The Elegant Corpse

The lights were still on when Roger drove up to the gate.He opened the garage and parked the car in thinking he had to talk to Sean about how he was always waiting for him to come home.The same habit Patrick used to have.Guilt would keep Roger from working if he knew someone was waiting for him.

He actually compared Sean with Patrick, and Roger was stunned for a moment with the key in his hand before getting out of the car and entering the house.Except for the living room, the other rooms were all dark. Sean sat on the floor, reading a book by the light of a desk lamp, with six beer bottles beside him.

"You shouldn't have waited so late," Roger said, and he frowned when he saw the access control system, "and I told you, the door must be unlocked after entering the house."

"Okay, Mom." Sean said, saluting Roger with the bottle.

Roger undid his tie and stepped into the living room. "What book are you reading?"

Sean held up the book, and Roger paused. "Is this Patrick's...?"

"Hmm, I took it from that altar." Sean said vaguely.Roger took away the six wine bottles on the ground and found that they were all empty.

"You're drunk," he said.

Sean giggled.

God. "Get up, wash up and go to sleep," Roger said.Sean didn't move when he heard the words, Roger had to grab his arm and lift him up to stand still.Sean patted him with a book and said, "Take it easy, take it easy, what are you being overbearing. I'll do it myself..."

He stumbled towards the bathroom, stopping halfway to carefully put the book down. "This is a good book." He stared at his owl-like round eyes and nodded like a pedant.

Why do I always feel frustrated when facing Sean?Roger thought, and followed the bathroom.The shower was turned on to the max and the mist filled the room.Sean stood there, swiveling under the jet as the water poured down his creamy skin, the red hairs at the base of his pale cock darkened by the water, slender in its non-erect state, But the length is considerable.There was always something wrong with this picture, Roger's mind reminded himself, and then he realized that the shower door was only half closed, splashing water, and the tiled floor outside was a mess.

Roger hurried over and turned off the water.Sean's eyes were wide, his hair was hanging wet, his dark eyebrows raised in shock.

"What's wrong? Trying to sober me up," he said, "Can you pass me the towel?"

Roger silently stuffed the towel into Sean's hand, and went out angrily.

"Hey!" Sean yelled, stepped on the water on the ground, followed into the bedroom without thinking, and wet the Berber carpet. "What are you mad about?"

"Nothing." Roger said and turned away.

"Hey! Come on!" Sean said, following him into the living room. "Don't ignore me like that!" Sean shouted, his voice a little too loud for the neighbors at this point in time.

Roger deliberately avoided looking at the naked body standing in front of him so as not to be distracted. "Keep down, and don't run around naked."

"I don't want to keep quiet!" Sean said loudly. "Unless you stop turning your back on me!"

"Sean..."

"No!" Sean stomped, and then perhaps realizing how childish it was, he turned and slapped the wall.

Roger had had enough. "Don't be so childish," he snapped, "put on your clothes and go to bed!"

"Do not."

enough.Roger grabbed Sean's arm, pushed him to the edge of the bed, pressed him on the bed, and slapped his bare bottom twice hard.

"Shit," Sean said, "I mean it, Roger."

"Me too," said Roger, putting one knee and one hand on Sean.Sean struggled, was held in place by Roger, and received two solid blows.

"Stop!" Sean yelled.

"You need a spanking," said Roger.

"No, I don't want to."

"You don't have to tell me what you want, I'll tell you what you want," said Roger.

"What?" Sean struggled seriously. "What do you mean?"

Roger realized he didn't know what he meant either, and he let Sean sit up.Sean narrowed his eyes, his cheeks flushed with anger.His hair had started to dry and stood out on top of his head not to be outdone.He was still naked, his curly chest hair continued down his stomach, and the pubic hair around his genitals was dry.

"Roger?" Sean called him, and Roger's eyes flicked to Sean's face.

"Put on some clothes," Roger begged him.

Sean smiled smugly and got up slowly to get his pajama bottoms and T-shirt.While he was dressing, Roger tried to figure out how to turn the conversation around to something he had wanted to talk about the night before.

But Sean didn't give him a chance.He put on his T-shirt and said, "Oh, your boyfriend is calling."

"what?"

"The one called Pete. He said he had a good night and hoped to do it again."

"Peter's just my friend, Sean," said Roger, not sure why he had to explain.

"Hey, I'm not questioning you," Sean said, "It's nothing, you can. Go to bed. I'm just upset, plus I'm not used to being pushed and spanked after a hangover."

"Sean." Roger said in a slow tone, helplessly.

"Jesus," Sean said, "don't do this with me."

"Which set?"

"Like you fucking pity me."

