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Uploaded	By : HazardousRaptor Category: +G through L > Heavy Rain Views: 2688 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Heavy Rain, and am not affiliated with Quantic Dream, or Sony. (Sad to say) I do not own Norman Jayden, Carter Blake, or any offical characters contained within. I earn no money from this work of fiction.

Chapter List
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"A dream you dream alone is only a dream. A dream you dream together is reality." - John Lennon
U p l o a d e d
Jayden would have loved to say he felt great now that Blake left the ARI-world, something he was beginning to call his current home. More then anything he felt an incredible pang of loneliness, of despair. His stomach caught up with him, rumbling unceasingly as it sought to rip his sanity apart.
'I wonder now if I can starve to death…'
It was an interesting question, one he wasn't sure he knew the answer to. How can you die when you're already dead? Or, maybe as he thought was far more likely, he'd just suffer for eternity. He wondered if in the very least his flesh would eat away, his muscle being digested along with the remainder of his fat in order to keep his body functioning.
Briefly, Jayden questioned just how painful it would be. How long he'd go before it would cease, and he'd pretty much wonder the dream world as a weak facsimile of a skeleton. Then he wondered- if he could smoke Carter's cigarette…Could he also bring him some food through the supposed "dream-gate" the man seemed to be able to create?
'Breathing in noxious fumes and eating whole food is very different, Norm.' He told himself. 'You'll go to eat it, and it'll just fall through you and on the floor. Then you'll look like a fucking idiot in front of the only man who can reach you.'
Goddamn, he hated it when he was right. Yet there was something up with Blake- and he wasn't sure whether to be freaked out or jealous. No matter how hard he tried, Norman never would have been able to accomplish what the other man did in his first day, or at least, not on that scale. Not that fast. Never before had he been able to go places besides what was already programmed inside ARI. He was presently confused which one of them was actually controlling the ARI system. Himself, or Carter Blake?
What they had taught Norman when he began the ARI trials, was that the device itself only transplanted and assisted, only accompanied the person using it. The glasses were a carrier, a medium for the human mind itself. It was like the monitor of a computer, allowing the person to be able to see their mind's inner computing power. It awakened parts of the brain that had been previously untapped by any sort of previous human intervention, parts that normally were relatively inactive or simply didn't exist. It wouldn't make someone smarter- tests done on lab rats made that clear- and it didn't create something that wasn't already there. Instead, what it simply did was inspire the brain to change itself.
Parts of the brain used for rational thought and especially dreaming were used heavily by ARI, able to fool the brain into believing everything about it was real. One could feel the ground below them and taste the air around them- just like the brain was convinced of dreams in it's sleeping state, convinced of their realisim. The more a person used the ARI, the more the brain would be fooled and slip into the fake world. It would be unable to distinguish itself, difficult if not impossible to control.
Inside the cortex, the brain would make new, previously dormant connections while simultaneously taking a total snapshot of the brain in order to navigate neurons faster. This, Norman reasoned, was why he was even still 'alive' in the device. Or more likely, Carter's brain. That was unsettling to the FBI agent. The minute he got that hunger pain, he knew it was from him taking a very big leap from the small computer ARI held and into the larger, far more complex one- the human mind of it's new host.
Now that he was beginning to feel more and more real, he was also starting to fear a second death. If something happened to Carter…Even if he stopped visiting him in ARI, he may very well fade from existence. He needed the lieutenant, now. Needed him desperately.
The ARI had taken a complete snapshot of the workings of his brain, memories, thoughts, and his personality. Everything. That was to be expected, sure. Yet what must have happened was far more then that- it also took a snapshot of his body. Flaws intact, including his horrible addicting personality. It would only be so long before Carter began to feel the effects of ARI poking around his brain- and soon he would need Triptocaine or something similar to keep his reality from transposing into the fictional ARI- world. To keep his brain from overheating, practically boiling as it stressed to make more connections and overwelm his body's abilites. He could go into cardiac arrest, have a stroke, or slip into a coma. All of them would be fatal especially if he wasn't gotten to in time.
Triptocaine once again entered his series of cravings, and it pissed him off. He truly didn't understand how a dead man could crave a drug. Yet he missed that feeling of utter euphoria as the powder dissolved in his nasal tissues and then into his bloodstream. It made the dopamine in his brain spike and give him an overwhelming feeling of calm. Its blue color was strangely natural- but implied just what it did. There was a cooling after-effect, like chewing a piece of mint gum that sent its chill to the brain instead of the mouth.
