Chad Warwick

Somewhere in dreamlands dark blanket of warmth, Chad’s voice filtered through his thoughts in an attempt to wake him. Fuck, it was still too early. Shaking off the sluggish haze weighing down his limbs, the agent opened his eyes to find Chad watching him. And as if his head had been pulled from underwater,

“Uh-huh,” he mumbled with a sleepy grin, acknowledging that he was awake. Leaning upward, a hand found the back of Chad’s neck, pulling him forward where their lips met. He lingered there a moment, a soft moan drawn from his throat as he sucks the caterer’s bottom lips between his teeth before pulling away. “Never thought you the type to be up at the ass-crack of dawn…”

Propping himself up on his elbows, a yawn escapes as he examined the cramped little cabin that made up Chad’s room. Sliding reluctantly from the bed, pulling the sheets with him before finally deciding fuck it, he wandered around naked until he spotted his discarded black slacks. Pulling his phone from his back pocket, the screen lit up. Staring him in the face, the bright digital numbers read 8:33 am along with eight missed calls.

“Shit…when I said I’d take a nap, I didn’t think you’d let me sleep all night. Today’s the big day.” His tone is only half serious. Whoops, he was supposed to wander around deck and near Dmitri’s rooms around four this morning to retrieve the outside bugs. Phone clutched in one hand, he slid over to take a seat next to Chad, eyes intensely searching the caterer’s whiskey ones. “If, um, if I ask you to do something for me, can you do it? No questions asked?”

Thinking too much. Shut up and look at the silver hairs in his stubble! Jesus Fucking Christ! No one should be this hot!

“It’s not ass crack early, and I was the one who woke you up. I got the cacophony of regurgitation for my wake up call,” Chad said taking in the view of FDR’s ass as he dug for his phone in his abandoned trousers. He also made a mental note that if this happened again—and it better—he’d hide the good captain’s phone someplace hard to reach like under the dresser so he’d have to bend over longer to fetch it.

“I think I should ask the captain for a new cabin. What do you think?” He rolled over onto his back and gazed up into FDR’s electric eyes when he came to settle down next to him. Chad wasn’t normally the lazy kitten. Usually he’d be up out of bed, showering and rushing to work or whatever, but he didn’t want to do that today. “Yes, you can ask me to do something for you, but no, you can’t expect me not to ask questions. I’m a nosy bitch, Franklin. A nosy bitch who’s going to get screamed at in Russian if I’m not in Dmitri’s presence by 9.”

@seenitinbangladesh

“i’ll do it.”

“please just don’t.”

“i hate you.”

“i love you.”

“you love me?”

“please stop it.”

“i can’t breathe.”

“just go away.”

“you’re an ass.”

“you’re a bitch.”

“don’t leave me!”

“don’t walk away.”

“stay with me.”

“i’m begging you…”

“for fucks sake…”

“clean this up!”

“please kiss me.”

“get off me!”

“you are despicable.”

“are you okay!?”

“don’t do this.”

“please shut up.”

“are you drunk?”

He’s rambling, Frank thinks. And as he continues on, Frank was observing every minute of it, concentrating on something else entirely. Like the movement of his bow-shaped lips as Chad spoke. There’s a fascinating battle of emotions flickering in those brown eyes: confusion and lingering uncertainty. But finally, when the layers of clothing are pulled down, that hardened length bobbing free of its confinement, Frank’s blue-eyed gaze is drawn to it and already his mouth has begun to water. For weeks, he’s wanted to see him exposed and vulnerable like this. But Chad was still talking?

The agent leans in suddenly, their lips just barely touching as he speaks, his voice a quiet low hum, “Oh, c’mon—that’s an easy fix. Good thing I’m not a shitty Boy Scout ‘cause someone’s gotta be a leader around here.” Having been around the block more than a few times (and having made mistakes in the heat of the moment), protecting himself wasn’t something you just forget anymore. Not at his age, anyway.

