Dance With A Man

By Tiriel

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Ed/Bud

Warnings: language, violence

Feedback of any sort always welcome.

Disclaimer: The characters of this story don't belong to me...they came from the mind of James Ellroy, then got some modifications for the film from the minds of Curtis Hanson and Brian Helgeland...I promise to take care of them and put them back when I'm done. Please don't sue me, all I have are student loans.

Spoilers: Post-film. Spoilers. Some influence from the novel.

Summary: Second in the Victory Trilogy. Just under a year later.

Special thanks to Zoe Rayne and Aithine, for their help with this.

-------------------------------

Dance With A Man

by Tiriel

Papers had been left on the table in Bud's apartment. A note in Ed's even handwriting. A file folder underneath.

"A whole year, and we haven't killed each other. Who would've thought? Hell, who would've thought you and me in the first place? Here's something I've been working on for a while now. The timing probably makes it feel like some kind of anniversary gift, but it's not. I thought you might want to be alone when you read it. After I'm done with the mayor's party, I'll stop by."

Bud set the note aside and looked at the folder. It was labeled simply "Rollo Tomasi." The one who gets away with it. The name Ed had given to the man who'd killed his father. The name that had exposed Jack Vincennes' killer, that had stalled Dudley long enough for Bud to stab him and Ed to get the drop on him. The name had saved both their lives. What could it have to do with this project of Ed's now? Only one way to find out. He sat down and opened the file.

Copies of police records, more than ten years old. A woman beaten to death in North Carolina. A new neighbor, who happened to be a cop, had come home and seen the killer, the woman's husband, leaving with her blood still on his hands. He'd stopped the husband, held him at gunpoint, called for backup. Sometimes making a collar boils down to circumstance and coincidence.

Bud wasn't sure why Ed had given him the file until he turned to the next page and saw his father's face. Older, uglier, but the man in the mug shot was unquestionably his father. Stomach twisting in disgust, he dropped the papers onto the table and stood up.

Pacing quickly around the room, hands on his head. "Son of a bitch did it again. Son of a bitch did it again. Son of a bitch did it again." Over and over, trying to block out the image. Twelve years old, tied to the radiator, wrists bloody from trying to break free, screaming "No! No! Momma!" and then she was gone and he stared at her and stared at her, couldn't stop looking at her until he passed out or something and then the truant officer was saying "Oh my God." and retching at the smell, blood dried everywhere.

Ed hadn't enclosed the pictures that were surely part of the original report, but Bud couldn't help seeing them. The woman, broken and bloody. The boy, tied to the radiator and shaking. His father, long gone before they were found. A bloodstained tire iron in the corner.

He shook his head to clear out the images. No. This time there was no child. This time, his father had been caught. He sat back down and turned to the next page. Harold Black. Harold White's less than creative alias. Sentenced to prison, killed in a fight there eight years ago. Fingerprint records to confirm what he already knew. Ed had been thorough. The bastard was dead. He'd killed again, at least once, but he was dead.

All the time Bud had spent looking for him before letting the search slide. He wondered what kind of favors Ed had called in to get this. He wondered how many states he'd checked before getting around to North Carolina. Rollo Tomasi. He'd never used the name for Harold White, but that's what he'd been. The one who gets away with it. But not anymore. Not anymore.

Relief. Anger. Pain. Hate. He stripped off his jacket and shirt, pulled off his shoes and socks, and went into the back room, to the punching bag Ed had insisted he'd buy. "So you have something to hit other than me," he'd said with that funny almost-smile that meant he was trying to make a joke, "and it'll be easier on your furniture, too."

He'd been at the bag long enough to break a good sweat when it happened. He hit the bag and the image of his hand hitting Lynn flashed past. Again, and he hit Ed in the records room. Again, and he hit Ed at the Victory. He stopped, flooded with images of himself, face twisted in rage so much like his father's, hitting countless wifebeaters and thugs. Hitting Lynn. Hitting Ed. A monster, just like his father. He stepped back from the bag, revolted.

"I'm just like him. Goddamn it, I'm just like him."

"No, you're not." Ed's voice from behind him.

"I am," he said, without turning around.

"Bullshit." Closer now, soft but emphatic.