It had been created by the FBI as a means of stemming the epic mindless chaos that ARI could inflict. Without it, one could experience intense brain hemorrhaging and even bleeding from the eyes as the blood pressure spiked far beyond normal levels. That wasn't it, though. Sometimes ARI got a little too real for people, made them feel unable to leave, even when the glasses long came off. It would sort of "meld" the brain to always be connected with the fantasy world. They would often be sent to a mental institution, where even today he knew of at least three people that had gone simply mad from the testing trials alone.
Much like how LSD was originally used as a truth serum by the government- triptocaine had been derived from the deadly drug cocaine. It worked so well as a medium because it was very easily and quickly dispersed throughout the body, and it didn't take much genetic tampering to the coca plant in order to slightly change it's effects. Though most of the work was still done post-harvest in the lab. They named the new plants Erythroxylum tripto, the last part of the scientific name Latin for dancing and celebration- named so because of the drug's ability to generate small doses of euphoria, and relieve pain without cocaine's deadly side effects. Or at least, that was the original intent.
They had made them blue in color in able to distinguish those plants from the normal cocaine-producing plants grown in control groups not far off. It would go to the brain quickly, even faster then any other pill they could implement. The white coats had worked in the lab to remove- or claim to remove- the addictive and harmful effects of the drug. All things considered, they did a rather good job. As long as the drug had been used sparingly, once or twice a day, it tended to remain non-habit forming.
The drug not only helped keep the brain separate from ARI, or at least partly so, but enhanced the interaction with the device. There was a part of the brain -the cortex- it helped unhinge from reality much like the body did while dreaming. Without tripto, the brain seemed to want to refuse and even reject the interaction involved. In fact, this was what surprised him with Carter; obviously he didn't know about triptocaine and wouldn't have tried any. Yet he acted as though he had, able to manipulate the system so easily.
When they handed out the drug, rather like candy, they had told him it was largely harmless as long as it was used as directed. What they didn't mention, or simply were unaware of, was that it held the same property of cocaine in the sense that it was incredibly easy to develop a tolerance too, and required more and more to get the same effect. Taking a break would make it even worse, the cravings coming back with such a vicious vengeance that it could be fatal with the sudden, uncontrollable need for an increased dose it would need to quench it.
'Smoking seemed to help. Maybe if I can make Blake get to Washington, he could get all my money and buy me a stack of 'smokes. I can pay him to feed them to me, too.'
If it wasn't for the fact he kept reminding himself he was dead. He may have actually realized just how low he had sunk. Fallen from the grace that had been the extremely prestigious, competitive atmosphere that was the FBI. Now he felt like a crack head, sitting on the grass of some imaginary world ready to practically suck dick to get another fix.
'Oh Christ…That's it…'
Blake had been right, which was exactly what bothered him so much about his statement. Norman had always had that little talent- and truth be told he actually rather enjoyed it. It may have been a few years, but it wasn't something, he reasoned, that he could really become rusty with. He had the penchant to make them last long, always swallowing and lapping up the result like it was fucking ice cream.
'What grown man would ever turn down a blowjob?' Jayden reasoned. 'Even if it's from a man.'
He had learned that lesson all too well in high school and then later- college. Luckily for him, he attended school in a very liberal atmosphere, and was rarely persecuted for his sexuality. Though he tried to look bisexual to his classmates in order to keep his straight friends, not to mention help keep the word from being leaked out to his parents.
Get a few drinks in any of them, though, and it didn't take much to drop their pants. That was all he ever did to the straight men, though. The temptation was there to take it further, of course, but he didn't need to take advantage of anybody like that. His very life could have possibly been flushed down the drain if that got out.
'I shouldn't even be thinking of this…' He thought as he shook his head. 'I don't even know if I could go through with it…'
Desperate times called for desperate measures, yet he couldn't see himself stooping that low. For a brief second he envisioned dropping to his knees in front of Blake; and he felt ashamed, and disgusted at the mere thought. Jayden was a dominant man, though in a different way then Blake. This was why, he reasoned, they clashed. Jayden used words and was usually able to get people to submit, and it worked incredibly well. Rarely had anyone found a way around his logic. The way he carried himself had a lot to do with it, his rather arrogant stride doing most of the imposing for him.
