We Are Bulletproof

The thumping bass and the trill of some kind of siren combined with the flashing lights made Jack think that night clubs were the personification of panic attacks. The thump--the beat of the heart. The siren--impending danger. The flashing lights--a warning that a loss of consciousness was about to happen.

So why--why oh why--was a man like him here, of all places?

Jack sat at the counter, on one of those stools that most people had to hop onto. Jack was tall, though. All he had to do was slide into it. He liked these stools. It was better than trying to enfold his tall body into one of the booths around the club.

There were dancers on the stages, some men, some women. It was one of those open-minded clubs that catered to both. Everywhere Jack looked, there was flesh. Creamy thighs that way, a lean set of abs this way. Jack lifted his glass to his lips. At first, it was a sip but he got greedy. A moment later, he was on his third drink of the night, tipping his head back and letting liquid gold--jack and coke--slide down his throat. Setting his glass down, he closed his eyes and tried to revel in it. The scene. The music, the sound of laughter, of people shouting conversations over the pounding music.

"Another?" the bartender asked Jack. He put a ringed hand up and shook his head. The three drinks he'd had in quick succession were going to be quite enough at this point. He gently pushed his glass back towards the bartender.

"Maybe give it fifteen," he said with a flash of a smile. He slid off his stool and knocked on the bar a couple times before lifting his hand up and twiddling his fingers in a toodles style good-bye. "I'm going to see if I have the courage to find a dance partner now."

He winked, then moved towards the dancers, maybe... slightly stumbling a step or two. The song changed over to a new one and Jack kissed his fist and pumped it up into the air.

"I love this song!" he said cheerily to whomever was listening.

"So is that a no?" The flashing lights caught on a set of white teeth that looked almost too perfect to be real. Alejo let out a soft laugh and pushed the napkin back. Black letters and numbers scrawled over it was more than suggestive of the guy's intent.

"Sorry, I'm not looking right now." He could only smile apologetically and turn away from the bar, feeling a mild twinge of guilt. Turning people down, saying no, it never came easily to Alejo. He hated disappointing anyone; it was just some remnant desire to please, to belong. Nobody liked a guy who said no too many times and in his youth he was guilty of wanting to be liked universally. Now that he was older, he realized the futility in it, but that didn't stop him from feeling a little sorry every time.

Why was he even here?

A place thronging with people, heavenly bodies swirling and twisting and gyrating... Seemed like a good place to be for somebody who wanted to have a good time. Or maybe a good place for somebody to pick out a likely target...

He made his way across the dance floor, keeping a wary eye out. Couldn't seem too hawkish, though. He was here undercover. Alejo danced to the beat, letting it strum through him. Oops. He turned and bumped into a taller man doing the fist pump. Typical clubbing type—if maybe a little on the older side. Most of the others here were in their twenties. Alejo laughed as he turned to him, eyes scanning the crowd beyond him.

"Me too! This club's pretty lit isn't it?"

Starting over in this little two-horse, podunk town. This was good for him. It was good for him. He felt like he was in the right place at the right time. And what better way to get to know the people who lived here than to go out to the club? He was aware--when he walked in--that he was quite a bit older than most of the other clubbers but that was okay. They were all still consenting adults and mostly he was here to take stock of what kind of people lived in a place like Hazleton on purpose.

It was amusing. Between the alcohol and the song he really liked playing and the prospect of... finding somebody, he was in a great mood. He threw his head back and sang along to the song, every bit as theatrical as he had been in his teen years, when he was the star of the drama club. Jack took hold of the young man's hands, pulling him into the crowd with him as he swung his hips in time to the music.

"Yes! But nothing like back home!"

No, a place in a small town like this could never be as lit as the clubs back in Boston but that was okay; he was in his element right now, in this instant, in this moment. Nothing else mattered but his moment, when everything in his stung little heart could be ameliorated by the beat of a good song and a dance partner.

"I just moved here a few weeks ago!" he shouted above the music. "Are you a local?"

"Lit" was a bit of an exaggeration, to be honest. The clubs in New York were much rowdier and more crowded and exciting than this! Alejo did his fair share of partying back in the day—something his liver reminded him of now and again. But for a tiny town like this, it wasn't bad. It did, though, look like all the youth of Hazleton had come out because he didn't think he had seen most of these people out in the streets while he was walking around during the daytime.

Or maybe these were... special kinds of people.

He felt their presence, of course, being one of them. Special. Supernaturals. Alejo was fairly certain the guy who tried to chat him up earlier was a vampire. But they weren't his target; they were just out to have a good time. He was looking for one particular type of predator that had nothing to do with the supernatural population out here.

In a trice, he was grabbed and it took a lot not to flip the guy over his back and ground him. Alejo laughed as he danced—sort of forced to, since he was pulled into the swaying crowd. Well, it didn't hurt to befriend a local this way, he thought. The man was obviously quite dramatic but not in an overly flashy way. He might have blended into the crowd, really, if Alejo hadn't bumped into him.

"I'm just visiting from out of town!" He shouted too, over the music. "Here for a week or so. Backpacking my way through the West Coast! I'm originally from out East!" He smiled up at the friendly man. "Name's Alejo! You?"

"A backpacker?"

Jack let out a tipsy laugh. Cute guy, backpacking all alone. Not really a good idea but who was Jack to him? His dad? Hahaha. Dancing to the music, Jack let go of Alejo's hands, now that he had led him out to the dance floor along with him. His hands might have lingered a few seconds too long. Maybe.

"Jack! I'm also from back east. Been living out of boxes for a while, though. Nothing as fun as backpacking for me, been attending schools to speak at lectures, blah, blah, blah... It's so boring, honestly!"

He felt like the lines were see-through. A backpacker from far away, traveling alone through the area with family all the way on the other side of the country... It was like the back-story of every poor kid found floating face-down along the river. But it was also simple and realistic. Lots of kids did backpack their way across the States, looking for a little fun, a little excitement. Lots of kids were lured away by monsters in the night, never to be seen again.

Alejo studied the man dancing with him. Jack. A non-descript name for a non-descript man. If not for the club, he could have been Jack Everyman. Moved here recently, too, and a professor or teacher. That also sounded like the back-story for every serial killer, blending in with the townsfolk, doing his normal day job. Alejo's sharp mind began to draw lines and connect dots. The unsub he was tracking had a degree in psychology. A teacher was a logical job for a man like that, and it wouldn't be hard to find a job in a tiny town starving for educated people.

His smile turned a shade flirtatious as he danced closer. Heart beat faster, too. This could be just a normal man out to have a good time. Or it might not be. He just had to get closer, get him alone, find out more about 'Jack.' The conversation he had with Judah earlier in the day flashed through his mind, too. The worst kind of people came out at night in this town... Maybe they went to clubs full of young people, too.

"Sounds like you're looking for a little excitement!" He grinned as he placed a hand on Jack's chest, sliding up to him suggestively then pulling back. Push and pull. Flatter the ego, make them think they were... special. Alejo had an innocent face himself. People seemed to trust him, or at least not suspect him. "Wanna buy me a drink? I'm pretty thirsty."

Backpackers like this guy were exactly the kind that disappeared into thin air without anybody noticing until it was far too late. By the time people started looking into the disappearance, the culprit was long gone, on his way to another victim. And if one was smart, he wouldn't use the same tools, the same styles, the same tells.

When--if--the body was discovered, it couldn't match another one too closely. That was something Jack learned just from watching all those crime scene investigation shows that populated television and streaming services these days. Really, the world was a veritable oyster for criminals in this day and age, when they were given literal handbooks and videos on how not to be caught.

These were things he wanted to impart to dear Alejo but it wasn't the right kind of conversation for a club. Besides, nobody who heard his speeches actually took them to heart. If they did, they wouldn't disappear the way they inevitably did.

A hand moved over his chest and Jack smiled. Before he could reach up and take hold of that hand, though, it was gone and the little tease was flirting with him, asking shamelessly for a drink. Jack winked at him--a blink and you miss it, quick thing.

"Has it been fifteen minutes yet?" he joked, which would mean... nothing to Alejo. He only smiled as he reached down and slid his fingertips over the soft warm pulse of Alejo's wrist, then threaded his fingers with Alejo's as if they were already close. He lifted his other arm to check his watch. As if it mattered if fifteen minutes had passed or not. It hadn't. He'd only stepped away from the bar for about, oh two songs. That was probably closer to six or seven minutes.

"What do you drink?" he asked as he led the way back to the bar.

Fifteen minutes...

