Have We Met? [Quin + Collared]

[Rudolph Quin]

[closed due to stylistic differences]

The night was chill, filled with a cold that barely touched him. Still too pumped from the events of the last 2 hours, the crisp frost was a balm to his adrenaline infused skin, leaving his scarf untied and draped over his shoulders. Even as wired as he was, Alex Derleth was filled with a certain calm; the usual urges that plagued him were silent, leaving him feeling giddy and amorous. Like a balloon released from its tether, he was flying high, free and unburdened.

Which was unusual for a person to feel after what he'd just done. The house he left behind was not his own, the clothes he wore were the garments of a dead man, and their owner was nothing more than a mass of flesh and meat lying on the bedroom floor. Only his second kill, he still felt a novice when interacting with his prey, especially tonight which had been interrupted by a voicemail on a cellphone. The first he'd been gloriously unhindered and brazen, taking a bath and staying overnight, sleeping like an infant in the victim's bed while the blood soaked the carpet and the body stiffened in the living room. Wanting to recreate his little adventure of pretending to be someone else while using their shit, wearing their clothes, and invading every aspect of their private lives that they could no longer fight or hide from him, he chose someone a bit more upscale.

Spoiled and greedy. He knew it wasn't smart to pick someone with connections but he would be lying if he denied wanting to try out some luxury. All seemed like it was going according to plan, Alex already eyeballing the Tempurpedic Cloud Mattress and the bathroom with the heated floor tiles and water jet bathtub, before his victim was even done begging and writhing. Then the cellphone in the guy's suit jacket pocket started to ring. Of course it did, with a $1,000 suit like that, someone worked for that kind of money. And that type of person didn't stop working when they got home. As was so.

Alexander waited for the voicemail to pick up before fishing the gadget out and what he heard.... made it very likely he would be found with his hand in the cookie jar. No sleepover this night. Not in this house, not watching that razor thin, 45" LED tv, and not eating a sirloin of Craig Wallace, CEO of Oberon Markets, with a side of kale salad. It was too early in the game and he wasn't going to risk a family member or a fellow employee coming over and surprising him with his pants down. The least he could do is not hand himself over to the authorities with stupid mistakes.

Walking down the street, in his new, top of the line, sleek casual wear, with ATM money in his pocket from Mr. Wallace's bank account, Alexander made his way to one of the local bars. Although pansexual, Alex chose a gay bar, mostly for the promiscuous nature of other men but also because he still had dick on his mind from the dead man who's house he hadn't finished living in for the night. With his black slacks, form fitting shirt and pricey jacket and scarf, all laid overtop of his slender, lightly toned form, he certainly fit the profile of easy meat on a stick.

Music filled the space, the air throbbing with cologne and testosterone, voices loud and thick with spirits. Men tended the bar, two bears and a guy delightfully ambiguous with bleached blonde hair and dark stubble. Alexander went into the space, breathing in the sights and sounds, already fitting snugly into his hunter's mindset. There was something freeing, something playful about the tone of his approach. Having sated his desire for blood, there wasn't that sense of urgency to feed on and dominate someone else. Claiming a stool seconds after it was vacated, Alexander caught the attention of the blonde bartender and ordered a glass of something hard to nurse while hunting. The dark eyebrowed blonde gave him a slanted smirk and a wink as he delivered the glass, yet Alex sensed overwhelmingly that the expression was distant and not borne from actual attraction. Still amused by the other's ambiguous sexuality, he turned in his seat to survey the room, eyes dark and blue looking for something tasty to savor.

 

[Collared]

His fingers danced around the rim of the glass, the condensation rolling down into the half-empty beer that taunted him to finish it. To be honest, Finn Reynolds wanted nothing more than to nestle at home, kicking off those unforgiving leather Oxfords, and letting his feet breathe while he caught up on watching Penny Dreadful on Netflix. So when he had finally signed the last document sitting on his desk at the precinct, he was eager to grab his tattered coat and head to his car, only to be whisked away his fellow detectives to some gay bar whose name he couldn't remember.

Finn’s sexuality wasn’t much of a topic for discussion, much less one for juvenile mockery. No, he had quashed all of those stigmas and stereotypes when he had accumulated the highest number of convicted arrests in a year, earning him a top position within his district. It was an accomplishment that made him well-known and respected, easily granting passageway to his promotion onto detective. Now, he was in the big leagues, known as the ‘Rookie Detective’ for his overly-avid determination and passion. Though, he felt it wane; despite being the hot shot prodigy they had all called him, his inexperience restricted him from the cases he truly wanted, reduced to taking on mediocre disputes and the paperwork that followed. The friends he had made here noticed, though it wasn’t up to them which cases they were assigned. They had taken pity on him, resolving to dragging him out to the local gay bar only a few blocks from the office.

