Work Text:
It had been a long day buried under mountains of paperwork, under a clock that seemed to tick by at the pace of a soldier with a broken leg. The air conditioner was on the fritz. Again. You would expect a state of the art facility like Sinyla, located in a dessert to boot, would be able to keep up with the climate control. But he'd seen the budget reports, typos and all. If there was a buck to saved, nonessential maintenance fell to the way side.
Shifting through the files on his desk, he was deliberately looking for an easy open and shut case. Something that it would take any two-bit detective worth their salt an hour to solve. Something like a missing budget report, or meeting minutes. No such luck. The Amelia case loomed over him like a thunderhead. Just threatening to whip up into a proper shit storm at a moment's notice. Nobody seemed to have any answers, only half baked excuses and another handful of dead end leads. He flicked through a few more files, squinting at the hand scribbled titles on them.
Fumbling through the papers on his desk for his glasses, so that he could actually read what was written on them. He'd just been squinting and awkwardly adjusting the distance he was holding the files at so that he could read them. Fuzzy chicken scratch handwriting came into focus as he slid his glasses on. The only lead he really had had fizzled out in a disappointing mess of blood and the smell of ozone.
Doris had told him what she knew, he had her brought under observation in case she tried to warn Amelia. He didn't think she was that stupid, but you could never tell until you put the screws to a person. She wasn't. Hadn't said even a word to anyone since their conversation. Damon wasn't much better, either he really was completely devoted to the woman, or he just didn't know anything. Clyde suspected that it was the latter. Nobody was that loyal. The display had also, frustratingly, failed to flush their little rat problem out of hiding.
Now he no leads, only a few threads to follow. The shuttle work detail seemed like it might lead somewhere, but where he couldn't see. It might as well be another dead end for all the headway he was making with it. The file he'd selected was a list of all of the minutes and files that had inexplicably found their way into the trial environments. It was a truly staggering amount. Even though he'd been working the case for months it was still enough to rattle him. Just the thought of such a massive security breech made his head spin and something akin to panic rise like bile in his throat.
After flicking through the file he let it flop down onto the desk with a sigh, he leaned back, chair squeaking in protest as he did so, pushing his glasses up and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache brewing.
He wasn't going to get anywhere with it today, he knew that. But he was foolishly still trying find another angle to work it from. He'd like to have a conversation with the work details on the shuttles from the last few months. See if they'd seen anything out of the ordinary. It was something to do at least. Something to ease the itchy feeling of sitting around doing nothing. He wasn't good at waiting for something to happen. It made him surly and restless. Clyde rolled his shoulders and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket mopping at the sweat beading along his brow.
God, it was hot. He needed a cigarette and a stiff drink.
With some difficulty he located his pack of cigarettes through the mess that was currently his desk. He fished one out, tapping it against the top of the desk, and lit it. The first drag hit the back of his throat wonderfully, his shoulders finally lowering themselves from his ears. Clyde only got to enjoy it for a moment though.
The phone rang. He groaned and considered simply not answering it, but he'd never been all that good at ignoring a call to action. He let it ring three more times before he picked it up.
"Hello?" He asked tiredly.
"Ah, Clyde are you busy at the moment?" It was Easterman. He almost hung up right then but didn't against his better judgment.
"Yes. Why?" He answered cautiously. Easterman wanted something, he could already tell. That was another problem he kept butting up against, their little tryst in the director's office had not been forgotten nor was he willing to let it go.
"I have another lead for you," Easterman all but purred, shamelessly flirting. Surely he didn't talk that way to his other employees.
"Do you really?" He asked skeptically.
"Yes, why would I lie to you?" Easterman said with mock hurt.
"Because you want something. I can tell."
Easterman snorted, a rough sound that crackled down the line sharply. He heard him sigh and then an inhale that was no doubt him taking a drag off of his ever present cigarette. "I'm hurt that you think me so shallow."
Clyde only grunted in response.
"But I'm serious Clyde, I do have a lead for you."
"Well then, spit it out." He huffed. He was busy even if he wasn't getting anywhere, and he didn't like when Easterman called seemingly only to waste his time.
"You pulled the work orders for the shuttle renovation, yes?"
"Yes, I've already taken that as far as it will go at the moment. I've arranged to talk with the crews sometime next week." What a waste of time.