Alejo's smile widened. It fit the role at the moment, him being a bold and shameless flirt looking to get a free drink out of a lonely man new to town. Some kind of twisted love story, wasn't it? But his smile was also knowing. His instincts had never led him wrong yet—that good cop gene that ran through the family didn't skip a generation, thank God.

He played dumb, though, eyes widening, laugh mildly bemused. Just another foolish young man who didn't know much about the world or how it worked. Even if he didn't know what 'fifteen minutes' meant specifically he knew the signs of something being off. Weird catch phrases. An adherence to some sort of ritual. Tells, tells, all tells. They told him about that in training, when he went in to be debriefed. He knew the general signs and he did his homework. Alejo was a good cop, despite what Judah seemed to think.

As their hands met, Alejo stepped back in. He let his fingers curl naturally against Jack's hand. So warm. So confident. Alejo followed closely, playing up his role of the unsuspecting, dumb little fish clinging to the bait. "I think I want something... hard." The innuendo couldn't be missed, could it? Shades of his wilder days partying until dawn, fucking anybody that seemed interested. He made up for half a lifetime of repressing his sexuality in about a year and a half, before he got his shit together and before Judah came into his life, providing the stability he sorely needed.

"Think you can manage that, handsome?"

He looked down at Mr. Cute Backpacker and he laughed.

"Wow, just come right out and say it, huh?"

Something hard. So cute, he wanted to pinch his cheek. How old was he, anyway? He barely looked legal enough to be in a club like this. Earlier, when Jack arrived, he had his eyes on somebody else but by now, that person was long gone. Maybe still in the club but out of sight, out of mind.

"I can manage a lot of things," he said as he let go of Alejo's hand. They were at the bar and he found two open seats for them. Sliding into his new seat, he tapped the bar and then turned to look Alejo over, stroking his own chin in thought. Something hard, he said. But that sweet little face. Turning back to the bartender and then past him at his rows of drinks, he perused the choices.

"Ah!" He sat up and slapped the counter. "Bacardi 151! What luck! They stopped selling that years ago." He lifted up two fingers and the bartender set upon getting the bottle and pouring them their drinks.

"You can drink this straight," he told Alejo, who looked like he probably had still been underage when the drink stopped being produced. "Have you tried it? It's like Dr. Pepper."

Only... way, way stronger.

"Why waste time being subtle? I mean... if you want me to pretend to be a good little boy for you... I could do that too. I'm versatile baby."

His grin was cheeky, like a bad little boy trying (not very hard) to hide the fact that he'd just pilfered cookies straight off the cooling rack. Kids said dumb shit like this, ones who thought they owned the world and that nothing could happen to them. Picking up a strange man at a club would've meant nothing to nineteen, twenty year-old Alejo, who thought the world of himself.

Now he shuddered to think of what could have happened if he'd run into the wrong person at the wrong time.

"Looks like you're versatile too," he quipped as he slid fluidly onto the bar stool. Swivelling slightly on the rotating stool, his knee slid against Jack's. He leaned closer too, chin on the palm of one hand, watching him deciding on the drink. Alejo's brows lifted at his choice of drink, though. Wow. Didn't pull any punches, did he? Not that he ought to have, with a dumb little big-mouth bass wriggling on his line.

"Wow, I've never seen this before!" He took the drink straight out of the bartender's hand, not giving room for any sleight of hand on Jack's part. A lot could happen in half a second—like that lightning fast wink of his earlier. Alejo held it up, still grinning confidently. "Cheers handsome." He tipped his head back and downed it. It wasn't meant to be taken like a shot but hey—he was supposed to be dumb and trusting, right?

It hurt like a bitch going down, though. Hissing, Alejo doubled over with a hand to his mouth. But he was laughing too, like he was already half-way drunk. "Oh my god, that's—wow!" He let out a silly little laugh as he straightened and leaned into Jack. "Was I supposed to drink it like that?"

"That's cute."

Versatile, huh? Probably not as versatile as he thought. Jack gave him a sweeping glance, from the artfully mussed up hair to the casual, scuffed high tops. He was one of those over-eager puppy types, it seemed. The type that at first glance looked like all sunshine and rainbows but deep down, they had a hurt inside that they couldn't seem to patch. Jack knew all about the pain. What about all this felt like the fix, though?

While Jack's smile remained on his lips, his gaze was far away as he slid his own glass from the bartender close. Picking it up, he slid his gaze over at Alejo without turning his head. "Cheers," he said before taking a drink. He was still swallowing his first sip when Alejo finished his off, like a shot. His free hand moved to catch the tipsy man before he ended up sliding off his stool and dropping onto the floor.

"Most people don't," he said in amusement.

"You should've told me!" He laughed, clinging to Jack and swaying slightly. Alejo let his head drop against Jack's shoulder, since it was conveniently there. He laughed again, this time a softer sound of amusement. The last time he did something like this—drink without a thought for the hangover next day—he was still a rookie in the force. Back then he was all about the good times and the hard liquor, drowning his problems with liquid hope, with the promise of a good time in somebody's eyes.

Part of him though... never did graduate from that. There was still the hurt inside that not even maturity or time could fix. No matter if he acted a fool or acted like some kind of normal functioning adult, a part of him was broken. So he could understand where boys like this came from, why they might go to a club and get drunk and go home with someone whose name they wouldn't remember the next morning. He'd been there before—he was that guy.

Slowly, he reached down and took Jack's free hand again, twining their fingers. Warm. Confident. Probably a bad idea all around to keep going with this charade but Alejo, he was stubborn in his own way too. Once he had enough evidence he'd bring him in and that would be that. Another case closed and on to the next. Another perp behind bars where he couldn't hurt other vulnerable kids who were all too easy to take advantage of.

"Can I have another one?" Just two wouldn't hinder his ability to do his job. For a moment it felt good. The burn in his throat, it felt... good.

Human contact was... Vastly under-recognized for its ability to bring some source of comfort. Jack's pain brought him into places like this, too. Looking for something that he never found. Would never find, if he was honest with himself. Love had never been unconditional when he grew up and it was never earned, either. Maybe he tried to make up for it by seeking out the innocent who were in pain. Himself, ten, fifteen years ago.

It was nice to have the weight of a body against him, a head on his shoulder, fingers twined in his. Of course, now both his hands were now occupied and he couldn't very well finish his drink, which sat on the counter.

"Finish mine."

Daddy issues. Mommy issues. People flung those words around like they meant nothing but those were ones whose parents never looked at them like they were dirt. Like they regretted having them. Like maybe they couldn't find it in their hearts to love their own child anymore, because he happened to love a man instead of a woman.

That kind of rejection, that never healed. No matter what he used to stuff the wound, it always felt raw, always gaped. Even if he had a wonderful job that gave him purpose in life, enabling him to help others, even if he had a boyfriend he loved and whom, he was sure, loved him back, the burn didn't go away. Substituting other kinds of love for it... Didn't work. It didn't work like that.

Sometimes he wondered what drove the man to do what he did. Maybe it was Jack, maybe it wasn't. But whoever it was... why? Why hurt others that way? Did he hurt too? Or was it simply nothing more than a sexual impulse? A deviant compulsion he couldn't quite ignore? Plenty of people thought about doing away with someone but it took a special kind of person to go through with it. What did he get out of it?

Alejo reached for the drink. He saw Jack sipping from it earlier, so he knew it was safe. Guy wouldn't drug his own drink, would he? He brought it up and took a sip, held it as he pressed in close and let the taste of the liquor soak into his tongue. "Mmm..." Alejo held the rest of it up for Jack, since both of his hands were occupied, tipping the rim of the glass up against his lips.

Jack's lips curved into an amused smile as the glass was lifted to his mouth. He drank from it, letting the sweet taste of it slide down his throat. He'd had enough to drink tonight that it was smooth going down--but it was no joke. Hard liquor. 151. It would have them both on their asses but that was okay. Jack was still new in town. Had a real job at the moment. No reason to go and fuck that up already.

When he stood, his head swam pleasantly. The music around them was muted, the voices quieted. He used the hand that held his to draw Alejo in close, in an almost sweet embrace. Mostly it was to keep him propped up in case he started tipping over like he did earlier. He pulled out several bills and laid them on the counter for the bartender, knowing without counting it would be enough, plus tip.

"Come on," he said softly against Alejo's temple. "Let's get out of here."

Hmm. Warm. A warm body to hold, to hold him. Alejo's thoughts turned to the boyfriend who was out there in the same sleepy little town, staying with a friend. The boyfriend who accused him of being evasive, but glossed over the fact that he had tried to keep the fact that he was staying with a male friend from Alejo. Even given the chance to correct him, Judah tried to skip over it.

