Trial 139C

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~ January ~

It was middle of January and it was actually snowing, heavy, wet flakes that melted and soaked into Bentley’s grey wool coat as he walked into the Lufdor building. He stomped his feet on the waiting rugs to get the worst of the slush off his boots. Damn, it was cold.

He caught his reflection in the shiny, glass entrance door. His father’s Spanish heritage made it seem like he was lightly tanned, even in the middle of winter, while his mother’s Irish genes made it so his cheeks flushed red in the cold weather. His loose curls sparkled with melting snowflakes, and he used his hand to bat the ice off, making hair stick up in places. He sniffled from the cold, wiping his dripping nose off on the back of his gloved hand. Ugh, winter sucked.

Giving one last look at his reflection, and conceding he looked like a mess, Bentley pushed past the door in the building and made his way towards the supply room. It wasn’t as if it mattered, right? The only one that was probably going to see him was 139C. 139C was just a trial and wouldn’t notice or care what he looked like.

That logical thought didn’t stop him from drying off in the janitors’ office and trying to use the small mirror and his fingers to straighten his tangled mop of hair before starting his rounds.

He saved the trial’s room for last, as he always did. He keyed in the security code, fingers moving automatically as he had done it so many times. He pushed his cart in.

The trial met him at the window. Bentley smiled and gave a little wave, no matter how crappy it was outside, the trial always made him feel…warm. “Hey, C.”

He stood at the window for a few minutes and made some one-sided small talk before starting his tasks.

As Bentley picked up the broom to sweep the floors, the trial started swimming laps of the tank. His black eyes fixed on Bentley on each pass of the window, but he didn’t slow down.

Bentley went about his work, tidying the room before grabbing a rag to wipe down the glass window.

When he started this last task, 139C was still gliding through the water.

Bentley found himself mesmerized as the trial cut though the water, muscles flexing powerfully. The large, muscular body was graceful, too; he was able to turn on a dime when he skimmed close to the walls.

He looked completely at home in the water. From a distance, he might be mistaken for a real shark, but up close like this, he was clearly human – even if the shark DNA did give him an unnatural predatory edge.

Despite the fact he was now familiar with the sight, Bentley still found the blend of shark and man captivating.

Though he tried not to notice, Bentley could see one part of 139C that was all man. Below his pale, rippling abdominal muscles, 139C had a very human organ. It was thick and long despite the water, and matched a set of full, hanging balls. Bentley tried not to let his eyes linger there for very long, it felt wrong to stare. Invasive.

A shadow against the glass startled him. Bentley blinked, disconcerted to see that the trial had stopped racing the length of the tank, and had swam close, his nose almost touching the glass in front of Bentley’s nose. Bentley blushed, realising he had stopped working in mid-swipe of the rag, distracted by the trial’s looks. More embarrassingly, he was hard against his fly, shaft pushing at the denim insistently.

He reached down to adjust himself. It was a stupid move, because it drew 139C’s attention down to tent his cock was pitching in his well-worn jeans. But it’s not like the creature would know what it meant...would he?

It sure looked like he understood, his eyes looked over the bulge then up into Bentley’s face, entirely too knowing.

Ignoring the uncomfortable throbbing in his jeans, Bentley left the window half-finished and cowardly retreated out the room with his supplies, heart beating fast.

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His human had been aroused by watching him. It was almost amusing how embarrassed his human had been, even going so far as to try to shield the evidence of his erection from view. He liked that he was able to make his human desire mating. He liked it a lot.

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~ March ~

On March 22nd, Bentley turned 21. In the morning, he got a call from his mom and step-dad and replied to a half dozen birthday wishes on Facebook. In the afternoon, he bought himself a birthday present online. He decided on noise-cancelling headphones. He had new upstairs neighbours that may or may not be newlyweds. They sure fucked like it. At all hours of the day. Perhaps because Bentley hadn’t gotten any for months, the moaning cries and banging headboard was really grating on him.

His birthday was a Tuesday, and a few guys he knew from his community volleyball league had taken him out the Friday before for a few drinks. That meant, with nothing better to do, when eight o’clock rolled around, he was spending his birthday cleaning floors and emptying trash cans.

The end of his shift brought him to 139C’s room.

