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sparkindarknessOk, I originally wrote this for a submission to a book. Home_of_usher and others kindly edited it for me, removing my terrible style problems. Regrettably it didn't get in the book -ah well.
Either way, it's been lurking in my hard drive (and back up disks) for a long time and I figure I might as well post it as let it remain trapped on file, especially since it's stand alone (and will remain such).
Anyways, Kokopelli.
Detective Andersen straightened from the body, sighing heavily. The harsh morning light put the naked corpse in harsh relief. Skin tanned by exotic holidays or tanning beds, body toned by expensive personal trainers and exclusive gyms. Death had robbed him of his perfect skin, however, and the contorted expression on his face made him nearly unrecognisable. He was tangled almost painfully in twisted pale cotton sheets, the sheets were heavy and damp. Sweat, perhaps more.
Mr. Sycaran had been a foreign entrepreneur, very wealthy, much hailed as a welcome boost to the local economy. By some anyway. The already quite happily rich local businessmen could have done without the competition, the criminal gangs could have done without the new blood to integrate themselves with. Looks like they’d all be saved the trouble.
The homicide team filled the large room, picking over every detail of the expensive bedroom, in the most expensive hotel in the city. Clicking photographs, bagging tiny scraps and placing little numbered tags over minute possible clues. A female police woman looked nervously at the Detective, chewing her lip pensively before incredibly carefully bagging the stained sheets. Already Andersen expected them to find only the victim’s DNA Just like the others. The Detective looked up tiredly at the pathologist who had just stood opposite him. Dr. Miyari shook his head, looking far more exhausted than the young detective.
“Not a mark on him. At least, nothing that could have caused death. Some minor bruising at most, could have been caused by any... rough activity the night before,” Dr. Miyari grimaced, he made no secret of his distaste of the situation, given the prime suspect. Andersen was just thankful nothing would ruffle Miyari’s professionalism. Especially if Andersen... He shook the thought aside as the Doctor continued. “No sign of any major internal problems either. But I’ll lay any kind of odds we’ll get the same results as from the others.” He turned and left, muttering irritably under his breath. The detective didn’t take it personally, the doctor was a genius in many ways, and found these murd- no deaths, can’t prove murder yet, a personal insult. He found the taunting of the chief suspect beyond tolerance, but given the old man’s prejudices that was no surprise.
This would be the fourth. Dead in their bedroom, apparently after having sex. No useful evidence, forensic or otherwise. No sign of cause of death, no matter how the pathologists looked. Not even a natural cause. No forensic evidence. Well, no, lots of forensic evidence, just none of it useful! Hair samples, sperm samples, even blood samples, and every single test inconclusive, the lab techs couldn’t even get a blood group out of it! Nail scrapings were so degraded that it was nearly impossible to identify skin colour, beyond ’not too pale and not black.’ Even fingerprints, hundreds of them everywhere and all of them too degraded to provide a comparison, even with today’s technology. It wasn’t even really a murder investigation yet, if it weren’t for Detective Andersen’s interest. And he was the department’s golden boy at the minute, the brilliant young detective who could solve the impossible, so was given the resources to investigate.
Four deaths, only one connection - each of them was awfully convenient for various... nefarious groups. First, a new judge dead after she declared her new tough stance on organised crime and put away a couple of goons for a very long time. She was found on her kitchen table, completely naked, her arms outstretched, her face rapturous. Vaginal swabs revealed proof of intercourse, though her face was enough, but the DNA results were inconclusive.
Second, an eager journalist determined to expose a local politician’s corruption. His friends said he was ready to go public. And maybe he would have, if his cold body had not been found bent over the back of a chair, his mouth open in a silent scream. He hadn’t been tortured, the light in his eyes had shown it wasn’t pain that had made him cry out in the end. Examinations of the body showed he had had sex with another man before death, but again failed to show any indications of who the man could be. Or any indications of what had actually killed him.
Third, an environmental activist who was making a lot of noise about a local factory’s less than pure waste products. Well, he was silent now, though like the journalist, it looked like he'd been making a LOT of noise before death. Naked but for a few scraps of rather dubious leather, that had made Dr. Miyari scowl so fiercely people thought he was having a heart attack. At least they had distracted the rest of the team from the colour in Andersen’s face. A crime scene was not the place for self analysis, the Detective struggled to remind himself. Andersen remembered a lot of fingernail scratches on the body, some of them had bled quite a lot, and there’d been a lot more bruising. But the injuries had not been lethal, and Dr. Miyari had pointed out, somewhat acidly, that they seemed to be consensual. Again it seemed like it was another man, and again, despite biological evidence, there was no way to prove who had done it. And again, no obvious cause of death.
On the face of it, it merely seemed a lot of unpleasant people with deep pockets were having amazing strings if luck recently. And any policeman who believed that should quit and stop wasting the tax payers’ money, Andersen thought wryly.
What connected them? The sexual contact before death, massive advantage to “special interests,” and, most importantly, one man. Always seen around the area at the time of death. Always with a lot of money, but no obvious means of income. Damn it! He couldn't be more suspicious if he had “assassin” tattooed on his forehead! But every time, no cause of bloody death!
“We’ve got him in the other room, Sir. He was staying in the hotel room next to this one.” He nodded his thanks to the police officer, who’d just finished struggling the sheets into the evidence bag, tactfully ignoring her admiring gaze. At least part of his appeal to the media and some of his superiors were his sculpted, Nordic, good looks. They also caused him no end of unwelcome thoughts whenever it seemed a man was staring at him for too long, or too closely. He was sure they also spurred his prime suspect to take great pleasure in tormenting him. Or maybe he just liked being a pain in the arse. Yeah, that Andersen’d bet on. After all, the bastard had already pissed off so many other detectives that he was the only one who ever interviewed him anymore.
He walked through to the room they’d taken over as an interview room, and saw him sprawled across a chair, his feet up on an expensive table. The pose made him look taller than he was. the dark wood of the table blended well with his rich dark skin, the deep green leather chairs highlighted the forest green shirt he wore, which in turn made his vibrant, mischievous green eyes almost glow in the dark room, shining above his wide, confident, perfectly white smile. He absently pushed one jet black lock of hair out of his eyes with a clever, long fingered hand, and treated the Detective to an almost insolent grin. An artist would pay a small fortune to have this man pose for Pan. Or any mischievous god of lust. Hell, never mind small fortune, most would pay a vast fortune.
“Ah, Detective, we meet again. Always a pleasure, of course.” His voice matched the smile, almost childishly naughty, but heavy with implications. “But you really don’t have to arrange a police escort every time you want to see me, I’m sure we can arrange something more... discreet.”
Andersen refused to be drawn, and forced his mind to stay on topic and ignore the heavy promise in those compelling eyes. “Where were you last night, Mr. Kokopelli?”
He sat up and sighed, rolling those magnificent eyes. “Must we play this game again? If you’re trying to play seductive questions, it really does work better over the phone, and I’d stick to ‘what are you wearing,’ if I were you. Oh, smile Eric, get a sense of humour, there must be a mail order that delivers or something?” The detective continued his icy blue glare, if nothing else, it helped keep his mind on track, rather than thinking of the tight black leather trousers his suspect was wearing. He still didn’t know how Kokopelli had learned his first name, but he’d done the same with the rest of the task force as well. Andersen was sure he only did it to annoy people, and refused to be drawn.
Kokopelli waited a few seconds, waiting to see if Andersen would rise to the bait, before smiling and continuing. “Ok, if it’s that important to you, I was in my hotel room, I imagine you know the number since those nice police people so kindly arranged their polite dawn wake up call.”
“My apologies if Mr Sycaran’s death inconvenienced you.”
“Why, Eric, that was sarcasm. Bravo, you aren’t just a robot run by the police department? Shall I inform the papers? And yes, it did inconvenience me, he would have been just as dead in a few more hours, I assure you.”
“I suppose you know a lot about dead bodies?” Andersen leaned forward aggressively, looming over the much shorter man.
“I think you’ll find, Eric, it’s fairly common knowledge that the dead tend to stay that way. No specialist knowledge required.” Kokopelli tapped the end of the detectives nose and grinned, playing with Andersen’s tie with the other hand. The detective pulled back angrily.
“Were you with anyone last night?”
Kokopelli pouted as the tie slipped between his fingers. Pulling just a little on the fabric
“Jealous? No, Eric, I assure you, I was alone last night. All night. I was quiet lonely, in fact. What was your phone number again?”
“Did you know the deceased at all?”
“He was in the bar, he bought me a drink I believe. I’m always amazed by the kindness of strangers.”
“I imagine. And your reason for being here, more propositions of strangers?”
For a second those green eyes flashed with anger, so quick it was almost invisible. “My, my, jealously is such a terrible thing.” He sat up in his chair and leaned forwards, drawing the green shirt tight over his chest. Andersen jerked his eyes away sharply. “Don’t worry, Eric, I would never charge you money. I doubt your pocket book could stand it.” He swatted Andersen’s tie, and plucked at a sleeve of the detective’s jacket. “I am here to sample some luxury. I have enough money to waste on little whims like this.”
