Spook Squad

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Spook Squad Page 9

by Jordan Castillo Price


  I walked up to the plexi. It was like a two-way mirror, but without the telltale distortion. The guy inside the box ignored me, but he seemed to be doing it of his own free will. I stared at the plant. No tracers, then again, I only saw the evidence of subtle bodies when things were in motion. Since I didn’t want to taint the results by adding my energy to it, I didn’t linger. At least, I didn’t mean to. When I looked beyond the plant, I realized that Phil had a pulsing ray of light emanating from his solar plexus—and I couldn’t help but give that light beam some extra attention. It was aimed at the plant. Since I hadn’t seen anything like it at PsyTrain, it was possible I was viewing a real, live telekinetic in action. Or inaction, as the case may be, since he did look phenomenally disinterested.

  “Let’s leave Phil to his task,” Dr. K said, and steered me away from the plexi with a solicitous hand on my upper arm. I flinched away from his touch. My discomfort over touching makes me easy to steer. We delved deeper into the lab, where there were other test subjects in other plexi rooms. A woman wrote things on slips of paper in one. A man sequenced a series of cards in another. None of the subjects appeared sleep-deprived or drugged. There were no gurneys or hospital gowns, no I.V. drips or restraints. Even so, I felt a panic attack with Camp Hell written all over it waiting to overtake me.

  By the time we found ourselves among the big equipment storage, I was ready to leave. More label-maker excess here. Centrifuge. Geiger counter. EKG. Defibrillator. All the wires and electrodes were starting to freak me out. Shock treatment—did I know what it felt like, firsthand? Possibly. It seemed like one of those things I would block out. And now I’d wonder about it all night, maybe all week.

  I’d seen enough. “I’m done.”

  Dr. K paused in front of a door labeled Cold Storage and said, “You sure you don’t want to—?”

  “I’m done,” I repeated.

  Chapter 10

  Now I saw how easy it was to get carried away and end up lingering at the FPMP well into the night. By the time I fled the lab, the fifth floor was locked down and Dreyfuss was gone—and with him, my payment. I climbed into my dented Ford Taurus and pulled out of the parking garage with Jacob right behind me. We were separated in traffic when I re-routed myself past the gin mill. I’d been trying to tell myself I was better off with Dreyfuss owing me something for a change, in this case a dose of Seconal for the day’s work, but that logic didn’t ring true. What I needed was my own stockpile, not promises and debts. I idled past, scanning both sides of the street. My dealer’s car was conspicuously absent. Figuring he was still stuck in the system—and doing my best to avoid wondering if it was Dreyfuss keeping him there—I swallowed past the itch in my throat and headed home.

  I caught up to Jacob on the front stoop unlocking our door. The cannery was dark, and Lisa’s car was gone. We were alone. Sort of. If you didn’t count whatever surveillance was pointed in our direction. So much to talk about, and no privacy to do it in. We stepped into the foyer, and he flipped me around and mashed me against the wall before I could even hang up my overcoat.

  “I thought we’d never get out of there,” he said against the side of my neck.

  Maybe he was trying to convey factual information disguised as sweet talk. Or maybe he was trying to get a rise out of me. If anything could distract me from my lack of decent drugs, it was those whiskers dragging across the second-most sensitive part of my body. I’m such a sucker for the neck, but as much as I wanted to give myself over to the sensation, I was even more curious what he’d discovered about Jack Bly while I was scanning the lab. I slipped my hand inside his overcoat and brushed the bulge of his sidearm. “What were you and Agent Buzzcut talking about?” I asked.

  “Not much.”

  “C’mon. You two were all over each other.”

  “He’s not my type.”

  I knew that—it was the only reason I could tease. “I dunno, he’s got those pale eyes you like so much.”

  Jacob’s tongue trailed wet heat down the sinew of my neck. Against the wetness, he whispered, “Colored contacts.”

