Ooh, look, 1950's LA cop porn. :-D
Title: Levelling The Playing Field
Author: Cyc
Pairing: Ed Exley/Bud White
Warnings: Swearing, violence and all that good stuff.
Rating: NC-17
Length: 2,000 words
Disclaimer: These delightfully fucked up characters belong to James Ellroy.
Note 1: Sequel to 'At Odds and Evens'.
Note 2: No simians were employed in the production of this sex scene. Sorry graculus.
Bud typed. The report was nearly done. Guys kept stopping by to congratulate him. Some of them were genuine; some of them were jealous; most of them were both. It was his third day back from suspension and he'd slam-dunked his first case: a mugging turned murder solved on a hunch. Leaving the others picking over the scene, he'd walked the mile to the nearest pawnshop and tracked down the perp shooting up junk a block away. The lowlife started babbling his confession as soon as he laid eyes on Bud. It was that easy.
"The lieutenant wants your report when you're done," Kramer grunted as he passed Bud's desk.
Bud looked over at where Exley sat in his glass office reading through paperwork. He'd caught Exley watching him the past few days but they hadn't exchanged two words since that fucked-up morning.
Growling out a breath, Bud rolled back the typewriter carriage to hammer an 'e' twice over the 'r' he'd typed by mistake. Now his report looked as good as Exley expected it would. He glared over at Exley's office. Exley looked right back at him. Freeing the last sheet from the typewriter, he gathered up his report and shoved it into the file folder before taking it across to Exley.
"Shut the door," Exley said without looking up from his work.
Bud did as he was told then dropped his report on Exley's desk.
Exley frowned, picked up the folder, flicked through it, put it aside then sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he looked Bud over.
"I'm impressed," he said with an odd half smile, "back seventy-two hours and a case solved."
Translation: "I'm surprised, back seventy-two hours and you haven't assaulted anyone yet."
Exley looked expectant.
Unsure what was wanted, Bud stood silently by.
"I'm curious," Exley went on. "Why were you the only one to see it was a junkie mugging gone bad?"
Bud turned his head a little and nodded to the guys working in the Homicide pen. "Ask them."
"I'm asking you."
"I found a button," Bud returned flatly. "It's in the report."
Exley's jaw flexed in irritation.
Figuring Exley would have transferred him by now if he was going to, Bud waited for his shit-duty orders.
Exley fingered Bud's report folder but didn't open it. "It was a vest button wasn't it?" he asked with a sharp look.
Bud nodded.
"The kind that could be ripped off when a pocket watch chain is pulled away," Exley continued. "The victim was wearing a wristwatch so it looked as if nothing was taken, apart from his life. The perp pawned the watch in the nearest place and it led you right to him."
Bud nodded again.
Exley grinned and came around the desk to stand very close.
"That was good work. Very quick," he said, almost purring. "Keep that up and I'll recommend you for sergeant myself."
Frowning, Bud was about ask what was going on when Exley touched him: the back of a hand, fingers rubbing against his stomach. He could barely feel the pressure through his tie and shirt but it was the kind of touch a man would give a woman.
He stepped back. Out of reach, he looked behind him. The guys were working as usual. The closeness of their bodies would have hidden Exley's touch. Suddenly it all made sense. The fact that he wasn't being transferred to the shittiest job in the Department had nothing to do with friendship. Dumb as usual, he didn't see Exley's play until the last minute.
Anger choked him. He stared at Exley, vision blurring red at the edges. Exley spoke but he only heard the furious rush of blood in his ears, could concentrate on nothing except how good it would feel to punch Exley in the face and not stop. He wanted to break Exley so bad it hurt. His stomach churned and bile burned up his throat. Turning on his heel, he wrenched open the office door and pushed past puzzled faces out into the corridor.
Tan walls everywhere.
Someone calling his name.
The sound of running water caught his ear and he charged into the men's room. The door smashed against the wall and his foot caught the wastepaper basket. Picking up the basket, he threw it against the full-length mirror on the far wall. The glass exploded in a shower of shards. The two guys who were in the room ran out. His eye caught the stall door that had been stuck in the locked position for months; he kicked it in. The toilet roll holder caught him on the hip as the door fell in; he kicked it off the wall and then across the floor.
His breathing came in heavy gasps but the rush of blood in his ears eased to a dull roar. He walked over to the sinks, looked at himself in the mirrors there. He didn't see the sissy Exley saw. He thought about being Exley's queer, taking it up the ass whenever Exley demanded it. He felt like throwing up.
Someone knocked on the men's room door. He ran water into a sink and washed his face. The water was cool and metallic tasting.
Footsteps approached cautiously. "Exley's an asshole, Bud. Don't let him get to you." Kramer's voice.
He looked at himself in the mirror, still didn't see Exley's sissy boy looking back.
"Yeah," he answered, voice hollow in the bathroom's echo.
* * * *
Tracking Bud down was easy. Ed found him at the nearest anonymous bar nursing a beer in the farthest, darkest booth.
"What the fuck do you want?" Bud snarled in greeting.
Despite the intense hostility, Ed stood his ground. "I was about to ask you the same thing."
Bud glared. "Get out of my fucking face, Exley."
"What's your problem, White? Too dumb to accept a compliment when you're given one?"
