Dating Rules And Pretty Fools Ch. 14

Author's note: Thank you for continuing to read the story!

MarcLuciFer - yes, you're right, there is a connection and it will be revealed at one point. And true story? Brrr, I guess reality is stranger - and creepier - than fiction.

cannd - Otis transforms when he's with Hudson :)

Anon - thank you, and I hope you'll enjoy this new chapter.

Chapter Fourteen -- Gentle Darkness

Hudson woke up with a start and groaned as he worked a kink in his neck. Otis was not far off the mark in telling him that his sofa was very impractical, as far as sleeping was concerned. It wasn't like him to check out like that, but he had been bone-tired after the night with the police raid at Twinlight and, without realizing it, he had slept well into the afternoon.

Watkins, in his amazing generosity, had recommended the day off for both him and Jackie, and that meant he could take the time to rest. At least some good had come out of his undercover work so far; he had sent Jasper away, so one person had been saved. Better than no one, but still so many more to go.

Hudson traipsed to the kitchen, rolling one shoulder and craning his neck left and right. He should have thought of getting a place with better furnishings for his mission. But if he had done that, he would have never met Otis; bad sofa and all, it had been the best choice he had made in a long time.

He couldn't keep in a grin at the sight of the small slow cooker sitting on the counter. As he fixed his coffee, his mind went back to all the times he'd had a man in his life for more than just a few weeks. Was he the one who'd made all those relationships fail? He liked to believe that he could be considerate enough. Hmm, maybe he was fooling himself into thinking too nice things about his own personality. His work had come first so many times. No, not so many times, but always. No one wanted to stay in the life of someone who had other priorities, one hundred percent of the time. Funny how, while growing up, he wouldn't have pegged himself as a candidate for becoming a workaholic. Seeing your best friend die could change a man's goals, it seemed.

He hadn't thought of Pete in a long time. Pete had been the closest he'd had to a family, one he cared about at least. They hadn't been lovers. There had been moments, sure, but maybe that was just his overactive imagination driven by a teenager's raging hormones and nothing else. A hand lent here and there, but every time, a thing between bros and no more than that. Hudson smiled and shook his head. Pete had been one hell of a guy, larger than life, ideas running through his hot head at a million miles per second, not all of them good, obviously. He had never cared about anyone else in his life more, although he wouldn't fall down memory lane to feel sorry for himself. One thing was certain: he hadn't been in love with Pete, although he had loved him more than all the people he'd ever known.

And after he'd died, his choice had been made. Hudson left his cup on the counter and took another look at his new slow cooker. He had become a detective because he needed to do everything in his power and beyond to save as many people as he could. No matter what the captain said.

He patted the kitchen appliance on its lid on his way out as if it were a person. The bitter fix he'd just ingested would kick in soon. And he had some research to run on Angel. With Jasper and the other guys, he had had no luck so far, but he never gave up. Like a dog with a bone, as the captain often said about him. He actually liked that comparison, because not giving up was part of who he was.

***

Tonight had to be perfect if he wanted to convince Hudson to sleep over. Otis pondered for a moment and then opened the windows again. Grandma always said that it was vital to let the sun and air in or otherwise any house would get sick. He liked the way she treated inanimate objects as if they had souls. That was why he loved his glass miniature collection. She had started him on it, but he had quickly become fond of them. They could be his; they didn't bother anyone, with them being so tiny and all.

One of the hardest things for him to do had been to take things into his possession after having nothing for so long. Grandma wasn't rich, but she always found ways to give him little gifts, and not only on his birthday. A few times, he had caught her wiping away tears from her eyes, but she always said that it was nothing, and he didn't make her cry.

She had been so good to him, and after he'd had so much bad in his life, he hadn't known at first what to do with all that kindness. After the fire, he had been in a strange state for several weeks, one with a medical name that sounded very close to the name of a place. Catatonia. Grandma had explained it to him, years later, what it all meant. He himself had encountered great difficulty in telling the doctors what was wrong with him, but the general consensus had been that he had experienced an overwhelming fear, one that had paralyzed him for all those weeks on end.

