by
Fandom: The Salton Sea
Rating: R
Pairing: Danny Parker/Gus Morgan
Author's Note: Gus Morgan was so repressed and I think he so totally had the hots for Danny Parker.
Copyright and Disclaimer: The Salton Sea and the characters of Danny Parker and Gus Morgan are copyright Castle Rock Entertainment. I make no claims to ownership or creation. This bit of not for profit modern folklore (thank you Prof. Jenkins) is mine.
He's walking, almost stumbling, really, along the street, coming down hard after, what, three, or is it four days up? The taste of the gaak still lingering at the back of his mouth ... chemical, like model airplane glue. Okay, not that he had ever tasted model airplane glue, but he was certain it had to taste just like speed.
Oh god, time to take a shower and crash and just not be Danny Parker for awhile. Time to look in the mirror and take stock make sure that this was still method and not just meth.
"Parker!"
The shout took him by surprise, causing him to jump slightly, making his poor overtaxed heart jitter wildly in his chest. Fuck, how long had Morgan been following him? He was so fucking tired ... how had he missed Morgan and Garcetti trailing him? Sucking in a deep breath he tapped his every last ounce of will ... Danny Parker for awhile longer and then he can go home and have the luxury of oblivion. Slowly he turned and shuffled towards the sound of Gus Morgan's voice and the black Suburban.
"Dude, what is it you want? I'm coming down, so let me catch some sleep and ..." his voice trailed off. "Hey man, where's Garcetti?"
Morgan smiled, charming, toothy, "He's home. 'S just you and me, Dannyboy. Hop in."
"Okay." On an intellectual level he knew he should be frightened. Morgan and Garcetti did everything together, and one without the other ... it was... it was more wrong than the two of them together. They had a rhythm. They played off each other. He knew the angle on Morgan and Garcetti. Knew how far he could take it. But this was just Morgan ... and he was coming down. Oh shit this was so fucked. There was nothing to do but climb in.
"Here." Morgan handed him a small rectangle of folded paper.
"No man, it's cool. I gotta give it a rest. I —"
"Parker, I need you awake for this." Morgan smiled, friendly. He had no illusions. Morgan scared him more than Garcetti. Garcetti was a straight up prick; hell, he even hated dolphins. But handsome blue eyed Morgan on the other hand, always smiled, told jokes, acted like a friend, seemed like an okay guy.
Morgan should get a fucking Oscar for that act.
With an inward sigh, he carefully undid the pharmaceutical fold, studied the contents — only a small hit — and did the deed. Acid burn to make his eyes water and nose run. He swallowed, sniffing back at the same time, gaaking involuntarily at the taste and the tingle at the back of his mouth and wiped his nose across his none too clean sleeve.
Oh, but Morgan had a line on the good shit. With seconds his tired body came back on line, wired, tweaked to full awareness. Not quite enough to make him twitch and talk a mile a minute, but enough to guarantee he'd be upright and talking for the next hour or two. The fog lifted from his mind and he decided not to speak unless Morgan spoke to him. Mentally he repeated to himself over and over "I am Danny Parker I am Danny Parker IamDannyParker." He must not lose sight of his method in the face of meth.
Morgan for his part said nothing, just eyed him silently in that way of his, like he was a steak, making him squirm inside. Morgan looked at him like that a lot really, but it .... this time it was different, more intense. He wasn't so sure he really wanted to find out just how hungry Morgan was, or what he was hungry for.
The Suburban eventually came to a stop at a small motel just off the 5 North. Morgan produced a key, unlocked a room and in they went. He wondered what Morgan had on the owner/manager to be granted an all access pass to a room. Still saying nothing, heart rabbiting in his chest, he walked into the room and sat on the sagging bed. The springs squeeched softly.
Universal generic cheap-ass no questions asked motel room. White walls, brown rug, a desert landscape in various shades of rust on the wall, a faded coverlid that still showed the remnants of some sort of floral pattern. The room itself smelled like the ghost of a thousand cigarettes.
Meanwhile, Morgan paced back and forth before him, anxious, thinking, knuckles to lips, casting sidelong glances. Still looking at him like a steak, but almost like he was the sort of steak that might rear up and bite back. It almost made him giggle, but fuck, if he didn't think it might set Morgan off, he'd also get up and do some serious pacing of his own, because Morgan had never done anything like this before and until he could figure out the angle, it fucking scared him shitless. He needed to know what Morgan thought, what Morgan wanted. Then he could make a plan and carry it out.
Morgan took a deep breath and fixed him with a firm stare. "Strip."