Under the trial’s watchful glaze, he went about his nightly tasks – lost in thought about being another year older and the lack of celebrations.

As he was finishing, he saw the trial frowning darkly at him, fingers tapping at the glass.

From the first week, he had often talked with the trial while he was cleaning, or rather, talked to himself while the trial swam around and watched him. The crossbreed must think he was strange from the way he chattered away to himself all the time. Except not tonight, tonight he had been quiet. Was the crossbreed concerned? The corner of Bentley’s lips turned up; was the trial pissed he wasn’t getting attention?

Bentley propped his mop against the edge of one of the benches and walked up the window.
With no conscious though, Bentley tipped his head forward, resting his forehead on the glass with a sigh. “Want to hear something pathetic?”

The trial placed a hand on the glass and Bentley copied him, touching his fingers on the other side of the window. 139C slid webbed fingers up, in front of Bentley’s face, as if he was trying to reach through and touch Bentley’s hair. The trial gave the glass a disgusted look when it blocked his fingers.

“It’s my birthday today. And I’m working. Because I had nothing better to do.” He knocked his forehead against the glass, eyes lowered, “God, I need to get out more. Maybe I just need to get laid to get out of this rut. Too bad Pickford has no gay clubs to speak of. Not like I can go trolling for guys to fuck in the canned veg aisle at the Valuemart. Worst. Birthday. Ever.”

There was a scratching noise and Bentley glanced up at the peculiar sound. The trial had his mouth open, jaws hinging wider then a human’s. His razor sharp teeth were scraping the glass beside where Bentley’s head had been. Bentley sprang back in surprise more than fear.

“Dude! Were you trying to bite me? Not cool!”

The trial just looked at him and licked his lips.

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His human was unhappy, lacking his usual energy. He lured the young man closer with a tap on the glass. His human came obediently. His curls pressed to the glass. The length his throat that sloped into shoulder was uncovered. So close. It would be the perfect place to close his teeth over, holding the human in place for breeding. Mmmmmm.

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~ May ~

May rolled around quickly, it had brought warmer weather, but near constant rain. So there was a little bounce in Bentley’s step as he entered the observation room that night – for the first time in nearly a week, the skies were clear and the stars and moon shone brightly.

“Hey, C! You should see moon, it’s amazing.” Bentley approached the glass, the shark hybrid shadowing him on the other side. Bentley pointed up to the bars above the surface of the tank. Unlike large tanks at the Vancouver aquarium, which were wide open to the sky, 139C’s tank was enclosed by a heavy crosshatch of metal bars. Unlike dolphins or whales or seals, without the bars, 139C would be able to climb out of the tank with little effort and his human lungs meant he didn’t need the water to breath. The bars stretched about two feet above the surface of the water, embedded right into the edged of the concrete tank. Bentley sometimes caught C at the surface using the bars to perform endless sets of pull-ups.

Through the bars and water, Bentley could see the vague impression of moonlight. He pointed again, trying to coax the trial into taking a look, “Moon, up there.”

The trial didn’t look away from Bentley, dark eyes fixed and intelligent.

“You’re being stubborn. I know you know what I’m trying to tell you.” Bentley grumbled. Then he had a better idea. Pointing up one more time to the water’s surface, Bentley turned and left the observation room. He moved down the halls until he got to heavy steel doors that led to the large, patio level. He swiped his security pass to get through the doors and climbed the stairs to the top. There wasn’t much up there. Asphalt ground cover, some air exchange vents, and the top of 139C’s holding tank.

The view from the terrace was beautiful, you could see the ocean-side town to the south, up to the north was costal rainforest and ragged hills. The terrace was just a little above ground level, rocky beach laid out in front of it, Pacific Ocean as far as the eye could see beyond that, whitecaps crashing in the moonlight. The railing practically touched the shore. When there were big waves, the water would spray over the concrete barrier and fall into the tank.

Bentley’s sneakers crunched softly on the asphalt as he walked across the landing towards the tank.

He stopped a few feet back from the edge and looked around for a pebble or something to throw in to draw 139C’s attention. It turned out to be unnecessary, as Bentley looked, the trial surfaced with a small splash, head and shoulders bobbing above the surface.

