Dating Rules And Pretty Fools – Ch. 14
By Laura S. Fox
Copyright © 2023 Laura S. Fox
All Rights Reserved
Gay Erotica
Intended for Mature Audiences Only
This story will contain graphic depictions of sexual intercourse, strong
language and it is not meant for readers who are less than 18 years of age.
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Chapter Fourteen – Gentle
Darkness
Hudson woke up with a
start and groaned as he worked a kink in his neck. Otis was not far off the
mark in telling him that his sofa was very impractical, as far as sleeping was
concerned. It wasn't like him to check out like that, but he had been
bone-tired after the night with the police raid at Twinlight
and, without realizing it, he had slept well into the afternoon.
Watkins, in his amazing
generosity, had recommended the day off for both him and Jackie, and that meant
he could take the time to rest. At least some good had come out of his
undercover work so far; he had sent Jasper away, so one person had been saved. Better
than no one, but still so many more to go.
Hudson traipsed to the
kitchen, rolling one shoulder and craning his neck left and right. He should
have thought of getting a place with better furnishings for his mission. But if
he had done that, he would have never met Otis; bad sofa and all, it had been
the best choice he had made in a long time.
He couldn't keep in a
grin at the sight of the small slow cooker sitting on the counter. As he fixed
his coffee, his mind went back to all the times he'd had a man in his life for more
than just a few weeks. Was he the one who'd made all those relationships fail?
He liked to believe that he could be considerate enough. Hmm, maybe he was
fooling himself into thinking too nice things about his own personality. His
work had come first so many times. No, not so many times, but always. No one wanted
to stay in the life of someone who had other priorities, one hundred percent of
the time. Funny how, while growing up, he wouldn't have pegged himself as a
candidate for becoming a workaholic. Seeing your best friend die could change a
man's goals, it seemed.
He hadn't thought of Pete
in a long time. Pete had been the closest he'd had to a family, one he cared
about at least. They hadn't been lovers. There had been moments, sure, but
maybe that was just his overactive imagination driven by a teenager's raging
hormones and nothing else. A hand lent here and there, but every time, a thing
between bros and no more than that. Hudson smiled and shook his head. Pete had
been one hell of a guy, larger than life, ideas running through his hot head at
a million miles per second, not all of them good, obviously. He had never cared
about anyone else in his life more, although he wouldn't fall down memory lane
to feel sorry for himself. One thing was certain: he hadn't been in love with
Pete, although he had loved him more than all the people he'd ever known.
And after he'd died, his
choice had been made. Hudson left his cup on the counter and took another look
at his new slow cooker. He had become a detective because he needed to do
everything in his power and beyond to save as many people as he could. No
matter what the captain said.
He patted the kitchen
appliance on its lid on his way out as if it were a person. The bitter fix he'd
just ingested would kick in soon. And he had some research to run on Angel.
With Jasper and the other guys, he had had no luck so far, but he never gave
up. Like a dog with a bone, as the captain often said about him. He actually
liked that comparison, because not giving up was part of who he was.
***
Tonight had to be perfect
if he wanted to convince Hudson to sleep over. Otis pondered for a moment and
then opened the windows again. Grandma always said that it was vital to let the
sun and air in or otherwise any house would get sick. He liked the way she
treated inanimate objects as if they had souls. That was why he loved his glass
miniature collection. She had started him on it, but he had quickly become fond
of them. They could be his; they didn't bother anyone, with them being so tiny
and all.
One of the hardest things
for him to do had been to take things into his possession after having nothing
for so long. Grandma wasn't rich, but she always found ways to give him little
gifts, and not only on his birthday. A few times, he had caught her wiping away
tears from her eyes, but she always said that it was nothing, and he didn't
make her cry.
