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Empirical Evidence of Fate

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Initial Data, Spring Break 1989, Miami, Florida

 

Miami Beach was over ran with drunken undergrads that were making him feel old even if at twenty-six, he wasn’t. He’d gotten Sandoz brought in, turned over to the Miami office and thirty-six hours until he could get a flight to DC. He could drive to Virginia, to Quantico in that time with hours to spare. He didn’t particularly want to. A day off by way of flights bloated with Spring Breakers coming and going, was too good to pass up. His head was still scrambled from the Carson case, three cases, fourteen bodies, five weeks and what at least felt like six hundred thousand miles ago. He hated cases with kids.

 

The age in his eyes, and the way he moved that betrayed his training, betrayed him as something else among the spring breakers. On pure looks, he looked no older than the vast majority of them and looked younger than probably a full quarter or more.

 

He had thirty six hours, which included two nights. It was almost 9PM, his flight was 9AM day after tomorrow. He actually had a hotel room, Miami’s Bureau office had pulled a few strings on that since he was ‘stuck’ for thirty-six. He checked in, showered, threw on his oldest pair of jeans, a black tank top and his running shoes out of his go bag. He didn’t have any shorts which seemed to be the outfit of choice for spring break, with or without a t-shirt, and the shrapnel scar on his thigh would get attention. He didn’t want attention, he wanted to get wasted, and with luck, get laid.

*

The club was perfect. The music was loud, the dance floor looked like a sweaty half clothed orgy, half of it nothing more than frottage to a pounding techno beat. If he hadn’t been horny before, he sure as hell was now just watching the dancing. It had been too long, way too long.

 

He stood at the bar and slammed back his fifth tequila shot, trying to relax, trying to put the last few cases and crime scenes out of his mind, trying to get drunk enough to dance when he was wired and ready to snap over being unarmed, all his guns left behind in the hotel room. All he’d managed was a buzz that had him winding up tighter, suspicious, guard up worse than ever because he knew he was buzzed and inching past buzzed.

 

Fingertips, light, questioning and cautious on his ribs, alerting him to the body standing behind him. Fingertips turned to fingers lightly tracing along his ribs, hands moving to his chest, body behind him moving closer, then pressed up against him. Short, lean, stretched up, almost climbing him, chin painful on the back half of his shoulder, thumb scraped over his nipple through the cloth of his tank top, hips pressed hard against his ass.

 

“We got a bet.”

 

“What’s the bet?”

 

“Me, getting you into bed. Got a thousand riding on it. As appealing as taking Marshall’s money is, I want to fuck that ass of yours even more. You’ve got an amazing ass.”

 

There was something to be said for drunk college kids, they’d say anything and were too drunk and stupid to have any shame, fear, or even goddamned common sense.

 

He waved at the bartender and held up four fingers. Four shots of tequila were brought over and quickly paid for. Three for him, one for the very nice already well liquored body behind him.

 

“One for you.”

 

“Mmm thank you.” Somehow the very nice body behind him managed to wriggle in between him and the bar he was standing at. Dark curly hair, shaggy and every which way, dark eyes, thick scruff of a few days laziness not quite beard. The scruff-not-quite-at-the-tipping point of being called a beard about the only thing keeping him from looking fifteen he had such a baby face.

 

The slither against him was pure demand as the guy twisted enough to grab one of the shot glasses and down it.

 

“You are way too tense.”

 

“It’s been a long fucking month,” he said flatly and reached for a shooter for himself and down it, and a second in rapid succession. He grabbed for the third. He could well imagine what either of his parents, or worse his grandmother and the General might have to say about the amount it took to get him relaxed and feeling fine rather than wound up mildly buzzed.

 

Chocolate brown eyes narrowed at him.

 

“Work.”

 

“Not a Spring Break partier then.”

 

He snorted and shook his head. He hadn’t done that even when he was an age to, he was in the army working on his classes independent study at odd hours to get a Bachelor’s required for Quantico. “You legal for that drink?” he frowned.

 

The guy laughed. “Working on my doctoral thesis, what do you think?”

 

No matter how young he did look, the scruff was dense and heavy combined with claims of doctoral thesis…”Subject?”

 

“Math.”

 

“Where at?”

 

“Princeton.” Was grinned up at him “What do you do that you had such a bad month?”

 

He looked at the kid and sighed. “FBI, Fugitive retrieval.”

 

Laughing brown eyes dimmed and darkened, a heavy breath drawn. “That could make for a really shitty month.”

 

“It did.” He snorted. “This the part where you run?”

 

“No, this is the part where I ask if you have an apartment or hotel here.”

 

“Hotel.”

 

“Room all to yourself?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then we tell Marshall and Larry we’re going to your room and go.”

 

“Your buddies are Marshall and Larry, what’s your name?”