Except that asshole Blake…His sheer brutality was like fire to his own ice- using force instead of coerction. He was uber-dominant and seemed to have the inability to feel emotion for others. Or at least, for most people he interacted with. Norman may have had a degree in psychology- yet he was positive that it wasn't really needed to declare Blake a psychopath, everything from the way he treated other human beings to the way he seemed oblivious to the logic of his actions. The true definition of the disorder. Not to mention his mood swings and shifts that were obvious signs of being unbalanced, perhaps even bipolar. For a moment, he wondered if this was in fact the better Blake, and wondered if he had been medicated. If only he could explore his house…
The mere thought of Carter dominating him was enough to make him squirm. He was the better man; he was the one that was right- educated, sane and compassionate- for fuck's sake. Yet at the same time, Norman knew it just wouldn't be possible for the other man to be dominated- not in any way. Not unless he was put into a straight-jacket and thrown into a padded cell. Meanwhile, he could see himself being taken down a notch, already saw it happen when he was practically French kissed by his cigarette earlier that night.
A part of him told himself that it was useless worrying about his pride anymore, that soon he'd have to suck Blake's dick to get himself everything in his new after-life, and that he'd best get used to it. Yet the stubborn, dominant personality of his that was fostered and lavished upon by his upbringing made him want to simply grab Blake and choke him into near death until he agreed to help. Not that it could ever happen of course- Jayden knew that getting into a fight with Blake would only have one outcome. Punching him in the interrogation room had been the closest thing he had to a fight with the older male- yet it was obvious that he had not been in the mood to fuck around in that particular instince, hence the gun in his face.
Having thought of that, negative feelings for the man in blue rose up again in his head as he told himself there was simply no way he could do this. His pride couldn't handle it, the humiliation itself making him wish he had starved and wasted away instead.
'Think of your family, you selfish prick…'
Jayden winced at his own sharp thoughts- that's right. He was going to have Blake check on his family while down in D.C. He needed to make sure his sister was doing okay- surely, she must have taken it the worse out of all his siblings. Besides Blake's cut, he wanted to make sure a sustainable portion of his funds made its way to her bank account.
Not to mention give her his house- he knew she had problems with her ex-husband, whom kept dropping by her house begging for cash like the piece of shit he was. It was even worse that she just had a child to the man- and pregnant with another when he last saw her. The fact that the kid she was pregnant with wasn't his- was enough to send the stalker into enough rage to occasionally deface her house.
Usually, Jayden was the one who had to drive on up to Baltimore and teach the shit a lesson with his authority as a member of the FBI, yet he could only do so much when he was in fact already gone. When he did track the man to the highway, ARI never could pick up exactly which way he went, what with all the innumerable tire tracks.
His mom had always been suicidal. Though she never tried it, she always threatened to jump off the nearest bridge. Usually they just shrugged it off, because it was never over anything serious. Her periods of depression, however, would surely be aggravated by the fact that one of her older children had been brutally killed. His father- well his father he could give two shits about, honestly. Jayden wished he could say differently, yet he knew he'd be deluding himself.
A feeling that could only be described as ice water washed through the young man, and he knew at that point that he had to do something. His pride wasn't worth his sister suffering at the hands of that piece of shit ex, or his mother actually doing herself in. Wasn't worth having the FBI search his house and find out all those personal experiments he did with ARI written down in notebooks thrown haphazardly under his bed. They would simply cover it up- it would never be revealed what sort of possibilities- and dangers- arose from the mind-tapping device.
Jayden would not, however, stoop that low just yet. He would like to think he was never a pessimistic person, so he figured he could try and get Blake to think of something that would work as a payment. In the back of his head, Jayden told himself that he was simply fucking with him, that he never attempted to help him and would refuse anything he offered, anyway. What surprised him the most was that he even turned down money, and not just some cash…His whole life savings. Enough to practically retire on.
He never met a person he couldn't buy- to be honest. Someone he couldn't sway with money. Not that he did it on a regular basis. Only on the rarest of occasion did he attempt it, and it really didn't even take much money. Yet, to Blake it meant almost nothing. This was why he was left shocked at the man's refusal- because money talked. He knew that from his own family. Money made the world go 'round.
With a sigh, Jayden tugged at his outside suit jacket, and finally took it off and threw it on the ground. It, along with his other leather jacket lay somewhere within the virtual world now. He knew it lay just beyond the house, safe and sound. Real in its own plane…Holding all the characteristics it had when it was real.
'None of this makes any fucking sense. I shouldn't be here. I'm dead. My clothes are probably thrown away in some morgue trash-can. I'm either laying on a cold, metal slab in a cooler somewhere, or they're pumping me with formaldehyde for my burial…Doing that thing where they cork your ass and put makeup on your face so you look like you're just sleeping.'