"Goddamn it, I am! I hit you, I hit Lynn, I hit suspects. I am just like him. That son of a bitch." He turned around.

"You aren't, Bud. You were drunk that night at the Victory. At the station that time you were pushed into it by Dudley. He wanted you to kill me."

"And he knew I would if he pushed the right buttons."

"But you didn't. You saved my life that night. Took three bullets doing it. And I saw how terrible you felt after you hit Lynn. You hated yourself. As for the suspects, it was encouraged. It was part of the job. And in the whole year we've spent together," Ed stepped closer, "you haven't hurt me once. Not since that first night at the Victory when you were drunk and we were both so confused." He reached out and took Bud into his arms. "You're not like him."

Bud let Ed hold him. "I wanted to fuckin' kill him." He heard the echo of a twelve-year-old boy in his voice.

"I know."

"I can't decide if I'm glad he's dead or mad that somebody else got to the son of a bitch first."

"I know. But you wouldn't have killed him. You would have brought him in. You're a good person, Bud. He wasn't. You are."

He wasn't sure he believed that, but Ed did. And Ed was almost never wrong. For now, that was enough. They stood in silence for a while, then Bud pulled back a little. "So, how was the mayor's fancy party?" A deliberate change of subject, but he knew Ed would let it slide.

"All politics. Boring. You would've hated it."

"Probably, but I like the monkey suit." Bud ran a hand down Ed's back and leaned in closer to nibble at his neck.

"Do you?" He could tell just from Ed's voice that he was getting hard. "I'll have to wear it more often."

"Absolutely." Bud spoke softly into Ed's ear. "I bet the women were all over you. Any of those politicians try to fix you up with their daughters tonight?" He nipped at Ed's earlobe.

"Not tonight, no." A soft moan. "Hardly even had to dance with anyone. And I had some really boring stories ready to chase them off with, too. Maybe next time."

"Poor thing. I'll dance with you." Both hands on Ed's ass now. "And you won't even have to tell any of those boring stories." He began to move gently, pulling Ed along.

"Music?"

"Who needs it?" He pulled Ed closer, their erections brushing together through their pants as they swayed in place, arms around each other.

Bud stayed silent for a moment, enjoying the sensation of his lover's body against his before he asked. "So, when did you come in? I didn't hear you."

"I'm not surprised. You seemed pretty involved in your workout. I wasn't waiting too long. I figured I'd wait until you were done to talk to you."

"Thank you." He knew that Ed would understand that he was referring to the file.

"You're welcome."

"I wish I could do the same for you. Find the real Rollo. I would, if there were any way." He felt the twitch of Ed's cheek as his jaw clenched, knew that, if he looked, he'd see that forked vein popping out in the middle of his forehead.

"I know you would." Ed moved one hand up under the back of Bud's undershirt. "So if we're dancing, who's leading?" Ed's turn for a change of subject. Bud let it slide.

"You're dressed for it."

"All right, then." Ed took Bud's hand and they shifted into a more formal dance position. As Ed tried to dip him, they got off-balance and tumbled to the floor, landing on their backs, side by side.

"No wonder you didn't have to dance much tonight."

Ed laughed. "I'll have you know that I have a reputation as a very good dancer."

"Well, I know you're good at the horizontal mambo." Bud skimmed a hand down Ed's body, stopping at his waist. "Stay here tonight?"

"You know I will. Let's take this to bed."

"And I thought you were so hot for me that you'd want to go for it right here on the floor. Political shindigs making you soft, Exley?"

Ed rolled on top of Bud, gently pinning his arms down. "Soft, White?" He shifted his hips. "If you want it here, on the hard," he punctuated the word with another thrust of his hips against Bud's, "floor, I'm ready." His breath was hot as he leaned in for a long kiss.

When they came up for air, Ed didn't give him the chance to respond. He slid down Bud's body, expertly opened the fly of his pants, and reached inside to free Bud's aching cock.

Ed ran his tongue along the length of Bud's erection. Bud's entire body jerked. "Shit," he breathed as his fingers grasped for purchase on the hardwood floor. Ed took just the head into his mouth, and Bud thought he was going to lose it right then. "Okay, okay. Bed. Now." As an afterthought, "Please."