"Sean," Roger said, no less compassionate.

Sean strode closer, grabbing one of the pillows and the folded blanket at the end of the bed.

"what are you doing?"

"I sleep on the sofa. I won't bother you until tomorrow."

"No, you can't do that," said Roger.

Sean laughed angrily and said, "You're the most bossy bastard I've ever met."

"You go to bed and sleep."

"It's fucking five o'clock now. I'm sober, but I have a terrible headache, and I'm very unhappy now. Not to mention that I'm still like a girl, arguing with a man who thinks he is my guardian."

Roger seemed indifferent, but before Sean could react, he suddenly reached out and pulled Sean over and threw him on the bed.Sean waited for another slap, or something harsher, but instead received an unexpected, affectionate kiss.His body was firmly suppressed under that sturdy body, his face was held tenderly, and his dark green eyes looked at him firmly. "Stop swearing and calm down," said Roger.

"It's not that easy."

"Yes." Roger said and kissed him again.His firm lips, free-flowing tongue, completely dominated Sean's mouth.Roger's hands dug into Sean's T-shirt, groped for his pierced nipples, and tugged deliberately, making Sean feel his cock stiffen as if it were being held by invisible strings.

When Roger let go of him this time, he had only a breather.

"I thought you wanted a spanking, but I was wrong," said Roger.

"I bet, it's the first time you realize that you can be wrong too." Sean said out of breath.

The deep eyes were warning, but Roger's big hand that stroked his cheek was extremely gentle. "No, you want someone to fuck you," said Roger. "Turn around."

Sean made two groans when he thought he did as he did.

Roger's sexy and strong body covered Sean like an irresistible force, pressing him down, pulling down his pajama pants, caressing Sean's buttocks with his palms, moving his lubricated fingers, opening for him Body.Sean complied with Roger's thrusting fingers, allowing Roger to develop more thoroughly inside him.

Sean was so comfortable that he wanted to arch, but Roger was in complete control of the pace.The thick fingers stirred, penetrated, and opened him.

"God, Roger, go on." Sean gasped, wanting more.

"Be patient, pup," Roger growled, sinking his fingers in and out, sending more lube into Sean's body.Sean struggled to meet back, but was firmly restrained.He moaned, clutching at the sheet, finally feeling Roger's cock against his hole, slowly, slowly, slowly entering him.It wasn't until the spot in Sean's body was hit hard that he realized that he had been craving this feeling all day.

Sean tried hard but couldn't describe the need as he writhed on the sheets, moans escaping from his mouth.

Roger backed out a little and pushed in again, barely avoiding the point.

Sean gasped.

"What do you want, puppy?" Roger growled in his ear, his cock in and out, not enough to satisfy him.

"Roger..."

"What do you want?" Roger's cock hit the spot again, making Sean cry, and backed out again.

"You know," Sean moaned, "God, you know what I need..."

"Right," Roger said, and began to thrust inside him, hitting that spot again and again.

Sean whimpered, awkwardly found Roger's hand, interlocked his fingers, and clenched tightly, trying to follow that desire, but he couldn't. Roger's heavy body pressed him tightly, bumping steadily, and slowly annoying.

"God, Roger," Sean gasped, "come on, please, my God, come on."

"I know what you need," Roger whispered, maintaining his maddening slowness.

It felt like being slowly pushed to the top of a mountain, and Sean felt his body fall into pleasure as soon as he reached orgasm.

He was flushed with pleasure and overwhelmed, Roger both surrounded him and occupied him.

Finally he landed, landed, on crumpled, hot sheets with a sweaty man on top of him.

Roger kissed the back of his neck and asked, "All right?"

"My God," Sean said.

Roger withdrew from him, left briefly, returned to the bed, and lay down.His weight sagged the mattress. "come over."

He didn't want to just roll over and lean into Roger's arms, and he didn't want to lie on the man's arm and let Roger stroke the back of his neck.But he did it anyway.

Maintaining this posture, he fell asleep.

***

Roger had planned to talk to Sean after waking up.For some reason, he lost control again last night, and they still haven't finished talking about... whatever.But at ten o'clock in the morning, the deadly phone rang again.

"I'm Corso." He said hoarsely into the microphone.

"It's Vincent." Marianne sounded as tired and depressed as he was. "Someone found his body. Guess what."

"I'll be there in 10 minutes." Roger promised to get out of bed.

Sean was still sound asleep when Roger left.He was facing the sky, with his mouth half open, his black eyelashes trembling slightly, as if he was dreaming.

Roger picked up the briefcase and found that Patrick's book was still in the place where Sean put it down last night. He felt strange that the book was a private thing and should not be touched casually, so he stuffed it into the briefcase .