If he had nothing to hide, why didn't he correct Alejo the first time? Why did he let Alejo think it was a girl that he was staying with?

Why didn't he say it back—I love you—when Alejo said it to him?

That stayed with him all day, into the night. It was with him now while Jack's embrace warmed him inside and out, words spoken against his temple appealing to his inner demons. He was doing this for the job, though. Alejo was only here because he had a bad guy to catch. Right? He wasn't going through with it.

He smiled up at Jack, impish and already half-way drunk. Just drunk enough to think he wasn't drunk. Maybe his tolerance for alcohol wasn't as good as he thought. "If you take me home with you, know that I will make you late for work tomorrow." Alejo laughed, tipsy, warm, high. "Is that a risk you're willing to take?"

If only things were normal in Jack's world. It was a fleeting thought. What normal must look like. What normal must feel like. It wasn't as if he was without soul, without conscience, without thought. Perhaps, even, he had too much of all of it. Thought too much, felt too much. His conscience wasn't clean. Hadn't been clean in a long time but he still managed to sleep at night, sometimes with help. Often times with help.

"I was always going to be late for work," he confessed to Alejo. Whether or not Alejo was the one who went home with him tonight, he would likely have one hell of a hangover. He knew he drank way too much already. He was light-headed and the world was beautiful. Wonderful. Innocent as Alejo's eyes on him, that smile that made him smile. He leaned in, so close. Achingly close to a kiss. His nose brushed Alejo's.

"C'mon, sweetheart," he said as he tilted his head and nuzzled him instead. His arm wrapped genially around Alejo's shoulders like an old chum and he led him to the door. He slightly stumbled a step or two but it was okay. "My place is close."

And the cool night air would sober them up a little.

Oh! But the air was cold outside. It nipped at his extremities, the tip of his nose, his cheeks, his fingertips. But it was still nothing close to the cold from an eastern winter and Alejo said he was from the east as well. Funny how that worked; but he could hear it in his voice, in the way he said certain words.

"What do you do?" he asked as they started down the cracked pavement. The apartment building where he stayed was only a couple of blocks from nightlife here in Hazleton. Sunrise Apartments. Like most of the buildings in the city center, it was new and beautiful and meant to attract newcomers like himself.

"I gabbed about my job but you," he said with a gentle poke to Alejo's cheek. "You're still a mystery."

He wasn't really going through with it. He wasn't really going back to Jack's place to hook up with him, despite the evidence of words, actions and thought. Really, just as Alejo could have been anyone, so could Jack. It might have been the guy with the brilliant white smile or the one whose hooded eyes had been following him since he entered the club. Might have been the bartender or the DJ or one of the dancers up on stage.

Alejo was just hurt. Alone. Confused. His job was increasingly getting in the way of his personal relationships, putting distance between himself and the people he was supposed to trust with any secret. But some secrets, they couldn't be told. People didn't understand that. Alejo thought that Judah did but then... this happened. The friend happened. The lies... happened.

He tilted up into Jack, nuzzling nose tip to nose tip and smiling like he thought he was still in control. "Sure." His arm slid around Jack's waist as they eased out of the club, with the music still swimming through his veins, powering his heart beat. Outside it was chilly but Alejo only pressed closer to him. Nothing like the frigid New York winters that shut down half the city. Just a little bit nippy, really, out here.

"I'm... nothing." Alejo laughed with a sense of irony. Bait, he wanted to say. Glorified bait. He was here because he looked good enough and he was young, fresh-faced and eager to please—as always. But at the heart of it, he was here to lure out a predator. At a stop light waiting for the walk sign, he slid his other arm around Jack's waist and cuddled up to him to ward off the cold, resting his cheek against his shoulder. "Lost, I guess. I came out here hoping to find myself. Thought I knew who I was but... it's like going through a tunnel, thinking you know what's on the other side. But when you come out you realize there's a hundred different ways to go and you just..."

He trailed off, smiling wistfully at the pavement.

Nothing. There was the pain, showing through the veil of alcohol. They stood at the street corner and even when the light changed, Jack didn't step forward. His gaze dropped to the young man's hair, to the curvature of his cheek and the slope of his nose and the flicker of his lashes. Alejo was lost. Jack supposed he knew that when he said he was backpacking across the country. Most people only did things like that, not because they had a sense of adventure, but because something was missing.

"I'm nothing too," he said softly into Alejo's hair. He was nothing and it killed him. His parents didn't even love him, something people said of people who were nothing. When one's own creators didn't care, it was hard to learn to care for oneself, either. And he was traveling, too, looking, searching high and low for something that mattered. Somebody to care about and somebody that cared about him.

Philosophy always suited him but it was also useless. More useless ramblings, more useless thought experiments. It all hinged on what if this and what if that. It wasn't grounded in true reality. Some philosophers went so far as to teach a person how to unthink their previous thoughts. You see this chair, they would say, it doesn't exist. What you see with your eyes doesn't mean anything because there were so many things they couldn't see that still existed but... did anything really exist? If they couldn't define reality by things they knew to be true, by the ability to touch, taste, smell... How did they know it was really there?

Love was like that. One of those undefinable things that humans had been trying for centuries to define. But was it even real or was it just something they told one another to make this reality more bearable?

The lights changed again. Jack led Alejo across the street. Sunrise Apartments loomed ahead, a lighthouse in the only truly busy part of this tiny town. There were a couple of kids hanging out in front of the apartments, one on a skateboard, another crouched on the curb with his phone while his friend hung over his shoulder to read or watch whatever was on the phone with him. The sound of the skateboard's wheels followed him as they entered the courtyard of the apartments. Jack slid his keys out of his coat pocket.

"Here we are." He smiled at Alejo as he let go of him in order to insert the keys into the lock. His apartment was on the ground floor of the three story building. 1F. He opened the door to a sparsely furnished home with new wooden flooring. He flipped the light switch on. No art on the walls but there were several paintings leaning against the wall, waiting to be hung up. There was a nice area rug in the living room, a couch. A chair. A coffee table with nothing on it.

"It's not very homey yet," he apologized as he stood in the doorway, holding the door open for Alejo. "But it's getting there."

They were nothing together, was the flippant and flirty response, but Alejo wasn't in the mood to say it. Two nothings didn't make a something, just like two halves didn't always make a whole. He held Jack a little tighter, though. A little closer, as if they might meld and finally make one normal, unbroken person. The light changed and Alejo saw it flashing but for a second longer, a beat too long, he held Jack.

This was something Judah didn't understand. Judah grew up loved. And it wasn't his fault that Alejo had a fucked up family but he couldn't possibly know the kind of emptiness that was inside of Alejo, the depth of the bottomless hole that needed to be filled. It wasn't Judah's job to fill it, either. It wasn't his responsibility. He could only feel what he felt, love the way he was capable of loving, not the way Alejo needed to be loved.

And... for a while now, Alejo had suspected that there was another guy. A guy who pre-dated him, someone Judah loved with all of his heart and not only part of it. He could tell, he wasn't an idiot. The little smiles at his phone, the frowns, the awkward tension. Emotions dredged up from texting and talking to someone, as an observant cop, Alejo saw it. He didn't say it, paved over it with excuses, but now... This. The friend Judah was so careful to keep away from Alejo, his boyfriend...

He let out a sigh against Jack's shoulder. There was a tiny warm spot on the top of his head where Jack had spoken into his hair and it spread, tingling, electric, down to the soles of his feet. He hoped... Jack was just an ordinary guy. A lonely guy, a nothing guy looking for someone to fit the space in his heart where another human was supposed to go.

The rest of the trip was uneventful. Alejo didn't say anything interesting; it felt like a contemplative kind of walk where he just watched Jack, his profile, the way his hair fell, the shape of his jaw. Then they were inside, warming up, and he noted with a little smile that Jack lived on the ground floor. Easy to get in and out. Easy to--no. Stop. He pushed those thoughts away.

He wanted to see Jack as a person right now, not as a suspect.

It was so... selfish, though. So ill-advised. He was supposed to be professional. He had a boyfriend. He was out here because they trusted him and without knowing jack shit about Jack (haha) he was... taken in. They were nothing people, disposable, expendable. Bait, right? Bait. Alejo reached for him as soon as they were both inside, hands sliding up to either side of his face. He tugged Jack down to him, to meet his pain with the pain that had been festering deep inside for what felt like forever.

Two nothings. Nothing could ever be anything. That was his real problem, chasing all these nothings and hoping they would fill up that emptiness inside. If they were nothing and he was nothing, they were doing absolutely no favors for one another. And yet here he was, yet again. With a pretty little nothing. A bold pretty little nothing, whose hands were on his face, whose lips were on his.