Could someone be afraid of being afraid? It was the reason why grandma always took care to explain everything to him in minute detail, asking him questions along the way so that she could be sure he understood. For a good portion of his life, he had worried about falling into the same state again, out of the blue. That was it; he only worried -- he couldn't be afraid because he didn't recall his thoughts or feelings from being like that. If he thought about it enough, he thought it resembled a long sleep without dreams.

He observed the room with a critical eye. The sheets were freshly laundered, all the surfaces wiped clean of any traces of dust, and not one thing appeared to be out of place. That left him with only one thing left to check. Taking a deep breath, he opened the small bag and extracted the shorts he had just bought for the occasion. Missy had been so sure that he would look good in such things, and when he had searched the store for the kind of underwear he never bought for himself, just seeing these had convinced him that he had to have them.

Now, doubt was creeping in. What if he looked silly? He undressed and put the black shorts on, taking his time to tie the strings on the sides. Was he supposed to make little bows or just let them dangle downward like that? Bows it had to be; they were prettier.

No matter how embarrassing, he had to take a look or else he might end up not wearing them at all, and then the shorts would be nothing but money wasted. Otis knew very well that he wasn't rich enough to spend money on underwear he'd never put on. That was the ultimate argument, and he proceeded toward the hallway, where the large mirror was still in the same place. Hudson had said something about helping him out with it. Between showing him his new shorts and inviting him to sleep over in a bed that was better than that cramped sofa, maybe he'd find the time to remind his neighbor, as politely as possible, about his promise.

He looked and blushed at how he looked. The word sexy hadn't been put there on the package for nothing. The shorts did make him feel that, and it was a strange feeling. Although he was the one looking at his own reflection in the mirror, he felt as if someone else was looking at him. He brushed one hand across his chest and over his belly, stopping right above where the shorts started. It was odd and different, but he didn't dislike it. That was the first step when trying something new. Even if it was a little scary, just pushing through could work wonders sometimes.

He would have to ask Hudson for his honest opinion on these shorts. That was another thing he had learned -- that, when in doubt, asking for what other people thought was the correct way to learn the truth.

***

It had been a long day and a fruitless one on top of everything. Hudson groaned and pushed his hands against his eyes, rubbing them for a good half minute. A detective's job could be such a downer at times; there were times when, no matter how much work you put into it, the answers remained out of reach.

He'd had no luck finding Angel's real identity. A better way was to snoop around at the club and find out the guy's personal details, the ones he must have provided when he'd been hired at Twinlight. The chances were high, seeing the shady kind of business Watkins ran there, that Angel had an identity as carefully fabricated as Hudson's.

Or maybe he was reading too much into things and Angel was, like many other pretty boys his age, in this business to turn a quick buck based on his looks alone. He looked old enough not to be underage, but there was something so unpleasant about him, as if what lurked under the surface matched in intensity his outward beauty but was skewed in another direction.

Could it be that he just disliked the guy profoundly? That was always a possibility, and Hudson forced his mind into taking a long view. What he knew of Angel so far was that he didn't mind playing into the sick games his masters ordered, and that he liked making bad jokes.

Bad dark jokes.

Hudson shook his head. Whatever was going through Angel's mind, he wouldn't figure it out by sitting on his ass and going through the records he had access to. As always, the best detective work was done out in the field. He'd have to get chummy with the guy, and see where that would take him.

It was getting late and he needed to grab a bite. Could he ask his pretty neighbor over to cook him a homemade dinner? As thorough as Otis was, he would probably scold him for not saying anything sooner. After all, that was a slow cooker, and that meant it couldn't make food fast.

Hudson chuckled and shook his head. It was so easy being around Otis and getting into his shoes. His mind was simple, but that didn't make him stupid. He was odd, but endearing. And, above all, he was cute and eager, and just thinking about that was enough for Hudson to feel his jeans getting a bit too tight. Well, he could use a distraction. All he had to do was see if his pretty neighbor wanted to go out and have a bite.