***

"It's a very traditional and classic murder case," said Marianne. "I was so moved that I was about to cry." Teddy Vincent was shot in the head, and the place of the murder was obviously in the morgue. small road.CSI found the bullets in a nearby garbage bag, and blood and brain splatter on the wall suggested he was standing and facing the killer when he was killed.

Most crime scene officers were as emotional as Marianne.The discovery of bullets is as exciting as finding gold in a mountain stream.At least they had some solid forensic evidence - the excitement was written all over their faces.

But what Roger thought was that the only connection between the mummy found in his residence and Marchant had also been broken.

Roger had a strange feeling that the killer was taunting him, targeting him personally, and just when Roger thought he must be self-centered and hysterical, he noticed the chain around Teddy's neck.

"Wait!" he said to one of the technicians, who was trying to pull on the body wrap.

At Roger's gesture, the technician lifted the hem of Teddy's shirt: he wore a small, solid gold encore around his neck.

***

Why mummies?

When the question popped up at a red light, Roger was so startled that he forgot where he was until the driver behind him started honking his horn.Because all the information Roger needed was in a box at home, labeled "Patrick."Patrick was once an avid fan of ancient Egyptian culture, and even a little fan of Tutankhamun.If there was anyone who would be willing to be mummified, Patrick was one of them.

It was never Roger who connected the events, but Patrick.

As soon as he got to the office, he called home. "Sean?" he said eagerly into the microphone. "Quickly answer the phone."

"What are your orders, sir?" Sean's voice was full of sleepiness, but the irony remained undiminished.Roger sighed.

"We'll have to talk about attitude sometime," he said, "but right now, I want you to do me a favor."

"You just told me to leave your ass alone, and now you need me to help you with something, are you stupid?" Sean said.But he immediately added: "Okay, what's the matter?"

"There should be a brochure in Patrick's trunk, a roster for a club of lovers of Egyptian symbols and culture. Can you find it?"

"What? It's about the case again? You really trust me to do this?"

"Please Sean, this is very important," said Roger.

"Overbearing bastard," Sean muttered, "Hold on, I'll be right back."

Roger got the book from the office, on top of the various documents in the briefcase, and he took it out.The pages were yellow and brittle; after all, it had been second-hand when Patrick bought it.The title page bears the UCLA stamp, with a student writing his name on it, and a stamp indicating the amount is stamped in the corner of the catalog page.Where Sean read, there was an old piece of white cardboard, the kind men usually put their starched shirts in to keep them flat when they brought them home from the laundry.In the past Patrick used to cut these cardboards into strips for writing lists, memos, bookmarks, etc.Roger studied the writing on it, it was Patrick's, and it was a string of names.

Gary Williams, Thomas Stone, Adam Marchant... He put the phone back on the landline and took the list into the FBI's profile room.

"My roommate once organized an ancient Egyptian culture club," Roger explained to Agent Miller.

Miller looked carefully at the cardboard that Roger handed him. "Well, what do you think?"

"It's in one of his books. He used to take notes at parties. I think these guys were all interested in something at the club, or volunteered for it."

The old quack agent Miller didn't ask too much, thank God. "I wonder if any of these men are still alive."

Roger scanned them quickly. "Pete and Larry Gray are my friends, actually." He realizes that he knows everyone up here, which is no surprise, and then he sees an unfamiliar name. "Reginald Butch? Wait, I've seen that name before." He rummaged through his memories of the past two days until he remembered the stack of books by Tommy Stone's bed.

"He wrote a lot of books on ancient Egypt," he said. "If he was local, he might be a professor at some school."

"Get in touch with him as soon as possible," Miller said. "In the meantime, I think anyone on this list might be in danger."

Roger nodded and dialed the phone. "Hello, Raymond?" He didn't realize it was Raymond's answering machine, so he left a message, succinctly expressing the urgency of the situation and asking him to call back immediately.

He then called Pete and left the same message on Pete's voicemail.

Then he called Sean again.

***

"Sean," the voice came from Roger's answering machine, "this is Roger, you can answer the phone."

Sean stared at the answering machine.

"Sean, please answer the phone." Roger's voice had become impatient.

Sean's wide eyes shifted from the answering machine to Pete, who was pointing a gun at his chest.

"Leave him alone," Pete said. "Pack your bags, you should go."

***

Hell, he didn't answer the phone.Roger went over their last conversation in his head and asked himself—for the thousandth time since he met Sean Williams.

Why couldn't he have had a good, peaceful conversation with Sean even once?

Roger clicked his tongue and hung up the phone.