"Well I've got a report here from Scarfiotti's team that one of the workers assigned to update the shuttle to The Thin Blue Line keeps disappearing mid shift. Nobody knows where he goes, and he's always back in time to punch out. A man by the name of Dale Weber. I'd start with him, you're likely to spook him otherwise." Easterman continued conversationally.
This was new information. Information that might actually lead somewhere. Clyde sat up a little straighter in his chair. Paying attention now. "Is that so?"
"Yes, I thought you'd like to know." Easterman hummed, a needling note had crept into his voice. A tone that he knew was designed to get under his skin. It worked, not that Clyde would ever let him know that. "And Clyde, you still haven't followed through on your promises."
"Thank you, Mr. Easterman. Goodbye." He answered stiffly. As he set the handset down he could hear the other man's laughter on the other side of the line. The man delighted in making him uncomfortable, and despite Clyde's best efforts at keeping his emotions close to his chest, he still managed to find new ways to do it. The problem was that he knew exactly the effect he was having on Clyde. Clyde didn't even like admitting it to himself.
He stubbed out his half forgotten cigarette that had burned down nearly to his knuckles, and he slumped back in his chair. With a deep bone tired sigh he dragged a hand over his face. He needed to call it a day. The desk in front of him was a mess of files and papers. He pushed himself back from it, reaching for his cane, before standing up.
As a head of a department he got considerably nicer quarters than some of the other staff. For one it was away form his real office, and was a proper apartment not a dorm. Complete with a small kitchen, living area, bathroom and bedroom. He fumbled for his keys and unlocked the clunky lock that was fitted to the door. The door needed it's hinges oiled and it opened with a horrible squealing noise. At least he had no need of a door bell.
The dingy kitchen light buzzed quietly as it spilled sickly yellow light through the apartment. During the day he kept the blinds drawn tight against the heat. Evening light still crept through the slats in blinds, crawling along the worn hardwood floor in long slits. They desperately needed to fix the air conditioning. He wiped the sweat from his brow and got a glass of water. He drank it down greedily, half wishing that it was something far stronger than water. It soothed his scratchy throat, but did very little to cool him down. Clyde reached up and loosened his tie, undoing the button of his collar. Leaning heavily against the counter his filled the glass again and drank it more slowly the second time around. He pressed the cool, half full, glass against his forehead and then to the back of his neck with a quiet sound. After a moment he downed the rest of it.
Finally from one of the cabinets he retrieved a bottle of scotch and refilled the glass with it. He carried it into the bedroom taking a sip of it before setting it on the nightstand. The lighting in the bedroom wasn't much better than in the kitchen, he preferred to turn the lamps on and leave the overhead light off. He sat down on the bed and toed out of his wingtips, and then moving to the buttons of his shirt. It was hot. Stiflingly so.
In stocking feet he padded towards the bathroom, switching on the light and then the faucet for the shower. The tap squeaked slightly and the pipes rumbled in protest before the shower head began to spit water. He went back to his room, shedding his trousers as he did so, leaving him in nothing but his boxers, undershirt and socks. Picking up the glass of scotch he took another drink of it. Enjoying the warm hazy feeling it left in it's wake.
He picked up his clothes and deposited them in the hamper in the corner of the room. Clyde tried to be neat, he didn't like clutter it made him nervous. Room tidied he went back into the bathroom, nicer apartment didn't mean that the water heater wasn't the same cheap crap that the rest of the Sinyala had to deal with. It was either scaldingly hot or freezing cold. He'd rather have the former.
The scotch burned in the pit of his stomach and eased the tension in his shoulders. The bathroom mirror was starting to fog. He stripped the rest of his clothes off and stepped into the shower.
The first drops of water pelting his back sent little jangles of almost pain down his spine. He sucked in a breath leaning into the sensation. Letting it slowly sear down into a sublime warmth. He bit back a quiet sound of pleasure. The heat rolled down along his shoulders and then his back making his toes curl. He blamed the scotch on his half interested cock. He enjoyed the sensation for a few more moments, rolling his shoulders with a groan. The days events unfolded his head, settling on the phone call from Easterman. He had a wonderful voice really. It was too bad that he was never really saying anything worth while.