She had been so good to
him, and after he'd had so much bad in his life, he hadn't known at first what
to do with all that kindness. After the fire, he had been in a strange state
for several weeks, one with a medical name that sounded very close to the name
of a place. Catatonia. Grandma had explained it to him, years later, what it
all meant. He himself had encountered great difficulty in telling the doctors
what was wrong with him, but the general consensus had been that he had
experienced an overwhelming fear, one that had paralyzed him for all those
weeks on end.
Could someone be afraid
of being afraid? It was the reason why grandma always took care to explain
everything to him in minute detail, asking him questions along the way so that she
could be sure he understood. For a good portion of his life, he had worried
about falling into the same state again, out of the blue. That was it; he only
worried – he couldn't be afraid because he didn't recall his thoughts or feelings
from being like that. If he thought about it enough, he thought it resembled a
long sleep without dreams.
He observed the room with
a critical eye. The sheets were freshly laundered, all the surfaces wiped clean
of any traces of dust, and not one thing appeared to be out of place. That left
him with only one thing left to check. Taking a deep breath, he opened the
small bag and extracted the shorts he had just bought for the occasion. Missy
had been so sure that he would look good in such things, and when he had
searched the store for the kind of underwear he never bought for himself, just
seeing these had convinced him that he had to have them.
Now, doubt was creeping
in. What if he looked silly? He undressed and put the black shorts on, taking
his time to tie the strings on the sides. Was he supposed to make little bows
or just let them dangle downward like that? Bows it had to be; they were
prettier.
No matter how
embarrassing, he had to take a look or else he might end up not wearing them at
all, and then the shorts would be nothing but money wasted. Otis knew very well
that he wasn't rich enough to spend money on underwear he'd never put on. That
was the ultimate argument, and he proceeded toward the hallway, where the large
mirror was still in the same place. Hudson had said something about helping him
out with it. Between showing him his new shorts and inviting him to sleep over
in a bed that was better than that cramped sofa, maybe he'd find the time to
remind his neighbor, as politely as possible, about his promise.
He looked and blushed at how
he looked. The word sexy hadn't been put there on the package for nothing. The
shorts did make him feel that, and it was a strange feeling. Although he was
the one looking at his own reflection in the mirror, he felt as if someone else
was looking at him. He brushed one hand across his chest and over his belly,
stopping right above where the shorts started. It was odd and different, but he
didn't dislike it. That was the first step when trying something new. Even if
it was a little scary, just pushing through could work wonders sometimes.
He would have to ask
Hudson for his honest opinion on these shorts. That was another thing he had
learned – that, when in doubt, asking for what other people thought was the
correct way to learn the truth.
***
It had been a long day
and a fruitless one on top of everything. Hudson groaned and pushed his hands
against his eyes, rubbing them for a good half minute. A detective's job could
be such a downer at times; there were times when, no matter how much work you
put into it, the answers remained out of reach.
He'd had no luck finding
Angel's real identity. A better way was to snoop around at the club and find
out the guy's personal details, the ones he must have provided when he'd been
hired at Twinlight. The chances were high, seeing the
shady kind of business Watkins ran there, that Angel had an identity as
carefully fabricated as Hudson's.
Or maybe he was reading
too much into things and Angel was, like many other pretty boys his age, in
this business to turn a quick buck based on his looks alone. He looked old
enough not to be underage, but there was something so unpleasant about him, as
if what lurked under the surface matched in intensity his outward beauty but
was skewed in another direction.
Could it be that he just
disliked the guy profoundly? That was always a possibility, and Hudson forced
his mind into taking a long view. What he knew of Angel so far was that he
didn't mind playing into the sick games his masters ordered, and that he liked
making bad jokes.
Bad dark jokes.
Hudson shook his head.
Whatever was going through Angel's mind, he wouldn't figure it out by sitting
on his ass and going through the records he had access to. As always, the best
detective work was done out in the field. He'd have to get chummy with the guy,
and see where that would take him.
It was getting late and
he needed to grab a bite. Could he ask his pretty neighbor over to cook him a
homemade dinner? As thorough as Otis was, he would probably scold him for not
saying anything sooner. After all, that was a slow cooker, and that meant it
couldn't make food fast.