Jack used a foot to push the door closed behind them with a gentle click. It was just the two of them now. No more kids chatting and skateboarding. No more thumping club music, no more crowds. Just the two of them, alone together. The kisses deepened and Jack sensed a desperation in Alejo. The pain. His arms enveloped him as he drew him closer, to the couch. Crashing backward onto the couch, he pulled Alejo down with him. Another dizzying series of kisses and he was sliding hands up beneath Alejo's shirt, hands splayed over a flat stomach and around to the curve of his back. Skin on skin, in any capacity. Jack could never tire of it.

All alone now in the silence and the nothingness...

After the door clicked shut the rest of the world melted away. Alejo forgot about the kids hanging around outside, loitering in the cold. That could have been him once, innocent and young without a single care in the world. He used to like skateboarding too—what self-respecting kid didn't? He had his own friends like that, one laconic and perpetually unimpressed, another overly excited, others simply normal, ordinary boys. They hung around street corners after dark too and passed a cigarette around while talking about nothing: how school sucked, how their parents were getting on their cases, about the latest trends.

Where did all of that innocence go? Alejo knew he started pulling away from his friends. He had a Secret that he couldn't tell them, just like he had a Secret he couldn't tell Judah. His lingering glances had no explanation and he was afraid all the time. Fear of discovery made him tense and anxious, leading a fake life that drained every particle of individuality out of him. He wanted to please everyone—and ended up pleasing no one. Friends, family, they all faded from his life, leaving... nothing.

Did Jack know that too? His eyes said he did. There was a hollowness in his voice when he admitted that he, too, was nothing and it reached deep down into Alejo's soul. That was their connection. Nothing. They were nothing, reaching for something. Alejo tried to fill the void with a job helping others, hoping to please and so eager for acceptance. But his reward was this: bait. Still nothing in the eyes of his superiors.

He fell onto the couch with Jack, legs twining and insinuating between his. Alejo's hands slipped up into his hair as he opened himself up to him, feeling punch-drunk. High. Here was someone who finally got it, what it felt like to be nothing. And his touch, it felt so good. It had been so long since Alejo had been touched, waiting for Judah to come back, going off on his own assignments...

"Jack?" Alejo pulled back, taking a breath. "Jack... wait." He had to be sure. His gaze searched Jack's, half-drunk though he was in the moment. Alejo's hands didn't stop moving, though, pushing back his hair from his eyes, stroking the sides of his temples.

"Hm?"

He looked up at Alejo, who seemed to enjoy playing with his hair. Fair enough. The little mind reader. Jack liked having hands in his hair, on his face. With his eyes on Alejo, he observed him searching Jack's gaze. What was he searching for? Jack's fingers idly stroked Alejo's back.

"Having second thoughts?"

Sometimes they did, the ones he brought back home. Jack obviously hadn't done anything to Alejo's drink. The whispers had been fairly quiet since arriving in Hazleton, but it wasn't the place doing it. For the time being, he was on medication, although it didn't mix well with alcohol. Or so they said. Really, it just heightened the feeling of floating. They had floated serenely here to his home. The whole world had lost its hard angles and everything was left soft and blurry. Except those eyes. Those eyes on him. Searching.

He lifted a hand to Alejo's cheek.

"What are you looking for?"

"No..."

Everything came crashing together: the argument with Judah earlier that sent Alejo running into the nearest pair of arms, the demands of his stressful job, being at war with himself and his religion. Lying didn't come naturally to Alejo. He was good at what he did but that didn't mean he liked it. It didn't mean that spouting untruths and living another double-life was something he enjoyed and wanted to keep doing forever.

Who was he? Earlier when he told Jack he was doing some soul-searching, he hadn't been lying. Alejo didn't know who he was anymore. Was he the liar? The cop? He wanted to help others but not if he was going to lose himself in the process and every job like this, every argument he had with someone about being evasive and duplicitous, drove him closer and closer to the edge.

Some days he felt like he could just. Snap.

Alejo closed his eyes to the soft strokes at the back of his neck, feeling fuzzy and warm despite his inner turmoil. The hand at his cheek made something in his heart twang painfully. "I want to know... who you are," he said softly, opening his eyes again. He touched upon the slope of Jack's jaw, up along his cheek, cupping his face. Alejo leaned down again to kiss him, feeling the pang of guilt as he remembered Judah. His boyfriend. Who was out here reconnecting with 'old friends.'

No you don't.

Nobody really wanted to know Jack Ripley. He came from a broken background and he spent his entire life stitching up the holes that undoubtedly crept throughout his life. He was on medication. While there was no history of arrests, there were... incidents. Jack Ripley wanted things so deeply that he hurt those he thought he loved most because he didn't know any other way. Even when he was trying to fix things, he only managed to put them back together insofar as one could fix anything broken: there were still cracks, fragility, things were never the same after they broke.

Slowly, his eyes closed, their lips meeting. Just the softest whisper of a kiss. Another soft kiss followed and Jack's fingertips slid up Alejo's temple, sifting through his hair. His eyes opened slightly, lips brushing Alejo's as he spoke.

"What do you want to know?"

For more than two years, Alejo had been tracking down a single man. He spent more time than he cared to admit poring over the case files, staring at the vivid images of young men with pale blue lips and closed eyes laying on a metal slab. He read through the reports over and over, analyzed the psychology of the killer, trying to find a connection between this and that, drawing lines from A to B in the hopes of finding some sort of pattern. Some clue. One misstep was all it took but the man was careful, meticulous.

Still, he knew things. Things like the fact that he had a habit of moving around the country, never staying in one place for too long. Like the fact that he had a degree, which Alejo deduced from the fragment of a diploma they found at one of the crime scenes. The man had been living there for a while; he'd grabbed his things in a hurry, it seemed, to head off the raid. By the time they got there, the apartment was empty. Only careful combing of the crime scene brought the fragment of paper to light.

Alejo wondered about him. Thought about him. Dreamed about him. He was borderline obsessed with tracking down the killer, loathe though he was to admit it. He got that way sometimes, with his job, with his possessions, with... people. Maybe that was why he felt so strongly about this man in particular. There were signs—signs that they shared something in common. Signs of holding on too tight, afraid of losing the little that they both had. When you had nothing, what little you did have became everything.

In a fucked up way, he felt as if he might as well be in a relationship with this faceless, nameless man—he'd spent more than enough time profiling him, given up days and nights solely to discovering his identity.

Alejo didn't know if Jack was that man but he thought he saw signs. There were certainly suspicious clues laying about, like bread crumbs leading him to some inevitable conclusion. His heart beat faster as they kissed at the thought of finally tracking him down, and yet... he felt sad, too. If he found Jack—if Jack was the man he'd been searching for all these years—what next? After this case closed... how did he move on? What did he move on to? He'd held on for so long that this case had formed a part of his life and he couldn't give that up so easily, could he?

So he had to be sure. He had to know for a fact before he made any moves and that was why he paused, putting the brakes on.

"What made you nothing?" He didn't go far, since Jack didn't seem to want him to go far. Alejo's own hands buried themselves in Jack's hair too, stroking, petting, grasping, nails raking gently against his scalp. He kissed him again, tenderly, deeply. "What made you this way?"

A natural question. What made him nothing? What made anybody nothing? What made Alejo nothing? Were they all really like this inside, with some so good at pretending otherwise that nobody was any the wiser? Sometimes, Jack had to wonder. But then he saw something inside some people, something that could never be nothing. Those people with the lively smiles, the way their eyes seemed to truly hold a spirit so strong and full that they could never be reduced to this--to nothing.

And where did one even begin with describing what made them nothing? How did one describe nothing when it was the total absence of anything? What made Jack Ripley nothing, he wanted to know. Did he hope to connect their pain? To connect to the most vulnerable parts of Jack?

He smiled, a smile with eyes that were too sad to match. They just met. Alejo wouldn't know what it meant to know Jack's emptiness, the nothing that bore through his heart, widening with every misunderstanding, with every promise that broke, that left more cracks in his heart.

"I don't think something made me this way," he confessed. "I think I was born this way. From the moment I arrived in this world, my mother must have looked into my eyes and she saw... nothing. We never had that connection between mother and son. My earliest memories are not fond ones."

He ran a thumb over Alejo's lower lip.

"What makes you nothing, Alejo darling?"