It was rather depressing when he thought about it. That his real body was poisoned forever not only by the triptocaine, but also now by a chemical as it awaited burial. Rendered complexly useless and intoxicated. All he could do now was rot six feet in the ground with hopefully a nice gravestone sitting on top. He had hoped it would say something nice, something that wasn't true. Norman wasn't interested in his family knowing the truth, about the man they never really took the time to know.
Norman got up, and tried to keep a positive head. He wasn't sure what he was now. Was he alive or dead? His brain was dead, the physical part of it. Yet everything he was lived on, his thoughts, personality, memories…Even his body survived in a way, in virtual form. Was he simply a ghost in the machine? A brain without a body? He stewed over this until he began to bite his nails, his right hand raking through his hair as he messed it about.
'Maybe there's some virtual food inside my virtual kitchen…' Jayden sarcastically thought.
'Worth a try', he decided, and stumbled on towards the steps again as he made his way up, hoping the world wouldn't change on him again before he could sneak a bite.
The morning sun snuck through the windows of Carter Blake's lonely house. It was about noon, and strangely enough cicadas found themselves rasping outside in the midday heat. He shifted a bit, moaning a little into the pillow as he felt the cool sheets touch his warm skin. It felt good, somehow. His skin had been so leathery and toughened over the years, he was amazed that he could even feel something so supple. There were even "dead" spots on his body from having been shot- healed, yet the nerves in said area never fully being repaired. He just thanked his own good fortune that he was never shot in the balls.
His head pulsed a bit in a normal morning-after-drinking headache, yet surprised himself when he didn't feel particularly sick. He'd guessed it was from the food- which he had a good bit of before he got the call from Perry then started to drink and smoke like a fiend to calm his nerves.
Tuesday he'd have to attend Norman's funeral. At least he'd get the day off and maybe snoop around D.C. while he was down there, he was sure there had to be something else to do in the nation's capital, for certain. Not to mention now the state was paying for his gas down there, making it actually not so bad when he thought about it.
'Just go down, look all sad and depressed, say your condolences to the family…all that bullshit…grab a couple drinks at a local bar or something, fucking see a monument or whatever, then head home. Maybe if I'm lucky, I might even enjoy myself.'
Then for a brief moment, he considered Jayden's little proposal. Even if he wanted to do it, he wasn't sure if he had the time. Technically, he could just forgo the sightseeing or even drinking to take care of the kid's problem, then exit out so he could collect all his money and use it to fix the car out back. Maybe have a little left over to buy a high-class whore for a few hours. He scowled as he rubbed that last idea out- remembering the nasty case of crabs he got from the last time he tried that. At least they were long-gone now.
Was it really worth it? Worth practically breaking into a former FBI agent's house and doing God-knows-what he wanted done- all so the virtual version of Norman would be satisfied? Could "rest in peace"?
Blake tried to focus more on what it would mean for him. Money, not to mention knowledge on how to use the fancy glasses he had acquired. He'd be lying if he said he didn't like them, almost completely forgetting the so called "yuppie technology" line of thought that gave Blake some distrust in the agent to begin with. He found himself eager to find out how to use all it's features, once he went back to work on Monday he'd be able to get the glove back and could experiment further.
'You should talk to him today- find out what those weird headaches were last night. Make sure you're not killing yourself slowly. Not that the cigs aren't doing that, already.'
His pride didn't want him to ask for any help from the snot-nosed queer. In the same sense, though, he didn't particularly want to die. He knew he had a good twenty to thirty or so years ahead of him. There were things he wanted to see and do before that time came, and wasn't about to be held back by some government bullshit technology giving him a deadly brain tumor.
The lieutenant groaned and shifted again in his bed, knowing it was probably time to get up if he wanted to enjoy his day off. He fancied himself some bacon and eggs- maybe even pancakes if he was feeling especially talented with a box of fucking Bisquick and water.
He lay back down and closed his eyes, listening to the traffic outside as it picked up. It was oddly lulling him into another short slumber, and slept for another thirty minutes before his bladder woke him back up. With a groan, he pulled himself out of bed, and didn't realize how awake he really was until he began to walk about, running his hand through his short, salt-and-pepper hair.
'God, should have got up an hour ago…' He disciplined himself, but ignored it as he walked to the bathroom.