Hudson chuckled and shook
his head. It was so easy being around Otis and getting into his shoes. His mind
was simple, but that didn't make him stupid. He was odd, but endearing. And,
above all, he was cute and eager, and just thinking about that was enough for
Hudson to feel his jeans getting a bit too tight. Well, he could use a
distraction. All he had to do was see if his pretty neighbor wanted to go out
and have a bite.
That reminded him. Otis
worked at a restaurant. And Jackie was going there to pester the guy with his
lecherous intentions. Hudson grimaced at that; his thoughts and plans regarding
his cute neighbor weren't pure either. The chances were, at that hour, Otis had
already had dinner and wasn't interested in going out. As much as he wanted to,
Hudson decided against visiting the restaurant where his neighbor worked. It
was chilling enough that Jackie knew Otis; any more colliding of those two
worlds and he'd start to think he needed to whisk Otis away from all the
danger.
An incoming message
interrupted his train of thought.
"Wanna
stop by?" he read slowly. It was from Otis, which made him smile, but the tone
of the message, while comprised of nothing but three words, didn't sound like
his quirky neighbor at all. He was politeness incarnate, and Hudson could bet
that he wouldn't usually be caught dead using such informal manners.
That made him slightly
wary and, after another second, increasingly wary. He thought for a moment and,
without a trace of hesitation, he opened his camera case.
***
He had been right. It was
cold in the hallway, and Otis trembled not as much because of the feel of the
cool air on his bare skin, but because he was worried that some other neighbor
might wander by and see him standing there, wearing the impossibly small piece
of fabric that barely covered his nether parts. Hudson hadn't replied yet, but
he was too impatient to wait inside.
So, he was standing in
front of his own door, wearing sexy skimpy shorts, a guarantee – according to
Missy – for ensuring that Hudson would want to spend the night in his bed.
The door on 505 opened
abruptly, and Hudson stepped out. He did it so quickly that Otis started and
then remained glued in place, unable to move. There was something in the way Hudson
moved, a tension that made him seem odd. As if it were a tsunami coming, and
they had to run, no time for questions.
"Otis, what in the world
are you wearing?"
He took a step back. That
was bad. Everything he could read on Hudson's face was surprise mixed with
something he couldn't define, but it wasn't good either. And the idiom `what in
the world', as he had learned from the dictionary, was often used to express
disgust.
It took only a moment for
his stomach to get the message that he'd made a horrible choice by wearing
those ugly shorts. They weren't ugly, but he was. He rushed into his apartment,
away from the shame, but when he tried to close the door, he couldn't. Hudson
was strong enough to push him back and soon, they were both inside.
What he had wanted, but
now didn't want anymore.
Hudson hugged him briefly
and then pushed him away, as he began to inspect the place. "Did you send that
message just earlier?"
"Yes," Otis squealed. His
voice was no longer working properly. "That was me." He had no idea what to do
with his hands, and Hudson was blocking his way so he couldn't grab some
clothes to put on, either. The hallway was so small that he couldn't avert his
eyes from his own reflection in the mirror. How could he even think that he
looked desirable? The only way he looked was ludicrous, bizarre, even disgusting.
He wished he didn't know so many words.
Hudson sighed and ran a
hand over his face as soon as his inspection was over. He looked sideways at
Otis and grinned. "Did I scare you?"
That development was
unfamiliar to him. What had just happened? Hudson no longer seemed surprised or
disgusted. He was even smiling, and he had one of those beautiful smiles that
Otis wanted to see every day only so that he could get into a good mood.
The only thing he could
do was shake his head and look down.
"And what's with the sexy
getup? Are you trying to seduce me or something?"
Otis raised his eyes.
That was stupefying. Dumbfounding. It was even blowing his mind. How could
Hudson go from looking surprised in a bad way to being surprised in a good way?