That reminded him. Otis worked at a restaurant. And Jackie was going there to pester the guy with his lecherous intentions. Hudson grimaced at that; his thoughts and plans regarding his cute neighbor weren't pure either. The chances were, at that hour, Otis had already had dinner and wasn't interested in going out. As much as he wanted to, Hudson decided against visiting the restaurant where his neighbor worked. It was chilling enough that Jackie knew Otis; any more colliding of those two worlds and he'd start to think he needed to whisk Otis away from all the danger.

An incoming message interrupted his train of thought.

"Wanna stop by?" he read slowly. It was from Otis, which made him smile, but the tone of the message, while comprised of nothing but three words, didn't sound like his quirky neighbor at all. He was politeness incarnate, and Hudson could bet that he wouldn't usually be caught dead using such informal manners.

That made him slightly wary and, after another second, increasingly wary. He thought for a moment and, without a trace of hesitation, he opened his camera case.

***

He had been right. It was cold in the hallway, and Otis trembled not as much because of the feel of the cool air on his bare skin, but because he was worried that some other neighbor might wander by and see him standing there, wearing the impossibly small piece of fabric that barely covered his nether parts. Hudson hadn't replied yet, but he was too impatient to wait inside.

So, he was standing in front of his own door, wearing sexy skimpy shorts, a guarantee -- according to Missy -- for ensuring that Hudson would want to spend the night in his bed.

The door on 505 opened abruptly, and Hudson stepped out. He did it so quickly that Otis started and then remained glued in place, unable to move. There was something in the way Hudson moved, a tension that made him seem odd. As if it were a tsunami coming, and they had to run, no time for questions.

"Otis, what in the world are you wearing?"

He took a step back. That was bad. Everything he could read on Hudson's face was surprise mixed with something he couldn't define, but it wasn't good either. And the idiom 'what in the world', as he had learned from the dictionary, was often used to express disgust.

It took only a moment for his stomach to get the message that he'd made a horrible choice by wearing those ugly shorts. They weren't ugly, but he was. He rushed into his apartment, away from the shame, but when he tried to close the door, he couldn't. Hudson was strong enough to push him back and soon, they were both inside.

What he had wanted, but now didn't want anymore.

Hudson hugged him briefly and then pushed him away, as he began to inspect the place. "Did you send that message just earlier?"

"Yes," Otis squealed. His voice was no longer working properly. "That was me." He had no idea what to do with his hands, and Hudson was blocking his way so he couldn't grab some clothes to put on, either. The hallway was so small that he couldn't avert his eyes from his own reflection in the mirror. How could he even think that he looked desirable? The only way he looked was ludicrous, bizarre, even disgusting. He wished he didn't know so many words.

Hudson sighed and ran a hand over his face as soon as his inspection was over. He looked sideways at Otis and grinned. "Did I scare you?"

That development was unfamiliar to him. What had just happened? Hudson no longer seemed surprised or disgusted. He was even smiling, and he had one of those beautiful smiles that Otis wanted to see every day only so that he could get into a good mood.

The only thing he could do was shake his head and look down.

"And what's with the sexy getup? Are you trying to seduce me or something?"

Otis raised his eyes. That was stupefying. Dumbfounding. It was even blowing his mind. How could Hudson go from looking surprised in a bad way to being surprised in a good way? Otis hadn't changed himself. He was still wearing those stupid shorts. He should have taken Missy with him and chosen something sensible.

His silence made Hudson move toward him, and soon he was engulfed in those strong tattooed arms and made to feel safe again. Gradually, he relaxed into the embrace and let his hands move down Hudson's back, until they reached something hard and cold sticking out of the other's jeans.

Otis jumped one step back. "What's that?" he asked. "Behind your back?" He gesticulated wildly with one arm.

Hudson frowned and reached behind him. Otis was even more startled when he saw what it was.

"This is my gun," Hudson said and held it at a neutral angle.

"Guns are dangerous." Otis eyed the heavy object with growing discomfort, dark and scary just by being there.

"Of course they are. That's why only qualified people should use them."