Andersen bit down on his anger, covering it by riffling through his notes. Yeah, the man had enough money to splash around, by the looks of it not a single item of clothing Kokopelli was wearing had a price tag that could be considered anywhere near reasonable (and the Detective had been very attentive in looking over every part of the shorter man’s body, much as he tried to stop himself). Problem was they STILL couldn‘t find any real source for all this income, and his bank accounts were an utter snarl. judging by the man’s tax returns he was pulling in several million a year. All filled out and legal, though, in fact he’s probably paying more tax than he has to. Shame, Andersen would’ve killed to have done an Untouchables on him.
He glared at Kokopelli for several minutes over the sheaf of papers. The tension in the air thickened, Kokopelli‘s smile widened. Finally, Andersen had to concede. They had nothing. “Very well, Mr. Kokopelli, you can go.”
Kokopelli stood, managing to display his body to perfect advantage. Andersen lowered his gaze to his notes hurriedly.
“You killed them Mr. Kokopelli.”
“Really? I think a ghost came to him during the night, the sheer terror of the moment killed him.”
Andersen looked up in confusion. “What?”
“Well, it’s about as plausible as your little fairy tale, isn’t it?” With a final mischievous grin, he swayed out of the door. Andersen watched him sway his way out, colour rising faintly in his fair face.
************************************
Andersen finished the final form, before finally being able to leave for the night. Deaths always required a lot of paperwork, especially ones where so many questions remained unanswered. Despite days of effort, all investigations had drawn a blank. Four dead. No clues. Nothing. Just one disturbingly beautiful suspect with most gorgeous green eyes he’d ever seen. Eyes that haunted him while he slept, and an insinuating voice that whispered in his dreams. How many times had he jerked awake, just seconds before their lips touched?
************************************
The phone rang. He blinked, and rolled over, coming awake instantly. He flung aside the sheets and padded barefoot across the wooden floor of his flat to the phone. He’d been woken up at 5:00am far too often to be groggy in the mornings. Before he even picked it up, he knew what he’d hear. Another death. Another body he couldn't explain. He gritted his teeth and picked up the phone, trying to drown out a swell of joy - another death, another excuse to see Kokopelli.
“Eric Andersen.”
“Sir, we’ve got a body, at the Rainbow Fantasy. Young, male, dancer here apparently.”
“I’ll be right down. Make sure Mr. Kokopelli doesn’t leave until I arrive.”
“How did you kn-”
“An educated guess.”
Bloody hell. Five now, FIVE! And not one shred of bloody evidence. Damn, he should be angrier than this! And he should stop thinking about how Kokopelli looked in leather!
************************************
The police woman he’d spoken to on the phone met him at the door. He nodded to her but hurried on, forcing her to run to lead the way. He barely saw the corridors, the private rooms or the strange equipment in the exotic club, he focused desperately on his destination. She hurried after him, panting slightly, trying to keep up with the much taller detective. She finally pushed open a door, backing away and gazing at the detective with a look of near hero-worship. The detective stalked past her into the room before it was fully open, taking in the scene with wild roaming eyes.
“He, he’s not here.”
“Sir? Um... the body’s on the bed, sir”
Andersen blinked stupidly for several seconds before reality reasserted itself. Several crime scene investigators were looking at him curiously. He shook away the image of Kokopelli’s slim, dark form dancing behind his eyes. He forced himself to look at the body, laid spread eagled on the bed on it‘s stomach. He blinked and saw that the body had been tied to the bed with knotted sheets at ankle and wrist. Crime scene technicians were taking swaps of some thick, nearly dried pale liquid from the corpse’s buttocks. Another death after sex. The deceased was young, slim to the point of skinny. Pale, unhealthily so. A glance down at the arms confirmed it, needle marks, old and faded though.
“We sure this one’s the same, doctor? Not a drug overdose by any chance?”
Dr. Miyari shook his head, not even looking up from the corpse. “No. The needle marks are old, he’s a junky, but not last night he wasn’t. Or yesterday at all for that matter. I’ll need blood tests to be sure, but I still say it’s the same way as the rest, dead. No known cause, natural or otherwise.” The doctor cursed under his breath and sneered at the corpse. “No abrasions on the wrists or ankles. No suggestion of rape, this looks willing too.” He shook his head in disgust and stormed out the room muttering to himself. Detective Andersen understood his frustration, though the Doctor’s prejudices were starting to hit a little close to home. He couldn’t bring himself to be angry, though. All he could think of was the mysterious death - if it was another mysterious death, then Kokopelli would be here...
“Where is Kokopelli?”
Another blur of corridors, another series of exotic rooms full of interesting toys. All passed by without a glance from the detective, his eyes were blind until the door opened, and he entered one of the private rooms of the club. A small wooden stage took up one room, surrounded by alcoves covered by thick black velvet curtains. A metal pole stood in the middle of the stage, a shining counterpoint to the dark wood, and rich fabric. A few heavy velvet love seats were arranged to provide unrestricted views of the stage.
Kokopelli sat on the stage. Andersen stopped and stared. He wore tight jeans, faded and worn, several patches utterly frayed through revealing tantalising glimpses of rich, flawless dark skin surrounded by the nearly white denim. A white jean jacket hung open, revealing his tight muscled stomach, nearly hairless chest and nearly black nipples. There was a tattoo on his chest, a black silhouette of a man playing pipes. The arms of the jean jacket had been ripped off, leaving his slender shoulders and long limber arms bare.
“Eric, you do choose such... interesting places for us to meet.” He stood, all powerful oiled grace and stepped up onto the stage, leisurely circling the pole, idly trailing one finger around the shining metal.
Andersen swallowed. The buttocks of the jeans were nearly worn through. Taut flesh showed through several holes, the jeans were so tight the holes gaped. He wasn't wearing underwear. He forced his eyes higher.
“Another corpse on the ground, and you’re here again. This is stretching coincidence, Mr. Kokopelli.”
The dark man grinned, circling ever closer to the pole. “Well, I can hardly be blamed for us not meeting more often, you never come to visit me... I’m sure you have my address somewhere.”
Andersen managed a small smile, it helped hide the tension in his neck muscles as he fought to keep his head up, and his eyes on Kokopelli’s face. “I doubt I would have found you there, even if I had visited. You seem to spend very little time there, considering your ‘coincidental’ presence at every suspicious death in the city.”
Andersen cleared his throat, his voice becoming brisk and business like. He stifled down his anger at being drawn into playful banter with a suspected murder. With one of the bodies still laid above, as well for God’s sake! “Where were yo-”
“Oh please, Eric, spare me. I know the questions better than you do by now.” He grabbed the pole with both hands and pulled himself fiercely against it. “I came here, yesterday evening,” he slid slowly down the pole, pulling himself solidly against it, legs straddling it. “I had a drink, or two. Maybe three. I forget.” He pulled himself up, legs leaving the ground, feet pushing against the pole, arching his backside out until the rips widened with a thick, ripping sound. It seemed unnaturally loud in the silent room. Andersen swallowed. “I thought it best not to drive home,” he giggled, perched halfway up the pole, face pressed against the chrome, dark skin and emerald eyes reflected back beautifully. He slid one finger slowly into his mouth, face frowning in thought. He grinned and the finger came out, so very slowly. There was a pop as it finally came loose, a pop of suction broken. Andersen cleared his throat and tried to think. Kokopelli smiled slowly, full of hidden promise. “The manager kindly let me use a room for the night, where I slept, all alone again.” He threw back his head, and pushed away from the pole, upper body arcing in the dim light while his thighs tightly gripped the pole, muscles bunched through the tears in the fabric.
Andersen shut his eyes for a second trying to concentrate. His imagination took over. He snapped them open quickly and glared icily at the gorgeous young man hanging near the ceiling.
“How did you kill him?”
Kokopelli pulled himself to the very top of the pole, tucking himself into a tight ball, his back writhed sensuously as he caressed the cold metal. He lifted his head and pouted down at Andersen, “oh dear, must we return to fairy tales? Ok here’s a new one for you, are you sitting comfortably?” He turned his back to the pole, holding on with his arms above his head, spreading his legs wide. Andersen quickly looked down, colouring, several of the rips in Kokopelli’s ragged jeans were dangerously close to being illegal in public. “Well, vampires, the evil undead that feast on the innocent, well, virtually innocent.” He grinned and mimed biting and sucking on his arm, the sound of his mouth’s suction made Andersen’s face burn all the more. “Anyway, one of these dastardly creatures sneaked into this palace of luscious naked men and slaked his thirst on dear... oh, I forget his name, probably not important. No, wait you'd find little holes wouldn't you? Ah well, probably not vampires.”
Andersen glared up at the callous beauty displayed so wonderfully well on the pole. “He was a boy, a dancer. Why him? What‘s the motive?”
Kokopelli pouted and widened his eyes. “Why, how should I know, Eric?” He turned smoothly, twisting upside down until his legs tightly gripped the top of the pole. His body was drawn into one taut line. His hair dangled beneath him, unmasking his face, forcing Andersen to sit heavily in a love seat as his knees buckled.
If anything, the dark man‘s grin grew even wider at the detective‘s collapse. “If I had to guess, I’d say blackmail.”
“Blackmail?”