And now they had all left him, off dancing or taking advantage on the straight girls who lowered their guard, not expecting to find any straight men here. He looked at them in slight annoyance, his face subtly wrinkling as he turned back to his drink, alone. Earlier that day, he had caught ear of a brutal killing; the victim found on the carpet of her home, the report coming in only because the neighbor reported a foul stench stewing from the house next door. The body was horribly dismembered, chunks of flesh missing, as if it had been cut off like a slab of pork at the butcher’s. What was curious about this murder was that it appeared as though her house had been lived in, even after her death. There was an indentation in the bed far too big for someone of her frame, used towels and stray hairs decorated the wet tub that didn’t belong to the victim or anyone in her social circle. It was something he wished he could have been assigned to; the perfect case to get his career launched. But here he was, drinking shitty beer while the pounding static they called music invaded his eardrums without mercy.

Holding up the glass by the edge, he swirled it around, the foam creating a miniature whirlpool as he turned his seat, catching sight of a man sitting a few seats down. He was impeccably dressed; those with little fashion sense would brush it off as basic casual clothing, but at least Finn knew brand names when he saw them. His grey eyes, dark in the club, met the man down the counter from him, and he held the gaze for a few good seconds before holding his flat beer up, offering a subtle flick of his wrist in an attempted toast before knocking the glass back. He winced slightly, the sour taste lingering on the flat of his tongue as he set the glass down.

 

[Rudolph Quin]

There was a drag queen singing karaoke that Alex was eyeballing, loving the idea of sticking his hands under that glittering cocktail dress to find the sausage buried within those panty hose, when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. It didn't take long to find the source, his eyes like magnets instantly meeting the world weary gaze watching him further down the bar. There was a moment, the music skipping a beat before the other offered up a lazy air toast with his beer, and Alex leered while automatically offering his own up. He paused, watching with a half-grin as the other man's eyes screwed shut in discomfort, practically hearing the hiss as he grimaced while swallowing the rest of the amber liquid in his glass.

Taking a gentle sip of his whiskey, he rose smoothly from the stool and sauntered down the bar towards the other. There was a fine balance he played with, looking cool enough to exude a predatory air but stumbling just enough to appear that he was putting on something unnatural to him. All part of the game, his performance, weaving something vulnerable and unassuming into the natural desire to be wanted by someone dangerous. Perception was the web he danced on.

"You look like you could use some company," Alex said, flashing the man a charming grin, clean despite the crooked nature of his teeth. His eyes drank the other in with a quick, heavy-lidded sweep, "If not, then quit eye humping me, for fuck's sake. Window shoppers. Tch." He huffed jokingly, pausing to take another sip from his tumbler and hiding his self-satisfied grin unsuccessfully. The man perched on the stool behind him elbowed him for the second time since he took up his spot wedged between beer-guy and the next stool. So, with an expressive eyebrow arched and cast backwards, he moved from his spot to the man's other side, where the other stool was occupied as well but by a more timid and less animated drinker.

Swallowing a mouthful of his drink, he set it onto the counter and leaned his elbow upon it, his eyes growing darker and his smile softer. "I could ask you what you do for a living and you could ask me. And we could both lie and pretend that's what we're here about, like we care or like 'sucking dick really good' is actually in that conversation description anywhere. We could." Alex faintly licked his lips and shrugged with another arched eyebrow. "Or we can be honest for one fucking moment, just for tonight, and we can get the hell out of here so you can tickle my tonsils like we both really want you to."

Aside from his teeth, a failing of his parents being able to afford braces as a child, Alex wasn't bad looking. His eyes and his smile were his best features, transforming his face when they lit up with passion and amusement. The rest was mediocre, especially his thin lips when at rest, his nose long and slender, almost pointed and his chin angular and aggressive. Even with his white, yet snaggletooth grin, it was the highlight of his face, going up and down the scale in seconds, from dorky, lovable boy next door, to overly confident asshole that everybody loved to hate and hated to love. And with his wiggly eyebrows, his large, dark blue eyes took on an animation that kept every expression more interesting than the last.

 

[Collared]

Glancing at his watch, he cocked an eyebrow, thankful at the time. It was getting late, giving him a perfect, if not clichéd excuse that he had to leave. He debated saying goodbye to his friends here, half-wondering if the fellow detectives with tunnel vision set for pussy would even remember that he was there. Resting an elbow on the counter, he leaned his head into the open palm, his fingers threading through the dark brown hair as it settled just under his skull. His free hand went up, a finger raised as it signaled for the bartender’s attention, who was off chatting with some patron that sat down in front of the man Finn had toasted earlier. In short of whistling, his gestures were unsuccessful in attracting the attention he wanted to close down his bar tab. Letting out a scoff, his hand went down, tilting the dewy glass from one side to the other as he looked at the ring of condensation formed on the coaster underneath.

