Way Ahead Of You

WAY AHEAD OF YOU
By Serin
Written for Harry's birthday, 2001. :)
Set after the discovery of Earle's first Twin Peaks victim, the hitchhiker, and before Albert's final return in the series.
This is rated NC-17, kids, for dirty, filthy, dirty talk. ;>

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Saturday night, early Sunday morning. Harry lay in bed staring at his ceiling. Insomnia was not a problem he had ever in his life had to deal with, but fuzzy-headed sleeplessness was becoming a familiar condition lately. When the phone rang, he was grateful for the distraction.

"Sheriff Truman."

"Where the hell is everybody?" The caller didn't bother to identify himself, assuming that Harry would know who he was, and of course, Harry did.

"Albert, do you know what time it is?"

"You weren't *sleeping,* were you? I called the station, but I couldn't make contact with any sentient being there. I can't find Cooper, he's not at the hotel."

Harry thought about that. He had, with considerable reservations, just asked Cooper to check up on Josie for him. Knowing Cooper, he was already all over it, but Harry didn't want to mention any of this to Albert, in spite of having apparently been upgraded to sentient.

"Are you still at the lab?" he asked.

"No, I'm drinking Cointreau margaritas in a Jacuzzi with a troupe of exotic dancers," Albert said, "I just thought you'd like to know."

Albert was clearly on his high horse tonight. His tight smoky voice had the peculiar vibrant edge, the be-boppy cadence that Harry recognized, on just under three weeks acquaintance, as signaling that his unpredictable temperament was on the upswing. The voice alone was enough to bring Albert's unsettling presence into the room, causing a tangle of admiration, amusement and aggravation to stir uneasily in Harry's mind. And that wasn't the only thing that was stirring, he observed, silently cursing the mental image of a Jacuzzi full of strippers. Damn, he thought. Josie needs to get back soon.

"There's been a murder here," he said, struggling to get his mind on business, "Coop thinks..."

"Harry, I'm way ahead of you. As usual. I have some information on Earle that you guys need to be aware of. He's...Hold on a minute." Harry heard him giving muffled orders to someone or something. As the minute stretched, his erection became more insistent, and idly, unthinkingly, he began to fondle it a little with his left hand while he waited.

"What was I saying?"

"Something about strippers and a hot tub."

"The strippers say, 'hi.'" Albert improvised, a congenial little note of humor and congratulation creeping into his voice, "They asked me if you were cute. I told them you were beautiful but dumb. Now they think you should come over."

"I'm on my way." To his consternation, Albert's return to the conversation was doing nothing to dampen his arousal. In fact, the voice seemed to be tickling some nerve center in Harry's brain, causing his hand to tighten its grip on his cock. Be honest, he told himself, You're curious about him. You always have been.

"Seriously, I think I should come down there." Albert began talking about Windom Earle's movements again. It didn't matter. It made no difference what he talked about, as long as he kept talking. This is a really, really bad idea, Harry thought as he stroked himself. But then, so was clocking him, and it didn't stop me then.

"...not that I'm expecting to find much. Earle may be crazy but he's not sloppy." A pause. "Unless, of course, you'd really rather just say to hell with it all and come get wet and naked with me and my friends."

Harry's cock jumped in his hand like a frog. He froze, and felt his erection protest the lack of stimulation. "Uh, are you alone there?" he asked reflexively.

"It's just me and the strippers. And now you. You just walked in, naked, right, with a hard-on that could drill holes in sheet metal. You kneel at the edge of tub, and your cock is demanding attention. Obviously, somebody has to do something about it...so the first question is, should it be me or one of the girls?"

Harry listened, shocked, titillated, teetering on the edge of total surrender to fantasy.

"Harry? Me, or one of the girls?"

Harry closed his eyes as if the answer was imprinted on his eyelids. It was.

"You." he said, in his straightforward manner.

"All right. I get out of the tub and kneel beside you."

"What do the strippers have to say about that?" Harry asked, with a touch of wryness, holding onto that edge with metaphorical fingernails even as the hand that resumed stroking his erection became the other man's.

"Oh, the strippers are cool. In fact, they love you, Harry. Their eyes are all over you. When they look at my hand moving on your cock, their eyes get hot and their mouths open."

With a final flicker of trepidation, Harry let go of the edge and plummeted.

"They're panting with excitement, their breasts shivering at the surface of the water. With one hand you reach into the tub and fondle the breasts of the nearest one. Her head falls back and she moans a little."

"Uhn."

"Uh-huh. Like that."

"Albert," Harry said, figuring he was in it now, "Are you going to do anything else? You know, while you're there."

"You look like you want me to, with your legs spread like that. Harry. You want me to pound your ass while these babes watch, don't you?"

A flush of heat through his body answered before he did. "Yes."

"And so do they."

"Yes." Still gripping himself in his left hand, Harry rolled partially onto his side, tucked the phone under his ear, and threw his knee over a pillow so that he could reach behind himself.

"In the interest of momentum, should I skip the preliminaries?"

Harry must have replied something like, "God. Yes. Fuck me." Because Albert went on, "I *am* fucking you. I'm fucking you so hard you have to grip the edge of the tub with both hands."

Harry's thrusts into the hand that grasped him became erratic, then steadied, in time with the urgent strokes inside his body.

"The woman you were touching is so turned on, she begins touching herself. They all do...they're running their hands over themselves, each other. You're the hottest thing they've ever seen, this big gorgeous guy getting well and truly fucked, and loving it, because it is so fucking good, that great big motherfucker of yours is going to go off like a fire hose at any second."

"It's...I'm going to..."

"Come. Now."

He did. He came, and the man came inside of him, and some of the women came too; their screams of pleasure shot through his mind like lightning, like the hot spunk shooting out of his cock, come spilling out of him like the words he seldom used spilling out of his mouth.

Then, or some time later, he was lying in his bed, spent and sticky. He pushed himself up and looked down at the phone receiver, coiled like a black snake on the pillow. It was silent, but Harry figured the odds that he had imagined the whole thing were unfortunately very small. He picked it up.

"Albert?"

"Hm?"

"You, um...what..."

"Way ahead of you, Harry. Way, *way* ahead."

Harry inhaled deeply and then let it out with a sigh that was almost a laugh. "I really never know what hit me, with you," he admitted.

"I'll bet you're able to sleep now, anyway," Albert said smugly. "I'll tell you about Earle when I get there."

And he hung up.

Harry pulled the receiver away from his ear and stared at it again. Then he replaced it in the cradle and rolled over, a deep voluptuous sleep pulling him down. He *is* always way ahead of me, he thought, smiling. And damn, but that's not such a bad thing.

The End

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Serin

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