But apparently Ed had changed his mind. A soft chuckle escaped his lips and ran a shiver down the length of Bud's cock and through his body. He lifted his head. "You had your chance. Too late now." He put his mouth back to work.

Bud wasn't about to protest. One hand found and gripped Ed's shoulder, the other squeezed his own thigh. His breath came in short bursts as one of the most famous mouths in the LAPD was put to a far better use than talking and a warm hand caressed his balls. He could feel himself teetering on the brink of coming. He closed his eyes and a phrase from Ed's note leapt into his mind. "A whole year." Then a buzz went up his spine and he felt his back arch as he came.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Ed standing over him, dashingly handsome in his now-disheveled formal wear, a self-satisfied smile on his face. Ed undid his tie, then held out a hand to help him up. "Now we can go to bed."

Bud took his hand, stood, and kissed him hard. He could taste himself in Ed's mouth. "Fair's fair," he thought, enjoying the way Ed's body melted into his. He slipped a hand between them to caress Ed's rigid cock through his pants. When he pulled back, he saw the familiar wildness in Ed's eyes that meant his control was wearing thin. "Come on," he said, and walked toward the bedroom. Ed followed.

When they were both standing next to the bed, Bud pulled off his own undershirt and then pushed Ed's jacket off of his shoulders. They were face to face now, foreheads leaning together, sharing the same air. He knew that Ed would struggle with the small buttons of his dress shirt at a moment like this, so Bud continued to undress him while Ed's hands roamed his body. Once Ed's chest was bare, he rubbed against Bud, muscle against muscle, their hard nipples brushing together.

Bud kissed along Ed's jawline until he saw a fresh bruise in the hollow of his shoulder and knew where it must have come from. A few minutes before, on the floor, he'd gripped Ed's shoulder hard. Too hard. "You're just like him," said his own voice in the back of his mind, but he pushed it aside and pulled Ed with him as he lay down on the bed. "I'm not like him. He would never have done this," he thought, and stopped moving altogether.

"What is it?" Ed, observant as always, hadn't missed his sudden distress.

"Nothing," he said, knowing that he wouldn't be allowed a change of subject this time.

Ed sat up and waited.

Bud shook his head, ran a hand over his face, and sat up. "I was thinking about him again. The old man. I always wanted to find him, and I always wanted to be different from him. I just wondered all of a sudden--I thought that maybe..." He found that he couldn't continue.

"That maybe that's why you're with me? That if you hit me, at least I can fight back, where a woman--where Lynn--couldn't? Because being with me, with a man, makes you different from him?"

"Yeah." He looked down for a moment, then back up at Ed's eyes. "If that's true, then I'm using you and I'm a coward."

Ed was silent for a while. There was something different in his voice when he said, "So, is it?"

"I don't know." Bud heard a break in his own voice.

"I'll go." Ed turned away.

"Stay," Bud said, reaching out to place a hand on Ed's back. "Unless you'd rather go."

"I'll stay if you want me to."

"But what do you want? Christ, listen to us. I'm sorry, Ed."

"Don't be. I know a little something about living with ghosts."

"Yeah, I guess you do." Bud pulled his hand back.

"So, now what?"

Ed's words triggered another flash of memory. The Victory, almost a year ago. Lying side by side in the bed after their second fuck, a word that had already seemed too ugly for what had just happened, Ed had asked that same question. Bud hadn't known how to answer him then, either, not right away. Hard to believe that was almost a year ago. And maybe that was it.

"I'll go." Ed stood up.

"No, wait." Bud looked at Ed's back, wishing he could see his eyes. "Tomorrow it's a year since that night at the Victory."

"I know," Ed said, and turned around. Then, when Bud didn't continue, "And?"

"And that's the thing I can't figure. Why?"

Ed sat back down on the edge of the bed. "If you are a coward, if you are" his voice showed distaste at the word, "*using* me, then why stay with me for a year? Is that what you mean?"

"Yeah. If it's just sex, well, that's available everywhere. If it's just because I'm afraid of hurting whoever I'm with, then why stay with anyone, much less for a year? And if it's just because I want to be different from him, then, again, why? Why didn't I let you leave just now, or a year ago at the Victory?"

Ed looked at him with a level gaze. "I think you know."