Kokopelli dropped to the floor, flipping with amazing agility to land on his feet. His jean jacket fell to the floor at his feet, somehow removed mid-leap. He grinned and stalked, bare-chested, to Andersen’s love seat. “Yes. See, the poor boy had his vices; expensive little vices.” He sat next to Andersen. “He had to do far more than strip for the customers to pay for it.” Kokopelli playfully twirled a hand in Andersen’s blond hair. The Detective pulled away, but the love seat left little room to run. “One of his customers was a councillor. You probably know him. Preaches about traditional ways and family values, sanctity of marriage, well, you know the party line, I’m sure.” He traced the finger from Andersen’s hair past his ear, a ticklingly light touch. Andersen froze, tense and breathless. “But it didn't pay the bills, poor boy. But he learned his tongue could earn him far more money than it was already...” he licked his lips, making them gleam wetly. He leaned closer until he was nearly whispering in Andersen’s ear. “The Councillor was quite upset. Career, wife, family, everything, killed by his little indiscretion. How tragic. And he with such a duty to the community.” His hand travelled to Andersen’s chin, rasping over the slight roughness of morning beard. “Of course, a little money, and the problem goes away, right?” He turned Andersen’s head, until they sat eye to eye, a bare inch between them.
“Of course, all you have to do now...” he leaned forwards, and their lips touched, wet and solid, and so incredibly warm. Andersen froze... and melted. He didn't remember moving, or kissing him back, he was lost in the hot rapturous sensation of their lips melded together. Revelling in the taste of lust and sex and under it all, power.
“...is prove it.”
Kokopelli stood quickly and walked out, a blur of dark skin and desperate longing. Andersen looked after him, lust, rage and need warring through him. Consuming him.
He didn’t know how long he sat there, fighting pointlessly against the image of Kokopelli’s body burned behind his eyes. he didn't move until the helpful police woman came into the room, after knocking unheeded for several minutes. He didn’t acknowledge her call. He didn't say a word. He didn't review the scene. He turned and left, tortured by the images behind his eyes and the feel of soft lips on his.
************************************
The dreams got worse. Sleep was a distant memory, dreams as vivid and powerful of these could never be thought of as sleep. Could never bring rest or peace. Only excitement, lust, and fiery, insatiable, need.
The days took their toll... This one case became his passion, his one and only activity, in and outside the job. His superiors praised his dedication and crowed to the media how they expected their Golden Boy to find results any time soon. His colleagues watched him with ever increasing worry.
And always, just out of sight, lurking round corners, seemingly reflected in every surface, Kokopelli smiled with seductive promise.
************************************
“Sir? Sir!”
“Wha- Koko- I’m sorry. What is it, Con- detective?” Andersen noticed for the first time that she’d advanced to plain-clothes. When has that happened?
“Detective Myren, sir. Elizabeth Myren.” Her look of pathetic hopefulness was lost on the distracted Andersen. A look that gave a powerful light to her pretty face. A look that died in the cold face of his indifference.
“Oh, sorry, detective Myren. What is it?”
“Another death, sir. Another hotel, though much cheaper. The All Night Ride.”
He was already up and running, at the word death, barely pausing to catch the address. Myren sprinted desperately too keep up, only managing to jump into his car as it pulled away at break neck speed. He never turned his head as she got in, never blinked as her car door closed. His eyes were fixed forwards with desperate determination. Myren gazed at him, utterly stunned by the cold fire in his eyes.
“S-sir? The victim was a police informant, same condition as the others, he...” she trailed off, was he even hearing her? She took a deep breath, swallowed and doggedly ploughed through her report. Andersen said nothing.
The car screeched to a halt before the near derelict hotel, throwing Myren half out of her seat. She blinked to clear her head, and a large hand seized the front of her blouse, jerking her painfully against the seat belt.
“Kokopelli. Where is he?” The words were growled, low and dangerous. His whole body vibrated with furious tension. “Where?!”
“R-Room 26...!” She gasped her words, and he was gone. Gone before the echoes died.
************************************
The door slammed open. Kokopelli looked up from the ragged hotel bed, fingers fussing idly with his jet black shirt. Something tall and strong raged into the room. Kokopelli was lifted off his feet, eyes widening in surprise, before Andersen’s lips pressed roughly, violently against his. He felt his lips bruise at the pressure of it, his body twitched in pain at the strength of the larger man's Passionate grip. Andersen clung desperately to him, his breath panting sharply as he forced his way into Kokopelli with lips, tongue, teeth and animal need.
Kokopelli writhed, his legs coming up and wrapping tightly around the detective’s waist, grinding himself into the taller man’s dress trousers, feeling him hard and firm and full, pressed through the stretched cloth. Andersen threw back his head and roared, hands tightening agonisingly around his tormentor. He lifted him, prising his legs free, and threw him across the room.
Kokopelli hit the wall so hard he bounced off it, landing in a crumpled, broken heap on the dirty floor. Andersen stood very still, trembling slightly with fists tightly clenched at his sides. His breath screamed like ragged bellows, his eyes were squeezed so tightly shut it hurt.
“What have you done to me?” He didn’t shout, the words hissed past his lips, squeezed out between the vast pressure of his control.
Kokopelli dragged himself to his knees using the bed, he looked up at the detective, watching him for an eternity. Then he smiled, a thin trickle of blood seeping from his lip. “I? Your libido is your own, Eric. Will beating me make your lust less...” he wiped blood off his lip with one finger, before licking it clean with long, sure strokes of a very red, wet tongue. “Or more?”
Andersen lashed out, his fist catching Kokopelli across the jaw, sending him sprawling. His head hit the wall heavily. With slow heavy steps, the detective pulled himself back to the far wall. He smashed his fist into the cheap plaster until the facade shattered, and his hand bled.
“Well, Eric, you do like it rough, don’t you?”
Andersen snapped, he threw himself across the bed, hands clawed, reaching. His eyes glazed over as his face twisted with rage and hate. And lust. Kokopelli grinned, Andersen's hands brushed him. He caught the detective’s wrists, twisting and rolling, the two went down in an intimate tangle of limbs and entwined bodies. Kokopelli lay on top of the Detective’s strong chest, staring into those ice blue eyes, their cold fire quenched with shock.
“Very rough it seems.”
“Damn you,” he spat, trying to get up. Kokopelli leaned into him, just a tiny amount of pressure, but the feel of their bodies pressed together sent sparks through the detective’s muscles, weakening them and tightening them with incapacitating overwhelming erotic burning. Kokopelli’s grin widened.
“Is this new policy for questioning, Eric? After all, I am a murderer, how many people have I killed now?”
Andersen gaped in shock, the sheer surprise of it chasing back his rage. Kokopelli laughed.
“Yes, I confess. Of course, given the circumstances my confession would never stand up in court. Abused witness and all that.” He tapped Andersen’s nose with a long finger and a playful grin. Andersen growled.
“Damn you. Damn you! This isn't a bloody game! How many people have you killed?! And you’re laughing?! How? How?! How did they die, damn it, you owe me that much at least!”
Kokopelli tilted his head thoughtfully, his smile thoughtful. “It would add new depth to the game... You see, I’m a terrible demon from Hell, who drains people’s souls for food... Oops, that’s another fairy tale. You don’t believe in them do you?”
“DAMN YOU!” Andersen roared to his feet, throwing Kokopelli clear. The man flipped in mid air, laughing wildly. He landed lightly on the bed, rolled, and came to his feet lightly by the door.
“Ah, don’t you like that story? Ah well, I’ll tell you a new one at the next murder. See you soon Eric!”
Again Andersen roared in rage, dragging the bed out of his way, smashing a table to splinters as he ran uncaring to the door. Kokopelli was gone. He screamed his fury to the ceiling, lashing out in wild abandon at anything in his path.
“Sir?!” She rushed into the room, desperately reaching for him, terrified by the force of his anger. He pushed her roughly aside, not even seeing her, not even hearing her fall heavily on the floor.
“Kokopelli! I will have you! I swear it!” He raged out of the room without a backward glance for the fallen detective. He didn’t see her struggle to her feet in pain. Didn’t see the grief in her eyes. Didn't see the tears on her face.
************************************
He sat in his chair, staring for the hundredth time at the useless case files. An empty glass lay near his hand. He wanted to refill it, but knew if he moved he'd see Kokopelli’s image in the bottle, see him reflected in the windows, see him peaking from under tables. Emerald green eyes stared at him from every angle, a mocking, seductive grin flashed behind his eyes, and rolling laughter echoed through his empty flat. He couldn’t move, he couldn't speak, he couldn’t see. He sat, paralysed by terror at the power of his need. A prisoner in his own home to a lust that would not be denied.
A hand touched his shoulder. He closed his eyes, how many times had he felt the touch of a phantom hand, the press of an invisible body, the kiss of...
“Eric...”
He froze... his imagination. He was going mad. He’d been driven mad by his own lust.
“Eric...” There was a rustle of cloth. He opened his eyes to see a black shirt land on the table, covering the case files...
“Eric...” A pair of ragged jeans, more holes than cloth, landed on the shirt.
“Eric...” Hands spilled over his shoulder, down his chest. They toyed, artfully with the buttons of his shirt, dark, long fingers teasing them open, caressing the pale, muscular flesh beneath.
