TITLE: Hymn AUTHORS: Drovar and Kristina Corey-Cecilia Quintana E-MAIL ADDRESSES: drovar@alltel.net and vitalogy@uswest.net DISTRIBUTION: The Ferret Cage. SPOILER WARNING: Post "The Red and The Black" RATING: NC-17 CLASSIFICATION: V KEYWORDS: Sp/O Slash SUMMARY: Spender discovers an intruder, and things may never be the same. DEDICATION: Kristina: For Drovar, for encouraging the continuing quest to make Jeffrey Spender a human being. AUTHOR'S NOTES: For the mundane, everyday, as noted by Jack. "So whatever plan you have for me, Splitter of majesty, make it short, brief, make it snappy." Hymn, Jack Kerouac No day is different from this. For they blend together after a short while and this day is no different than the day that past it, or the day that will come of it. I want to make this day different, this day something more than it needs to be. Because one can only deal with the negative crap that life deals before you search for release, before you want to have some way to express the anger and the frustrations of everyday life magically disappear. I tug at my necktie for the hundred thousandth time today, wanting to rip it from neck and throw it on the ground and begin the viscous stomping of the said piece of clothing into the ground. It's suddenly hot in this room of cubicles, filled with people, phones and voices. The hum of work pushes my foul mood into headache, and on an impulse, I decide to leave, before I take the frustration that resides in my bones to a new and frightening level. I wanted this day to be different somehow, in any way at this point. I avoid the elevators, and head to the stairs, not really aware of what exactly I'm doing, and without any concern. My feet carry me, and my body leads me to the lower levels of the building, as far as the stairs can carry me down into the cool air of the basement levels. I had never been down here, the cool air was welcome, and it made the dress shirt that was covering me seems less adequate. It was a wonderful feeling. As I emerged into the hallway, I absent mindedly pushed my sleeves up again, and the flesh on my arms broke out into small goose pimples. I wandered the halls, and found an office, with two nameplates, and one distinct name: Special Agent Jeffrey Spender. I knew who he was. I didn't know that he was still here. I work on The fourth floor, handling the FBI equivalent of busy work, filling my day with background checks and the mundane. I thought that he had moved on to bigger and better things, because he could have at any given time. I hear that he was the top of his class, and while he acted the part of the loner, he could belong to a group of people, and take charge. I admit this, because I had taken a liking to him. I could never bring myself to approach him upstairs, because of the people, and I didn't even know what he would say to me or how he would react. I didn't even know if he liked men, let alone me. For I am the first to admit that I am not the most handsome man alive. Sometimes I feel like my body was thrown together as an afterthought, my body just a little to skinny and my nose a little too big. I tried to push those insecurities aside as I made my way through the open door. This was my chance to do something different today, and I was going to take it. I would find out if he would be interested in a person like me, or if he was already involved with a woman, maybe even another man. The more I thought about it, the less I knew about him. For either my day would get better, or worse. My heart sank. The office was empty. I proceeded anyway, walking the walls, noting the certificates and the medal encased in glass. Fencing, of all things. I had a brief vision of him in all the gear, holding the helmet under one arm, and examining the sword in the other. In my less than discreet examination of the office, I realized that I was caught when I heard the door shut and lock. I spun around in spot behind the desk, where I was looking at his medal to see him leaning against the door; a file tucked in his crossed arms. He stared at me briefly before he spoke. "You've already started. You might as well finish looking around. I'll be the first to admit, however, that there's not much more to look at, and it's rather boring." I could feel the red heat of embarrassment wash over me. "I'm sorry Agent Spender. I was just wandering around and." He simply raised his hand, and I ceased my infernal prattle. "I don't get many visitors Agent Trent." He said. "Besides, I think you're here for another reason all together different." My tongue was momentarily thick in my throat. He knew who I was. Ideas raced in my head. Perhaps I asked too many questions about him. Perhaps he noticed me looking him over one too many times. Maybe someone had said something to him about me. He walked to the desk and discarded his file on top. "I'm going to do something Agent Trent, and if you don't like it, you're free to leave. I won't say anything about it, and I trust that you would do the same. However, if you don't mind, then." I simply stood behind the desk as I watched him walk around it and reach out for me. He tugged on my arm and pulled me against his body. Before I could think his lips were on mine, his tongue demanding entrance. Jesus, it more than I could hope for. I felt his other hand wrap around my body and my startled gasp granted his tongue access into my mouth. He pressed me against him, our hips making contact. After a moment, I ripped my lips away from his. "No," I pleaded. "Let me . . . " I turned us around, and gently pushed him against the wall behind us, and my hands worked his belt buckle. He grunted as I worked, and I peeled his dress pants open and released him and his cock from his boxers. I held him in my hands for a few moments before coming down onto my knees to work his beautiful cock. His hands were caressing my head with his hands as I worked, feeling the large head brush against the back of my throat, first softly and then harder as he became more demanding. He moaned softly at first, his voice barely even a whisper, then slowly louder as he began to lose control, thrusting back with his hips. He encourages me, shifting his feet to spread his legs. My hand slides back beneath his balls, along the narrow warm channel between his spread hips. His moan becomes