Gently, his thumb passed over Jack's brow, tracing the natural arch of it. Such sad eyes. Such a lonely, empty smile. It tore into him, how well he knew that look in Jack's eyes and how familiar his smile was. Alejo felt that way too, some days. Some days the emptiness was too vast to be contained and it leaked through, exposing him behind the mask that he wore. Most of the time Alejo got through the day just fine but some days... days like these were hard to bear.

"Your mom never loved you," he concluded, lowering his head to kiss the pad of Jack's thumb as it drifted over his lip. He chased his hand too, nuzzling into it with his eyes closed, feeling that ache in his chest expand with Jack's words. Was that better, or worse? To never have known a mother's love, instead of having it and then losing it?

"Mine did love me," Alejo confessed softly, eyes still closed, head down. "And then she—they—took it back. When I came out, they took it back. I wasn't their son anymore. I wasn't... anything anymore." He opened his eyes, full of the same sadness, aching and cold inside.

"I have a boyfriend. He's in love with someone else. I was only ever a stand-in. I've never been anything to anyone, you see. No matter how hard I try, I can't..." His smile twisted into a bitter little thing. Even this... It was a meaningless hook-up, wasn't it? Alejo used his job as a cover but he knew how the evening would turn out the second he walked into the club. The only stroke of fate was Jack, and maybe even back at the club when their eyes first met, he saw that emptiness and his own hollow heart reacted to it.

"Is it us? Is it our fault?"

No, she never loved him. As a child, it filled him with so much unrestrained rage and anguish. Jack was an unruly child, the kind that acted out, threw tantrums, screamed and cried unconsolably. Only when he was young. It only took a couple of years to realize that nobody cared. His mother used to lock him up in a carseat and leave him for hours alone in a closet so she didn't have to listen to him cry. It didn't matter, to her, what it was he wanted. All she heard was greed, something stealing her time away from men, from drugs, from sleeping endlessly on the couch.

Why did she keep him? Jack struggled daily with the fight to stay alive; wishing his mother never granted him the curse of life, wishing that if she couldn't bring herself to kill him, that she gave him away. But she didn't. Why? Why? Why did people like her exist? Why did they allow people like Jack to exist?

Which is worse? he wondered silently, as his gaze dropped, as he nuzzled Alejo. To have known love once and lost it? Or to never have felt it at all? Perhaps it had been posed by a poet and a playwright but the question was philosophical in nature.

A boyfriend. Jack's smile was rueful. It didn't bother him, the fact that there was a boyfriend. If he mattered, or if he cared enough, he wouldn't have pushed Alejo in this direction. A boyfriend in love with somebody else. Now the rueful smile was bitter. He knew all about that. Why wouldn't he? He was nothing, the same as Alejo. He had experienced that same feeling of loving somebody and finding out that it wasn't reciprocated. Not the way he needed it.

"No," he said. It wasn't their fault. Jack was not at fault for being born. Alejo wasn't either. He wasn't at fault for giving his heart to somebody. He was brave and he was rewarded with a spit to the face. By his family. By his boyfriend.

"They're the ones who make us nothing."

See, Jack knew. Jack understood. Nothingness was a part of their identities now, made so by the people who pushed them out of their lives. All they wanted—Jack, Alejo—was to be significant in someone's life. Alejo tried to claw his way into prominence in the force, with Judah, with his own goddamn family, but none of them got it. Nobody got him.

He smiled at Jack, at Jack's knowing and bitter smile. Jack understood him perfectly. The sense of rejection grew with each person that came into and went out of his life like it was a revolving door. Like it didn't matter what Alejo wanted, only what they wanted. And Alejo, he tried so hard not to blame them. He blamed himself, his job, his secrets, he made one excuse after the other for them, absolving them, putting them in the right and himself in the wrong.

He made himself out to be nothing... when they were the ones who did it to him.

"All I want..." he lowered his voice, sharing a deep, dark secret. His Secret. He nuzzled Jack again, nose tip to nose tip, just like they did back at the club. But this time it felt so much more intimate.

"Is to be a part of someone."

Jack had to know what he meant, what he wanted—needed—to be to someone. Anyone.

It wasn't often that somebody understood. If he really took a look at his past relationships, Jack saw nothing but lines of people who didn't understand. Oh, they would pretend. They'd play at knowing what he meant but there was a false note in their words, a strange eagerness to please, little white lies to show that they were on the same page. That they understood.

For the first time in a long time, Jack felt understood. Alejo, it turned out, was not just the typical naive young clubber. There was something more to him, depths that weren't apparent until now, when they were alone together.

Jack gently stroked Alejo's cheek, his temple, his hair. His eyes closed. All Jack wanted was the same--to be a part of someone. To belong to somebody. Jack kissed him again, the careful, gentle kisses giving way to more passionate kisses.

"Be a part of me," he whispered after several breath-taking kisses, still close, nose to nose, forehead to forehead, lips brushing lips.

Yes, this—this was perfect. This was the moment he had been waiting for his whole life, the moment when he looked into someone's eyes and saw himself there. Jack was just like him. The knowledge filled him with indescribable joy. He wasn't alone. He wasn't the only one who felt empty and dissatisfied, who looked at other people as if they were aliens, unable to understand how they could live the way they did.

Even Judah... Alejo thought when they first met that Judah was like him too. There was something missing in him, a pain that Alejo thought he identified with. Now he knew that Judah's pain was meant for someone else. For that person he kept texting, the person he really loved. The pain was because of that other person; Judah was part of someone else.

Jack, though, was all his. Jack had been scorned by the same people. There were minute differences in their lives but they had experienced similar things. The people who were supposed to love them the most didn't love them at all. Jack's pain was Alejo's pain.

He poured himself into the kisses, elated beyond words. "I already am," he breathed softly, heart beating fit to burst in his chest. "And you're a part of me, right?" They were too alike not to be soul mates. Alejo's hands drifted down, removing clothing, removing barriers. He wanted to feel Jack skin-to-skin, to be warm and wanted, to feel understood but not judged. Was that too much to ask? It seemed so for the people he let in and out of his life, but he was sure Jack wouldn't ever do that. Jack wouldn't hurt him like those other people.

"You're a part of me." He whispered it as his head dropped low, kissing the side of Jack's throat, his clavicle, his shoulder and chest. Alejo felt as if a weight had been removed from his chest; he could finally breathe again. His fingers splayed across Jack's chest and dragged down, leading with nails, leaving faint lines. Past his chest, past his stomach, lower and lower it went until he grasped Jack, lips still at his throat, eyes ever on him and drinking him in.

Already? Jack smiled to himself. So he was a part of him. Who knew the evening would wind up this way? Certainly not Jack; he had gone to the club to loosen himself up, get drunk, and medicate himself into slumber. Sometimes, that meant a lot of drinks, sometimes that meant a warm body. Sometimes it was a combination of the two. But right now, he was pleasantly drunk and not grossly so. And he had a warm body, whose eyes looked at him as if he knew him all his life.

"I do believe so..." he said breathlessly as clothes were taken off and carelessly tossed away. No more clothing, just skin to skin. Warm bodies. And those eyes that kept watching him, kept looking at him, no longer searching. Alejo must have found what he was looking for and Jack... Jack smiled again as he kissed Alejo again, a kiss to his temple, a kiss to his nose, a kiss to his eyebrow, back to his lips.

It wasn't long before Alejo was administering kisses and touches of his own. Jack closed his eyes and held Alejo close as he reveled in the feel of warm lips, kissing what felt like every part of him, from throat to chest and downward.

"Mmm..." A soft hum left his throat as he arched his back. The feel of fingernails, the faint scratching sensation bringing up shivers across his skin--some people were afraid of that. Of a few scratches, a few bites. Jack laughed, shivering in pleasure as his body bucked in Alejo's eager hand.

"Naughty little minx," he said with a soft gaze and an impish smile on his lips. His eyes closed as he let his head fall back. "Ah, Alejo... you have the hands of a god."

Not too rough but not too soft, deft touches but sure and certain, not too hesitant. That boyfriend that loved somebody else had no idea what he was letting go of. A fool. Jack's hands slid over the smooth skin of Alejo's back, downward, to massage the muscle of his well formed backside.

From darling to minx in such a short amount of time... but then elevated to the level of a god. Alejo revelled in the pet names, lapped up the attention that he had been starved for. He knew the pet names were marks of affection, albeit not as noticeable as the marks he was leaving along Jack's throat and chest. They wouldn't show up in the morning, he was sure; he didn't go that hard, though a large part of him wanted to.

Jack wouldn't mind the pain, would he? That pain in his heart had to be so much more intense than anything a pair of lips or a set of nails could do. But on the other hand, Alejo knew that showing up at work with hickies all over wasn't a good look. He wouldn't want his fellow officers to see that and he didn't think Jack went in for showing off that way, either. Not if he was a professor with a reputation to uphold.