Carter swore he couldn't stop pissing- it kept coming and coming- he laid his head back and stared at the ceiling in deep thought. Well, not that deep. He was actually thinking over the talk with Perry yesterday, biting his tongue when he was told he could be suspended if he didn't comply with what the mayor wanted. Much like he was the captain's little go-to guy, Perry was practically kissing the mayor's ass to keep his high-paying job. Blake would be suspended with pay of course, but the station would go to hell and he'd be left in the dark about damn near everything. They might even find somebody better at his job- that's what terrified him the most.
Finishing the long piss, he shook his member and put himself away. Flushing the toilet, and then washing his hands, he heard his cell phone go off in his bedroom. With a slight groan-, he hoped it wouldn't interrupt his Sunday.
Jogging carefully, he sprinted towards the ringing flip-style phone and picked it up.
"Ash…" He said aloud as he read from the screen, then sighed, feeling his teeth clench from instinct.
Opening the phone, he placed it to his ear and greeted the detective with a sigh, letting it slip from his lips as he demonstrated how much of a pain in the ass he was being at the moment.
"Yeah?"
"Shit, Blake…I've been calling you since seven in the morning. What the hell?"
Blinking in slight surprise, he pulled the phone away and squinted as saw the small "voicemail" logo blinking at the top of his cell screen. He cursed himself for being so fucked up he couldn't even hear the phone.
"I got a little shit-faced last night." Blake groaned, "I couldn't get up if a fucking bomb hit the place…"
Another sigh of frustration echoed on Ash's line, and he felt anger rise in his own throat. God forbid he not jump out of bed for his ass- what so important he couldn't wait to tell him in a text message or voice mail?
"We found Shelby."
Blake's blood ran cold, his mouth going dry. He opened it and swallowed to clear his throat.
"Is he…"
"Yeah," Ash admitted, he could tell what Carter's question was going to be. "He's dead. Turns out a mother of one the victims shot him point-blank on the street last night. He had a gun on him but it wasn't discharged- not sure if we're going to trial her for manslaughter or what. I'd sooner give her a medal."
Ash finished with that smartass little laugh of his. Blake cringed- the detective always was a little rat bastard. They got along well most of the time, but more then enough times he had to drop down his hammer of authority. Ash was from New York originally, and had that snide, dickish attitude still. If they were holding a "top asshole" contest at the precinct, he was pretty sure Ash would still win over him.
"Fuck off- He was my partner for years, asshole. The least you could do is not fucking laugh about it."
There was a scoff, and a slight laugh on the other line, and he knew that prick was just boiling over with what to say next.
"Yeah? Well now he's a child killer. Or at least, he was. Now he's down at the morgue on a metal slab watting- waiting for us to come see him like the poor dead 'stiff that he is."
Slipping on his words Ash finished in a huff, and it was a simultaneous invitation while he was at it. Blake bit his bottom lip and growled deep in his throat. He knew that to be very true, and when he was informed about the evidence that linked Scott to the killings- he couldn't believe it. There was simply no way- Shelby was a fucking teddy bear. They got along famously because he was the perfect fit alongside Blake's harsh attitude, cushioning the barbs that were his curses and laughing back at his filthy, vulgar jokes.
"Goddamn it, Ash- don't you think I fucking know that? You think I'm a fucking idiot?" Blake roared into the phone.
"…Now stop being an asshole and leave me alone. It's my day off."
There was a growl in Ash's throat on the other end of the line. A small silence followed, as if he was unsure what to say. Blake could hear some clanging on the other end- as well as someone talking.
"-the fuck are you, anyway?"
"I'm in that diner down the street from the precinct- it's my lunch break. Listen, you know we need to go over this case-"
"Not today." Blake returned, breathing out a sigh. "I'm too fucking hung over- not to mention it's been forever since I had a Sunday off since these killings started up again…Fucking cut me some slack, Ash."
"I'm not your boss, asshole." Ash threw back, "You don't want to come in? Whatever. We'll do this shit first thing on Monday. I just thought you'd want to be on top of this-"
"Well excuse the hell out of me for enjoying myself on a Saturday night. Crucify me, for fuck's sake. I had to drink after what Perry called us about."
"Jesus Christ- I know. What the fuck?"
"Yeah. I know. Why the hell we 'haff to be there? I don't get it."
"'Mayor's trying to cover his ass. You know that." Ash paused and thanked somebody in the background.
"-Hey, more coffee?" He seemed to be asking someone. "…Yeah, fresh this time, please…"
"…Waitress just gave me a dirty look, think she'll spit in it?"