Andersen turned. Kokopelli stood their, naked and more beautiful than anything that had ever lived. His body was smooth and flawless, not a mark to ruin that perfect skin, even the black tattoo seemed a part of him. No tan lines, he was pure solid dark brown without a break, form the routes of his jet black hair, down the taut swell of his pectorals, over the rippled plain of a perfectly toned stomach, all the way down. He was dusted lightly, so very gently, with fine strands of dark hair, outlining his nearly black nipples in sharp relief, trailing a line down his stomach to his groin. He was stretched out, long, thick and so very perfect, lightly outlined by hair as black as that on his head. Andersen’s rage fell away. Even his lust reeled backwards. It was almost sacrilegious to think of something this beautiful as an object of lust. This body was art, to be admired, marvelled at, and to move you near to tears. He watched with wild, child-like eyes and worshipped the wonder before him. Kokopelli smiled, fingers playing lightly across Andersen’s muscular chest.
“Come to me, Eric.”
Andersen was already standing, already reaching for the other man before Kokopelli had finished speaking. He grabbed the naked man, desperately trying to be gentle, but driven by a deeper desperation to touch and stroke every part of him in a near frenzy of lust and helpless need. His large, strong pale hands roved over the dark skin, squeezed firm muscles, pinched the tight flesh of Kokopelli’s behind, forcing their fingers between his taut cheeks. His lips trailed across Kokopelli’s neck, down his shoulder, across his chest. He ground their bodies tightly together, revelling in the feel of their bare torsos sliding smoothly over each other, panting as their hard cocks strained against the thin tented cloth of his trousers. He groaned, pulling them together so hard that Kokopelli gasped in pain.
But something rose within him. A shadow of the old anger, the policeman’s stubbornness. It forced him to stand straight, forced him to ignore Kokopelli’s clever hands unzipping his trousers, forced him to ignore the feel of their skin pressed together.
“How did you kill them?” The words were weak, quiet and breathy.
Kokopelli blinked in shock. He tried to step back, but was held prisoner in Andersen’s shaking hands. For a minute, his smile faded. But not for long, never for long...
“Eric, you wound me! Ah, I suppose, I did promise to tell you a new story at the next murder, didn’t I?” He pushed Andersen, rocking him backwards onto the coffee table, before he could answer. Kokopelli, pulled Andersen’s trousers down while the detective was still regaining his balance. Andersen was much more heavily muscled than Kokopelli, incredibly strong, and so very pale, with a fine blanket of nearly invisibly blond hairs that stirred beneath his touch. “There are creatures who could be said to be sex given form. History has called them many things, Incubi, Succubae, Sirens, even muses. Satyrs, nymphs, and any number of a hundred gods. The name doesn't matter. These beings live on sex, feed on it, on people’s lust. People gave up their sex, their need willingly, as worship for their gods. It was perfect. It was wonderful. It was terrible.” With surprising strength, he ripped away the last of Andersen’s clothing, the thin white underwear tearing away with a sound like flesh tearing. Andersen’s cock jerked free of its prison, rising high, almost scarily large, a white shaft that filled Kokopelli’s hands.
“Fear the wrath of these creatures of lust, for their appetite is insatiable. No-one can satisfy their hunger. When you lay with one of these beings, you place your life in their hands, all you have is trust that they won’t feed until there is no life left in you. Trust them not to kill you.” He leaned forwards and kissed Andersen, so softly, so tenderly, that it chased away the lust, even the riotous taste of Kokopelli’s lips. There was something deeper behind that kiss, far stronger than mere physical desire.
“If you don’t want them to anyway, it is such a wonderful way to die...” He leaned slowly back from Andersen’s face, sliding slowly down his body. He grinned, mockingly.
“But then, that’s another fairy tale. And you don’t believe in fairy tales.” His lips slid over Andersen’s hard cock, and all thought shattered. Kokopelli lowered his head down the incredible lengthy of the detective, opening his throat in a near futile attempt to take the full stretch of him. Andersen collapsed on the table, breath leaving him in a moaning gasping rush. His voice climbed in octaves and volume as Kokopelli’s head moved over his groin, moved so slowly, but so very hard and so perfectly skilled. Kokopelli’s tongue licked and stroked, examining intimately every inch of Andersen’s sex.
Andersen closed his eyes, he couldn’t watch this beautiful man suck him, it was too much, it was too intense. It felt so good it was almost painful, he wanted to scream for it to stop, but he wanted it to go on to ever, even if it killed him.
Kokopelli built up his speed, increased his strength ever more, ever harder. Andersen was moaning constantly now, a stream of soft exclamations of sheer ecstasy escaped his lips, half whispered entreaties mangled by the sheer intensity of the sensation.
Then it stopped. The mouth left him. Andersen reared up, howling his need, clawing blindly at the empty air around his groin. His face contorted, near tears. He couldn’t! Not now, surely?!
But Kokopelli hadn't left. He knelt on the table, straddling Andersen’s legs, a wicked grin on his face and a fierce burn in his eyes. He saw Andersen’s face and knew he had him. He pushed Andersen back down onto the table, one hand on that strong chest, slightly dewed with sweat, and Andersen was back on his back, looking up with pleading eyes at Kokopelli’s predatory grin.
Kokopelli walked his way up Andersen’s body. Up his legs, up his thighs. He straddled Andersen’s groin, raising up on his knees until he was high enough to put himself directly over the tower of Andersen’s painfully hard cock.
He stared down at Andersen. Flaming emerald eyes met icy blue. The moment stretched, the tension unbearable as the air thrummed with its power. Andersen clenched his fists, his breathing reaching near hyperventilation levels. Kokopelli trembled ever so slightly on top of the giant blond man.
Then he lowered himself. He dropped, fast and sharp, stretching himself open as he impaled himself on the massive spear of Andersen’s shaft. He screamed out in pain, cried in ecstasy as he took the full length of Andersen in him, not pausing, not easing it in, virtually no preparation. He took him in and howled, but the heat never once died in his eyes, and the grin never faded from his face. Andersen arched his back, whole body tensing at the sudden plunge into Kokopelli’s incredibly hot body, heat enough to near burn, so tight it nearly hurt, but it felt so incredibly good, better than anything ever could be, beyond anything he could imagine.
Andersen was already lost in a world where sensations ruled and his nerves burned with an unspeakable passion before Kokopelli began to move. When the dark man raised his hips up, high enough nearly to pull fully away from the detective, before plunging down with just as much force as before, Andersen yelled so loudly that his voice broke. He shouted himself hoarse as Kokopelli found his rhythm, the rhythm of pounding flesh, beating hearts and pumping blood. He cried out feelings too intense for silence, but too wild, too primal for anything as civilised as words to ever encompass.
Kokopelli’s legs strained, he panted with effort and with the building pressure in his groin, deep inside him, depths no human could ever touch, depths somehow reached by Andersen’s massive organ. He strained and panted as his tempo increased, as the rhythm grew faster, stronger harder. He plunged on and on, the room hazing out as his vision blurred, darkening as his breath came in ever more ragged gasps. He felt Andersen's body tighten under him, felt his writhing grow so strong he had to reach down and desperately grip the blond mans hips not to be thrown clear.
Andersen had gone beyond seeing, beyond knowing, beyond anything but a shining sea on incredibly pleasure beyond endurance. He was no longer aware of his body, not even of Kokopelli’s near blurring form pounding on top of him, drawing still deeper reserves of glorious pleasure from the depths of his soul. It was too much, but he wanted it all! With one last searing explosion he lost everything, mind body and soul, as the wave of orgasm took him again, and again and again, so intense he couldn't even scream, his mouth gaped, muscles tensed so hard they knotted into agonising cramps, pain unnoticed as Andersen’s mind was blasted by waves upon waves of powerful climax. He never even heard Kokopelli’s cries as his orgasm followed the detective’s. Never saw him throw back that glorious head and shout out his blessings and joys. Never felt the hot rush of the dark man’s come across his chest. It was too much, darkness swooped in, consciousness fled.
************************************
Kokopelli finished his drink. The detective has had a well stocked drink cabinet indeed. He put the glass down next to Andersen’s head and grinned into his staring eyes. Taking a brief moment to review the files Andersen had spread over the table. “You were doing well, Eric, very well. Shame incubi don’t have DNA, well, not any you can detect. Finger prints are bit of a none starter too.” He absently examined the lines of his hands, far fainter and softer than human hands. “Can’t fault you for effort though. Just one problem.” He re-filled the glass and toasted the detective, tracing the line of that strong jaw. The flesh was cold.
“You really should have believed in fairy tales.” He threw back his head and laughed tossing back the last of the drink.
The incubus gathered his clothes in one hand, and let the glass drop to the floor. With lithe grace he swayed, naked out of the flat, to the one he'd rented next door, still chuckling under his breath.
************************************
Andersen lay, cold and stiff, staring with the unseeing eyes of death at his ceiling. He didn’t see Detective Elizabeth Myren come to his flat. Didn’t hear her knock on his door. Didn’t hear her come in searching for her. He didn't see her find his body.
Only one saw the tears fall down her cheeks. Only one person heard her anguished cries. Only one man saw the love in her eyes.