And with that, Frank offers a wink, his fingers teasingly skirting along the flushed skin of the caterer’s length before pulling away and vanishing into the bathroom. It’s tidy, sparkling clean. Not surprising. But for a ship this size, it was almost remarkable that the bathroom somehow looked like a tiny little hobbit hole. No way in hell they’d be able to shower together afterward. Scanning the basin quickly, he spotted a leather kit and plucked it from the counter, eager to return to the man waiting patiently for him in the other room.

Strolling back in as bare as the day he was born, Frank spots Chad standing near the wall adjacent the bed, watching like a naked dear in headlights. With a smirk, the agent’s eyes rake over the dark hair of Chad’s chest, his swarthy skin. The bag is tossed onto the bed and he closes in on Chad, his hands pressed to either side of his head to pin him between them. Before the caterer could open his mouth again to prattle off something unimportant, FDR pressed his forehead against Chad’s, “Shut up and kiss me.”

mrchadwarwick

On a big ship, a cruise ship, there wasn’t much movement from the waves. You had to have a very weak stomach to get sea sick on one of them, and Chad would be forever grateful that he did not have a weak stomach. He’d been awakened, not by FDR’s snoring in the bed next to him, not by his alarm going off on his phone to the not so gentle refrain of Moves Like Jagger, but by the horrendous noise of the guy in the next cabin puking his guts out.

“Thank god,” he said with a heavy sigh, his legs tangled in sheets and the gorgeous man who he’d finally spent the night with as he stared at the ceiling. “That is not you or me, and the thin walls are thick enough to block the smell.” The noise alone was enough for Chad to also be grateful that he’d not had much to eat or drink the night before.

But then the two of them had skipped dinner to do something they’d both thought about for months without bothering to call each other to say that they’d been thinking about each other. Yes, Chad and Frank were stupid, but they both had satisfied smiles on their face—at least Chad knew he did. He wasn’t sure about Franklin yet because his face was buried in his pillow.

“Frank? Are you awake? Are you hungry?” He was also praying that he wasn’t late. Chad couldn’t find his phone, and he had a horrible feeling that his client might be trying to find him. He’d had last night for himself, but the WEDDING had to be his priority. And the ship had to be Frank’s. He was the captain after all.

“I’m starving. Chad does not live on cookies and wine alone.” He thought about adding ‘nookie’ to that list, but he was not one to make a cheesy joke like that. Chad was a creature of snark and bitchiness not jokes that would make a 12 year old boy snicker. “I’m going to take a shower, and then we can hit the buffet, OK?”

Chad is grasping for straws. Nothing out of his mouth has provided a substantial explanation to the newspaper clipping presently clutched in the doctor’s fist. Obviously the man should know by now that the use of comedy (tacky comedy at someone else’s expense at that) is a fruitless tactic to alter his steely perception once it’s been decided.

“The worst lies typically begin with ‘it’s not what it looks like’…so start over, Chad.” he quipped, glaring with accusation. “And please—let’s not pretend this is the joke you’d probably like me to think it is!”

A small figure bolted around the nearest corner, startled by the sudden boom of his father’s voice. Sure, he was supposed to go play, but this was much more fascinating by far. Peeping to get a better view of the altercation occurring just a foot away, Johnny pushed his rectangular lenses up the bridge of his nose. Chad had really done it this time. But what did he do? Was it the basement? Still, the boy knows his father’s anger all too well. And from what it looks like, Chad was about to get a front row seat to a show he never asked for.

“I’ll hope you’re not actually threatening my son with whatever bullshit this is…” It isn’t possible Chad could be that stupid. The narrow space between himself and the man before him couldn’t get any tighter unless they were touching. 

“According to this clipping, you should be dead. But—“ Oliver pauses, an aggravated shrug offered, “…look at you. Alive and well. If there’s one thing you should know about me, I have nothing against putting you and that goddamned maid through the second story window if either of you even pluck a hair on his head.”

mrchadwarwick

“I would never hurt him! He’s a little pain in the ass, but I love that child!” Chad stood up taller, deciding that fuck it, it wasn’t as if Oliver could hurt him, and if he tried to then he’d have to believe. The ghosts did more damage to each other and to the living than the living could ever do to them.

