My first LA Confidential fic and I doubt my last because I had so much fun doing it. :-)
Title: At Odds and Evens
Author: Cyc
Pairing: Ed Exley/Bud White
Warnings: Swearing, violence as you'd expect.
Rating: NC-17
Length: 3,000 words
Disclaimer: These delightfully fucked up characters belong to James Ellroy.
Notes: Set after Bud's return from Arizona.
Ed stood at the door of the small nondescript house on the small nondescript street waiting. When he'd figured he'd waited long enough, he picked the lock and went inside.
The house looked just as small and cramped on the inside as the street did on the outside. There was a short hall with a sitting room that gave way to a kitchen on one side and a bedroom that led to a bathroom on the other. Ed could see the whole house from the front door. He could also see Bud sprawled over the bed wearing nothing but a pair of dark suit pants. There were a couple of empty bottles of Scotch and a melted icepack on the mattress beside him. Bud's knuckles were scraped raw, bruised and swollen on both hands. It took Ed a moment to realise Bud's eyes were not completely closed.
"Congratulations, Officer White," he said, walking into the bedroom. "You're the Department's asshole of the month and we're only in the second week."
Bud's mouth twitched in either a smile or a snarl. Both were equally likely. Ed narrowed his gaze, wondering just how drunk Bud was.
"The Chief sends his regards," he added speculatively. This time he got a snarl.
"Fuck you, Exley."
"That's Lieutenant Exley to you."
"And fuck the Chief too. And fuck fucking City Hall, fucking cock and balls, it hasn't got any fucking balls and it's only got a hard-on for fucking rich fucking..." Bud trailed off, eyes closing. "Fuck."
"He recovered consciousness," Ed said softly.
"Like I care."
"You should. I could be arresting you for murder right now. If it wasn't for the others restraining you--"
"He had it coming."
"Strickland would be dead and everything you've been working on would be flushed into the ocean."
Bud kept his eyes closed, ignoring him.
"I can't believe you--" Ed snapped, tried to bottle his anger once more then let it all out. "What the hell am I saying?" he yelled. "Of course I believe it! Last month with Rawlins was just a warm up for you, wasn't it? I practically had to beg the Chief to keep you on, explain that you aren't the homicidal attack dog Loew thinks you are, and what do you do? What the hell do you do?"
"Rawlins was going to gut you with that knife," Bud said, eyes still closed.
"That's not the point, you idiotic-- What's this?" Ed asked, picking up one large, familiar-looking textbook then another from under the draping bedcovers. "You were serious? You actually think they'll give you a shot at making sergeant?" he laughed in disbelief before throwing the criminal investigation and procedure books onto the mattress. "You'll be lucky if you get a spiked collar and chain when you get back from suspension. Just how many reprimands do you think it takes to make you a total disgrace to the Department?"
Bud met his gaze with a scowl. "You're not the only one who got a Medal of Valor for the Victory Motel."
"You threw it back in the Chief's face!" Ed yelped. "Not even I believe it was just the hospital drugs talking and I'm the only one speaking up for you these days."
Bud's hard expression softened into guileless blue-eyed confusion. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why do you speak for me?"
"You know why," Ed said, suddenly wanting to get away from Bud's vulnerable look. "I'll get more ice." He picked up the icepack and left the room.
When he came back, Bud was sitting up on the bed flicking awkwardly through one of the textbooks.
"How long am I suspended for?" he asked without looking up from the page.
"Long enough," Ed replied flatly, not realising his mistake until it was too late.
He remembered saying to that bastard Smith that Bud's blood was always up -- and he'd been right. So why did he keep forgetting it? Why did Bud's anger always surprise him, leave him too stupefied to move every single time?
He didn't know if Bud meant to hit him with the textbook but it rushed past his ear and thudded into the wall in an explosion of plaster. By the time the book dropped to the floor, Bud had him pinned against the wall, a hard forearm pressing into his throat.
"You sanctimonious fuck," Bud growled heavy and hoarse from an inch away. "You weren't there, you didn't see what he did to those girls. Those photos don't mean shit. You didn't feel that place, didn't smell their fear, didn't hear them--" His throat caught and he choked.
"Bud," Ed coughed but was saved further struggling with words or muscle when Bud threw him unceremoniously into a corner.
He slumped warily against the wall heaving grateful breaths.
Bud fished a fresh bottle of Scotch out from somewhere, gulped down about a third then picked up the icepack from the floor and returned to the bed. This time he lay on his side drinking messily. The ice melted uselessly by his hip and his dull eyes never wandered from Ed's corner.
"Why did you come back?" Ed asked softly, desperate to see a spark of intelligence in that watchful gaze.
"I missed the ocean," Bud replied with a smirk, closing his eyes.
Ed stood up slowly. When Bud remained still, he walked over to the bed.