And he laughed, green eyes burning in the morning light.
Either way, it's been lurking in my hard drive (and back up disks) for a long time and I figure I might as well post it as let it remain trapped on file, especially since it's stand alone (and will remain such).
Anyways, Kokopelli.
Detective Andersen straightened from the body, sighing heavily. The harsh morning light put the naked corpse in harsh relief. Skin tanned by exotic holidays or tanning beds, body toned by expensive personal trainers and exclusive gyms. Death had robbed him of his perfect skin, however, and the contorted expression on his face made him nearly unrecognisable. He was tangled almost painfully in twisted pale cotton sheets, the sheets were heavy and damp. Sweat, perhaps more.
Mr. Sycaran had been a foreign entrepreneur, very wealthy, much hailed as a welcome boost to the local economy. By some anyway. The already quite happily rich local businessmen could have done without the competition, the criminal gangs could have done without the new blood to integrate themselves with. Looks like they’d all be saved the trouble.
The homicide team filled the large room, picking over every detail of the expensive bedroom, in the most expensive hotel in the city. Clicking photographs, bagging tiny scraps and placing little numbered tags over minute possible clues. A female police woman looked nervously at the Detective, chewing her lip pensively before incredibly carefully bagging the stained sheets. Already Andersen expected them to find only the victim’s DNA Just like the others. The Detective looked up tiredly at the pathologist who had just stood opposite him. Dr. Miyari shook his head, looking far more exhausted than the young detective.
“Not a mark on him. At least, nothing that could have caused death. Some minor bruising at most, could have been caused by any... rough activity the night before,” Dr. Miyari grimaced, he made no secret of his distaste of the situation, given the prime suspect. Andersen was just thankful nothing would ruffle Miyari’s professionalism. Especially if Andersen... He shook the thought aside as the Doctor continued. “No sign of any major internal problems either. But I’ll lay any kind of odds we’ll get the same results as from the others.” He turned and left, muttering irritably under his breath. The detective didn’t take it personally, the doctor was a genius in many ways, and found these murd- no deaths, can’t prove murder yet, a personal insult. He found the taunting of the chief suspect beyond tolerance, but given the old man’s prejudices that was no surprise.
This would be the fourth. Dead in their bedroom, apparently after having sex. No useful evidence, forensic or otherwise. No sign of cause of death, no matter how the pathologists looked. Not even a natural cause. No forensic evidence. Well, no, lots of forensic evidence, just none of it useful! Hair samples, sperm samples, even blood samples, and every single test inconclusive, the lab techs couldn’t even get a blood group out of it! Nail scrapings were so degraded that it was nearly impossible to identify skin colour, beyond ’not too pale and not black.’ Even fingerprints, hundreds of them everywhere and all of them too degraded to provide a comparison, even with today’s technology. It wasn’t even really a murder investigation yet, if it weren’t for Detective Andersen’s interest. And he was the department’s golden boy at the minute, the brilliant young detective who could solve the impossible, so was given the resources to investigate.
Four deaths, only one connection - each of them was awfully convenient for various... nefarious groups. First, a new judge dead after she declared her new tough stance on organised crime and put away a couple of goons for a very long time. She was found on her kitchen table, completely naked, her arms outstretched, her face rapturous. Vaginal swabs revealed proof of intercourse, though her face was enough, but the DNA results were inconclusive.
Second, an eager journalist determined to expose a local politician’s corruption. His friends said he was ready to go public. And maybe he would have, if his cold body had not been found bent over the back of a chair, his mouth open in a silent scream. He hadn’t been tortured, the light in his eyes had shown it wasn’t pain that had made him cry out in the end. Examinations of the body showed he had had sex with another man before death, but again failed to show any indications of who the man could be. Or any indications of what had actually killed him.
Third, an environmental activist who was making a lot of noise about a local factory’s less than pure waste products. Well, he was silent now, though like the journalist, it looked like he'd been making a LOT of noise before death. Naked but for a few scraps of rather dubious leather, that had made Dr. Miyari scowl so fiercely people thought he was having a heart attack. At least they had distracted the rest of the team from the colour in Andersen’s face. A crime scene was not the place for self analysis, the Detective struggled to remind himself. Andersen remembered a lot of fingernail scratches on the body, some of them had bled quite a lot, and there’d been a lot more bruising. But the injuries had not been lethal, and Dr. Miyari had pointed out, somewhat acidly, that they seemed to be consensual. Again it seemed like it was another man, and again, despite biological evidence, there was no way to prove who had done it. And again, no obvious cause of death.
On the face of it, it merely seemed a lot of unpleasant people with deep pockets were having amazing strings if luck recently. And any policeman who believed that should quit and stop wasting the tax payers’ money, Andersen thought wryly.
What connected them? The sexual contact before death, massive advantage to “special interests,” and, most importantly, one man. Always seen around the area at the time of death. Always with a lot of money, but no obvious means of income. Damn it! He couldn't be more suspicious if he had “assassin” tattooed on his forehead! But every time, no cause of bloody death!
“We’ve got him in the other room, Sir. He was staying in the hotel room next to this one.” He nodded his thanks to the police officer, who’d just finished struggling the sheets into the evidence bag, tactfully ignoring her admiring gaze. At least part of his appeal to the media and some of his superiors were his sculpted, Nordic, good looks. They also caused him no end of unwelcome thoughts whenever it seemed a man was staring at him for too long, or too closely. He was sure they also spurred his prime suspect to take great pleasure in tormenting him. Or maybe he just liked being a pain in the arse. Yeah, that Andersen’d bet on. After all, the bastard had already pissed off so many other detectives that he was the only one who ever interviewed him anymore.
He walked through to the room they’d taken over as an interview room, and saw him sprawled across a chair, his feet up on an expensive table. The pose made him look taller than he was. the dark wood of the table blended well with his rich dark skin, the deep green leather chairs highlighted the forest green shirt he wore, which in turn made his vibrant, mischievous green eyes almost glow in the dark room, shining above his wide, confident, perfectly white smile. He absently pushed one jet black lock of hair out of his eyes with a clever, long fingered hand, and treated the Detective to an almost insolent grin. An artist would pay a small fortune to have this man pose for Pan. Or any mischievous god of lust. Hell, never mind small fortune, most would pay a vast fortune.
“Ah, Detective, we meet again. Always a pleasure, of course.” His voice matched the smile, almost childishly naughty, but heavy with implications. “But you really don’t have to arrange a police escort every time you want to see me, I’m sure we can arrange something more... discreet.”
Andersen refused to be drawn, and forced his mind to stay on topic and ignore the heavy promise in those compelling eyes. “Where were you last night, Mr. Kokopelli?”
He sat up and sighed, rolling those magnificent eyes. “Must we play this game again? If you’re trying to play seductive questions, it really does work better over the phone, and I’d stick to ‘what are you wearing,’ if I were you. Oh, smile Eric, get a sense of humour, there must be a mail order that delivers or something?” The detective continued his icy blue glare, if nothing else, it helped keep his mind on track, rather than thinking of the tight black leather trousers his suspect was wearing. He still didn’t know how Kokopelli had learned his first name, but he’d done the same with the rest of the task force as well. Andersen was sure he only did it to annoy people, and refused to be drawn.
Kokopelli waited a few seconds, waiting to see if Andersen would rise to the bait, before smiling and continuing. “Ok, if it’s that important to you, I was in my hotel room, I imagine you know the number since those nice police people so kindly arranged their polite dawn wake up call.”
“My apologies if Mr Sycaran’s death inconvenienced you.”
“Why, Eric, that was sarcasm. Bravo, you aren’t just a robot run by the police department? Shall I inform the papers? And yes, it did inconvenience me, he would have been just as dead in a few more hours, I assure you.”
“I suppose you know a lot about dead bodies?” Andersen leaned forward aggressively, looming over the much shorter man.
“I think you’ll find, Eric, it’s fairly common knowledge that the dead tend to stay that way. No specialist knowledge required.” Kokopelli tapped the end of the detectives nose and grinned, playing with Andersen’s tie with the other hand. The detective pulled back angrily.
“Were you with anyone last night?”
Kokopelli pouted as the tie slipped between his fingers. Pulling just a little on the fabric
“Jealous? No, Eric, I assure you, I was alone last night. All night. I was quiet lonely, in fact. What was your phone number again?”
“Did you know the deceased at all?”
“He was in the bar, he bought me a drink I believe. I’m always amazed by the kindness of strangers.”
“I imagine. And your reason for being here, more propositions of strangers?”
For a second those green eyes flashed with anger, so quick it was almost invisible. “My, my, jealously is such a terrible thing.” He sat up in his chair and leaned forwards, drawing the green shirt tight over his chest. Andersen jerked his eyes away sharply. “Don’t worry, Eric, I would never charge you money. I doubt your pocket book could stand it.” He swatted Andersen’s tie, and plucked at a sleeve of the detective’s jacket. “I am here to sample some luxury. I have enough money to waste on little whims like this.”