“Want to throw me out the window? Go fucking ahead!” He brought both his hands up and shoved against Oliver’s chest, trying to get him further from the basement door. Chad still had no desire to end up at the bottom of those fucking stairs again, looking up at the ceiling while that thing came to see if he was edible!

“I’m trying to save your life and his, you goddamn idiot!” He shoved again to make his point clear. Oliver hadn’t moved much the first time, so the second he let some of his otherworldly strength through to make an impact. “Look at how old that paper is, and look at me. Do I look any older, asshole? Do I?” He got into Oliver’s face once more, any sign of the fawning queen were gone; Chad had slipped into mother bear protection mode.

“If you don’t leave soon, you’ll be here forever. Johnny will be trapped in fucking amber!” Chad heard Johnny make a noise behind him, and knew any moment the boy would fling himself at him to stop him from threatening his father. “Is that what you fucking want, Oliver? Is it!”

Taking a large bite of his first slice of the pepperoni and pineapple, FDR’s head pops up from the box—a cheek full of half-eaten pizza—as the doorbell chime echoes throughout the house. God, this place is fucking huge! Any moment now, he’s expecting Lurch from the Addams Family to stroll in and the answer the door. If only Tuck had been around. He’d enjoy a little time to relax a bit in a house this size. It would keep them from sometimes getting on each other’s nerves, at least. But he’s been reassigned and at the thought, FDR releases a hefty sigh. Pulling himself from the sofa, he sweeps his gray robe up from the armrest, slips it on and dashes to the front door.

Swinging it open, he had to admit the man on the opposite side isn’t who he was expecting. Neighbor, huh? First the pizza boy, and now this—all in one night. Swallowing the lump of pizza, Frank gives him a brief once over and leans almost lazily against the wooden frame of the door. Dark hair, heavy brows, a sweater thrown over his shoulders like some Ivy League prep. Sort of mysterious, too. Interesting.

“Think I just bought you one,” FDR responded, a curious look of suspicion on his face as he eyed the bottle tucked in his neighbor’s arm. Dark (a red wine obviously), familiar white printed labeling with an accommodating cap. “That— that’s, uh…Bourgogne Rouge, 1999. You snagged one of my bottles of wine, didn’t you?”

For every personality he assumed on a job, he needed to know his wines. Well, that and Nana always made him organize her wine cabinet when he was little as punishment for ruining another one of her dresses playing outside. He had to give it to the neighbor, though. His resourcefulness at getting his attention’s pretty admirable. Although the agent’s expression is one of suspicion, a hint of playfulness lingers in his narrowed eyes. FDR knew it belonged in his collection. The labeling was partially torn along the left side from when one of the movers toppled the crate on the way and it went rolling down the sidewalk this morning.

“Thanks for bringing it back. And, um, don’t worry about it—“ he continues, reaching for the bottle and pauses before retracting his hand. Inviting him in wasn’t the issue, but he had about an hour before the drop downtown. Collins would kick his ass every which way from Sunday if he missed it. As much as he’d like to get distracted, it just wasn’t in the dice tonight. “I’m a little busy tonight, but why don’t you hang onto it, hm? Maybe we can give it a go some other time.”

mrchadwarwick

“Well shit, aren’t you Mr. Observation,” Chad said with a pout. He should’ve taken something more generic, but it had been ages since he’d had good wine. That shit Vivienne brought into the house was like drinking vinegar or piss. Her taste in whites had been pathetic. Her taste in reds had been vulgar. Chad shivered just thinking about the endless bottles of merlot and zinfandel.

“I might’ve slipped in while the movers were running around.” Constance got away with this shit all the time! For fuck’s sake. She would steal from them! “Saw this one hit the road and wanted to make sure it was OK.”