 

“Charlie.”

 

He smiled. Somehow it suited, and damn maybe the last shot was a poor idea. “I’m Ian.”

 

Marshall almost made him check IDs. Skinny and starved-puppy clumsy with acne and at least a nervous stammer, maybe partially the fact the kid was smashed as all hell.

 

“Oh good heavens, Charles…” the other at the table shook his head. God awful Hawaiian shirt and curly blond hair, and at least somewhere in his thirties.

 

“You said you weren’t playing babysitter this trip, Larry.”

 

“I’m not…” Larry frowned.

 

Ian wanted to laugh. The drunk pimply faced kid who would probably be decent looking once he actually grew up absolutely needed a babysitter and it seemed Larry knew it.

 

“I’m due at the airport, six AM day after tomorrow.” Ian offered, not quite asking permission to keep the pretty little thing til then.

 

“I think Marshall might have recovered from his hangover by then, fine, off with you, Charles, you have condoms?”

 

“Yes, mother.”

 

Larry gave Charlie a pissy look. “Lube. And the good Mrs. Eppes just might kill me for this.”

 

“Have to pick some up on the way to the hotel.” Ian answered.

 

“Not fair. Not fair Eppesie always fucking gets everything,” the drunk Marshall whined.

 

“And he gets a thousand dollars. I’m carrying the bet contract, I’ll remind you when you sober up, Mr. Penfield.”

 

“Why the fuck did we go on Spring Break with him, Eppesie?”

 

“Because Larry is cool and a friend.”

 

“I’ve been their faculty advisor since they began their undergraduate studies. I’ve been on sabbatical this year working on a research project. A reunion of old friends, albeit one with too much sand and mostly undressed drunken undergrads. Next fall I return to being their professor and getting to oversee their final work for their doctorates.”

 

Ian smiled. “Sergeant of the team I was on when I was in the Army is like that. We’ll get together for a few beers, he’ll still bark orders like I’m still the green kid fresh out of boot that got dumped on him.”

 

“These two were a bit younger than the usual students when I got assigned them. Charles’ mother relocated coasts to be near just in case, and somehow adopted myself and Marshall as well.”

 

Ian wanted to laugh at that not so veiled and slightly slurred warning from what seemed to be honorary big brother/mentor. “You’ll get him back in one piece and no worse for the wear.”

 

“Just so we understand each other.”

 

“Oh god, Larry, quit.”

 

Larry gave a dramatic sigh. “Fine, off with you, Charles, do endeavor not to need the money you’ve just won for bail during your drunken debauchery. Shoo. Someone should enjoy this experiment in post-adolescent inebriation rituals. Shoo shoo shoo!” the last punctuated with little flaps of his hand. “If you vomit on me, Marshall, I’ll see you tutoring freshmen remedial mathematics!”

 

“We’re shooing!” Charlie laughed and grabbed Ian’s hand pulling him through the club and outside.

 

“Uhm, sorry about Larry.”

 

Ian smiled and shook his head. “Not a problem.”

 

Charlie gave him a doubtful look.

 

“Math? What’s so interesting about math?” Ian asked.

 

“You did not just say that…” Charlie huffed. The awkward worry realizing how his friends might come across or simply how his friends might be perceived lost in annoyance.

 

Ian smiled. “Yes, I did.”

 

Charlie gave him narrowed eyed look.

 

“After the last few cases, conversation that doesn’t involve a case would be almost as good as sex, really prefer the sex but that isn’t happening on the street. So what’s so interesting about math of all things?”

 

Charlie stared for a moment more than grinned. “Math is everywhere…”

 

“Really?” Ian chuckled.

 

“You use it, constantly every day!”

 

“Oh really?” Ian tensed at that. He did. Trajectories, angles, wind direction and speed, muzzle drag. Estimation of a corpse’s temp and progression of rigor mortis giving a vague idea how far ahead of him his prey was without waiting for an autopsy…

 

“Yes.”

 

“How?”

 

“Money, time, calendars, phone numbers,” he was off on a mini rant that had nothing to do with trajectories and muzzle drag. Ian relaxed, and chuckled as the animated carrying on didn’t stop when they ducked into a gas station convenience store, that simply by virtue of where it was located near a cluster of gay and drag clubs, had a rather impressive small selection of massage oils, lubes and condoms, of which Charlie picked out several.

 

Ian was chuckling both at Charlie’s babble and the poor clerk who was staring in disbelief and possibly one hand reaching for a silent alarm as Charlie started explaining the math and physics of the workings of the cash register.

 

Never in his life had he seen someone so animated over math of all things. Ian was also almost certain Charlie hadn’t bought a single drink of his that night. Marshall definitely hadn’t. They might have coughed up the cash but Larry was the only one that actually bought the drinks. Ian was sure of that. He decided he didn’t give a damn if the shot he’d bought and Charlie downed was legal or not. He wasn’t going to ask. Not like he was going to see the guy again, it didn’t matter.