Andersen bit down on his anger, covering it by riffling through his notes. Yeah, the man had enough money to splash around, by the looks of it not a single item of clothing Kokopelli was wearing had a price tag that could be considered anywhere near reasonable (and the Detective had been very attentive in looking over every part of the shorter man’s body, much as he tried to stop himself). Problem was they STILL couldn‘t find any real source for all this income, and his bank accounts were an utter snarl. judging by the man’s tax returns he was pulling in several million a year. All filled out and legal, though, in fact he’s probably paying more tax than he has to. Shame, Andersen would’ve killed to have done an Untouchables on him.
He glared at Kokopelli for several minutes over the sheaf of papers. The tension in the air thickened, Kokopelli‘s smile widened. Finally, Andersen had to concede. They had nothing. “Very well, Mr. Kokopelli, you can go.”
Kokopelli stood, managing to display his body to perfect advantage. Andersen lowered his gaze to his notes hurriedly.
“You killed them Mr. Kokopelli.”
“Really? I think a ghost came to him during the night, the sheer terror of the moment killed him.”
Andersen looked up in confusion. “What?”
“Well, it’s about as plausible as your little fairy tale, isn’t it?” With a final mischievous grin, he swayed out of the door. Andersen watched him sway his way out, colour rising faintly in his fair face.
************************************
Andersen finished the final form, before finally being able to leave for the night. Deaths always required a lot of paperwork, especially ones where so many questions remained unanswered. Despite days of effort, all investigations had drawn a blank. Four dead. No clues. Nothing. Just one disturbingly beautiful suspect with most gorgeous green eyes he’d ever seen. Eyes that haunted him while he slept, and an insinuating voice that whispered in his dreams. How many times had he jerked awake, just seconds before their lips touched?
************************************
The phone rang. He blinked, and rolled over, coming awake instantly. He flung aside the sheets and padded barefoot across the wooden floor of his flat to the phone. He’d been woken up at 5:00am far too often to be groggy in the mornings. Before he even picked it up, he knew what he’d hear. Another death. Another body he couldn't explain. He gritted his teeth and picked up the phone, trying to drown out a swell of joy - another death, another excuse to see Kokopelli.
“Eric Andersen.”
“Sir, we’ve got a body, at the Rainbow Fantasy. Young, male, dancer here apparently.”
“I’ll be right down. Make sure Mr. Kokopelli doesn’t leave until I arrive.”
“How did you kn-”
“An educated guess.”
Bloody hell. Five now, FIVE! And not one shred of bloody evidence. Damn, he should be angrier than this! And he should stop thinking about how Kokopelli looked in leather!
************************************
The police woman he’d spoken to on the phone met him at the door. He nodded to her but hurried on, forcing her to run to lead the way. He barely saw the corridors, the private rooms or the strange equipment in the exotic club, he focused desperately on his destination. She hurried after him, panting slightly, trying to keep up with the much taller detective. She finally pushed open a door, backing away and gazing at the detective with a look of near hero-worship. The detective stalked past her into the room before it was fully open, taking in the scene with wild roaming eyes.
“He, he’s not here.”
“Sir? Um... the body’s on the bed, sir”
Andersen blinked stupidly for several seconds before reality reasserted itself. Several crime scene investigators were looking at him curiously. He shook away the image of Kokopelli’s slim, dark form dancing behind his eyes. He forced himself to look at the body, laid spread eagled on the bed on it‘s stomach. He blinked and saw that the body had been tied to the bed with knotted sheets at ankle and wrist. Crime scene technicians were taking swaps of some thick, nearly dried pale liquid from the corpse’s buttocks. Another death after sex. The deceased was young, slim to the point of skinny. Pale, unhealthily so. A glance down at the arms confirmed it, needle marks, old and faded though.
“We sure this one’s the same, doctor? Not a drug overdose by any chance?”
Dr. Miyari shook his head, not even looking up from the corpse. “No. The needle marks are old, he’s a junky, but not last night he wasn’t. Or yesterday at all for that matter. I’ll need blood tests to be sure, but I still say it’s the same way as the rest, dead. No known cause, natural or otherwise.” The doctor cursed under his breath and sneered at the corpse. “No abrasions on the wrists or ankles. No suggestion of rape, this looks willing too.” He shook his head in disgust and stormed out the room muttering to himself. Detective Andersen understood his frustration, though the Doctor’s prejudices were starting to hit a little close to home. He couldn’t bring himself to be angry, though. All he could think of was the mysterious death - if it was another mysterious death, then Kokopelli would be here...
“Where is Kokopelli?”
Another blur of corridors, another series of exotic rooms full of interesting toys. All passed by without a glance from the detective, his eyes were blind until the door opened, and he entered one of the private rooms of the club. A small wooden stage took up one room, surrounded by alcoves covered by thick black velvet curtains. A metal pole stood in the middle of the stage, a shining counterpoint to the dark wood, and rich fabric. A few heavy velvet love seats were arranged to provide unrestricted views of the stage.
Kokopelli sat on the stage. Andersen stopped and stared. He wore tight jeans, faded and worn, several patches utterly frayed through revealing tantalising glimpses of rich, flawless dark skin surrounded by the nearly white denim. A white jean jacket hung open, revealing his tight muscled stomach, nearly hairless chest and nearly black nipples. There was a tattoo on his chest, a black silhouette of a man playing pipes. The arms of the jean jacket had been ripped off, leaving his slender shoulders and long limber arms bare.
“Eric, you do choose such... interesting places for us to meet.” He stood, all powerful oiled grace and stepped up onto the stage, leisurely circling the pole, idly trailing one finger around the shining metal.
Andersen swallowed. The buttocks of the jeans were nearly worn through. Taut flesh showed through several holes, the jeans were so tight the holes gaped. He wasn't wearing underwear. He forced his eyes higher.
“Another corpse on the ground, and you’re here again. This is stretching coincidence, Mr. Kokopelli.”
The dark man grinned, circling ever closer to the pole. “Well, I can hardly be blamed for us not meeting more often, you never come to visit me... I’m sure you have my address somewhere.”
Andersen managed a small smile, it helped hide the tension in his neck muscles as he fought to keep his head up, and his eyes on Kokopelli’s face. “I doubt I would have found you there, even if I had visited. You seem to spend very little time there, considering your ‘coincidental’ presence at every suspicious death in the city.”
Andersen cleared his throat, his voice becoming brisk and business like. He stifled down his anger at being drawn into playful banter with a suspected murder. With one of the bodies still laid above, as well for God’s sake! “Where were yo-”
“Oh please, Eric, spare me. I know the questions better than you do by now.” He grabbed the pole with both hands and pulled himself fiercely against it. “I came here, yesterday evening,” he slid slowly down the pole, pulling himself solidly against it, legs straddling it. “I had a drink, or two. Maybe three. I forget.” He pulled himself up, legs leaving the ground, feet pushing against the pole, arching his backside out until the rips widened with a thick, ripping sound. It seemed unnaturally loud in the silent room. Andersen swallowed. “I thought it best not to drive home,” he giggled, perched halfway up the pole, face pressed against the chrome, dark skin and emerald eyes reflected back beautifully. He slid one finger slowly into his mouth, face frowning in thought. He grinned and the finger came out, so very slowly. There was a pop as it finally came loose, a pop of suction broken. Andersen cleared his throat and tried to think. Kokopelli smiled slowly, full of hidden promise. “The manager kindly let me use a room for the night, where I slept, all alone again.” He threw back his head, and pushed away from the pole, upper body arcing in the dim light while his thighs tightly gripped the pole, muscles bunched through the tears in the fabric.
Andersen shut his eyes for a second trying to concentrate. His imagination took over. He snapped them open quickly and glared icily at the gorgeous young man hanging near the ceiling.
“How did you kill him?”
Kokopelli pulled himself to the very top of the pole, tucking himself into a tight ball, his back writhed sensuously as he caressed the cold metal. He lifted his head and pouted down at Andersen, “oh dear, must we return to fairy tales? Ok here’s a new one for you, are you sitting comfortably?” He turned his back to the pole, holding on with his arms above his head, spreading his legs wide. Andersen quickly looked down, colouring, several of the rips in Kokopelli’s ragged jeans were dangerously close to being illegal in public. “Well, vampires, the evil undead that feast on the innocent, well, virtually innocent.” He grinned and mimed biting and sucking on his arm, the sound of his mouth’s suction made Andersen’s face burn all the more. “Anyway, one of these dastardly creatures sneaked into this palace of luscious naked men and slaked his thirst on dear... oh, I forget his name, probably not important. No, wait you'd find little holes wouldn't you? Ah well, probably not vampires.”
Andersen glared up at the callous beauty displayed so wonderfully well on the pole. “He was a boy, a dancer. Why him? What‘s the motive?”
Kokopelli pouted and widened his eyes. “Why, how should I know, Eric?” He turned smoothly, twisting upside down until his legs tightly gripped the top of the pole. His body was drawn into one taut line. His hair dangled beneath him, unmasking his face, forcing Andersen to sit heavily in a love seat as his knees buckled.
If anything, the dark man‘s grin grew even wider at the detective‘s collapse. “If I had to guess, I’d say blackmail.”
“Blackmail?”