And of course he did. He didn't let Ed leave because he didn't want him to. Ever. He wanted it to be like this, the two of them talking in his bedroom, barefoot and barechested, forever. Comfortable and together.

"Could you have gone back? To your orderly little world where you can control everything?"

"I would have tried. But I don't think it would have worked very well."

"So you're stuck with me then." He'd always assumed that this was a more or less permanent arrangement, but they'd never really talked about it.

"Yes, I am." Ed touched his hand to the scars on Bud's shoulder, chest, and cheek. He smiled that funny almost-smile. "Besides, you're still two bullets up on me. And I have no intention of ever being shot again. So you're stuck with me, too. Think you can handle that?"

"I can handle a lot of things." Bud's tone was suggestive.

"Can you? Care to show me?"

"Come closer and I will."

Ed moved closer, and they kissed. For a moment, it felt kind of like a first kiss--tentative and gentle, but that quickly changed. They lay down together, legs tangled, hands scrambling at each others' pants. Finally, through an odd mix of competition, cooperation, luck, and skill, they managed to add two sets of pants and underwear to the pile of clothing on the floor.

Bud pulled Ed tight against him and rolled onto his back. "Do it."

"No." Ed rolled over, pulling Bud along. "You do it. You won't hurt me. You love me."

It was that voice, the one that meant that Ed was telling a real and important truth. He'd first heard it after their fight in the records room. He'd been looking at Ed from the wrong end of his own gun, and Ed had used that voice and told him about Dudley. It was like magic, the way that voice made him believe.

The fear he hadn't even recognized melted away. He took his time preparing Ed, placing soft kisses on his stomach and thighs, until Ed's eyes were wild again and his breathing was rough. Then with one long shuddering thrust he buried himself in Ed's ass. His first movements were slow. Then he found himself thinking of Ed's words from just a moment ago, and of his own from a year ago, when Ed had been the one with doubts, and the desire he'd felt earlier on the floor returned in full force. The full awareness of the fact that they'd been together for a year and planned to be together for many more somehow made the feeling even more intense, and he picked up the pace, eager to see Ed's face when he came.

So many of Ed's emotions were expressed in just the movements of his eyes and his jaw, visible only to the practiced eye, but in orgasm all of his barriers came down. When they were alone together, Ed was more at ease, more relaxed, but when he came, he seemed almost like a different man--one who hadn't killed, who hadn't faced death, who'd never learned to play political games, who'd never lost his parents. Bud wondered if he looked the same way. Funny how you can go along for months, years even, without really thinking about things, and then all of a sudden one thing gets you started and everything falls into place in a whole new way. That was how things were between them--had been from that first moment when they started working together on the Nite Owl case--everything fell into place when they were together.

Then his focus snapped back to the here and now, where Ed's muscles were tightening on his cock and their breathing rasped in near-unison. A small shift in the angle of his thrusts and there it was, the look he'd been waiting for. "Damn, I love this man," he thought, and some combination of the thought and the clenching of Ed's muscles brought him to his own release.

He held on to Ed's hips until the last pulses of pleasure had passed, and then he gently released his grip, allowing his cock to slide out. Ed groaned softly at the loss. He stretched out on his stomach next to Ed. "Next time it's your place. Do you know how many times I've changed my sheets this week?"

"Seeing as I've helped you change them every time, I could probably figure it out. We were at my place most of last week. But I promise that tomorrow we'll sleep somewhere else." There was a hint of amusement in his voice.

Bud propped himself up on one elbow. "Hey, I know we've never been much for romance, but how about we do something special tomorrow night?"

"Like what?"

"Like spend some time at the Victory without either of us bleeding."

"Well, you can call, but I think you'll find that Room 6 is already booked." Ed was clearly trying not to smile and was failing miserably.

"Really? Anyone I know?" Bud turned onto his side and put an arm across Ed's chest.

"Don't think so. Some guy who's been planning a night of wild sex to celebrate his anniversary." Ed was now trying not to laugh, and failing miserably at that, too.

Bud leaned in and kissed him. "Hope he reserved the nearby rooms, too. Might get pretty loud. Might wake the neighbors."

"You know, you just might kill me after all."

"Yeah, but I don't think dying in bed is what they meant."

The End.

--------------------

Feedback ever-so-welcome