"I'll go home and have a meal before I come back." It would take more than an hour to drive back and forth, and he really didn't want to do this in his heart.

He could even hear Marianne rolling her eyes.

"I've got to get something." He defended himself a little.

"Or someone," she said. "Go back, Corso, and keep your phone on."

"Yes, sir," he said.

Only then did he get a satisfied smile. "That's all I love to hear."

***

The lights were all dark, and Roger couldn't help worrying a little: Did Sean fall back to sleep because he was too tired.Then, when he entered the back room and found no one was there, he wondered if Sean was going to work and forgot to tell himself.

Well, this thing has to be talked about too, and it has to be added to the previous items that Roger didn't manage to finish.

He rummaged through Patrick's box, and it seemed that Sean really wanted to help, because several books were taken out and put on the table, and the top one was the list that Roger was eager to find. The page listing the members' names and addresses was open, and the top one was Pete's name.Roger smiled intentionally or unintentionally at Patrick's serious handwriting. The names on the pages were all old acquaintances whom he hadn't contacted for a long time.

He put away those books, went to the refrigerator to get a bottle of water, ready to drink on the way back, at that moment, he found the note on the refrigerator.

Roger:

I have to go.

Thank you for taking me in and everything you did for me.I am truely thankful.But this has exceeded my expectations and I don't think I can afford it.

Maybe I'm not as interested in this life as I think I am.

Sean

The note was so sudden, it was as if someone had blown a hole in Roger's heart, and he had to sit down for a while.He didn't know what he thought about Sean before, but now that he knew it, he was powerless.

Folding the note and putting it in his pocket, he returned to the car and drove towards the police station.

***

"I didn't think you'd come back so soon," Marianne said as he sat down at his desk.There was ridicule in her tone, but combined with what just happened, it made Roger unbearable.So he ignored her and devoted himself to his work.

He pored over Patrick's diary.His Ancient Egyptian Culture Club is more of a social group for gay men who don't like bars.

Several of the men were also seen in the leather circle.Maybe they don't practice BDSM themselves, they're just curious, or maybe they just like the look of those leather daddies.

While Roger was gone, the FBI profiler had already briefed other agents on the new development. "An ancient Egyptian culture club?" Marianne said as Roger pulled the books out of his briefcase. "Well, it's pretty obvious."

"The first murders took place before the club was formed, but the criminal probably altered his earlier killing rituals to imitate the Egyptians."

"The time span we're discussing is nearly 30 years," Marianne said. "Why haven't we found any signs of escalation in the modus operandi?"

"Something must be slowing him down, or he's found some other way to escalate," said Agent Miller, who was standing behind her. "We found Professor Budge," he said, "and he's alive and well."

An FBI investigator managed to track down the professor, who for years taught ancient Egyptology at UCLA.He was old, but still quick and clear, and had promised to come to the Bureau.

"Thomas Stone was one of my best students," said Professor Butch, with a bulging old book bag on his lap, a plaid wool cap, thinning silver hair, and large blue eyes looking When it comes to Marianne, Roger or Clark Miller, the water seems to overflow.

"How much do you remember about him?" Roger asked hesitantly.

"I remember all the students," said Professor Butch. "Thomas was, as we used to say, a rather inquisitive young man. He had a wide range of interests, was very bright and had a bright future. When I heard he committed suicide, I Pretty surprised."

"Isn't that the way he behaves?"

"Of course not. He had just won an academic grant to go to Egypt's Giza base for research that summer, and he was very excited, and rightfully so."

Marianne sat on the edge of the table, her high-heeled feet intertwined at the ankles, and Professor Bucky looked at her with moist eyes.She smiled. "Does Thomas have many male and female friends, Professor?"

"He's gay," Professor Butch said. "We've discussed the legends of Seth and Horus, and he has some pretty interesting points."

Marianne looked at Roger with a smile on her face.

Roger gave her a warning look and asked, "Have you seen him with a lot of older men? The ones who weren't students, maybe?"

"Yes, I've seen it. He, ah, has been with some, um... young men who think it's interesting to dress up as women."

***

"Thomas Stone was the missing link," Marianne said.She sits in front of a computer monitor next to an FBI agent looking through public files, gesticulating on the keyboard as she speaks.

On the whiteboard, photos of the dead are connected by solid blue lines and tentative green dotted lines.If someone believed in the Five Degrees of Separation, and given that these men had been active in West Hollywood's gay scene, the odds of connecting them were somewhat higher.

①In fact, it is the "Six Degrees of Separation Law", that is, any two people can be connected through up to six layers of relationships.

Having said that, they only had these clues at the time.