Kokopelli dropped to the floor, flipping with amazing agility to land on his feet. His jean jacket fell to the floor at his feet, somehow removed mid-leap. He grinned and stalked, bare-chested, to Andersen’s love seat. “Yes. See, the poor boy had his vices; expensive little vices.” He sat next to Andersen. “He had to do far more than strip for the customers to pay for it.” Kokopelli playfully twirled a hand in Andersen’s blond hair. The Detective pulled away, but the love seat left little room to run. “One of his customers was a councillor. You probably know him. Preaches about traditional ways and family values, sanctity of marriage, well, you know the party line, I’m sure.” He traced the finger from Andersen’s hair past his ear, a ticklingly light touch. Andersen froze, tense and breathless. “But it didn't pay the bills, poor boy. But he learned his tongue could earn him far more money than it was already...” he licked his lips, making them gleam wetly. He leaned closer until he was nearly whispering in Andersen’s ear. “The Councillor was quite upset. Career, wife, family, everything, killed by his little indiscretion. How tragic. And he with such a duty to the community.” His hand travelled to Andersen’s chin, rasping over the slight roughness of morning beard. “Of course, a little money, and the problem goes away, right?” He turned Andersen’s head, until they sat eye to eye, a bare inch between them.
“Of course, all you have to do now...” he leaned forwards, and their lips touched, wet and solid, and so incredibly warm. Andersen froze... and melted. He didn't remember moving, or kissing him back, he was lost in the hot rapturous sensation of their lips melded together. Revelling in the taste of lust and sex and under it all, power.
“...is prove it.”
Kokopelli stood quickly and walked out, a blur of dark skin and desperate longing. Andersen looked after him, lust, rage and need warring through him. Consuming him.
He didn’t know how long he sat there, fighting pointlessly against the image of Kokopelli’s body burned behind his eyes. he didn't move until the helpful police woman came into the room, after knocking unheeded for several minutes. He didn’t acknowledge her call. He didn't say a word. He didn't review the scene. He turned and left, tortured by the images behind his eyes and the feel of soft lips on his.
************************************
The dreams got worse. Sleep was a distant memory, dreams as vivid and powerful of these could never be thought of as sleep. Could never bring rest or peace. Only excitement, lust, and fiery, insatiable, need.
The days took their toll... This one case became his passion, his one and only activity, in and outside the job. His superiors praised his dedication and crowed to the media how they expected their Golden Boy to find results any time soon. His colleagues watched him with ever increasing worry.
And always, just out of sight, lurking round corners, seemingly reflected in every surface, Kokopelli smiled with seductive promise.
************************************
“Sir? Sir!”
“Wha- Koko- I’m sorry. What is it, Con- detective?” Andersen noticed for the first time that she’d advanced to plain-clothes. When has that happened?
“Detective Myren, sir. Elizabeth Myren.” Her look of pathetic hopefulness was lost on the distracted Andersen. A look that gave a powerful light to her pretty face. A look that died in the cold face of his indifference.
“Oh, sorry, detective Myren. What is it?”
“Another death, sir. Another hotel, though much cheaper. The All Night Ride.”
He was already up and running, at the word death, barely pausing to catch the address. Myren sprinted desperately too keep up, only managing to jump into his car as it pulled away at break neck speed. He never turned his head as she got in, never blinked as her car door closed. His eyes were fixed forwards with desperate determination. Myren gazed at him, utterly stunned by the cold fire in his eyes.
“S-sir? The victim was a police informant, same condition as the others, he...” she trailed off, was he even hearing her? She took a deep breath, swallowed and doggedly ploughed through her report. Andersen said nothing.
The car screeched to a halt before the near derelict hotel, throwing Myren half out of her seat. She blinked to clear her head, and a large hand seized the front of her blouse, jerking her painfully against the seat belt.
“Kokopelli. Where is he?” The words were growled, low and dangerous. His whole body vibrated with furious tension. “Where?!”
“R-Room 26...!” She gasped her words, and he was gone. Gone before the echoes died.
************************************
The door slammed open. Kokopelli looked up from the ragged hotel bed, fingers fussing idly with his jet black shirt. Something tall and strong raged into the room. Kokopelli was lifted off his feet, eyes widening in surprise, before Andersen’s lips pressed roughly, violently against his. He felt his lips bruise at the pressure of it, his body twitched in pain at the strength of the larger man's Passionate grip. Andersen clung desperately to him, his breath panting sharply as he forced his way into Kokopelli with lips, tongue, teeth and animal need.
Kokopelli writhed, his legs coming up and wrapping tightly around the detective’s waist, grinding himself into the taller man’s dress trousers, feeling him hard and firm and full, pressed through the stretched cloth. Andersen threw back his head and roared, hands tightening agonisingly around his tormentor. He lifted him, prising his legs free, and threw him across the room.
Kokopelli hit the wall so hard he bounced off it, landing in a crumpled, broken heap on the dirty floor. Andersen stood very still, trembling slightly with fists tightly clenched at his sides. His breath screamed like ragged bellows, his eyes were squeezed so tightly shut it hurt.
“What have you done to me?” He didn’t shout, the words hissed past his lips, squeezed out between the vast pressure of his control.
Kokopelli dragged himself to his knees using the bed, he looked up at the detective, watching him for an eternity. Then he smiled, a thin trickle of blood seeping from his lip. “I? Your libido is your own, Eric. Will beating me make your lust less...” he wiped blood off his lip with one finger, before licking it clean with long, sure strokes of a very red, wet tongue. “Or more?”
Andersen lashed out, his fist catching Kokopelli across the jaw, sending him sprawling. His head hit the wall heavily. With slow heavy steps, the detective pulled himself back to the far wall. He smashed his fist into the cheap plaster until the facade shattered, and his hand bled.
“Well, Eric, you do like it rough, don’t you?”
Andersen snapped, he threw himself across the bed, hands clawed, reaching. His eyes glazed over as his face twisted with rage and hate. And lust. Kokopelli grinned, Andersen's hands brushed him. He caught the detective’s wrists, twisting and rolling, the two went down in an intimate tangle of limbs and entwined bodies. Kokopelli lay on top of the Detective’s strong chest, staring into those ice blue eyes, their cold fire quenched with shock.
“Very rough it seems.”
“Damn you,” he spat, trying to get up. Kokopelli leaned into him, just a tiny amount of pressure, but the feel of their bodies pressed together sent sparks through the detective’s muscles, weakening them and tightening them with incapacitating overwhelming erotic burning. Kokopelli’s grin widened.
“Is this new policy for questioning, Eric? After all, I am a murderer, how many people have I killed now?”
Andersen gaped in shock, the sheer surprise of it chasing back his rage. Kokopelli laughed.
“Yes, I confess. Of course, given the circumstances my confession would never stand up in court. Abused witness and all that.” He tapped Andersen’s nose with a long finger and a playful grin. Andersen growled.
“Damn you. Damn you! This isn't a bloody game! How many people have you killed?! And you’re laughing?! How? How?! How did they die, damn it, you owe me that much at least!”
Kokopelli tilted his head thoughtfully, his smile thoughtful. “It would add new depth to the game... You see, I’m a terrible demon from Hell, who drains people’s souls for food... Oops, that’s another fairy tale. You don’t believe in them do you?”
“DAMN YOU!” Andersen roared to his feet, throwing Kokopelli clear. The man flipped in mid air, laughing wildly. He landed lightly on the bed, rolled, and came to his feet lightly by the door.
“Ah, don’t you like that story? Ah well, I’ll tell you a new one at the next murder. See you soon Eric!”
Again Andersen roared in rage, dragging the bed out of his way, smashing a table to splinters as he ran uncaring to the door. Kokopelli was gone. He screamed his fury to the ceiling, lashing out in wild abandon at anything in his path.
“Sir?!” She rushed into the room, desperately reaching for him, terrified by the force of his anger. He pushed her roughly aside, not even seeing her, not even hearing her fall heavily on the floor.
“Kokopelli! I will have you! I swear it!” He raged out of the room without a backward glance for the fallen detective. He didn’t see her struggle to her feet in pain. Didn’t see the grief in her eyes. Didn't see the tears on her face.
************************************
He sat in his chair, staring for the hundredth time at the useless case files. An empty glass lay near his hand. He wanted to refill it, but knew if he moved he'd see Kokopelli’s image in the bottle, see him reflected in the windows, see him peaking from under tables. Emerald green eyes stared at him from every angle, a mocking, seductive grin flashed behind his eyes, and rolling laughter echoed through his empty flat. He couldn’t move, he couldn't speak, he couldn’t see. He sat, paralysed by terror at the power of his need. A prisoner in his own home to a lust that would not be denied.
A hand touched his shoulder. He closed his eyes, how many times had he felt the touch of a phantom hand, the press of an invisible body, the kiss of...
“Eric...”
He froze... his imagination. He was going mad. He’d been driven mad by his own lust.
“Eric...” There was a rustle of cloth. He opened his eyes to see a black shirt land on the table, covering the case files...
“Eric...” A pair of ragged jeans, more holes than cloth, landed on the shirt.
“Eric...” Hands spilled over his shoulder, down his chest. They toyed, artfully with the buttons of his shirt, dark, long fingers teasing them open, caressing the pale, muscular flesh beneath.