 

“You are so tense,” Charlie murmured as Ian hooked the chain on the hotel room door. Ian found himself caught in the intense stare of chocolate colored eyes that…he could almost see the numbers spinning behind those eyes.

 

“You got a mathematical formula for sex too?”

 

“Still researching that one.”

 

Ian burst out laughing. “Need more data, huh?”

 

“Lot more. And you are way too tense, that’s easy to calculate what’s going to work.”

 

Ian found himself pushed against the door and Charlie on his knees in front of him, one of the flavored condoms torn out of the box and not too much later on his dick, followed by Charlie’s mouth. Maybe a bit more enthusiasm than skill, but damn that felt good. Ian sunk his fingers into the dark curls on Charlie’s head and groaned softly, holding as still as he could. He let his eyes drift shut as he tried to relax and just enjoy.

 

He groaned again when Charlie pulled back completely. “I can take it, fuck my face. Want you to come, get you started on relaxing.”

 

“You think I’m arguing with an offer like that you have another thing coming.”

 

“I don’t want you to argue, I want you to come, I can take it. Mild hair pulling isn’t going to bother either.”

 

Ian didn’t need to be asked twice. His hands fisted in Charlie’s hair and he slammed his hips forward into Charlie’s mouth, getting a groan and a bit of convulsive swallowing around the head of his dick as he did so. It didn’t take long to finish that way, with the gasps and swallows and choked moans around his dick as he fucked Charlie’s face. Charlie was gasping for breath and tears in his eyes as he pulled back when Ian let his hair go.

 

“Shit...” Ian muttered.

 

“Mmm, still too tense. I really really want to fuck that gorgeous ass of yours, and you are a knotted up mess even after coming.” Charlie kissed the top of Ian’s thigh and slid the used condom off. “We’ll both enjoy it a lot more if you relax.”

 

“Relaxed as I get,” Ian sighed.

 

“No, we have a problem then. I don’t want to hurt you, tense as you are, it’s going to hurt—don’t give me shit about you can take it. I’m sure you can, I’m sure you have…not what I want though.”

 

“Oh is that so, Professor, and how do you propose to get your way on that?” Ian snorted.

 

“Simple matter of acclimating you to my touch, and maybe another blowjob after a shower, a massage and a good long naked make out session with lots of touching. You need to get settled into skin and touch first. We’ve got the rest of the night, all day tomorrow and most of tomorrow night.”

 

“You staying that long.”

 

“Yeah.” Charlie said then nipped at Ian’s hipbone before flashing an obnoxious smile up at him. “Need lots of data for the equation for perfect sex after all.”

~*~

Ian stifled the groan as he sunk into his seat. Flight was early enough that it wasn’t too packed, almost a surprise it didn’t get cancelled and combined with a later flight it was so empty. Even more shocking he could move. Charlie had been determined, approaching getting Ian to relax like it was some kind of Nobel Prize winning problem and systematically set to finding the key to getting Ian relaxed. The ‘acclimatization theory’ worked. Worked too well, reducing Ian to a confused mess of strung out nerves and lax muscles, but it worked. Smug little shit had been quite proud of himself over that, and then had fucked Ian boneless—twice. Waking up to get ready for the flight had happened almost two hours earlier than necessary, and gotten Ian sent off with another bone melting back rub and equally bone melting blowjob.

 

Almost a disappointment that there hadn’t been a third round of Charlie fucking him boneless but …Charlie’s calculations said Ian indulged in sex too infrequently and twice of slowly, carefully, bone-meltingly getting fucked through the mattress was probably the limit, especially if he wanted to sit through a flight without his back cramping up to hell and a very sore ass. It would have been worth it, but the future professor was quite right on that count. If not for the stubborn determination that Ian relax to the point of mindless, boneless raw nerves before he’d been fucked, twice would have been at least one time too many, if not two times too many.

 

The little professor wasn’t so little, in fact probably the biggest Ian had ever been fucked by, and honestly, the times he’d bottomed were few and far between and the last over six years before when he’d gone to visit his mother on leave while he was still in the army. If he did manage a night at a club and some kind of hook up, it was usually a drunk twink looking for a bit of danger. He’d turned down more than one that had made it clear they’d top him and give him a rough ride that he didn’t particularly care for.

 

The little professor got his thousand bucks from the bet with his friend. Ian figured he was pretty well ruined forever bottoming again after having a fantasy of slow and gentle being shattered by exceeding anything he had ever dared imagine. He didn’t come across as a ‘bottom’ to most and more a challenge than anything to those who had wanted to top him. The little professor with his math babble and bullshitted vaguely scientific sounding theories had ruined him.