“Hey, C.” Bentley gave him a crooked smile. “I knew you knew what I was saying. It’s a nice night, huh? Clear for once.” The trial splashed in the water, swimming out of sight. What was he doing? Bentley stepped a little closer, leaning forward to look into water. The trial swam out slightly, watching him, coiled and tense, as if he was waiting for something. 139C reached up and wrapped his fingers around a bar, looking up at Bentley darkly, daring him to come closer. Drawn in by those bottomless, black eyes, Bentley took another step forward and then another. Just to get a better look, he told himself.

“BENTLEY! What in the world are you doing? Trying to get yourself killed?”

Startled by the voice and his own foolhardy actions, Bentley jerked back from the tank. The creature snapped his teeth, hand bursting from between the bars, swiping at him, barely missing his arm.

The closecall made Bentley tremble lightly, turning towards the man who had thankfully interrupted him.

Jude Meyer a few feet away, the stairway-door open behind him. There was an unsettled look on his handsome face, hand resting on the gun holstered on his belt.

Bentley hurried forward, away from the tank, guilty under the guard’s reproachful stare. “I was just... looking. Sorry.”

Jude’s sharp jaw, stubbled with short black scruff, clenched and unclenched. “You could potentially be grabbed and killed by the trial if you go that close, Bentley. You’re lucky I was in the security room and saw you come up here on one of the cameras. Jesus Christ.”

Bentley bit his lower lip, knowing he deserved the reprimand. He wrung his fingers behind his back, dropping eye contact.

Jude sighed heavily, and gave his head a rueful shake. “Come here, Ben.”

Bentley walked a few feet closer.

Sliding his hand over Bentley’s jaw, Jude gently lifted Bentley’s chin to look him in the eyes. “Do you know how much paperwork I would have to fill you if the trial decided to snack on you?”

Bentley made a sound that was a cross between a snort and a chuckle.

Jude’s expression became serious again. “Just...be careful, alright?”

Bentley nodded dutifully, looking up so his green eyes locked with Jude’s deep brown ones. “I’m really sorry, man.”

Jude stepped forward, slinging his arm lightly over Bentley’s shoulders. “C’mon, Bentley, let’s go back inside.”

Sparing a glance back at the trial who was hanging on the bars, half in the water, broad chest and shoulders streaming with water, Bentley let himself be led back into the building to finish his shift.

Hours later when he finally got to bed, he had nightmares about what might have happened if Jude hadn’t arrived when he did.

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He had almost had him! If it hadn’t been for that damned uniformed man. The one he already hated because he made his human’s pulse pick up and he had touch the young man twice now. Bentley. He now knew his human’s name. That was something.

He held onto the bars, taking a deep breath. His human’s scent still filled the night air.

Next time, he promised himself. Next time his human would not get away.

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~ June ~

It was a particularly warm June that year. And although the facility was air conditioned, Bentley’s apartment was not. So, when he had gotten dressed earlier in the day he had just thrown on a worn pair of jeans cut off above the knees to make board shorts and a thin, grey undershirt that made his tanned skin look even darker.

It was well past midnight when he got around the 139C’s room. He pushed open the door and gave the swimming shark crossbreed a greeting, looking around to decide what to clean first.

Some idiot had knocked over their drink and just left the broken ceramic cup and puddle of congealing coffee under one of the benches. Nice, my lucky day, Bentley snarked, making a face, and grabbing some rags.

Getting down on his hands and knees, he crammed himself half under the desk to try to wipe up the mess.

He crawled out when he was finished and straightened up, the tank was behind him. Glancing back, his eyes widened.

The trial was at the window, his black eyes trained on Bentley. Well, more specifically, on Bentley’s ass. 139C’s cock was hard and curved back, nearly hitting his defined abs.

Bentley shifted uneasily, busying himself with throwing out the broken cup pieces. He couldn’t stop from glancing back at the window. 139C was still there, watching him with intent - cock pulsing and standing straight. Bentley felt an echoing throb against his inseam, his own dick responding to the sight readily.

Bentley continued to watch, jaw dropping slightly, as the creature reached down and began palming his own cock.