He pressed the bottle into Franklin’s hand and turn on his heels. “Oh well. Another time perhaps.” When he got to the bottom step, he turned back around and touched the corner of his own lip. “By the way, you’ve got pizza all over your chin, and that robe ain’t hiding nothing.”

“What— … what?” Oliver whispers repeatedly to himself rather than the little boy at his feet. The tattered newspaper clipping in his hands is flipped over and over for answers that aren’t there. The ink is withered away, a remnant of the age and decay of a dusty environment. The doctor’s eyes stare at the photograph spread before his eyes, baffled. There is no question it’s Chad Warwick…a perpetrator of homicide. He may as well have been staring into a near mirror image.

Oblivious to the happenings of his son, Johnny crouches a few inches off the floor between his father’s dress shoes. Something has captured his attention. Tilting his head away from the light bulb swinging up above, he peers deeper into the darker reaches of the basement, where the shadows move. A forefinger shoves his rectangular lenses further up his nose to get a better look.

Curiosity growing, Johnny’s small fingers fumble with the laces of his gray sneakers. He wants to go investigate, quench his insatiable curiosity for mischief and adventure. Only five years old, he just knows he isn’t afraid of anything. He’s been trying to get inside this basement for weeks, but his daddy and the hired jailer upstairs keep telling him no. Actually he thinks Chad isn’t a very good Nanny, anyway. The man is always talking to himself, distracted, making him easier to get away from.

He swore it was warm when he first came down, his daddy is sweating, but the draft near the floor is surprisingly cooler than the rest of the basement. Since kneeling down, the chill seems to stop and start as if something is randomly blocking the opening where it filters in. Something watching them. Of course, he knows Chad is scared to come down here, but Johnny thinks that he’s going to draw him down here one day. Down into the basement depths while his daddy is working, close the door, and lock it. He’s gotten daddy’s key before! It’s just a matter of time.

Before his devilish thoughts can run amuck, something dashes through the inky shadows and Johnny’s bright blue eyes squint. A small red rubber ball emerges from the dark, rolling just out of reach like a lure. After a moment of consideration, Johnny extends his hand to retrieve the ball, inching closer and closer when a pale hand—clawed and gnarled and decrepit—lurches out from the darkness and suddenly with a gasp, Johnny startles, tumbling backward to fall against his father’s leg.

Unfortunately, Oliver pays no attention to the boy staring off into the dark nothingness, or the small hands clumsily grasping handfuls of the fabric of his dark slacks. Johnny’s eyes are wide, glued to the shadows in his attempt to claw his way up his father’s pants leg like a terrified cat, “Daddy…”

Oliver’s focus is on the newspaper, his eyes straining in the shifting light to read the faded lettering. If this article is accurate, Chad should be dead. Unless this has been some elaborate little hoax by someone in this neighborhood. Or Chad himself. Whatever it is, he’s going to get to the bottom of it.

Speak of the devil, the doctor’s gaze darkens as they lift to the basement door at the top of the steps, contemplating if his son is in danger. The entire reason they moved here was to start over. Instantaneously, Johnny’s wish is granted and Oliver sweeps him up into his arms to answer Chad’s call upstairs. 

“Yes, he’s with me!” Oliver calls, climbing the stairs with Johnny. Slamming the basement door, forceful enough to shake the Tiffany glass lining the halls, Oliver set Johnny down, brushing him down the hall to go play. Before Chad can follow after him, the doctor blocks passage and holds the newspaper clipping up in front of Chad’s face to read. “No, I think you and I need to have a little talk. In fact, I think you owe me one hell of an explanation and I’d suggest making it quick before you give me a reason to throw you through my front door.”

mrchadwarwick

Fuck. Fuck. Shit and fuck again. Chad wasn’t terribly fond of the way his doppelganger was looming over him. Especially since they were the same height which should make looming difficult, but he had a feeling that Dr. Oliver was a master of intimidation should the need to arise, which it just did.

“Son of a bitch,” Chad said with a snarl that curled his lip in a near mirror of Thredson’s. He moved to snatch the newspaper clipping from the man, but Oliver was too used to keeping things from Johnny for Chad to have a chance.