He laughed low in the back of his throat as Jack's hands moved down too, and he pressed eagerly back into them to encourage their exploration. "I think you're the naughty one, Jack." His own hand was sure, still stroking and manipulating the warm, hard flesh, enjoying their closeness. He was playful but the need was building. A little taste here, a kiss there, the foreplay had to lead somewhere.

But as much as he wanted to feel Jack inside of him, to be a part of him, another part of him greedily wanted Jack to feel him.

Alejo's tongue rasped over a dark nipple, then the edge of his teeth grazed it, worrying it. His knee slipped between Jack's legs. Naughty little minx, Jack called him. Be careful what you wish for, they always said... He glanced up, questioning, even as he grasped Jack a little harder and pumped his hand a little faster, and his knee wedged itself higher between Jack's legs to see if they would open for him.

Damn... It had been a while since somebody had been so enthusiastic about this. No, no. They were enthusiastic in the past but they were people pleasers, probably because they were young. Alejo was young--he was definitely younger than Jack, he knew that. (Or did he? Who the hell knew these days.) Either way, Alejo seemed less about doing just what he thought Jack wanted. No, he was doing what he wanted and that was refreshing.

Not to mention, attractive as hell. It wasn't enthusiasm he hadn't seen in a while; it was somebody that knew what he wanted. Somebody that gave as much as he took. Somebody that didn't just wait for cues from Jack. And damn, did Alejo know what he wanted.

"...fuck."

Did he mention Alejo had the hands of a god? Fuck. Jack's legs slipped apart without much prompting and while he had been hinting at fucking Alejo, it seemed like Alejo had other plans. They weren't in the bedroom. Lube... Jack reached blindly with one hand for his discarded clothes, where was it... his hand slid through various clothes until his fingers grasped the bottle of lube. Always handy to have on his person, just in case somebody at the club wanted to have some fun without going home.

Arching up into another kiss, he smiled when it ended and he held up the bottle between them.

"Don't tell me you were hoping to go in dry. I may have masochistic tendencies but..."

They were part of one another now; there were no barriers separating them any longer. If Jack had been anyone else, Alejo might not have been so forward. He might have done what his partner wanted out of a desire to please—to be accepted. But Jack already accepted him; they were one and the same, really. Alejo knew that the things he did, the way his actions grew bolder and more aggressive, wouldn't be rejected. Jack wouldn't do that to him. Jack wouldn't use him and toss him off to the side once he got what he wanted.

He watched with a little smirk as Jack fumbled through their various discarded clothing. Taser? Bear spray? Ah—lube. Alejo laughed into and out of the kiss, the joy inside bubbling up and out and over. And Jack called him a minx, when he was packing all along! "Aren't we all a little masochistic on the inside?" He grinned, naughty and impish, as though he knew that he was a bad little boy and couldn't bring himself to be ashamed of it.

But honestly... not everyone was a little masochistic on the inside. Jack was. Alejo was. He needed sex to be spiced up a bit; otherwise it all felt so... bland. It felt like nothing. And he tried to repress that side of him with Judah, tried not to make too many demands for fear of driving Judah off, but in the end he found it terribly vanilla. Jack, though? How much damage could Jack take? How much damage could he do? A shiver ran pleasantly down Alejo's spine at the thought. Next time, maybe there would be lines down his own body, there would be a hand tormenting him, a leg nudging his legs apart.

Tonight, though, Jack was all his. And Jack wasn't shy about voicing his pleasure, which Alejo enjoyed as he delved into more kisses, more marks under the collar, one hand coated generously in lube penetrating into Jack's dark heat as the other grasped his hair, pulling his head to the side so that Alejo could ravage his throat with kisses. His tongue flicked over Jack's pulse, tasting something sweet in the way it throbbed. He rode against the side of Jack's leg with his lower body on fire, in agony—finally feeling something other than desperation. Sex always ended in desperation, loneliness. Even when he curled up with someone, he knew they wouldn't stay. Even Judah wasn't going to be a permanent fixture in his life.

Jack was different.

When he finally couldn't take it any more, as their sighs and groans mingled and the heat rose to unbearable heights, Alejo positioned himself. He pushed in slow, not to give Jack any chances to adjust but so that he could really feel him. Feel everything that Alejo had to offer, everything that he was condensed into one passionate act of possession. They were part of one another now and no one could take this from them.

Despite his gentle demeanor before, Jack's fingers were now raking lines over Alejo's skin. Still, he was careful, keeping any marks away from obvious places, places that could be hidden when Alejo was properly clothed again. What a sad prospect, to see Alejo back in his clothing because he had such a beautiful body. Jack always thought of himself as an amateur artist. There was something about the human body that was the most beautiful thing in the world. He knew he wasn't alone in that thought; ancient civilizations were always drawing them, painting them, sculpting them.

But what good was art that one couldn't interact with? A human being with a beautiful body, a beautiful voice, soft hair, bright but lonely eyes.

Part of the beauty was the wanton twist of bodies, the desire in their voices. Jack wasn't in the slightest shy about showing his feelings in that regard. Alejo really was quite the minx. An imp. The pleased sounds that escaped Jack were all honest, happy, content for once. His body moved, his hips upward, a hand grasping a perfectly shaped buttock, the other sliding over Alejo's side and down his hip, his leg to facilitate the way Alejo rode his leg.

"You..." he started to suggest that maybe he should move that part of his body somewhere else but it was as if Alejo read his mind. "Ohh..." He let out a low groan and his eyes fluttered closed again. Yes, yes. Perfect. Nothing felt better than the sensation of somebody inside of him. Well, other than being the one inside somebody. They both had their merits.

Jack pulled Alejo in closer by his hip. He thought Alejo was being nice and gentle and all but... God, he needed all of him now. His body met Alejo's and he bit his lip as he felt him inside, to the hilt. Jack's hands were everywhere, his head dropping so he could nip at a shoulder, at the base of Alejo's throat. All right, so much for leaving marks where they couldn't be seen...

All his life... All his life, Alejo had done what others wanted. He was a good son; he tried to repress his homosexuality for as long as he could in order to spare his parents the pain of having a gay child. Then when he couldn't take it any longer, he came out but he kept away, so that they wouldn't have to confront the shame of being related to him. He went off on his own, did what he had to do. When he finally settled down and found someone, he still tried so hard to be good. Better. Perfect.

Tonight, Alejo didn't feel the need to be perfect. It was true that he didn't follow Jack's cues, that he simply did what he wanted. Wasn't it about time for Alejo to think about Alejo? He knew, somehow, that Jack wouldn't hold it against him. And he did follow some of the cues—his eyes never left Jack, after all. He kept looking at him, staring, admiring him in all of his perfection. The imperfect man was perfect to Alejo. They always said that one man's trash was another's treasure...

He melted against Jack, against soft lips and hot kisses and the sting of teeth on his throat. Jack's mouth was godly, if anything, and Alejo didn't care that there were marks in obvious places. He wanted to wear them, all of the reddening marks on his body, proof of their intimate connection. Alejo left his own mark too, but down below where no one else could see. He left them with his hips, thrusting harder and harder into Jack as his breathing grew harsh, exploding out of his lungs. His hands slipped down to catch one of Jack's hands and he tugged it up to his throat, moulded Jack's fingers around his windpipe. Squeezed it.

Alejo couldn't seem to stop smiling, even through a haze of pleasure. He kissed Jack hard, setting a punishing rhythm as one of his own hands grasped Jack by the front of the throat too. They were part of one another. He needed to feel Jack and he needed Jack to feel his desperation... Alejo groaned his name aloud, kissing everywhere he could reach. The side of his jaw, rough with stubble. The cleft of his handsome chin, his brow, the corner of his mouth. Sloppy kisses, hurried kisses, he tried to devour Jack in every way that he could, as though somehow he could inhale Jack to make himself whole again.

In general, Jack was pretty good at this. At fucking. Usually, he was the one making somebody throw their head back, panting and gasping for air. He was good at a lot of things. Sex was one of those things but a lot of the time, he ended up with some naive, bright eyed college kid who tried too hard, or the occasional innocent virgin who absolutely had no idea what they were doing but were very, very vocal and easy to get off. It had been... a while since somebody had thoroughly fucked his brains out, for lack of a better term. Because that was exactly how it felt.

His mind was only on the sensations. He didn't have to think about his next move, he didn't have to dance around it. And as his hand was moved to Alejo's throat, his lips curved into a knowing smile, a dark smile. He didn't need the squeeze to know what Alejo wanted but it was cute.

