressions. Harris turned his attention to the man in question. This case had sucked on so many levels, for no one more than Justin Campbell. He’d worked the case hard, like they all had, but a couple weeks into the investigation, something had tipped him off—Harris never learned what exactly it had been—that led the team to identify their killer.
One Jonah Campbell. Justin’s brother.
Officially, Justin stepped back, no longer working the case, for obvious reasons. Unofficially, however…he was still very much a part of the investigation, and without his insights, they wouldn’t have gotten very far.
Justin stood, leaning against one of the tall file cabinets, arms crossed over his chest, hazel eyes unfocussed as he stared straight ahead. His dark hair curled messily around his pale face, and Harris realized if he had a hard time sleeping each night after witnessing the horrors they did, it had to be a hundred times worse for Justin, knowing his brother had done those things again and again.
“Go home, people,” Liam ordered, his voice hoarse. “Everyone back here at oh-seven-hundred.”
Justin straightened and strode toward the exit without saying a word. Adam moved to Sarah and then Scott, waking them and repeating the boss’ orders. Harris squared his shoulders and tried to look somewhat alert and awake as Liam approached.
“Good work, Porter,” he said gruffly.
“Thank you, sir.”
Liam shook his head—having told Harris at least a hundred times he didn’t have to call him “sir”—then clapped the younger agent on the back. “Oh-seven-hundred. Don’t be late.”
Harris nodded, biting back the question he so badly wanted to ask—was he just reporting in to help tie up those loose ends or was this permanent? Shouldering his backpack, he returned the smiles and waves from Adam and Sarah then took his leave. He glanced at his watch as he got on the elevator. If he hauled ass, he could catch the last bus and avoid having to pay for a cab. He cursed the bad luck of having his car crap out on him in the middle of a hot case when he had no time to find a new one. After exiting the building, he jogged to the stop. He’d barely been there a minute, when a car pulled up to the curb. The driver’s side window lowered to reveal Justin.
“Get in,” he said curtly, hardly looking at Harris.
“There’s no need… Bus’ll be here in—”
“For fuck’s sake, just get in the fucking car!”
Harris stared, frozen, until Justin turned his head to meet his gaze. The sight of his red-rimmed eyes pushed Harris into action. He rounded the front of the car, opened the passenger door and slid in. He barely had time to settle his bag between his feet and reach for the seatbelt when he was thrown back as Justin hit the gas.
After managing to buckle himself in, he waited a few minutes in what had to be the most tense, awkward silence of his life, wondering what was going through the other man’s mind. As Justin turned onto his street, Harris twisted to face him.
“Thanks for the ride,” he said softly, at a complete loss.
What the hell did you say to a man who just lost his brother, who just happened to be a complete psychopath who’d tortured and killed a dozen men…that they knew of? This situation wasn’t exactly something they prepared you for at Quantico.
Justin didn’t say anything as he parked in front of Harris’ building. He dropped his hands on his thighs, fingers clenching and unclenching, and stared out the windshield, lips pressed together in a thin line.
Harris unbuckled and, swallowing the lump in his throat, decided to follow his gut. The last thing Justin needed was to be alone right now. Harris leaned over, switched the car off and removed the key. Justin startled slightly but remained quiet.
“Come on,” Harris encouraged. “I’ve got beer, if you want, and an extra bed you can crash in. And an ear if you decide you need to talk about it.”
Justin snorted and shook his head even as he reached for the door handle. Harris grabbed his bag and got out, pocketing the keys then pulling his own from the other pocket. He glanced back once to make sure Justin was following him then led the way through the lobby, up the stairs to the second floor, to his door. He unlocked it and gestured for Justin to go on in.
He closed the door behind them, and suddenly, the world was spinning, the thump of his bag hitting the floor barely registering as his back slammed against the wall.
“Don’t want or need a beer, or an extra bed, or a fucking ear,” Justin rasped, breath fanning over Harris’ face, his hands tight on Harris’ waist.
Harris gulped then wet his lips, cock twitching at the nearness of the other man and at the way his gaze zeroed in on Harris’ mouth.
“What do you want…need?” he asked shakily, trying so hard to stay still, to not rock his hips forward.
Apparently, he didn’t need to hold back—Justin pressed in, grinding his solid length against Harris’ thigh. He dropped his head, buried his face in Harris’ neck, inhaling deeply. Harris thought he might fucking come on the spot when he felt the wet glide of Justin’s tongue over his Adam’s apple. God, this was a bad idea…
“I’ve seen you watching me.” Justin’s words were muffled but understandable. “Didn’t think I’d notice you eye-fucking me from across the bullpen?”
“Fuck,” Harris breathed, eyes nearly rolling back at the sweet friction of his dick against Justin’s hip. “S-s-orry. Didn’t—” Justin shifted slightly, cupping Harris’ ass, so their cocks slotted together in a mind-blowing perfect way. “Oh, fuck.”
Justin chuckled darkly, then nipped at the sensitive skin below Harris’ ear before sucking hard. Harris whimpered and grabbed hold of Justin’s rolling hips.