  What the heck? I’m pretty well-versed in manly behavior, at least as much as it pertains to the police force. I couldn’t imagine anyone at the Fifth Precinct wearing contacts unless it improved their aim. And colored contacts? They’d just as soon slap on a tutu and a tiara. Federal agents weren’t that much fancier than local law enforcement, so what was Bly’s deal? Obviously the guy was some sort of FPMP tool, although Dreyfuss would know I presumed as much, and maybe he wanted that presumption to distract me from Bly’s real…hell, I had no idea. And Jacob’s hot breath playing over my throat was making it less and less likely I’d come up with a plausible theory anytime soon. My natural inclination would be to stop the presses and hash out what Bly might be hiding, but that conversation was too detailed to have right there in our own foyer where the FPMP could potentially hear it. If we cranked up a loud, nasty porno, we could whisper speculations to each other below the cover of all the fake grunting and groaning. I knew just the disc, a plotless wonder of a fuckfest set in some poor schlep’s basement. The actors don’t trade dialog for long, thankfully, since their delivery is painful to watch. Hell, the sex is painful to watch, too. They slam each other hard enough to bruise. I found my pants fitting funny just thinking about it.

  The back of Jacob’s hand brushed up against my burgeoning hard-on, and we both sucked air. That hiss of breath reminded me of the porno, which made my breathing even more labored. That, in turn, made Jacob’s groping take on a real urgency. It had been a while since we’d had a chance to really go at it. Too long. I made one last attempt to come up with some encoded way of comparing notes on Bly, but I kept getting sidetracked by the gentle rake of Jacob’s teeth below my right ear.

  Maybe if we started banging each other, whoever monitored our channel would tune out. Unlikely, given that if I were the one on the receiving end, I’d turn up the volume and call my co-workers into the room, too. But my judgment was compromised by the pressure of Jacob’s hands roving up and down my sides.

  We shoved at each other’s clothes. I reveled in the feeling of us clawing at the overcoats and suits and holsters in the way—too urgent to bother undressing or even go upstairs. We used to keep a super slippery lube perfect for shower sex in the downstairs bathroom, but that was before we had a roommate. Now it’d be weird. Plus, even an adjournment to the first-floor bathroom could kill the sudden, precarious moment.

  I worked open Jacob’s belt buckle and butted my groin against his hip. He grunted. A few shoves and he was exposed, that fat slab of stiffening cock hanging out from his open fly, the rest of him disheveled and flushed. I mouthed the word yeah. Dirty talk was never my forte, and I was even more tongue-tied with the thought of the FPMP listening in. Fine. We’d communicate via body language. When he took a step back and shoved me to my knees, I dragged at his slacks, twin fistfuls of fabric, to keep my kneecaps from cracking against the tile. I kept my hands where they were, balled in Italian wool, while Jacob grabbed me by the head and plugged my mouth with his cock. Yeah, it was rough. And yeah, it was perfect. I felt my own hard-on straining down my pant leg, cool at the tip where a wet spot would be spreading over the lining of my pocket. I focused on that, my own aching hardness and the strain in my jaw, the invasion of that salty hunk of flesh fucking my face, in and out, in and out, pubes rasping my lips as Jacob’s fists tightened in my hair.

  “We should go upstairs,” he huffed.

  I noted he made no actual attempt to stop pummeling my mouth and head for the staircase. I made a sound like, “Ngh,” and ground my upper lip into the base of his cock. It made no sense to interrupt the proceedings now, not with us riding a sweet wave of momentum. I walked my hands up the front of his slacks, one handful at a time, until I had him by his ass, a firm globe in each hand. I squeezed, hard, and he started really wailing on me.

  “Close,” he grunted. I’d figured as much by the way his thighs trembled. “You wann
a swallow?”

  I gave a shadow of a nod, which he felt through his death-grip on my hair. Without warning, a weird notion popped into my head: if it were Bly kneeling there instead of me, Jacob wouldn’t have any hair to pull.

  Immediately, my gut insisted that Agent Bly was definitely not gay. Not even curious. Although I can be oblivious to the fact that someone’s into me (specifically) until their tongue is in my mouth, I’m good enough at guessing someone’s overall inclination. Plenty of men my age shaved their heads these days, not just gay guys. It didn’t mean a thing. Unless you added colored contacts into the equation. And the way I’d felt like Bly was watching me more closely than he needed to. And the loadedness of the question, “How do you like being a PsyCop?” Which could have just meant he was a Psych groupie…though it didn’t explain the colored contacts.