His hand fished into the back of his jeans with the intention of pulling out a twenty, which would more than cover the cost of his drink when a voice had caught his attention. The man he had toasted earlier was now sitting next to him, striking up a conversation. Finn had to admit, there was something about his shameless bravado, the way he dropped the pretenses and got right down to the core reason of why everyone was here tonight: to hook up. The detective couldn’t help but chuckle, the edge of his lips crawling up into a smirk as he turned to face the man, who was now sitting on the other side. Keeping his body faced forward, he turned his head a bit, looking at him with some degree of interest. The men that Finn had been with in the past were all passive and submissive, eagerly wanting him to take the reins in the relationship. Even when he first met them, he was the one who took the initiative and pursuit. Now, with whomever this person was, he was glad to see a change of pace.

“Ah, but I do enjoy the back-and-forth banter that preludes a good fucking,” he grinned, angling his body more now so he wouldn’t have to stretch his neck. His eyes ran over the man with a fine-toothed comb, noting his body language and appearance. There was almost something about his physical characteristics, some more prominent than others that would look misplaced on anybody else, though it looked charismatic on him. It all seemed to tie into the man’s expression, unique from the generic cookie-cutter faces that would only fade into the background.

He’d be lying if he said the hint of direct pretension didn’t turn him on, the thought of putting the approaching man in his place as he met the stare. His thick, untamed brows furrowed, cocking a smile. “But, I suppose we can cut the crap,” he played along, setting the twenty-dollar bill on the counter. “So, my place?”

 

[Rudolph Quin]

Well, it's gonna have to be, Alex thought to himself, a tiny glimmer in his eye as the other man responded to his advances. Technically 'my' place, has a bloody corpse laying out. Unless that turns ya on. Does it? Aloud he said, "Totally. Let's hit the bricks."

Following the other outside to his car, Alexander stopped him when he saw which car they were walking towards. Gentle, insistent fingers grasped the other man's jacket, turning him from unlocking the car door with a playful grin on his face. Then Alex was there, toned, steel hard body pressed flush against the other's, slender arms wrapping around him, and lips, open and warm, grasping for the other man's. He could taste the bitterness of the beer in the man's saliva, feel the slight scrape of stubble on his chin, his hands stroking beneath the other man's jacket to grope at his body through his shirt. Muscular man flesh barely hidden by cloth. A body worth killing for.

Fingers wove themselves through those soft, dark locks, Alex panting heavily with his leg wedged between the other man's thighs. Not aroused yet, he was testing the waters, even exposed as they were in the public space, the lamp post several feet away not hiding a damn thing from passerby, those coming and going from the bar. Who would top? This guy? Maybe. Alexander's tongue swept the other man's mouth, owning the space, smacking wetly, and nibbling softly as he silently dared the other to push back.

 

[Collared]

Though taken by surprise, Finn made no attempt to fight back, allowing the daring tongue to slip inside his parted mouth, rolling around. It took a second, but he quickly regained his composure, biting back down on the man’s thin bottom lips, applying suction on the stranger’s tongue every so often. He could taste something woodsy and robust, probably the drink he watched him sip earlier. At least it masked the horrible tang of the beer he had been served earlier, thankful it was being replaced with something much more delectable.

His hands firmly reached behind, cupping the man’s tender ass as he slowly stepped back, leading the other to his car. Finn paid no attention to the sound of footsteps on the pavement that didn’t match theirs, keeping their lips locked until he felt the cold metal curved wall behind him. His hand pulled away, almost reluctantly as he fished his pocket for his keys, hoping that they were at the right car. Luckily, he heard the familiar sound of the lock clicking, and merely slid the keys back down, continuing the fervid kiss. His wide palms squeezed the man’s ass, using it as leverage to spin him around, knocking him roughly against his car door, their lips smashing together as Finn fought for control.

Letting out a deep growl that settled in the depths of his throat, he finally leaned back, breaking the kiss. His hand went up to hold the other’s head still, as he leaned into the shell of his ear, whispering. “Get in the car,” he instructed, his voice a bit gruff as he dug for his keys as he opened the driver’s side of the door, sliding in. He kicked up the ignition, hearing the roar of his navy BMW sedan coming to life as he waited for the other man to slip in. Luckily, his house was only a few blocks away, and at this time, traffic was slim, allowing him to dart through the slower cars until he made it to his destination.