He leaned against the cool tiled wall of the shower, and let one hand slip below his waist. It only took a few strokes to get him fully interested, he sucked in a breath hips canting into his hand. Half realized thoughts and fantasies swam through his head. Easterman on his knees for him, those soft lips wrapped around his cock, looking up at him teary eyed as he swallowed him down. Clyde slid a hand down to the base of his cock, squeezing slightly for the whole body shudder it gave him. His hand was a poor substitute for the imagined hot wet slide of Easterman's mouth. He made do though moving to thumb at the head of his cock, only teasing. He wanted this to last. In his head Easterman was teasing him coquettishly with his tongue.
Privately he got off on Easterman's chattiness while they were fucking, but the thought of admitting it out loud to him made him physically balk. He couldn't get enough of the way Easterman could purr things in his ear while he leaning over him, caging him in over a desk. But in his head he kept with the idea of Easterman sucking him off. He imagined the way Easterman might tug at his thighs, the way his nails would bite into his thighs in little crescent moons of pleasure-pain.
Clyde gasped, his free hand clenching against the slick tile wall of the shower. Easterman liked to tease, loved taking him to the edge and just letting him struggle there until he got bored or decided that he'd suffered enough. So that's what Clyde was trying to do. He didn't have all that much patience when it came to things like this, but he was trying. Another twist of his hand had him biting back a moan.
Somewhere in the back of his foggy mind he had the dim thought that Easterman was getting the upper hand in their little game of cat and mouse. He certainly wasn't earning himself any points by thinking about the man while he shamelessly masturbated in the shower. The thought bloomed and the hot burn of shame only lent a needy edge to the noises he was making. Water still pattered across his back, stingily hot against his bare skin. He made strangled sound, and his hips twitched forward into his hand.
Maybe he'd give Easterman a taste of his own medicine. Let him beg for Clyde to touch him. It would be so satisfying to watch the man debase himself for him, and then deny him. He could imagine the needy and bratty complaints that Easterman would make in the response to that. Clyde winced and bit his bottom lip trying to stifle a moan. Force of habit at this point.
Lord knew that Easterman got off on his desperation it was only fitting that Clyde should get off on the thought of reversing their roles. Easterman would let him too. He knew that, he'd listened to him purr those fantasies over the phone. He'd even managed to coax Clyde into voicing them while he'd fucked him over his desk. He shuddered at the memory and picked up the pace of his hand. Clyde whimpered and closed his eyes, getting lost in the sensation of the slide of his hand and the constant drumming of searing water on his shoulders and back. He panted, hips canting so that the angle changed slightly, it was enough to make him cry out.
As he panted and approached his finish, he backed off. Whining as he did so. It took a lot of willpower, he was so close. Slower now, just teasing, he thumbed at the head of his drooling cock. Spreading the pre-cum down the length of it. He made another breathy, needy sound. It was pathetic. The thought of Easterman begging for him to touch him had him panting. His hand sped up again despite his best efforts.
He moaned outright, thighs trembling as he worked himself up to his climax. Just a little bit more and he'd be there. This time he didn't back off, keeping the pace of his shaky hand consistent. He was panting and was so close that he almost couldn't stop himself from whimpering Easterman's name. Almost. He choked back the plea instead making a cut off groan. A few more strokes had him shaking apart with a wanton moan. Cum spurted across his belly, it was quickly washed away by the shower. He kept working his softening cock, the overwhelming sensation had his toes curling, and he gasped.
Guilty he watched the evidence of his shame circle and eventually go down the drain. He leaned heavily against the shower wall, panting. A mix of bone deep relief and guilt rose in his chest. He caught his breath and pushed himself up right and began to clean himself up properly.
He finished bathing and turned off the shower, reaching for a towel to dry himself with. The mirror was completely fogged up so that he could only see the blurry outline of his form in it. Clyde dried his hair, it stuck up at odd angles when he pulled the towel away. With the towel wrapped around his waist he padded back into his bedroom. Still damp feet leaving foot prints on the cool hardwood floors.
In the bureau shoved up against the wall he pulled a fresh pair of boxers and an undershirt. He let the towel drop and pulled the clothes on. His back popped when he bent to pick up the damp towel. Once he'd hung it up, he downed the rest of his scotch and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. Clyde groaned dragging a hand over his face. He had a real mess on his hands.