  Firmly resolving to put Bly out of my mind, I focused on the prod of Jacob’s cockhead at the back of my throat instead, and gave it that extra bit of suction to hasten the experience toward the big finale. Jacob released a stuttery breath and bit back a moan. Pretty soon he needed to tear a hand from my hair and slam his palm against the wall behind me to keep himself upright. With one hand on the wall and the other cupping the back of my head, he dragged me onto his dick for the final few thrusts. When he let loose, he was so far down I couldn’t quite taste it. But I could feel the thrumming in his shaft as he shot.

  He pulled out, then let go of my head to plant his other hand on the wall, mashing his brow into his forearm while he shuddered all over and sucked air like I suck white light. I let go of his ass, sagged back against the wall and gave myself a few quick strokes through my pants. The wet spot was huge, but thanks to my mental image of Agent Bly with his hinky eyes and his tanned scalp, my stiffness had unstiffened.

  Jacob dropped a hand to my cheek and cupped my face with the touch of a butterfly wing. “I thought you were into it.”

  First the sleeping pill incident, now this. I tried to be less obvious about chafing my dick to attention as vigorously as I was. “I am. It’s good.”

  He pulled me to my feet, then kissed me…on the forehead. “I’ll go make dinner.”

  “Don’t you dare, Mister.” I snagged him by the sleeve and pulled him back. “I’m not done.”

  I could tell by the way he snugged up against me that while he’d been offering me an easy out, he was glad I hadn’t accepted it. He nudged his thigh against mine. I shifted myself to rub off on his bulging quad, took his face in both hands, and kissed him hard. Our quickening breath danced between our wet mouths, and reclaiming the mood was no hardship. Just focus on Jacob, I told myself. His lips. His tongue. The solid press of his body, the insistence of his hands. Pretty soon Bly was a distant concern, a negligible curiosity that would definitely keep while I tended to more urgent matters. I grabbed Jacob’s hand and covered my crotch with it. My body responded to his touch, same as it always does. I might not be a teenager anymore, but the plumbing works just fine…when I was able to clear my mind and keep my focus on the matter at hand, anyway.

  My eyes had drifted shut, and I decided that keeping them open—keeping my attention on Jacob—would be my best bet. Not that I could see much more than a blur while he was kissing me. But it was a nice blur. The way he’d started jerking me off through my pants was pretty sweet, too. My breath caught, and he sighed encouragement into my mouth and started pawing at the front of my pants.

  As he pulled back to undo the fly, he shifted position. Right behind him, the front door filled my field of vision. I was bombarded by images of it flying open, and me standing there with my dick out and a dumb look on my face. First I pictured Lisa framed in the doorway. Then Lisa and Crash. Then Lisa and Dreyfuss. And Crash. And Carolyn. And bringing up the rear? Agent fucking Bly. All looking at me wide-eyed with horror.

  I clapped my hand over Jacob’s just as he unbuttoned my waistband.

  “What?” he asked.

  I indicated the door behind him with my eyes. Ever pragmatic, he reached back and slipped on the security chain. “There.” He turned back to me, sized me up, then dropped his voice. “Now lace your fingers, put your hands behind your head, and don’t move a muscle unless I say so.”

  Oh-ho. Now that tone of voice got my attention. I did as I was told. My overcoat bunched around my neck and my holster rode up my side. A yank from Jacob hobbled my knees with my own slacks. A draft from the mail slot played across my exposed groin—don’t think about the door—but then his hot mouth was on me, his eager, greedy mouth, and I consoled myself with the idea that all anyone would really see, were some passerby to peer through the mail slot, was the back of Jacob’s head.

  I had a top-view. Some scalp showed through the short-clipped hair. Not as much as a certain Agent…I was not going to think about that guy. Focus on Jacob. His broad shoulders. His heated breathing. His molten wet mouth. His fingers clamped around the base of my dick, jacking me hard while he sucked. I walked my feet out just a bit—I hadn’t been granted permission to move, after all—and I locked my knees so I didn’t need to think about anything but the blowjob. The sweet, sweet blowjob. Jacob’s rhythm picked up, and he started kneading my bare ass cheek with his free hand, the one that wasn’t steadily jacking me toward my peak, just the right speed, not too fast, not too slow, just right, and his mouth was just right too, so wet, so good, and pretty soon I’d be spiraling toward that….