"Devil," he whispered but his eyes were dancing as his own throat was grasped. Jack was wrong about dear Alejo. He was not a god but a devil. Squeezing tighter, he could feel the rapid pulse of Alejo's throat and the delicate bones of his throat. He knew how to squeeze tight enough to kill him. As his own breath left him, his mind exploded. Brains. Fucked. Lights popped into color all around him and it was better than any aphrodisiac. His legs tightened hard around Alejo to keep him in place before he jerked against him, heat bursting and spraying between the two of them.

His hands wrapped around Alejo's throat clawed at him, legs shivering before he tightened them around Alejo again. "Come," he gasped, "inside me."

Devil, yes, he was a devil. He had evil in him for wanting it this way, for being so wrong that he wasn't worth being loved by the people who brought him into this world. Alejo thought he could make up for his wayward desires by becoming a cop, by attending church and spilling out all of his sins to the priest who sat opposite him, listening with a sympathetic ear. But priests couldn't save him with their prayers. Saving others made him feel emptier somehow, lonelier.

Salvation only felt closer with Jack.

He moaned Jack's name over and over, breathless variations of it stuttering against his lips as their bodies collided with a sinful noise. With a hand at his throat, it was even harder to breathe. His vision swam as the pleasure heightened. He could see Jack's smile, that knowing devilish smile. Jack saw through him, didn't he? Jack knew him so painfully well...

Alejo redoubled his efforts as he felt Jack clenching around him. The hand at Jack's throat dug in. His free hand snaked down to rake dark red lines along the side of Jack's quivering thighs as he thrust in one more time and buried himself to the hilt. His hips ground against Jack, forcing himself in deeper even though it was no longer physically possible. Alejo wasn't lying when he said that he wanted to be a part of someone. He hated lying, hated deceit and little untruths meant to pave over the unpleasant reality of life. He hated liars the most.

Only Jack's body was honest. He smiled—devilish—as Jack came, smiled at the sticky warmth between them, at the nails and fingers clenching around his throat. It didn't take much to make him cum. Just a gasp. A few words that he followed on command, as if waiting for permission to thrust in so hard that he practically fucked Jack into the couch. But the sound he made as he came wasn't wholly out of pleasure. It was a cry of pain, of release, of all the pent-up rage and frustration and anger and hatred that he had been holding in all these years.

It was so hard to be good. It was so hard to keep smiling and pretending that he was okay, that he didn't mind if people screwed him over and dumped him and cheated on him. It was so, so hard...

Alejo's breathing was raspy and labored as he collapsed and curled up against Jack, shivering. Such a violent burst of emotion left him completely drained. He buried his face into the crook of Jack's neck and whispered his name, swallowing back the lump in his throat. "Jackie..." He was begging for something but he couldn't find the words to explain his feelings.

Oh... Everything felt so good. Maybe it was the meds and the alcohol still mixing. Maybe... just maybe, it was the wild difference of being with Alejo. Godly little devil. Jack's eyes closed tight and he breathed in through his nose, head back, spine arched, warmth spreading inside of him, like sin and sweet poison. It hurt so good. Fuck. His heart kept beating so hard that he swore his pulse fluttered in his throat.

"Mm... Allie," he said back, running a hand over Alejo's arm. He tilted his head so that he could cuddle Alejo. Jack always did like his poison sweet. Pain and pleasure, both. Why couldn't a man desire both a cuddle and a fuck so hard that he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to walk into class tomorrow without looking like a rigid statue?

Jack laughed softly, the weight that always seemed to be crushing his chest relieved and replaced by the buoyancy that not even alcohol could achieve. He pressed a kiss to Alejo's forehead and sifted his fingertips through his hair. He heard that sound Alejo made. A cry. Pain. Loneliness. Nothingness. Had it passed on or...?

Gently, he stroked idle, swirling patterns across Alejo's skin, his arm, his shoulder, the back of his neck. While he felt relief, it seemed as if Alejo was struggling with his feelings. Perhaps that devil inside of him. Maybe it was just the act of being so honest.

"Honey... do you still feel like nothing?"

Allie... heh. A pet name for a pet name? Such a cute-sounding nickname... for someone so ugly inside. He didn't know if he wanted to laugh or cry in that moment. A great weight had been lifted off his own chest but it only left him confused and unsure. He thought he was one way; now he felt another way, liberated at last, but completely at odds with who he thought he was.

Alejo wasn't pure or clean. He tried to lead a simple life but he was too complicated. It was like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole; the jagged edges kept sticking out, making everything that much harder. No one in his life understood him or knew what it felt like to be steeped in sin. Nobody tried all that hard to find out what he was like inside, when they could take him at face value.

And here was Jack, a man he met less than an hour ago, whom he felt knew him inside and out.

He was silent for a long moment, musing over Jack's question as he laid with him in a warm tangle of limbs. The soft touches were nice, patterns against his sweat-prickled skin. His own hands were still but they kept Jack close and kept himself close. When he finally looked up, he was sure he wore some of that confusion on his face.

"I don't know."

But he did know that Jack saw him. And Jack accepted him for who he was. They both had a darkness inside. Was it the same kind of darkness? Jack, he was so comfortable. He looked comfortable and satiated but he, too, was two ways. He was the gentle man who spoiled Alejo with affectionate pet names—honey, Allie, dear—and kissed him like he was worth something. But the marks on Alejo's throat, the lines along his body? He still felt Jack's hands on his throat, squeezing, squeezing. Jack could have killed him easily—as easily as he came up with 'Allie.'

How did he do it? How did those two sides of him co-exist?

Idly Alejo traced a line down Jack's chest, following the crazed scratch marks that his own nails had left. "I think I feel... better."

"Better," Jack echoed idly, still tracing little marks on Alejo's skin. His eyes half closed, warm and content in the afterglow. Normally, it didn't feel this good. It was probably the extenuating circumstances. Things had gone a little upside down on him. Honestly, he had been a little worried when he felt something heavy and familiar hidden amongst Alejo's clothes when they were undressing one another. But he must have pegged Alejo wrongly, in more ways than one, actually.

"...we're still nothing," he said, as he gazed up at the ceiling fan that swung in lazy circles above them. "But we're better."

What did it mean? The philosopher major in him wanted to suss it all out. What it all meant, why it was different tonight, when it should have been the same as every other time. Maybe it was the sincerity in Alejo when he spoke of being nothing. Most could say it and even mean it--or think they meant it--but it was hard to fake the way Alejo looked at him and that last cry for... something.

"Unfortunately," he said on a sigh, "nothing and nothing still makes nothing."

They were kindred spirits of a sort but he didn't know if it was understanding he wanted... or somebody to make him feel whole. And Alejo the nothing might not be enough for that, in the same way that Alejo wanted something desperately, he was probably clawing for something more than nothing... and what could Jack possibly give him in that regard?

Maybe he just needed to spend more time with Jack. Maybe this feeling of being better was only the start, and if he knew more about Jack—what he liked, what made him tick, all about his past and present and future—he might lose that emptiness inside, fill it with the kind of love that he had been searching for all his life. They had only been together for an hour or so. It was... kind of a crazy thought.

This was usually where Alejo grabbed his clothes, put them on and left. He wondered if Jack intended for him to leave eventually too, or if he would object to Alejo staying the night. Jack's fingers were still drawing things on him, his arms around him secure and warm. There was nothing to suggest that he was in a hurry for Alejo to vacate the premises.

So he settled back down, content to play it out to a natural end. Alejo was in no hurry. Judah was 'busy' tonight and wouldn't be picking up his phone—his words, not Alejo's. What did he have to go back to? An empty motel room? Case notes? A hard bed and lumpy pillows and moldy sheets? Alejo looked up at Jack, still with admiration in his gaze. It was no fault of Jack's, the conflict he felt inside. That was Alejo's cross to bear, so to speak; he needed to work that out for himself.

"Maybe one of us will become something." He half-smiled, tilting his head up to kiss Jack softly, nuzzling him afterwards. It still felt nice to be with him; it felt right, like they belonged together. "I feel like less of a nothing with you." Alejo laughed low, only partly amused. He propped himself up onto one elbow so that he could kiss Jack properly again, the fingers of his free hand settling against his throat. There was no squeeze this time, only a few gentle strokes.

"How do you feel?"

"Hmmm... and I wonder what makes a person something..."

Was it enough for one person to just look at him and tell him he wasn't nothing? Somebody that saw something, rather than nothing? Jack's heart beat a little faster at the idea and he closed his eyes to just soak that thought in. Could a nothing be something by virtue of another person? Was it really so simple, the answer? But... nobody could ever, ever look at Jack that way, not if they knew everything about him. The blood on his hands.