"Probably." Carter grumbled back. "We'll talk about that shit tomorrow- I didn't eat yet today."
"Oh, well sorry princess…" Came the man's smartass reply. "I'll leave you to you're royal duties."
"Fuck you, Ash." Blake muttered and hung up the phone with a grumble.
Sometimes they got along famously…Other times, he swore he wanted to knockout that snide bastard. Yet he honestly wasn't nearly as bothered by it because he knew him and Ash were cut from the same cloth. He remembered hearing him talk about growing up on the streets, taking care of his mother because his dad skipped out on them. While Blake himself may have grown up in the country- at the lovely age of thirteen his parents had to move into the city because his mother's jackass brother fell asleep on the couch smoking a cigarette, burning to square to the ground. It was such a jolt to go from green hills to beige, dirty city streets. It was mortifying, but despite his hard-ass, abusive father, he at least had someone to lean on.
Carter turned around and walked towards the kitchen, but stopped himself as he eyed his weight set.
'Few reps first…'
He took pride in his ability to bench press about three-hundred and fifty pounds on most days- sometimes increasing it to four-hundred on the good ones. It he didn't work out each day, he felt horrible and useless. His body felt like it was screaming to be challenged, much like his brain did. Sometimes he went for a jog if he was feeling it, even if the occasional cigarette made it slightly challenging to breathe. He really did plan to quit completely soon- he told himself he would once this business with Shelby and Jayden wrapped up.
Ripping his shirt off, he pulled it up over his head and flung it in his pile of dirty clothes. Under his shirt had lain a relatively firm chest with some well-defined abs. There was a hint of a beer-belly, but it was extremely small and firm considering his age and lifestyle. Chest hair lined the top near his pecs and neckline, though there was more of a skin-to-fur ratio. He absent-mindingly scratched the scar on his left pectoral muscle, a gun shot from years ago that he just barely survived. It punctured his lung and had him in intensive care for months.
It wasn't the only gunshot wound he had- it matched one he had on the right side of his abs, one in his right thigh and through the left shoulder. It only helped to harden the already callous man. Each one a mere mark on a scoreboard. It didn't include the many knife and fight wounds he had, either. The marks were smooth, and at times oddly shaped. They covered a good ten to twenty percent of his body- but he likened them more to trophies.
Laying down on the bench, he groaned as he shifted under the weight bar and inhaled deeply in anticipation. Wrapping his hands about the bar, he took another deep breath as he pulled it off the bar's holder and let it partially fall towards his chest, then exhaled as he pushed it up towards the ceiling. He did this a good twenty times, slowly, with the hundred-pound setting. Then he stopped and upped it another fifty pounds, continuing this process until he reached two-hundred fifty. He pushed himself a little further as his heart rushed from the exertion- taking it as a challenge to get the most he could out of the workout.
After doing four-hundred and five, he finally breathed in massive relief as he set the bar back down. Not having a spotter made him nervous to do much more. He hadn't worked out at the police gym for a while; there was almost never a free machine or weight bench available. Carter didn't know if he could handle watching other men working out harder then him, anyway. He'd have to step up his game and nearly kill himself in the process. His age and vices keeping him from going as far as he wanted to achieve a powerful, dominating appearance.
Filled with sweat, he knew now that he would have to take a shower. His hair clung to his head, chest heaving in exertion as it clung to his skin as well. Standing up, he panted heavily and wiped the sweat from his brow, walking to his bathroom and opening the window in there to get some cool air into the room. To his surprise, it was warm outside. At least a good sixty-five degrees.
'Fucking weird-ass Pennsylvania weather…Though I really shouldn't complain. I haven't seen a real sun in weeks.'
Removing his boxer shorts, he stood up with a deep exhale and turned on the water, waiting for it to be warm enough to stand under. He moaned once more as the water made its way over his sore and overworked muscles, the large biceps flexing under his flesh as he rubbed the soap over himself. He swore he must have been under it for a good twenty minutes, just relishing the way it felt on his stressed physique.
Blake smiled as his hand made its way below his waist, rubbing his crotch and pumping his length gently in more of a casual motion then a full-fledged masturbation. For a moment, he thought about the average Hollywood starlet or lingerie model. Yet for some reason, it really wasn't doing the trick. He frowned and raked his top teeth over his bottom lip, licking his lips and grunting in frustration.