  A car engine revved outside. Headlights shone through a gap in the mail slot. I caught my breath, loud. Jacob stilled and listened. Across the street, a storm door slammed.

  False alarm. Just a neighbor. Unfortunately, the moment of panic had pushed me most of the way back to the starting gate. Jacob stood, still jacking my spit-wet dick. He ran his hand down my upper arm where it was still parked behind my head, petting me from protruding elbow to shoulder. With a smoldering look, he purred, “I will make you forget about whatever’s bothering you.”

  “It’s just…”

  He fit his mouth to my ear and said, “A good, hard fuck is what you need.” A thrill surged down to my groin so forcefully that I wondered if he felt my agreement in my dick. Or maybe it was the way my breath hitched that tipped him off. He stopped jacking me off and spun me by the upraised elbow. “Upstairs. Now.”

  I broke position in order to catch my pants and keep them from sending me tumbling back down the steps. Jacob let the minor infraction slide, but as soon as I crossed the bedroom threshold, he was right behind me. In a smoky voice, he said, “Strip.”

  Although he was stripping down too, his movements were slow, deliberate, almost lazy. By contrast, my hands were flitty and ineffective, struggling at buckles and buttons that had managed to turn into a dozen small puzzles since the last time I’d touched them. I yanked off my holster as I stomped out of my shoes and pants, forced my shirt over my head without bothering to undo all the buttons, and then it was just me, and just Jacob, skin on skin. We kissed, wet and a bit salty, and the heat of Jacob’s body engulfed me. I couldn’t be sure if it was all physical heat, or if something in his subtle bodies spoke to something in mine, and they were already mingling and merging in anticipation of what we were about to do in the physical.

  It seemed awfully ambitious of him, promising to fuck me after I’d just sucked him off, but when my hand drifted down between us, I found him raring to go. Again. He smiled proudly against my mouth—and I hummed my agreement. We stroked each other, kissing, basking in the anticipation. And then Jacob caught me by the wrist, spun me, and forced me facedown onto the bed.

  If he ever forced me for real, it would be a one way ticket to Freakout Land. But I trusted him in a way I’d never trusted anyone before. When he shoved my hands up over my head and knocked my thighs apart with his knee, I was utterly certain that he’d stop the second I asked. With that certainty, I was able to really let everything go. Everything. Whatever the hell I’d been mulling over—so what? I’d never admit in a million years that the thought of being
someone’s fucktoy was a major turn-on, since that’s not at all the way I saw myself. But the stiff prong nudging up and down my ass crack told me that Jacob could see me like that, and the thought of him taking me, spreading me, using me…that idea blotted out everything else but the feel of his body against mine. His strong fingers pressed into my wrists, one-handed now as he rummaged through the nightstand. His thighs spread my knees and I struggled back against the pressure, pushing against him, relishing the sensation of being unable to clamp my legs shut even if I’d wanted to.

  And then, slickness.

  He swiped lube over my ass, jamming a thumb inside, and I gave a strangled moan into the comforter. My dick was trapped beneath me at a weird angle, but I didn’t protest. We were too deep in the fantasy. I rocked from side to side to right myself, fake-struggling, and Jacob shoved my wrists into the mattress and spread my legs even wider.

  A blunt nudge at my ass. All my awareness rushed down to my privates. Jacob took it slow, drawing it out. He folded himself over me, chest hair tickling against shoulder blades, and murmured in my ear, “Now…who’re you thinking about?”

  “You,” I said into the mattress.

  “Me. Just me.” His cock prodded me again—was he going to make me beg for it? The thought filled me with dread, though it was spiked with a sick little twist of anticipation. He situated himself on his elbow and reached between us with his greased hand, but instead of diddling me, he grabbed hold of himself, and he lined us up. He didn’t push in. Instead, he started stroking my crack with his greased cockhead. I recognized the move. He’d tease at my hole ’til I squirmed, then sink that fat meat in once I was ready to scream. A giddy rush of blood shot down to my groin at the mere thought. We’d been together long enough that even the reruns in my brain got me hard. I closed my eyes and focused on the blunt feel of his tip probing, prodding, but not quite sinking in.

 

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