Andersen turned. Kokopelli stood their, naked and more beautiful than anything that had ever lived. His body was smooth and flawless, not a mark to ruin that perfect skin, even the black tattoo seemed a part of him. No tan lines, he was pure solid dark brown without a break, form the routes of his jet black hair, down the taut swell of his pectorals, over the rippled plain of a perfectly toned stomach, all the way down. He was dusted lightly, so very gently, with fine strands of dark hair, outlining his nearly black nipples in sharp relief, trailing a line down his stomach to his groin. He was stretched out, long, thick and so very perfect, lightly outlined by hair as black as that on his head. Andersen’s rage fell away. Even his lust reeled backwards. It was almost sacrilegious to think of something this beautiful as an object of lust. This body was art, to be admired, marvelled at, and to move you near to tears. He watched with wild, child-like eyes and worshipped the wonder before him. Kokopelli smiled, fingers playing lightly across Andersen’s muscular chest.
“Come to me, Eric.”
Andersen was already standing, already reaching for the other man before Kokopelli had finished speaking. He grabbed the naked man, desperately trying to be gentle, but driven by a deeper desperation to touch and stroke every part of him in a near frenzy of lust and helpless need. His large, strong pale hands roved over the dark skin, squeezed firm muscles, pinched the tight flesh of Kokopelli’s behind, forcing their fingers between his taut cheeks. His lips trailed across Kokopelli’s neck, down his shoulder, across his chest. He ground their bodies tightly together, revelling in the feel of their bare torsos sliding smoothly over each other, panting as their hard cocks strained against the thin tented cloth of his trousers. He groaned, pulling them together so hard that Kokopelli gasped in pain.
But something rose within him. A shadow of the old anger, the policeman’s stubbornness. It forced him to stand straight, forced him to ignore Kokopelli’s clever hands unzipping his trousers, forced him to ignore the feel of their skin pressed together.
“How did you kill them?” The words were weak, quiet and breathy.
Kokopelli blinked in shock. He tried to step back, but was held prisoner in Andersen’s shaking hands. For a minute, his smile faded. But not for long, never for long...
“Eric, you wound me! Ah, I suppose, I did promise to tell you a new story at the next murder, didn’t I?” He pushed Andersen, rocking him backwards onto the coffee table, before he could answer. Kokopelli, pulled Andersen’s trousers down while the detective was still regaining his balance. Andersen was much more heavily muscled than Kokopelli, incredibly strong, and so very pale, with a fine blanket of nearly invisibly blond hairs that stirred beneath his touch. “There are creatures who could be said to be sex given form. History has called them many things, Incubi, Succubae, Sirens, even muses. Satyrs, nymphs, and any number of a hundred gods. The name doesn't matter. These beings live on sex, feed on it, on people’s lust. People gave up their sex, their need willingly, as worship for their gods. It was perfect. It was wonderful. It was terrible.” With surprising strength, he ripped away the last of Andersen’s clothing, the thin white underwear tearing away with a sound like flesh tearing. Andersen’s cock jerked free of its prison, rising high, almost scarily large, a white shaft that filled Kokopelli’s hands.
“Fear the wrath of these creatures of lust, for their appetite is insatiable. No-one can satisfy their hunger. When you lay with one of these beings, you place your life in their hands, all you have is trust that they won’t feed until there is no life left in you. Trust them not to kill you.” He leaned forwards and kissed Andersen, so softly, so tenderly, that it chased away the lust, even the riotous taste of Kokopelli’s lips. There was something deeper behind that kiss, far stronger than mere physical desire.
“If you don’t want them to anyway, it is such a wonderful way to die...” He leaned slowly back from Andersen’s face, sliding slowly down his body. He grinned, mockingly.
“But then, that’s another fairy tale. And you don’t believe in fairy tales.” His lips slid over Andersen’s hard cock, and all thought shattered. Kokopelli lowered his head down the incredible lengthy of the detective, opening his throat in a near futile attempt to take the full stretch of him. Andersen collapsed on the table, breath leaving him in a moaning gasping rush. His voice climbed in octaves and volume as Kokopelli’s head moved over his groin, moved so slowly, but so very hard and so perfectly skilled. Kokopelli’s tongue licked and stroked, examining intimately every inch of Andersen’s sex.
Andersen closed his eyes, he couldn’t watch this beautiful man suck him, it was too much, it was too intense. It felt so good it was almost painful, he wanted to scream for it to stop, but he wanted it to go on to ever, even if it killed him.
Kokopelli built up his speed, increased his strength ever more, ever harder. Andersen was moaning constantly now, a stream of soft exclamations of sheer ecstasy escaped his lips, half whispered entreaties mangled by the sheer intensity of the sensation.
Then it stopped. The mouth left him. Andersen reared up, howling his need, clawing blindly at the empty air around his groin. His face contorted, near tears. He couldn’t! Not now, surely?!
But Kokopelli hadn't left. He knelt on the table, straddling Andersen’s legs, a wicked grin on his face and a fierce burn in his eyes. He saw Andersen’s face and knew he had him. He pushed Andersen back down onto the table, one hand on that strong chest, slightly dewed with sweat, and Andersen was back on his back, looking up with pleading eyes at Kokopelli’s predatory grin.
Kokopelli walked his way up Andersen’s body. Up his legs, up his thighs. He straddled Andersen’s groin, raising up on his knees until he was high enough to put himself directly over the tower of Andersen’s painfully hard cock.
He stared down at Andersen. Flaming emerald eyes met icy blue. The moment stretched, the tension unbearable as the air thrummed with its power. Andersen clenched his fists, his breathing reaching near hyperventilation levels. Kokopelli trembled ever so slightly on top of the giant blond man.
Then he lowered himself. He dropped, fast and sharp, stretching himself open as he impaled himself on the massive spear of Andersen’s shaft. He screamed out in pain, cried in ecstasy as he took the full length of Andersen in him, not pausing, not easing it in, virtually no preparation. He took him in and howled, but the heat never once died in his eyes, and the grin never faded from his face. Andersen arched his back, whole body tensing at the sudden plunge into Kokopelli’s incredibly hot body, heat enough to near burn, so tight it nearly hurt, but it felt so incredibly good, better than anything ever could be, beyond anything he could imagine.
Andersen was already lost in a world where sensations ruled and his nerves burned with an unspeakable passion before Kokopelli began to move. When the dark man raised his hips up, high enough nearly to pull fully away from the detective, before plunging down with just as much force as before, Andersen yelled so loudly that his voice broke. He shouted himself hoarse as Kokopelli found his rhythm, the rhythm of pounding flesh, beating hearts and pumping blood. He cried out feelings too intense for silence, but too wild, too primal for anything as civilised as words to ever encompass.
Kokopelli’s legs strained, he panted with effort and with the building pressure in his groin, deep inside him, depths no human could ever touch, depths somehow reached by Andersen’s massive organ. He strained and panted as his tempo increased, as the rhythm grew faster, stronger harder. He plunged on and on, the room hazing out as his vision blurred, darkening as his breath came in ever more ragged gasps. He felt Andersen's body tighten under him, felt his writhing grow so strong he had to reach down and desperately grip the blond mans hips not to be thrown clear.
Andersen had gone beyond seeing, beyond knowing, beyond anything but a shining sea on incredibly pleasure beyond endurance. He was no longer aware of his body, not even of Kokopelli’s near blurring form pounding on top of him, drawing still deeper reserves of glorious pleasure from the depths of his soul. It was too much, but he wanted it all! With one last searing explosion he lost everything, mind body and soul, as the wave of orgasm took him again, and again and again, so intense he couldn't even scream, his mouth gaped, muscles tensed so hard they knotted into agonising cramps, pain unnoticed as Andersen’s mind was blasted by waves upon waves of powerful climax. He never even heard Kokopelli’s cries as his orgasm followed the detective’s. Never saw him throw back that glorious head and shout out his blessings and joys. Never felt the hot rush of the dark man’s come across his chest. It was too much, darkness swooped in, consciousness fled.
************************************
Kokopelli finished his drink. The detective has had a well stocked drink cabinet indeed. He put the glass down next to Andersen’s head and grinned into his staring eyes. Taking a brief moment to review the files Andersen had spread over the table. “You were doing well, Eric, very well. Shame incubi don’t have DNA, well, not any you can detect. Finger prints are bit of a none starter too.” He absently examined the lines of his hands, far fainter and softer than human hands. “Can’t fault you for effort though. Just one problem.” He re-filled the glass and toasted the detective, tracing the line of that strong jaw. The flesh was cold.
“You really should have believed in fairy tales.” He threw back his head and laughed tossing back the last of the drink.
The incubus gathered his clothes in one hand, and let the glass drop to the floor. With lithe grace he swayed, naked out of the flat, to the one he'd rented next door, still chuckling under his breath.
************************************
Andersen lay, cold and stiff, staring with the unseeing eyes of death at his ceiling. He didn’t see Detective Elizabeth Myren come to his flat. Didn’t hear her knock on his door. Didn’t hear her come in searching for her. He didn't see her find his body.
Only one saw the tears fall down her cheeks. Only one person heard her anguished cries. Only one man saw the love in her eyes.
And he laughed, green eyes burning in the morning light.