"What?"
"You heard me. Fucking take your clothes off. You stink something godawful." Well, no shit. He hadn't slept in at least three days. The first thing he had wanted to do when he got home was strip off the Danny Parker gear and take a short, hot shower. He did nothing, and his confusion must have shown, because Morgan snapped, "You're going to take a goddamned shower."
Well, okay then. He got up and walked into the bathroom, carefully setting his rings on the sink. He thought about taking off the cord around his neck, then decided to leave it on. The crucifix and the rings on it a reminder of who he was and what he needed to know about Morgan. Shoes, socks, jacket, shirt, pants. No underwear — he went commando. When the water was hot enough he climbed in, rinsing his hair first. His favorite blue gel swirled down the drain. Over the roar of the water he heard Morgan enter the room. He laughed almost bitterly. If this was a trap, he had walked right into it. A perfect place for Morgan to off him. Wash away all the evidence.
And then Morgan got into the shower with him.
Ohhhhh fuck. Bile churned in his stomach. A flood of saliva gushed into his mouth, just like it did right before a good puke. And, curiously, he had to bite back a laugh. This so could not be happening.
But it was.
He said nothing, just let the reality of Morgan in the shower wash over him like the water, as if it were the everyest day thing in the world for an undercover cop to climb in the shower with his favorite junk rat. He could feel Morgan's eyes rove over him. "That's quite a collection of needlework you got on you, Dannyboy."
Forcing a smile, he glanced over his shoulder and replied, "What, you think I spend all my money on crystal meth?"
"The Salton Sea." Morgan trailed a hand the length of his back.
"Yeah, I went there once. It made quite an impression," he said. He then turned his head back towards the showerhead, fixing his eyes firmly on the tiles in front of him; he couldn't stand to see the you are a steak and I am hungry look in Morgan's eyes another second, knew that if he did, the mask would slip, and he needed this all to play out according to the method he had so painstakingly devised.
Morgan's hands, holding the soap, explored his body, leaving a trail of lather in their wake. He could feel Morgan's cock, hot and insistent against his backside. Morgan's lips and teeth trailed a line of gentle bites along his shoulders. He shuddered. Morgan's hands, still holding the soap, circled lower and despite everything he got hard. Well, that was speed for you. "I don't kiss," he said, matter of factly, forcing his eyes to remain riveted to the tiles.
"As if I'd ever slip a speed freak like you the tongue." Morgan's voice sounded flippant but underneath ... that ever present darkness. He shuddered again at the sound of it, and then vibed on the irony that Morgan probably took his disgust and hate as a shiver of excitement. The hands kept up their roving, and the breaths in his ear grew more and more ragged. Morgan reached around and turned off the water. "Bed."
He had reached the doorway when Morgan's arm shot out, jamming him hard into the frame. "Ow! What the fuck, man?" Blood dribbled into this mouth from where his teeth had caught his lip.
The words hissed low and breathy into his ear, "If you tell anybody about this .... if I get the slightest hint that you've ever said anything, you die, Parker. I will fucking take you into the desert, gut shoot you, and drag you behind the back of my truck for good measure. Not. A. Word. Hear?"
He nodded as best he could with his face wedged up against the wooden frame. Morgan's hand released. Like a robot he marched to the bed, dripping, shivering slightly despite the summer heat. He sat on the edge, waiting for Morgan to bust out the condoms and lube.
God he hoped Morgan used lube.
But Morgan didn't go for condoms.
Shock almost killed it when Morgan swooped in and went down on him. He mumbled something from between numb lips about a condom, but Morgan just told him to shut up and that he knew he was clean. Okay, whatever. He leaned back, bracing himself on his hands and closed his eyes. A part of him wanted to get off on the fact that Morgan was blowing him, but the other 3/4ths of himself knew he couldn't stand the sight of that ginger head bobbing up and down on his cock. The low rhythmic slap of skin on skin told him that Morgan was also jacking himself off. Curiouser and curiouser. But fuck, he needed to keep it stiff,. But he couldn't, no fucking way was he going to think of ...her... at a time like this. He would not do that to her memory. His mind strobed back to his high school crushes, his favorite actresses, the Victoria's Secret catalog, anything, until the thought of Jimmy down on his knees doing this flashed into his mind's eye, and he was bucking, fucking Morgan's mouth, moaning, and coming like Old Faithful. Oh god it felt so good, it felt like...
(He cracked his eyes just as Morgan swallowed)
... it felt almost like revenge.
Last Updated: 3/24/2004