Justin pushed his hand between their bodies, fingers pulling at buttons and zippers, and another whimper escaped at the loss of contact. But any disappointment disappeared when their pants were shoved down just enough and Justin grasped their now bare cocks together and began stroking. Hell, every logical thought faded at that moment. All Harris could do was feel—Justin’s cock against his, the rough circle of Justin’s fingers jerking them off, the bursts of hot, damp breath at his neck, the rumble of Justin’s moans.
All too soon, his balls drew up and heat coiled deep in his belly. He tried to hold on, wanting this to just last and last, but then, Justin dragged his thumb over Harris’ slit, his nail catching just a bit…just enough to shove him over. His muscles tightened, and he came hard, spilling over Justin’s hand and dick.
“Fuck, yeah,” Justin grunted and followed, his seed mixing with Harris’, hot and slick.
Harris let his head fall back, shivering as Justin nuzzled and left wet open-mouthed kisses on his sweat-damp throat.
“Shower?” Justin murmured as he pulled back slowly—dare he say, reluctantly?—and met Harris’ gaze.
“Justin, what— What did—”
He cupped Harris’ cheek, cutting off Harris’ words with a thumb against his lips. “Don’t want to talk. Don’t want to fucking think tonight.”
Chest aching, he nodded. Justin’s lips quirked slightly, then he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Harris’. A rather chaste kiss after what they’d just done, but so damned sweet it made his eyes sting. When Justin straightened, Harris grabbed him around the wrist and pulled him to the bathroom.
They stripped, showered, and dried off efficiently, barely touching each other. When they climbed under the covers of Harris’ bed, he was pleasantly surprised when Justin scooted close, tangling their legs together as he, again, pressed his face into Harris’ neck. His sleepy sigh tickled, and with a soft smile, Harris wrapped his arms around the other man and closed his eyes.
He drifted a bit but was pulled back at the first splash of hot tears on his skin. Justin’s shoulders quaked, and his breathing hitched. Harris tightened one arm around Justin, sliding his other hand up and down his warm back. He shushed and murmured soothingly as the Justin cried, almost silently. Finally, he stilled, and when his body loosened and grew heavy, Harris let himself sink into much-needed sleep.
Waking the next morning was a gradual thing, and Harris groaned as his muscles protested. He rolled over and found himself alone in the bed, the sheets beside him rumpled but cool. He scrubbed his hands over his face and refused to let panic or uneasiness take hold. Justin would have needed to run back to his place before going into work—just because he wasn’t here didn’t mean anything.
Despite his best efforts, a sliver of doubt wiggled its way into Harris’ mind. What if Justin regretted last night? If he did, Harris could kiss his chances of remaining on Liam’s team goodbye. Dammit. Shaking his head, he sat up then, looking at the clock, jumped to his feet. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck! Five to seven! There no way he was going to make it to work on time. Just freaking perfect. He fumbled for his phone and called a cab—the quicker option. After arranging pick up, he hurriedly got ready and rushed outside.
It was nearly eight when he tripped out of the elevator, and his face was red—from exertion and embarrassment—as he approached the team where they were gathered by their desks.
“You’re late,” Liam said flatly.
“Fu— I’m sorry. I overslept, and by the time the cab got there—” He clamped his mouth shut at Liam’s raised brow. “I’m terribly sorry, sir.”
“You have my number, do you not?” his boss—God, please let him be my boss—asked. “The rest of the team’s numbers?”
“Yes,” he said slowly, drawing the word out awkwardly.
“Then, you should have called or texted. Next time, I won’t be so forgiving.”
His stomach flipped. “Next time?”
Liam’s mouth curved. “Proved yourself time and again on this last case. You’re mine now. Get used to it.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Drop your bag by your desk, Porter. Call IT to get you set on the computer then get started on your case report.”
Harris’ stomach stopped flipping in excitement and dropped when his eyes followed Liam’s gesture.
“But that’s Jus—Agent Campbell’s desk,” he whispered.
Liam strode away without answering, but Adam stepped up beside Harris. “Justin’s gone. He’s no longer with the Bureau.”
“He quit?” Shit.
“Yeah, can’t say that I blame him. This case…his brother… It’s been a mind fuck for him. Though Boss is putting it down as extended leave for now. Waiting to see if Justin’ll be back once his head is clear.”
Harris nodded and walked stiffly to what was now his desk. He opened one of the drawers to store his creds and gun, eyes widening when he saw an folded sheet of paper with his name scrawled across it. Glancing around and finding everyone—his new teammates—busily typing away on their computers, he opened it. Legs shaking, he sat down and read the short note.
Thanks for everything. Congrats on getting on Liam’s team. He’s not an easy man to impress, but you managed to do just that. Good luck.
Below Justin’s name there as a line of words that were scribbled out, and no matter how Harris angled the paper, he couldn’t figure out what Justin had written that he’d taken back. He pressed a hand to his sternum, trying to alleviate the hurt blossoming.
Not living a fairytale or a story, he reminded himself. Happy endings took effort in real life, and were rarely the fabled happily-ever-afters found in books.
“Porter!” Liam snapped as he returned to the grouping of desks. “Thought I told you to call IT? Don’t have all damned day.”
“On it, si—” He cleared his throat as he shoved the note back into the drawer and reached for his phone. It may not be a happily-ever-after, but he was on the team he’d dreamed of. For now, that was enough. It had to be. “On it, Boss.”