Otis hadn't changed himself. He was still wearing those stupid shorts. He
should have taken Missy with him and chosen something sensible.
His silence made Hudson
move toward him, and soon he was engulfed in those strong tattooed arms and
made to feel safe again. Gradually, he relaxed into the embrace and let his
hands move down Hudson's back, until they reached something hard and cold
sticking out of the other's jeans.
Otis jumped one step
back. "What's that?" he asked. "Behind your back?" He gesticulated wildly with
one arm.
Hudson frowned and
reached behind him. Otis was even more startled when he saw what it was.
"This is my gun," Hudson
said and held it at a neutral angle.
"Guns are dangerous."
Otis eyed the heavy object with growing discomfort, dark and scary just by
being there.
"Of course they are.
That's why only qualified people should use them."
Otis pondered over his
next question. Hudson didn't strike him as dangerous, but he wasn't
knowledgeable enough about the world to know for sure. "Are you qualified?"
Hudson nodded but offered
no other information. So, people who took photographs of men in muzzles and
leashes needed guns? Grandma would have a few things to say about the state the
world was in today.
His eyes followed Hudson
as he put the gun into the back of his jeans. "I got the text from you. It
didn't sound like you. So I got a little... confused."
The confession
dumbfounded Otis even more. "Can you get confused?" Hudson didn't look at all
like someone who would get confused.
"Once in a while. Sorry
about scaring you, too. I'll go back to my place."
"Wait." Otis didn't want
this opportunity to slip through his fingers. He worried about the gun, but he
trusted Hudson. "I asked you here because I want you to sleep with me."
Hudson turned on his heel
so fast that he almost lost his balance. Otis steadied him by grabbing his arm
with both hands.
"I see. That's why you
were in the hallway buck-naked."
"I'm not buck-naked,"
Otis protested. "I bought these today, because they were important for the plan
to work."
"And what plan is that?"
"To get you in my bed."
Hudson doubled over, and
Otis worried for a minute until he understood that his neighbor was just
laughing. That wasn't at all the effect he had been aiming for.
"Come here," Hudson said
and kissed his forehead. Then, he rubbed Otis's head with his fist, messing up
his hair. "Does that plan still stand?"
"Yes," Otis replied,
although he still felt rattled over how his efforts in seduction – apparently, that was his play here – had gone. He was obviously
very bad at it.
"Then let me just go to
my place and put the gun away. I don't want you to worry about its being here,
at your place."
"Don't go. As long as
you're qualified to use it, I don't mind it."
"Are you sure? I live two
steps away from you."
"The distance between my
door and yours is longer than two steps. Unless they are giant steps. Don't
leave." He was saying the same thing over and over, but he still felt too shaken
about it all to let Hudson out of his sight. What if he changed his mind and
didn't return? Then Otis would have wasted good money on a pair of useless
underwear.
***
Maybe being in detective
mode all the time wasn't healthy. That was his major flaw and probably why few
people truly understood him. What he needed to do right now was put Otis at
ease after scaring him earlier by going through his apartment for signs of
intruders. In hindsight, it would have been ridiculous for anyone wanting to
hurt him or his neighbor to send Otis out in a pair of sexy shorts as the
welcoming committee.
He was lucky Otis's mind
worked in different ways than other people's because there were no follow-up
questions about the gun. Hudson was happy to take that as it was.
Otis acted primly as he
invited him to sit on the bed. That made for a funny contrast with the way he
was dressed, or better said, undressed. Hudson lay on his back and put his
hands behind his head; only then did he realize that the gun was poking him in
the back. He straightened up and searched around for a place to put it. If Otis
hadn't been so adamant about not letting him leave, he would have put it out of
sight already.
"Here." Otis hurried to his
side and opened the nightstand by the bed.
Hudson placed it inside,
noticing the notebooks stacked neatly on top of each other. His gun looked
incongruous next to them. That made sense. A man like him and someone like Otis
shouldn't be so close. He dealt with dangerous people, had a dangerous job, and
carried a dangerous thing like a gun. While his prim and proper neighbor was
someone who would be much better off in the company of a guy with a safe job
and safe hobbies.