Roger left another message for Raymond.He called Pete, but it went straight to voicemail.This worried him even more, so he called Jay again.

While Roger was pacing back and forth at the whiteboard, Jay Lawson called back.

"Roger, you must have fallen in love with me again," Jay panted, "Why are you on the phone endlessly?"

"I never cease to love you, Jay," said Roger dryly. "I'm trying to find a whip maker, buffalo leather. I know you don't like it, but..."

"Okay, see what I can do for you. I was going to call you too," Jay said. "I found a picture of your gelcoat boy. Sorry I didn't think of him before." , there were too many men there at the time, Roger, I can't remember what happened," said Jay, the happiest old pervert in West Hollywood.

Roger shook his head resignedly. "Can you fax it to me?"

"Of course," Jay's laugh sounded like a bellows, "you'll find it interesting, but don't tell Pete that I showed it to you."

"Pete?"

"He had an affair with your gelcoat boy, Roger. It was during that ridiculous time. It was a terrible couple. Pete was very problematic as a number one, and his relationships always It's parting ways."

"Thanks, Jay." Roger hung up the phone, looked at the landline in his hand, thought for a while, and called Pete again...

"Roger, dear!" cried Pete.

Thank goodness, Roger thought. "I've been meaning to call you," he said. "There's something going on here, Pete, and I'm worried about you."

"What are you worried about, Roger?"

There was a notification tone of a new call coming from Roger's receiver, he glanced at it, it was Raymond Green, and finally called back. "Peter, can I call you later?"

"of course."

"Raymond," Roger asked bluntly, "where's Larry?"

"With me," Leonard said with surprise in his voice, "I was just about to call you, Roger. I recognized the whip from the picture you gave me—brother, that It's my whip."

Roger pulled up a chair and sat down. "What?"

"Or maybe it used to be. I gave it to Pete to use on the Avatar, about five years ago. The whip was a little too stiff for me, and I never liked the handle."

"You gave it to Pete?" Suddenly, the previous conversation between him and Pete appeared in his mind like a ball of bubbles trapped in the glass-"Santos? A guy who can mess with all kinds of circles and put himself Named 'Saint'? That's hilarious."

Roger asks Pete about a masochist named "Santos", but how does Pete know that the man is actually mixed in various circles?

Roger called Agent Miller over, and he clicked on the whip on the photo and Pete's name on the list on Patrick's white card. "Listen, Raymond, think about it. Are you sure that whip was given to Pete?"

"Yeah, it had the 'David Morgan' logo on it, but I took it off because it kept grinding my hands and it was annoying. I recognized the mark on the handle." There was an eerie silence. "Is Pete all right, Roger?"

"I don't know," Roger said. "Thanks, Raymond, I... I'll get back to you."

Agent Roger and Agent Miller looked at each other for a moment, and then Miller's stocky body moved quickly, and the figure commanding the deployment almost became an afterimage.

A few minutes later, Roger called Pete's cell phone again, and this time, police GPS tracking was set up.

"Hello?" Pete said cheerfully.

"Hi Pete, I'm Roger."

"Roger! I was thinking of you. We've got to go to that Cuban place again. I'm craving plantains."

"Anytime, buddy. In a word, hey, can you tell me where you are now? We can go over to dinner early."

"Oh, I have a guest, Roger. I called before, but I guess your little friend deleted the message."

"Sean?"

"I told him that we were old friends, but he seemed unwilling to accept that meaning."

All the clues suddenly became clear, and Roger felt his heart rate double as if suddenly, and he felt that he could not breathe.

"Young people these days," said Pete, "they don't know our rules, don't they, Roger?"

Roger had to control his voice, trying to keep it natural and asked, "Rules?"

"Yeah," he paused.Pete and Roger have known each other for more than 20 years, and they have a special kind of intimacy that cannot be achieved between ordinary men-after all, if they don't know the basics, two people cannot perform "situational" operations. "Sounds like you're tired, Roger. Is that case bothering you?"

"Yes." Roger picked up the keys and coat, and Marianne jumped up when he saw him pick up the keys.

"Poor thing," said Pete, "well, but I'm sure it won't take long for you to get over it."

"I hope so," said Roger.He glanced at his watch. He had been on the phone with Pete for more than five minutes. The phone company should at least be able to lock in a certain area.

"Oh dear, I have a guest," Pete said suddenly, "I have to hang up."

"Wait..." The phone hung up, and Roger cursed.

Marian was talking on the phone when they got in the car. "They were able to target somewhere downtown, but not specifically."

"The convener is here," Roger said as he drove out of the parking lot. God forbid he was right.