'Shit. Why the hell not?…'
Stopping for a minute to clear his head, he decided he was done fucking around. He grabbed his slightly up curved-dick and began to stroke slowly, imagining a large-breasted, blonde-haired slut was giving him a hand job. It started to work, and his head lay back as he closed his eyes to go deeper into his fantasy.
Then something flashed into the older man's mind that both disturbed and invigorated him. Norman's soft, smooth face with the small scar on his right cheek of unknown origin. On his knees, still dressed in that pristine gray jacket as he looked up at him with those pale eyes. He seemed quite happy (but didn't smile) to be jacking him off. His soft and delicate hands wrapping perfectly about his cock as he looked from his face to the member itself, tilting his head as if studying it.
That's when the moan escaped his lips and his mouth parted to let it escape. He leaned forward and placed his hand on the opposite side of the shower as the effect took him out of his normal realm of casual arousal. It was then when he noticed he was wrought-iron hard, pre-cum spritzing from the slit as he bit his bottom lip again, feeling his dick twitch as he escaped the fantasy.
'What. The. Fuck?'
Still hard, but not doing anything to fix it, he stood in the shower as the warm water continued to rain down about him.
'You know that shit isn't right, Carter.' He disciplined himself.
'You don't fucking jack off to men.'
Yet it did the trick, and now that he was attempting to put himself off, it wept for him to finish. His heart throbbed in his chest both from arousal and shame, racing in excitement at a new fantasy to indulge in.
It did the trick, though. Whereas before he couldn't get himself excited about the average run-of-the-mill sex romp with a hot model, all it took was a moment to think about dominating his formal rival to get him going. Taking himself back in his hands, he again began to think of the girl. As before, however, it didn't amount to much.
"Fuck…" Carter swore at himself, then looked around the shower in a reflex action to make sure nobody was looking, even in his own house.
'It's not like anyone could see into your thoughts anyway, you dumb fuck.'
He didn't feel filthy or sinful, instead, he only was concerned with the normal homophobia that most men his age carried with them. Did fantasizing about a man mean that he was gay? Even if he was just giving him a good hand-job…Even if it was technically an act of dominance more then an act of lust, and the arousal he felt was from the effect of expressing his alpha-male status on the other male below him.
'If anyone walked up to you in private and started jerking you off, you wouldn't give a fuck what they looked like. It's not like you're fucking or anything. Just an HJ…'
Blake reasoned with himself, desperately wanting the sensations to return to his body without the fear of being labeled a homo in his own mind.
'Just do it, no one has to know. Not even Norman. Especially not Norman…'
The hand quickly made it's way to his crotch again, stroking slowly as the fantasy made it's way easily back into his main focus. The thoughts came fluidly and oddly natural- like he was right in front of him in reality, and not just an effect of his imagination.
Yet Blake was always good with his fantasies- just like with his dreams, he was able to envision them in absolute detail. And while most people could control most visions they had in their waking hours- his creations took on a life of their own. He watched as he stood naked in front of Jayden, seeing the younger man look him in the eye then back at his dick as a blush overcame his normally pale face. This made the lietenant smile like a Cheshire cat- practically grinning from ear to ear as he watched the embarrassed man gently take his length again in his hands without any more hesitation, as if he was interrupted rather rudely from his task before hand.
Norman's hands were like silk- the effect of being a pampered young man. Never working a backbreaking job or task as long as he lived. It had a surprisingly wonderful effect on his own skin- that particular part of his body being the only soft, supple flesh he owned. The sensation rippled through his cock and made its way up his back, where he craned his head slightly and gasped at the feel.
His pumping was just right, starting slow and rubbing the base just a little with the off-occasional stroke. Like instinct, he felt himself rise up a little bit more in the other person's hand- and envisioned himself sneak a look down to notice Norman had been catching glimpses of his face to watch for reactions. This made his back tingle again and warmth spread throughout his chest and crotch- an embarrasing blush making it's way across his face.
'He's trying to pleasure me. Not just going through the motions. Holy shit…'
A low moan passed his open and gasping lips when he felt the kid go for his balls- cupping them in his left hand and rubbing the engorged organs with his thumb. Carter's breath began to quicken, panting as he struggled not to get too excited and come just yet- he was enjoying this far too much. He desperately wanted to touch Norman back- and that thought disturbed him- wanted to take the kid's hair in his hand and curl through those soft brown locks. For now he fought the urge- instead fisting his hands to his sides as they twitched open and close in irritation.