Otis sat gingerly on the
bed by his side and looked at him. "How do you find it?"
"What?" Hudson asked.
"It's definitely something." He let his eyes wander down Otis's slender body.
His skin was so beautiful, he felt a small pain inside his chest just looking
at him. So different from the world Hudson lived in. As for the skimpy
underwear he was wearing, Hudson felt a twitch in his fingers to reach out for
that little bow and pull at it to make the damn thing come undone.
"I know, right?" Otis
said enthusiastically and bounced up and down on the bed. "I told you it was
better than your sofa. Perfect for a sleepover."
Hudson blinked once,
frowned for a bit, and then laughed. "You want me here so that I can sleep in
your bed?"
"Yes," Otis replied, as
if it was the most natural thing in the world to present yourself in sexy shorts
and tell a guy that you wanted him in your bed.
That sort of innocence
deserved all the protection in the world. Hudson moved closer until he reached
Otis and caressed his bare shoulder slowly. "You are so good, Otis."
That declaration earned
him a sideways glance that conveyed little besides confusion. "Good how?"
"Like this," Hudson said
and tipped his chin gently so that they could angle their heads for a kiss.
A small sigh came with
the parting of soft lips, and it sent a breeze through him that raised goose
bumps in its wake. When was the last time he'd felt like this for a man? Maybe
it had happened in the beginning, when all sex was new, and every experience
was a first.
He brought Otis closer
until he had him between his legs. His hands traveled down the smooth back
resting above the underwear. "You are so beautiful," he said and kissed him
harder.
Otis was inviting him to
take over, to become someone better. Was this the right thing to choose? Maybe
not now, but in the long run Hudson knew in his gut, the same one that never
lied, that it would be good for him, it would be so good that even his
priorities might change.
Through slow coaxing, he
had him on his back, legs spread, and Hudson liked how well he fit between
those slender limbs. He caressed the smooth skin everywhere, deepening each
kiss and drinking from it like his entire life hinged on it. His right hand
cupped a knee and then traveled down the well-defined calf. Even his ankles
were so delicate, yet strong; no wonder the first thing Hudson had thought of
Otis was that his neighbor was a runway model in hiding. Everything about him
was proportioned just right, on the light side, but beautiful in a diaphanous
way that inspired the onlooker, making him feel things he'd never felt before.
And all that beauty lay
in his hands, at his mercy, showing no desire to push him away. Hudson stopped
a slow growl growing in his chest right in time. He was being offered
ownership, he had known it since Otis had demanded, in that innocent way of
his, to be collared. And he was more than willing to take it. No, that wasn't
even half-right. An imperious feeling pushed him to accept it.
He let his hands roam
over the beautiful body under him, over the chest and nipples, the lean abdomen
muscles rising and falling with each deep breath. But, before he ended up doing
something that might scare Otis off or create room for too much
misunderstanding between them, he needed to ask.
"Why did you put these
on?" he asked and fingered the little bow of string that had enticed him just
earlier.
"To make sure you'd want
to sleep in my bed," Otis replied. His breathing hitched a little, and his
chest continued to rise and fall, while his pretty lips remained parted and
alluring.
"So, let me understand
this," Hudson said and propped himself on one elbow, still keeping a possessive
leg over Otis, but keeping just enough distance so that he could endure this
self-inflicted torture. "You're really worried that I'm sleeping on that sofa."
Otis nodded eagerly. In
his earlier ministrations, Hudson had pushed his hair away from his hidden eye,
so now he could admire the young man in all his beauty. "You could really hurt
your spine if you sleep badly."
That was the kind of
answer he'd come to expect from his eccentric neighbor. Hudson sighed and
pressed his forehead against Otis's for a moment. "All right. Then I suppose I
should grant your wish of helping me. I will sleep here tonight."