Even in repose, Bud sent alarm bells ringing in his head. As he studied the thick, confidently muscled body, he realised it wasn't just the physique of the man that set off the warnings. He'd witnessed Bud debilitating hoodlums twice his size without breaking a sweat so there was something more, something menacing. Bud had the air of an alley dog spoiling for a fight but, more than that, he also gave the impression that he'd do anything, absolutely anything to win that fight. No one in their right mind wanted to fight a man like that. Ed had seen them back down: rich men, powerful men, smart men, strong men, they all lost their backbone when they saw Bud in action. Women, however, were a different story.
If the message Bud gave to men was 'stay clear', to women the message was 'safe here'. It never failed to amaze Ed how quickly hurt women accepted Bud as their saviour. Even the young women who had been so horribly abused by Strickland and had witnessed Bud's terrible rage would let no man but Bud near them. Rather than seeing Bud as a man as brutal, if not more so, than their abuser, they saw only an offer of safety and comfort and grabbed it with both hands. It was a puzzle. Ed didn't like puzzles.
Leaning forward, he eased the bottle of Scotch out of Bud's loose grip. There was barely a quarter left. He took a long drink then frowned down at the body on the mattress. It was well muscled but not defined, long-limbed yet broadly set and littered with scars, some old, some new. He picked out the marks left by the three bullets he thought had killed Bud ten months ago. The first bullet had caught him high on the left arm, gouging a rough furrow in the flesh just below the shoulder. The second bullet had hit him high on the right, going through his chest at an angle, a serious wound but now only the exit scar was clearly visible. The third shot should have killed him. When someone gets shot in the head by someone trying to kill them, they usually die.
Ed smirked and gulped down another mouthful of Scotch.
Bud should have been a goner but the bullet must have been veiled in pure luck. It may have been a result of the bad light but Smith's aim had been off and the ball had passed through Bud's face, knocking out a few teeth and cracking his jaw. The small bullet that could have killed him if fired at a different angle just left the barest pockmark on his right cheek and a jagged inch long scar on his left. Apart from his jaw making disconcerting popping noises when he chewed, Bud didn't seem to suffer any side effects from the shoot out at the Victory Motel at all. That irritated Ed. His own shot through shoulder gave him all manner of hell whenever it felt like it. He glared down at Bud. Bud started to snore. Ed lost his temper.
Not sure what exactly he intended, Ed drank down the remaining Scotch before hauling out a rumpled sheet from the bottom of the bed. Still with no plan in mind, he twisted the sheet into a thick rope. He then secured one end around the metal bed frame and the other tight around Bud's right ankle. Bud merely grunted so Ed went about pulling the top of the bed away from the wall. It grated and shuddered along the floor but Bud didn't stir. Ed pulled his tie off then yanked both of Bud's arms up before bending them at the elbows to fix them as tight as possible to the bed frame. He was leaning over Bud's upper body to make sure the wrist knots were secure from the top when Bud's eyes fluttered open.
Ed froze, his upper body hovering inches above Bud's.
He expected Bud to snarl and immediately lash out.
Bud just blinked at him, drunk and still half-asleep.
"What you doin', Ex?" he asked in a mild whisper.
"You're not going to hit me again," Ed replied low, the harshness of his tone surprising him.
Bud smiled and closed his eyes.
"Did you hear me, you dumb bastard?" Ed growled. "You're not going to hit me again."
"You gonna do me, Ex?" Bud went on in that odd whisper. "Wake me up 'cause I wanna see that."
"Listen to me, you--"
Bud's head jerked up; Ed pulled back a fraction too late and braced himself for a broken nose that turned out to be a harsh kiss, all teeth and tongue. Then Bud was looking him in the eye: a feral challenge.
The blood pounding in his head escalated to a white noise. He attacked Bud's mouth in a cruel parody of a kiss, holding the head down and the jaw open, bruising and splitting lips. Bud tried to pull away, his breathing suddenly ragged and desperate. Ed felt Bud's body tightening in alarm and a heady rush of arousal washed over him. He wondered if Bud ever felt this good while kicking the guts out of some lowlife. He doubted Bud would tell him now.
As Bud began swearing and struggling in earnest, Ed eased up on the kisses and slipped one hand down to massage Bud's cock through his pants. Bud froze. Ed licked the blood from his lips before sliding down to nip and suck Bud's nipples hard. Bud stopped swearing but was twisting violently, gasping for breath. Ed undid Bud's pants and slipped a hand into the shorts to take a firm hold of Bud's cock. Bud froze again. His cock, hot and heavy in Ed's hand, was hardening fast.
Ed felt like laughing or coming, he wasn't sure which. Then Bud's strong right hand was twisting in his hair and he was scared shitless. He let go of Bud's cock but couldn't shake free. However, Bud wasn't moving off the bed or attempting to hit him. There was just that steady pressure that brought him face to face with wild blue eyes. He was treated to another harsh kiss.
"Fucking do me, Ex," Bud almost begged. "I wanna see you do it."
Ed stared, cock suddenly painfully hard. He might have said something like 'fuck' or 'yes' or maybe both. Clothes were ripped away and they were both raw-skinned and naked. Only Bud was still tied down by one wrist and one ankle, muscles pulled taut and cock jutting out hungrily.