Jack didn't take particular pleasure in murder. Not exactly. He wasn't one of those pervs who couldn't get it up without bleeding somebody dry or anything so drastic. No... He didn't even like to think of the term as murder. Something... ended up breaking inside of him. With no understanding, with people looking at him like That, he had to stop it somehow. All they did was echo the nothingness he saw in himself and somehow, they weren't as "nothing" as they seemed. It was... it wasn't easy to explain. It would never be easy to explain.

His smile felt hollow when he opened his eyes and turned to look at Alejo. At least Alejo seemed happier. Jack's happiness felt fleeting. It always was. Still, he slid a hand over the hand on his throat.

"Hard to tell," he said. How did he feel?

"I suppose... a little happy, a little sad."

Still nothing. He wanted nothing more than to feel more than nothing but as good as it was to be close to another person, he felt as if there was some part of him that would always be missing. What did he expect, anyway? For Alejo to be the daddy he never had? To fix all the shitty men in his life that ground into him the fact that he was nothing? For Alejo to wipe away everything his mother ever made him feel?

He sighed as his fingertips found Alejo's cheek. Oh, he might as well ask what he had been wondering since his hand brushed it. There could be a million reasons why somebody backpacking across the country was packing, after all.

"I'm just curious... Why the gun, Allie?"

The smile was back—the lie. Alejo felt it like a slap to the face as Jack's eyes opened and the lie spread across his lips. It was a smile that wasn't a smile, just... something to fill the space. Something to smooth over the emptiness, to fool others into thinking that he wasn't hurting. But why did he smile for Alejo like that? Why couldn't he just... not smile? Be honest about not being okay?

Strange to smile that way and then say something so raw and powerful. Was it just habit? Alejo knew a little something about smiling when he wanted to cry. Smiling when he wanted to scream, to shout, to hurt someone the way he hurt in the moment. He hated liars and he was the biggest liar of them all. He'd always known that, though. It wasn't some epiphany or breakthrough. He simply tried not to think about it too much—otherwise he would lose the fight to look Okay.

The words were out and Alejo said nothing in response. Jack wasn't looking for sympathy; he was answering a question with a real answer. Alejo nuzzled against him in lieu of empty words, knowing that he wasn't the answer to Jack's happiness or his sadness. Not yet. Not right now. After the intensity of their lovemaking had worn away, all there was left was this. No peace, but respite for a while. That was better than nothing...

"The gun?" His turn to smile, but this time rueful, almost apologetic. Alejo glanced towards his jacket laying a few feet away. He couldn't see the outline of the gun but he knew it was there. "Don't miss anything, do you, baby?" In the whirlwind of getting from door to couch, he didn't think about the gun or what it said. But a gun was easy to explain away.

The badge in the same coat pocket as the gun, not so much.

"Protection. My boyfriend was worried about me going out tonight." The smile turned bitter, lips twisting into a grimace and eyes growing hard, cold. "I brought it to reassure him. But I guess... there was no point, was there?" His fingertips pressed against Jack's lips. "I met another monster anyway. A monster just like me."

His gaze on Alejo was steady. Another monster. Like him. Some part of him felt actual hurt at the words--it wasn't what he really wanted to hear in acceptance of himself. A monster. Was that what he was? What made Alejo jump to monster after hearing he was a nothing? The strangulation? Monster. But maybe that was what he was. Maybe being empty meant being monstrous.

"Mm..." His lips curved into a smile. Yes, just a monster. He wanted to be seen for who he was and maybe this was it. Baring some level of himself and gaining acceptance... but truly, Alejo didn't know how true it was. Flashes of memories flitted through his mind, of blood spatters and dead eyes. Extricating himself from Alejo, he slid out from under him and swung his long legs over the couch. Fuck. He was definitely going to still feel what Alejo did to him in the morning.

"Does your boyfriend... travel with you?" he asked as he used his foot to sift through his own clothes. Alejo already mentioned the boyfriend but was he living in Hazleton permanently or was he another hitchhiker/backpacker? Maybe Alejo already told him but things were hazy and fuzzy, the way he preferred it. Leaning down, he picked up his phone.

Monstrous things lurked in the night, Judah said. Alejo was mostly joking, although he didn't smile as he said it. He meant himself more than Jack, really, but the smile beneath his fingers felt a little off. As Jack abruptly eased out from under him, Alejo sat up with a tiny frown creasing his brow. That seemed like a dismissal, if the way Jack was sorting through his clothes was any indication.

Slowly Alejo sank back onto his heels. But his arms wound around Jack, hugging him from the side, cheek resting against his shoulder. "He's not here." Physically he was but emotionally he was long gone, and Alejo had known that for a while now. He sighed and closed his eyes. "We live together in New York. He moved there for work, I was born there."

Well, he should probably get going--before Jack had to physically tell him to go. Besides, if he was still here in the morning, he might be tempted to keep Jack from going to work, which was... terrible. Probably. Alejo eased away from him and finally got off the couch to pick up his clothing, making sure that both gun and badge remained firmly in his pocket. He put on his clothes with a sense of unease in his heart, sneaking glances at Jack, wondering who he was texting, what he was thinking.

Restless heart, restless body, restless mind. Jack couldn't seem to just enjoy the moment, the afterglow. He should have wanted Alejo to stay. He did... before that monster comment got to him. Why did it even get to him? Jack saw the materials on what people thought of people... like him. Monster was the word they would have used. But they didn't fully understand, did they? Even the experts were grasping at straws. After all, everything they knew came from the source itself and they weren't as reliable as they wanted them to be.

Jack wanted to believe that Alejo knew him inside and out. For a brief moment of elation, he did. His heart had soared, his body had lightened. They connected--really connected. But then it was over and Jack felt just as empty as ever. Why? He didn't understand it. He was starting to believe that he never would.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," Jack said, turning to gently kiss Alejo on the tip of the nose. "I'm not jealous."

If the boyfriend was here or not, it didn't matter. The boyfriend couldn't be that protective if he wasn't here for Alejo. Letting him run into somebody like him. Tsk, tsk. Jack smiled at Alejo, this time it reached his eyes. Not tonight, though. There was nothing to worry about. Jack wasn't going to do anything else to Alejo.

As Alejo got dressed, Jack sent a message out to his neighbor, who also happened to be a co-worker. Originally, his intention was to stay home and he was about to tell Alejo to join him in his bed for the evening when Brayden offered to bring him soup. In fifteen minutes. Oh. Well. Then Alejo was ahead of the game. Jack looked up from his phone and smiled at Alejo before his phone vibrated again and he checked to see that Brayden responded. Quickly, he replied, then set his phone down on the arm of the couch. He waved Alejo closer and slid his hand over his cheek before kissing him on the temple.

"How long are you staying in town?"

Jealous... hah. If Jack was jealous, Alejo was God. He didn't think that was an issue with Jack. Didn't know why; that kind of darkness wasn't there--at least not with him and his boyfriend. Alejo knew jealousy, had experienced it, but typically he let people go far too easily himself. If they weren't right, they weren't worth keeping, he thought. If they didn't want to claw into him and hold on tight, they wouldn't understand if he did it back to them.

Smiling, he drew close again when beckoned and wrapped his arms back around Jack's waist for a hug good-bye. His number was already scribbled onto a bit of paper on the coffee table--he wasn't letting Jack forget him, after all. "A few more weeks, and then I have to head back to New York." Alejo tipped his head up to kiss Jack softly, his own eyes soft. "I'll come back again to see you. I really needed this... you... tonight, Jack. So thank you." He lowered his head against Jack's shoulder, hugging him tightly for a long moment, heart still sore. But he still felt better. He felt a shade less empty than before.

"Thanks for being here."

He might have found someone else to spend the night with or he might have gone back to the motel alone, feeling disconnected and hurt and empty inside. He might have met a real monster--monsters like him, with strange powers, born into a world that was largely unaware of their existence. Alejo really was a monster in many ways, but some of those ways he didn't think Jack needed to know about. For now, Alejo--Allie--was just a lost boy seeking some kind of meaning to his own existence.

Disengaging reluctantly, he turned to leave. "I'll come back," he said again, a little wistfully. "And if you need someone, call me, okay?" He would have liked to lay with Jack, body to body and skin on skin, tonight. But that wasn't in the cards, so there was no point harping on what wasn't going to happen. Maybe another night, another time. Alejo took a fond last look over his shoulder at Jack and then slipped out the door.

( Locking this so we can continue off the other one! <3 )