A/N: Oh, god, I forgot to let Blake put his dick back in his damn pants before he leaves. Sorry, Blake!

Almost inevitably, Jayden came first. Their hard, intense struggle against each other could only last so long. Jayden's poor constrained cock was asking to please be given a break from the pounding against Blake's, promised it would be good if he'd just let it throw up for a minute. He started to relax a little as the joy began spasming to his brain, and Blake nearly managed to get his hands free.

"Ah, no," said Jayden, delirious with orgasm. "You stay there and like it."

He kept Blake's hands where they were. As Jayden's spent erection wandered away, he wriggled his way downwards so that he could begin to work his tensed abdominals against Blake's ridiculously swollen member. Any port in a storm.

"Schermivisbm," Blake said. It was probably intended to be an insult, but the detective was sunk too deeply into that twilight world of almost orgasming to make any sense. Norman kept easing his muscles against that rigid cock, planning ahead.

It didn't take too long until Jayden could tell that the suffering man under him was about to blow. The pressure against Jayden's navel was fulfilling. The pressure against Blake's pants was hideous.

Jayden brought the other man right to what he thought was probably the brink of pleasure, made a run for it by lifting himself up and away, started digging into his suitcase.

Blake's bulging balls were demanding his full attention. He had to jerk on his fly, let his entire package press anxiously against his underwear, in order to gain any kind of relief. He shot his newly-freed hands down there, freed his screaming cock from everything, worked himself to completion, finally ejected in a sort of miserable glory. Blake managed to roll over, saw Jayden sitting calmly in a chair, and began to catapult himself towards the FBI agent, deflating dick swinging.

Jayden knew that look in Blake's eyes. He'd seen it very recently, in Scott Shelby's. There was a furious glint of red that told Jayden that the detective might actually kill him. If he could. Right now. Right now.

Carter Blake was charging towards Jayden with his teeth bared, as though he genuinely intended to tear the FBI agent's throat out with his own fucking teeth.

Jayden pushed the button on the taser.

The sight of Blake topping stiffly, helplessly to the floor was like orgasming again. If that was how good it was for women when they came over and over, Jayden was surprised that they didn't fuck all the goddamned day.

Jayden worked the cords back in, just in case he needed to fire again, and silently watched Blake flail his way along the carpet. The combination of rage, climax, and near insanity were not making it any easier for the detective to get his legs to work properly.

"You fuck," Blake finally managed. He was on his hands and knees, now, staring at the floor. "That always leaves a mark. I am going to tell everyone just what the fuck you did, you cocksucker."

"Yeah, you should do that." Jayden fondled the taser thoughtfully. "You should tell everyone exactly what just happened. That you showed up and attacked me – you seen my face lately, Blake? – and then we dry-humped until you came. Tell that to anyone you want."

"You fucker." Blake was starting to get his head back together as the aftershock from the electricity left. "You fucking tased me."

"I've been working with your station for a little bit now, Blake." Jayden wiped loosely at the blood from his nose, smeared it across his cheek. "And you know what? Everyone there is afraid of you. I think even Captain Perry. Ash, definitely – that's why he never says shit when he has to watch you punch someone into the ground. I've never met a cop before who was so scared of his partner he didn't even want to ask for a transfer to a less scary one. You can give whatever version of events you want, but I've got what feels like a broken nose and you've got a station full of people who know you're the most volatile chemical on the planet. Who do you think they're going to believe?"

"Faggot." Blake's new reality was slowly sliding into place. "You fucking faggot."

"Smarter faggot than you'll ever be," Jayden replied. He was, in truth, ready to do another round, completely aroused by the sight of Carter Blake crawling on his carpet. But he didn't think he'd survive another one of what they'd just done, because Blake might actually chew right the fuck through his ribs to eat his heart. "You just blew your load on my damn floor, genius. You think you're gonna be able to cover that up? Oh, ooooooooh, it looks like maybe I bled all over your shirt. All over your shirt. Yeah, you should definitely tell someone I just hit you with a taser." He wiggled the one in his hand meaningfully. "That might be the best report ever."

Carter had already run out of words. "Gonna kill you," he said.

"Yeah, you know, I wouldn't put it past you. But it's not going to happen today, I can tell you that much. Wish I could let you use my shower, but – you know what? Get out of my fucking room. Just get out."

Blake slowly staggered his way to his feet, squeezed his sore genitals back into the front of his stained jeans, worked the door open, and straggled his way out. Jayden stared at that closed door for about five minutes before he started shaking his head in joy, heaved his way out of the chair, made his way to the bathroom so he could jerk off, blow another load, before he went to sleep.

Carter was so angry that he checked in to another hotel. He punched the walls hard enough to make his knuckles bleed, then worked himself to orgasm with his own gratifyingly damaged hands. One of them even felt like it might be broken, and jerking off with that kind of evidence of his own rage was like doing it to the Hallelujah Chorus. He stayed there two days before he called Joan.

"Oh my god," she said, as soon as she heard his voice. "Oh, god, Carter, I've been so worried. Oh, thank god you're okay."

"Yeah," he said heavily. "I'm okay." That was almost true. "Had to take a break. Coming home tomorrow." That was true.

After that, he called the station. "Ash," he said. "Hey, you asshole." It was how they usually greeted each other.

Ash's voice was cautious, and Blake thought, with a sinking stomach, about what the FBI agent had said. About Ash being afraid of him. "What's up?" Ash worked out.

"Listen, is that asshole FBI agent still around? I wanted to come in and get some of my shit, but I don't want to do it if he's still there."

"Oh. Yeah, he's here. Just two more days, I think."

"Great." Carter slammed the phone down, stared at the receiver. Then he dug the other number out of his wallet and dialed it.

"Norman," he started as soon as he heard the other end pick up. "Let's go get a drink."

". . . what? No. I don't think we really have anything to talk about."

"Me, either." Blake was forcing the words out of his mouth. "Let's just get a hotel room."

". . . uh?" Jayden couldn't have sounded any more off-balance.

"Mond Hotel, room 115. If you're afraid I'm going to try to kill you, you can tell someone else where you're going. Or if you're going to be a huge fucking pussy about it, you can bring a fucking escort."

There was a long, round pause.

"Faggot," Blake finished.

"I'm bringing the taser," Jayden said.

Oh, Jesus, that would even be better, and Blake couldn't help confessing it aloud: "Good. Bring it."

Blake could already feel his pulse pounding.

A/N: You know, I really hate that stereotype where guys who hate homosexuals are secretly gay. But then I met a couple of dudes who really are that way - one of 'em is even a Catholic monk, now, and he seriously has like the gayest monk name ever. It's so gay I don't even want to tell you what it is, because it would almost immediately identify him. Pretend it's "Brother Rainbow," and you'll have a pretty good idea of just how gay it is. I guess that's just how it works for some guys. Like, it's so dirty that it's extra hot. Whatever. Blake's one of those, in this thing. He's not . . . super gay, he just has that association with it being forbidden that makes it totally hot for him. Poor Blake.

And yeah, Joan's life does kind of suck. But don't worry about it too much. She has a small but highly efficient collection of vibrators and dildos that she keeps in her nightstand and uses whenever her asshole husband is working late. She's named all of them, and none of their names is "Carter." She could be doing better, but she's doing okay.

. . . I really don't know if this is all workable. I'm still so confused by the penis. Confusing world of the penis.