'If only you were a chick- Oh shit…Oh, God…'
Unexpectedly, Norman ran his tongue along the head of his length. Just a flick- not even much. Yet it was too much too soon, he wasn't ready to feel the warmth of the kid's mouth. Carter felt his body react before he could stop it, tensing with his muscles vibrating and quivering in orgasm. His mouth parted as he felt the cry of utter ecstasy escape past his white teeth. He licked his lips and panted hard as he attempted to catch his breath, his heart hammering again and chest heaving as his body attempted to recover.
"Shit…" Carter swore, noticing that he had came with such force; the wall in the shower he faced was covered with cum. He watched it with a sort of sick curiosity as he collected his bearings, the feeling of euphoria still rushing through his veins. The last time he had a hand-job that good, he was still in his twenties. Feeling like this made him feel a good thirty years younger, and he breathed deep again as he attempted to collect his bearings.
'Damn, that was good. I need to do this more often.'
The shame of having just masturbated to a man (though he would never have admitted to it in that way) washed over him only slightly. Yet the feeling he had received from it lasted far longer. As he shut off the water (noticing his hands were pruned from the result) he couldn't help but begin to roll over a little idea in his head.
Jayden was his now- and only his. At least, as long as he held those glasses in his possession. He'd be goddamned if anybody was going to take them away from him anytime soon. Nobody would find out…Nobody would know. Sure, Blake would always have that creeping homophobia in the back of his mind, yet it wasn't something he couldn't brush aside. He wasn't one for deciphering tough moral choices. Not that he intended to do the wrong thing; he simply always found the righteousness in them. The end, he figured, always justified the means.
'The kid's not even real anymore…It's just like having a sex toy, eh? A dirty little secret, sure…What's wrong with having a few more?'
Blake argued with himself as he dried off, going back and forth. Not so much asking if he was right as much as he was trying to answer his own confusing feelings. He told himself it was simply the act of dominating the little shit- it felt just as good with a woman as it did with a man, he reasoned.
'Since when do you care what people think of you? You have the little shit now. Use him.'
Dressing into his robe, Blake felt alive with anticipation as he wondered how to go about this. Norman did, after all, want him to think of a payment. Blake was positive he wouldn't want to do it at first, but that was okay. He was good at convincing people of things they either didn't actually do (or in his mind, didn't want to admit they did) or wanted to do. Sometimes it would take a while, of course, and he wasn't a patient man. Yet when it came down to the wire, most people caved before he did. Not to mention, if worse came to worse he was certain he could overpower the younger, more supple man.
Blake felt himself through his robe- surprised that he was developing erection already. He wondered why he didn't feel this way about the kid until now. Part of him told him it was just a fluke- that Norman entered his fantasies simply because he was in his thoughts lately. Yet another part told him it wasn't a shock at all.
While working the Origami Case, Blake at times felt a certain fatherly emotion towards the young agent. When he wasn't hating Jayden's arrogant, prestigious little ass, he looked towards him with an odd sort of curiosity. He wondered if he was cold sometimes- wanting to ask it a few times while in the car together, but his venomous hatred wrapped up in his pride made him bite back his tongue. He wanted to congratulate him for beating several shades of shit out of Korda and even killing Mad Jack (he still could barely believe that shit) yet he never wanted to admit Norman did something he hadn't had the opportunity to.
'That's a far stretch from wanting to fuck somebody, though.'
It was true, too. Because of this, Blake wondered again if there had been a time he considering wanting anything to do with the other man's body. He remembered thinking he had a nice, tight ass. Though it was more of a joke to himself, he figured it explained the agent's uptight attitude. Starting out, he was taken aback by Norman's ghostly pale blue eyes- the soft pink of his lips. He convinced himself at the time it wasn't sexual, just admitting the attractive features of another man.
'Fuck. I better not be turning queer.'
Walking towards his bedroom, he pulled out the oak drawer of his dresser and began to rummage through the underwear available. He couldn't wait to eat- and when he was done, he'd visit Norman in ARI to run the idea through the little bastard's head. A nervous smile tugged at his lips, his heart quickening with anticipation and even anxiety at how it would work out.
'I wonder if he's as good as I think he is.' The cop thought, surprisingly giddy and hopeful as he couldn't stop the nervous smirk on his face, putting his leg through into one of the pant-legs and stumbling across the floor.
Walking out into his kitchen, Blake opened his refrigerator and gazed at the food available.
'Fuck it. It's too nice to eat in here, I'm cooking outside.'
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