“It’s not what it looks like.” He bit his lip and stepped backward. He was too close to the basement door for comfort, and as angry as the good doctor was, what was to stop him from flinging Chad down there? He’d welcome the front door hitting him in the ass long before that.

“I can explain.” But he couldn’t. He really couldn’t. The house did not allow the truth—not until it was too late. Not until it was certain that Johnny and Oliver would be there forever too, and Chad was not about to allow it. He would not let Johnny be trapped there! “But the best thing you can do is to leave. Pack up Johnny and your things and go.”

Echoes of screaming at Vivien to get out of his house bounced through the walls. That hadn’t done any good. Neither had anything else that went on in the house. They’d been in too deep, and then there was Violet. “You need to get Johnny away from here before it’s too late.”

The rough tug of fingers in his hair, tight at the root, flashes Frank’s teeth in a marvelous grin. Soft lips sought his skin, wet teeth gnashed at his collarbone peeking beneath the collar of his dress shirt, any available patch of skin he could find. He let himself be peeled of his clothing, or try to anyway considering FDR had his own agenda. He couldn’t blame Chad though, it’s hard to focus on anything when all of your blood is rushing to the wrong head.

Part of him was still expecting Chad to back out any moment. It wasn’t as if Frank hadn’t given him opportunities to run from FDR’s shamelessness: from the nimble fingers working ardently to unfasten the caterer’s leather belt to those same hands dipping into the waist band of Chad’s briefs, skirting teasingly over the growing bulge tenting the front of those dark jeans.

The instant the caterer released his hair to focus on fumbling with undressing, FDR couldn’t stop himself from melding his hips to Chad’s, rocking slowly, suggestively against the now familiar hardness still hidden from his gaze as the belt is removed with a snap. And finally it happened, the abrupt shift in movement as Chad pulled away and yet, he wasn’t asking that they stop. As Chad carefully laid his jacket atop the dresser, FDR kicking off his clothing with urgency, he had to suppress his groan and not tell him to throw neatness aside and pounce on him.

Shirt and jeans cast aside, FDR stealthily slipped up behind Chad and brushed his fingers through the back of his short, dark hair, feeling the base of his skull for any sign of a new bump after banging his head against the door.

“This room’s like a rat trap. Gotta’ be more careful…I mean, can’t have you hitting your head and passing out on my right?” he smiled, pressing a small kiss to the back of his head before suddenly jerking Chad’s jeans and briefs down just a bit, giving the soft exposed skin of his bare bottom a light smack. Chad was taking his time, something that furrows Frank’s brows. “Wait-you’re not…you’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

mrchadwarwick

The kiss on the back of his head was nice. Chad was always a sucker for a gentle touch, not that his breath didn’t catch when FDR yanked at his jeans and underwear—too say nothing of the little slap on his ass. That one he wasn’t sure he liked all that much, but it was their first time together so they had a learning curve to consider. Also a light tap on the butt did not require a safe work, although Chad had never used his safe word, Veronica, who was his favorite character in Heathers, he still had it.

“No, why would you think that?” Good, he thought, that didn’t sound desperate at all! “Are you?” He looked at FDR’s crotch, at his own, and then arched his heavy brows at the other man. There was not enough cold water on the ship to take care of him if Franklin changed his mind. “Nope, don’t think either of us has changed their mind—little head and big head seem to be on the same page.”

Chad hooked his thumbs into his own pants and pulled off the outer and inner layer at once. Best part about the cruise was there was no cold air to send a shiver down his spine or anywhere else. “Plain as day.”

Of course that’s when he realized that his shaving kit was in the tiny bathroom, which meant the lube and condoms were in there too. Obviously the little head had kept the big head from proper planning like putting those on the night table. Now he had to go and get them, taking the mood down yet another notch. “Except the lube and condoms are in the bathroom, because I was a shitty Boy Scout.”

All I ask is that you let me know that you’re not interested in continuing.