a gasp as my questing fingers find their mark. One finger presses and meets resistance, worrying at the smooth pucker till a mix of spit and precum eases its way in. He vocalizes loudly when the finger finally penetrates, sliding in slowly, pushing the soft ring of muscle apart, gently as I can manage, kindly. A second finger joins its mate and his words fall to groans. His legs wobble and he does lose control for a moment, slumping backwards against the basement wall. I follow him, licking, sucking, swallowing, thrusting with my right hand, stroking his rigid cock with the other, even as my mouth envelops him deeper and warmer, claming inch after heated inch. "Oh sweet Jesus!" He cries as a third finger pushes its way in. I can tell by the weakness in his knees that it's more than he's ever taken before, more than he thought he could ever take. I work him like this for long minutes watching for those subtle clues that tell me when and where to move, when to stop and when to fly. After time that seems not to pass and we meld our bodies in the cool basement air, I remove his cock from my mouth, stroking its trembling length once then again. His face is flushed with deep abiding heat. His shirt a wrinkled sweat laden mess, his jacket now discarded on the floor. He looks at me with eyes of the deepest chocolate silk, imploring, wanting, and needing more. "Turn around," I whisper. He moans, and looks down at me, his eyes distant, but sharp. He turns hesitantly and presses his hands to the wall. I stand up slowly behind him, letting my hands trail up his legs to his trembling thighs, sliding over his perfect ass and beneath his shirt. I finish disrobing him and admire his body in the pale basement light. It is perfection, compact and muscular, the skin smooth, marred only by one blemish on his back. I stoop to kiss the mark, and dribble warm kisses up his spine, finally nuzzling at the nape of his neck, speaking of nothing, lover's sounds, intimate, warm. "I want you," he says as he turns around placing his hands on my shoulder staring deeply into my eyes. "How?" is my answer. My own voice catching in my throat. His hands slide over my chest, stopping to pinch and tug before loosening my tie and unbuttoning my shirt. His lips drop to my collar and then to my chest as my shirt falls away. "You know how," he says as his hands slide around my waist. He eagerly works the rest of my clothes off. My shoes and suit pants join the puddle of discarded cloth at my feet. His hands stop and the band of my boxers, hesitating, simply teasing me. "Are you sure you want this?" He murmurs as his lips dip in to caress my hardness through the thin martial. I can only moan out my own affirmation as my boxers drop and his hands are on my ass. Not gentle, not like me, but fast, hard and demanding. "Please, oh God yes." I manage to choke out. He pushes me, and I roll backward onto his desk scattering office supplies and paper in my wake. His lips are on me now, everywhere, nibbling and licking every soft tender spot he can reach. My soul shrieks in mindless ecstasy as his full lips finally reaching my aching cock. He grins down at me, licks once, then again, tonguing the head; he's a demon in agent form. For moments that seem in my broken mind to stretch on forever he swallows me down, all the way. I buck and gasp, wallowing in the pleasure he's giving me. He brings me to the edge, holding me there, controlling me, guiding me, playing me till my nerves seems to scream for release. Then he releases me, and strokes my hardness, squeezing roughly. He moves up to the desk spreading my knees with an almost casual touch. Then I feel it, his cock pressed against me, he's slick though I don't remember the condom or the lube. He leans down, close as he can and I rise up, our lips brush as he penetrates. I grit my teeth against the shout that wells up. He stops for a moment, his right hand sliding from my knee down to my stomach, stroking me there, letting me adjust, allowing my mind and body to settle and relax for the inevitable. Then he moves, a gentle enough lover, even in the basest moment of heat. Finally he stops and I am surprised to feel his body resting against mine, no distance between us. Slick warm skin against warm red flesh. He begins to move, his hips rocking as his body flexes, forcing his flesh forward and deeper. He watches me closely, watching my face, my body, responding to cues, unwilling to hurt me even now. But inevitably he begins to lose himself in his own passion, thrusting harder against me, and in me. Reaching all the deep sweet places that lay hidden and untouched. I find myself moving with his rhythm, thrusting myself against him, my own needs reaching out to match his. We ride like that for what seems an eternal wash of lust and sweat, more beasts then men, rutting wildly, uncaring of thought or consequences, only the deepest animal lust, binds us together. I arrive first, my body finally rebelling. Clenching hard, muscles cascading one after another, channeling my need into a deep body rush that finally draws the mind with it. I shout incoherently in my passion and need as I arch my back, quaking and rolling through the orgasm. He follows, thrusting deeply, digging for every measure of my body he can reach. His own howls, as his body expends itself, match mine note for note. His eyes are past wild, past need, past want, far off into some mindless soulless state. His body collapses over me. The man is sometime in coming back to me, I stroke the back of his neck running my fingers through his soft hair as I wait for his breathing to slow and his thoughts to return. At the last, in the dim basement light, amongst all the errata and brick-brac of mundane life, he whispers my name, over and over and we embrace. This day is different from the rest. For this day stands out, and this day is so different than the day that past it, or the day that will come of it. I wanted to make this day different, this day something more than it needed to be, and I did. He did. Because one can only deal with the negative crap that life deals before you search for release, before you want to have some way to express the anger and the frustrations of everyday life magically disappear, and he's done that for me, and given something more. Something so much more.