"Stop fucking staring and get going, fuckhead," Bud snarled, looking like he was about lash out.
Ed couldn't think of a thing to say, his brain just wasn't working that way. It took all his concentration not to come when he tugged on his cock to smear and encourage the precome. He tried to use his fingers first but Bud jerked and glowered.
"Just fucking stick it in."
Ed nodded dumbly, heart hammering in a race against time. As he pulled Bud's left leg around his waist and jammed his right knee into Bud's back, Bud wriggled his right side down the mattress for as much give as possible. Ed managed to wedge his left knee under Bud's right thigh but even as he guided his cock into Bud's tight heat he couldn't stop staring at Bud's clenched and bloodied right fist.
"Jesus fucking Christ fuck," Bud hissed when Ed's cock was only a third of the way in but couldn't seem to go any further.
"Too tight," Ed panted.
Bud just gritted his teeth and waited.
Instead of pushing in harder, Ed rocked a little and let his gaze travel up the over-extended muscles of Bud's left side. It seemed that every vein, sinew and muscle from where the elbow disappeared over the edge of the mattress to where Ed's knee jammed into the back were strained to an agonising degree. Every inch of Bud's left side, arm, chest and back, were stretched and trembling, etched out in sweat. It was the most erotic thing Ed had ever seen. His cock slipped all the way in and he started fucking Bud hard, watching as the muscles strained and shuddered, waiting for Bud to cry out.
Apart from huffing breaths through his nose, Bud hardly made a sound. When he came sputtering come over his right fist and stomach, there was barely a whimper.
Scared Bud would end it now, Ed fucked faster, desperate to come inside Bud, to mark him.
Bud took each thrust with a pained grunt and Ed came in a wash of triumph.
When Ed's orgasm ebbed, there was a watch ticking by his ear and a hot, damp body under him. With his head buzzing, he rolled slowly off Bud. He then watched Bud sit up and rotate his left shoulder, wincing. Without a word, he untied Bud's ankle and Bud rolled out of bed to walk shakily into the bathroom.
Ed looked down at himself then untwisted part of the sheet to wipe his groin.
Bud came back to bed and curled up on his side at the other end of the mattress. A few moments later, he was breathing deeply in sleep.
Ed sat blinking at the foot of the bed. What the fuck had he done?
* * * *
Bud awoke feeling like he'd been put through a wringer. Everything ached, even his teeth. He remembered Strickland, could still smell the girls as they trembled in his arms. A shiver ran up his spine. He moved a hand to grope for the bed covers and a length of material pulled taut over his ass, tugging the opposite wrist. He remembered the Scotch, Exley, getting tied down and all the rest. His eyes snapped open.
The first thing he saw was Exley sitting by the bed in a rumpled suit drinking coffee. The coffee smelled good; Exley stunk of fear. He looked down at himself. He was wearing fresh underwear and lying on a bare mattress. His left ankle was tied to the bed frame with a brown tie -- his tie. He wondered what Exley had used to secure his hands. His hangover thumped behind his eyes.
"We were both drunk. It was nobody's fault," Exley said low into his coffee cup.
Bud wasn't fooled; he could see the guilt stamped all over Exley's face.
"I may have overstated the case of your suspension," Exley went on. "Of course the reprimand will go on your record with everything else but Strickland was resisting arrest. The suspension is really to appease Loew and, of course, public perception of new Department standards must be maintained. Don't get me wrong, the Chief still thinks you're a disaster waiting to happen. It's just that rescuing an ex-Mayor's daughter buys him a lot of points."
Bud noticed his sergeant's exam books piled neatly on the bedside table. He looked over at the wall by the bedroom door. The hole was still there but the plaster had been brushed up. Exley looked tired. What had the idiot been doing, staying up all night drinking coffee and cleaning the fucking house? He met Exley's gaze with a glare.
Exley put the coffee cup down and stood up. "I want you to agree that what happened was nobody's fault and that it ends here."
"Does tying me up turn you on?" Bud replied darkly. "Does it make you feel like a man?"
His gaze narrowing, Exley backed away from the bed.
Bud saw red. Metal whined, material ripped and then he was standing in front of Exley unwinding Exley's blue silk tie from his wrists. He felt blood trickling down from his ankle and the pain from his pulled thigh muscle was just a variation on a theme. Taking no notice of the gun in Exley's hand, he threw the tie in Exley's face.
Catching the tie, Exley quickly stuffed it into his coat pocket without taking his gaze off Bud. "I could have tied that a lot tighter, you know. Don't--"
"Don't what?" Bud growled. "Don't beat fuck out of your cringing ass? Do you really think you could make me do anything I didn't want, you dumb fuck? Get out of my house."
Exley stared. "You wanted it?" He blinked disbelievingly. "You--"
"Which part of get out of my fucking house don't you understand, shit for brains?" Bud snarled, backing Exley up against the front door.
Exley fumbled for the handle, looked like he was about to say something then left without a word.
Bud went to make a fresh pot of coffee. He broke Exley's cup in the sink and sliced open his thumb on a shard.
End