"Is that what they're calling it these days?" Bud growled low, standing up to meet Ed's gaze from barely an inch away. "Well, you can take your compliment and shove it up your ass."
Ed was startled by Bud's hand touching his stomach. Then he flew back hard into the next table and all became clear. Picking himself up off the floor, he crashed through the bar's backdoor after Bud. The night air felt sharp and mocking in his throat.
"So, what do you want?" he called up the alley. "Because you sure weren't complaining the other night!"
Bud turned back to look at him, face demonically lit by a neon sign. Ed never saw the split second change between impotent fury and action. Bud just ran at him; the back of his head hit the wall; one hand wrapped around his throat and another gripped his balls hard enough to make his stomach wrench and his eyes water.
"Listen up, you sick prick, because I'm only going to say this once," Bud hissed in his face. "I'm nobody's fucking sissy. You touch me again, and I'll break your fingers. Try anything more, and I'll break your fucking neck."
"You wanted it," Ed choked back.
Agony. Absolute undiluted agony screaming up his guts when Bud's grip tightened. He was almost glad when Bud slammed his head against the wall again and his consciousness jumped and blurred. Then Bud said something and let him slither to the floor. He could barely catch a breath but couldn't let the bastard walk away.
"Do you always treat the people you fuck like this, you fucking Neanderthal? 'No thank you' too many syllables for you?"
Bud turned on him again.
Ed felt like curling up in a ball but struggled to his feet and looked Bud in the eye.
Bud frowned, tipping his chin up questioningly. "What do you mean?"
"What do you mean, what do I mean?" Ed spat, his mind swirling until bits of Bud's rant finally made sense. "Jesus Christ, you thought I was trying strong arm you?" He laughed. It hurt. Then he realised it wasn't that funny.
Bud was blinking at him, looking stupid and guileless with those big blue eyes.
Ed punched Bud square in the mouth. Pain shot up his knuckles clear to his elbow.
"Fucking hell!" he yelped while Bud just shook it off. He should have punched the hard-headed bastard in the balls. Christ, he was going to be one big contusion in the morning.
Making his way over to a stack of beer crates, he sat down carefully and stifled a groan.
"You okay?" Bud asked softly. The bastard didn't even have the decency to act like his jaw hurt.
Ed gave him a sour look. "Oh, just great, thanks."
Bud pulled over a few crates and sat beside him before handing him a handkerchief. "You're bleeding down your collar."
"Of course I am." Ed rubbed the itchy feeling at the side of his neck with the handkerchief before pressing lightly against the pulpy lump on the back of his head. He watched Bud crack his knuckles and look up the alley as if searching for someone else to hit.
"The bill for the men's room is coming out of your salary," Ed said.
Bud nodded then met his gaze again. "What did you mean back in the office?"
Ed couldn't think, couldn't put it into words. He must have still been dizzy because he leaned forward and kissed Bud firmly on the mouth. Bud's lips tasted lightly of beer and one side was swelling from the punch. He liked the vulnerable feel of Bud's mouth and kissed harder. Bud tried to pull back but Ed anchored him with a hand at the back of his neck and broke the kiss on his own terms.
"No catches, Bud. We do it or we don't. Either of us can call it quits at any time."
Doubtful, Bud glanced back up the alley. There was still no one else to hit.
"We can stop whenever you want," Ed reiterated, thinking 'but not now, you idiot'.
Bud looked down, watching his left hand rub his right knuckles thoughtfully. He was going to say no. Ed knew it.
Ed thought about how Bud's arm muscles must be moving under that coat, bunching and relaxing helplessly the same way they had done that night. He couldn't let Bud refuse, couldn't not see Bud like that again.
"Stand up," he said.
Bud scowled.
"Just do it. Please."
Bud stood.
Ed stuffed the bloody handkerchief into his pocket and moved onto his knees.
Surprised, Bud tried to step back. Ed grabbed him by the belt.
"Are you fucking crazy, Exley?"
"Just stand still and keep a watch out."
Bud was twitchy and breathing raggedly but let Ed undo his pants, freeing his already hardening cock. Ed felt ridiculously calm stroking Bud's growing erection at the bottom of a filthy alley for the world to see. The dull noise from the bar blended with the erratic sounds of distant traffic and the complaining throbs from his own groin. After a few seconds, he sucked the tip of Bud's cock into his mouth and squeezed the base with fingers and thumb. Above him, Bud gasped and swore; fingers twisted in his hair. Closing his eyes, Ed savoured the way the concentrated heat from Bud's body contrasted with the vastness of the cool night surrounding them. He sucked and squeezed harder. Bud's body tightened and tried to ease away. Ed held on tight, choked, coughed and spat out warm come. Wiping his mouth, he pulled himself up Bud's body and was enveloped in a welcoming but teasing kiss. The mingling taste of beer and come somehow tasted right on Bud's lips. When Bud withdrew, Ed bent to brush the dirt from his knees.
"So we're in a agreement?" he asked, looking up.
"Fuck, you are one crazy bastard," Bud laughed, shaking his head as he tucked himself in.
"But you agree?" Ed persisted.
Bud looked at him, nodded.
"One more thing," Ed added as they walked up the alley together. "You grab my balls like that again and I'll cut yours off in your sleep. Understand?"
Bud nodded again. "In Technicolor."
End