Otis's face lit up. "I've
never had a sleepover," he confessed, "but others made a big deal out of it. So
I've always wanted to know what it would be like."
Another bit of the foggy
past revealed to him. Hudson willed his investigative mind to take a break.
Needling Otis for answers about everything that had happened in his prior life
shouldn't be high on his list. It was there, because he couldn't help it, and
he wanted to learn about this pretty man's life, but it couldn't be now.
First things first, he
needed to put even more distance between them – only a few inches more – so
that he could clear his head. "I came in a rush," he said. "I actually wanted
to take you out for a bite."
Otis made a very
disappointed face. "All right."
Hudson grinned. "Well,
you can always make me a sandwich." That reminded him of the day when Otis had
stared at him so sternly and made him feel like a bit of a douchebag. "I promise
that, this time, my gratitude will be genuine and heartfelt."
***
This was pretty exciting,
Otis thought as he rushed to the small kitchenette and fired up his sandwich
maker. It pleased him so much to do things for Hudson, and the only downside
was that it was starting to feel a little breezy wearing nothing but those
skimpy shorts. However, Hudson had been quite adamant about not letting him put
anything else on and even smiled in a way that made Otis's insides do
somersaults. That wasn't really possible, and he was quite certain that all his
organs were in their proper places, but the expression was funny and he could
imagine little people doing all sorts of gymnastics inside his stomach and
entertaining themselves while at it. He preferred that to thinking that he had
butterflies in his stomach; he wasn't terribly fond of that expression. It made
him believe that those butterflies were caged in there, and that was bad.
His hands trembled as a
memory came uninvited. Alone, in the dark, the door locked. Shouting for help,
shouting for anyone, had never worked. The more he dared to do that, the more
time he'd be left there, alone in the dark.
It had taken him many
years to stop sleeping with the lights on every night. It wasn't good if you
didn't get proper rest, and if you didn't spend enough time with your eyes
closed and sleeping without any source of light present. Humans were like
animals and had their circadian rhythms. They needed the dark to sleep, and
blue light in particular could interrupt the production of melatonin, making
people sleep badly. As he thought about that, the trembling in his hands abated.
He picked up the plate
with the sandwiches on it to take to Hudson. It was a bit ridiculous to serve a
customer while being dressed like this, and also amusing. His body was shaking
with laughter when he handed his guest the plate along with a paper napkin.
"What's so funny?" Hudson
took a bite out of his sandwich and eyed him with a glint in his eyes.
"This," Otis said and
pointed at himself. "If I were to start serving customers while dressed like
this, everybody would laugh. It would be really amusing."
"Hmm, your customers'
reaction might be different than you think."
Otis pondered for a bit.
"Yes, you're right. They might get mad and think that the restaurant management
lacked decency."
Hudson shook his head and
smiled. "This particular customer doesn't think either."
"What does he think?"
Otis asked, willing to take part in this game of talking about one of them in
the third person.
"He thinks he's a damn
lucky guy," Hudson replied and took another bite.
Otis felt his skin
getting hot again, like earlier, when Hudson had kissed him and run his hands
all over him. "Okay," he whispered, "okay."
***
They were lying on the
bed, their hands so close he only had to lift his pinky and he would touch
Hudson. "I should turn off the light," he said and moved to do that.
Soon, they were engulfed
in darkness. Otis knew he wasn't afraid. There was someone in the same room,
breathing and warm. And then, he felt a pull at the string keeping his shorts
together on the side facing Hudson. "What?" he stammered, not even knowing what
he wanted to ask.
"Tell me you want to go
to sleep right now, and I'll let you be, Otis. I will stop."
No. "No, don't stop." He took
a deep breath as he felt Hudson's calloused fingers pushing down the fabric and
inching slowly along his hip.
This darkness was
different. It was deep and silent, so silent that he could hear his own breath
and Hudson's, but it was gentle, too.
TBC
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