Otis pondered over his next question. Hudson didn't strike him as dangerous, but he wasn't knowledgeable enough about the world to know for sure. "Are you qualified?"

Hudson nodded but offered no other information. So, people who took photographs of men in muzzles and leashes needed guns? Grandma would have a few things to say about the state the world was in today.

His eyes followed Hudson as he put the gun into the back of his jeans. "I got the text from you. It didn't sound like you. So I got a little... confused."

The confession dumbfounded Otis even more. "Can you get confused?" Hudson didn't look at all like someone who would get confused.

"Once in a while. Sorry about scaring you, too. I'll go back to my place."

"Wait." Otis didn't want this opportunity to slip through his fingers. He worried about the gun, but he trusted Hudson. "I asked you here because I want you to sleep with me."

Hudson turned on his heel so fast that he almost lost his balance. Otis steadied him by grabbing his arm with both hands.

"I see. That's why you were in the hallway buck-naked."

"I'm not buck-naked," Otis protested. "I bought these today, because they were important for the plan to work."

"And what plan is that?"

"To get you in my bed."

Hudson doubled over, and Otis worried for a minute until he understood that his neighbor was just laughing. That wasn't at all the effect he had been aiming for.

"Come here," Hudson said and kissed his forehead. Then, he rubbed Otis's head with his fist, messing up his hair. "Does that plan still stand?"

"Yes," Otis replied, although he still felt rattled over how his efforts in seduction -- apparently, that was his play here -- had gone. He was obviously very bad at it.

"Then let me just go to my place and put the gun away. I don't want you to worry about its being here, at your place."

"Don't go. As long as you're qualified to use it, I don't mind it."

"Are you sure? I live two steps away from you."

"The distance between my door and yours is longer than two steps. Unless they are giant steps. Don't leave." He was saying the same thing over and over, but he still felt too shaken about it all to let Hudson out of his sight. What if he changed his mind and didn't return? Then Otis would have wasted good money on a pair of useless underwear.

***

Maybe being in detective mode all the time wasn't healthy. That was his major flaw and probably why few people truly understood him. What he needed to do right now was put Otis at ease after scaring him earlier by going through his apartment for signs of intruders. In hindsight, it would have been ridiculous for anyone wanting to hurt him or his neighbor to send Otis out in a pair of sexy shorts as the welcoming committee.

He was lucky Otis's mind worked in different ways than other people's because there were no follow-up questions about the gun. Hudson was happy to take that as it was.

Otis acted primly as he invited him to sit on the bed. That made for a funny contrast with the way he was dressed, or better said, undressed. Hudson lay on his back and put his hands behind his head; only then did he realize that the gun was poking him in the back. He straightened up and searched around for a place to put it. If Otis hadn't been so adamant about not letting him leave, he would have put it out of sight already.

"Here." Otis hurried to his side and opened the nightstand by the bed.

Hudson placed it inside, noticing the notebooks stacked neatly on top of each other. His gun looked incongruous next to them. That made sense. A man like him and someone like Otis shouldn't be so close. He dealt with dangerous people, had a dangerous job, and carried a dangerous thing like a gun. While his prim and proper neighbor was someone who would be much better off in the company of a guy with a safe job and safe hobbies.

Otis sat gingerly on the bed by his side and looked at him. "How do you find it?"

"What?" Hudson asked. "It's definitely something." He let his eyes wander down Otis's slender body. His skin was so beautiful, he felt a small pain inside his chest just looking at him. So different from the world Hudson lived in. As for the skimpy underwear he was wearing, Hudson felt a twitch in his fingers to reach out for that little bow and pull at it to make the damn thing come undone.

"I know, right?" Otis said enthusiastically and bounced up and down on the bed. "I told you it was better than your sofa. Perfect for a sleepover."

Hudson blinked once, frowned for a bit, and then laughed. "You want me here so that I can sleep in your bed?"

"Yes," Otis replied, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to present yourself in sexy shorts and tell a guy that you wanted him in your bed.

That sort of innocence deserved all the protection in the world. Hudson moved closer until he reached Otis and caressed his bare shoulder slowly. "You are so good, Otis."