Oh, fuck, he wasn’t...he was! Bentley couldn’t not stare as the trial wrapped his webbed fingers around the thickening shaft, pulling. Unconsciously, Bentley copied the movement, rag in hand, as he rubbed over the bulge forming in his own pants.

He really should stop, they probably had cameras in the room and the tank. It had been way too long since he had a date that had ended in anything but an awkward hand shake, apparently. Beating off to an...animal, granted a very human animal, had to be some new level of perversion. Those self-derisive thoughts weren’t enough to tear his hand off his cock or his eyes off the trial.

He rubbed himself in time to 139C’s strokes, going faster and harder when the trial did.

A flash of white, sharp teeth was visible as the trial came, bearing his teeth, milky semen shooting from his cockhead only to quickly disperse in the water.

The same couldn’t be said for the sticky, growing wet spot in Bentley’s jeans. That stayed all through his shift and the bike ride home. Once back in his apartment, he stripped and stood under his shower head with the crappy water pressure, and washed himself thoroughly, never quite feeling clean.

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On his hands and knees on the floor, hips angled up, his human was in the perfect position to be breed. So, of course, his shaft hardened in the water.

He enjoyed the burst of arousal in Bentley’s eyes as the young man saw his hardness. He liked it more still when his human pleasured himself to the sight. Though it would have been much more satisfying to bring his human to completion with his own hand, it was still enjoyable to share that pleasure through the glass.

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The next night, Bentley arrived at work half an hour early. He waited in the janitor’s room until Bill Chiefman, a fellow janitor, came in.

“Evening, Bill.” Bentley greeted him cordially.

“Torres.” Bill nodded his head and started readying his cart.

Bentley reached up, scratching the back of his curls nervously, feeling a hot blush spread over his neck, hoping it wasn’t noticeable. “Ah, Bill, I was wondering if you could do me a favour...”

“I’m not lending you any money, kid.”

“No, no... not that.” Bentley took a breath and then went for it. “I was wondering if you’d trade rooms with me tonight. You’d do mine, I’d do yours.”

The older man narrowed his eyes a little, “Why?”

“No reason.”

Bill’s look was assessing and correctly read Bentley’s desperation, greed gleaming in his eyes. “I’ll do it for forty bucks.”

“Forty?” Bentley nearly choked. “We have the same number of rooms...”

The other janitor shrugged and started to walk away.

Bentley blurted out to stop him, “How about twenty?”

“Thirty, kid, take it or leave it.” Bill half-turned back, waiting for his response.

“Fine, fine, thirty.” It was a lot of money for Bentley, but he would’ve paid ten times more to avoid facing 139C after last night.

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The last room on Bill’s list held a species, Bentley could tell because of the extra security protocols on the door when he got to it, just like 139C’s. He walked in, expecting to find the room bathed in a soft blue light from a water tank.

There was no water tank. Back against the far wall was huge window, but instead of rocks and water it was dry and filled with straw and sand. A huge trial paced the cell, wild tawny-coloured hair framed his face.

Stuck dumb, Bentley paused in the doorway, staring. The creature had a human shaped form, like 139C, but his skin was golden, more yellowish-brown hair on his arms and legs, groin, and chest. His features were broad and flat, eyes wide set and angled, feline. Black claws extended from his fingers and toes.

“Holy, fuck.” Bentley breathed. How many different trials were those creepy docs experimenting on? “What are you? A lion?” Bentley guessed out loud.

The trial growled menacingly. With a forced swallow, Bentley wheeled his cleaning cart into the room.

“Ur... Sorry for staring. I’m just used to...a shark. My name’s Bentley.” He talked in a low, soothing voice, like he did with 139C. As if the creature could understand. “I’m just going to...” Bentley waved towards cleaning supplies. He then walked closer to glance at the papers hanging by the enclosure, eyes scanning the top of the paper. Trial 298B, bingo.

“Hey, B.” Bentley hoped he sounded less freaked out than he felt. “I’m just going to clean up a little, I’ll try not to disturb you too much.”

The glass was smudged and dusty; Bill must not clean it very often. “I’m going to, ah, clean the window. Okay?” He grabbed a rag and some Windex and tentatively stepped forward to start to polish the glass. He got about a quarter of the window done, zoning out a little with the repetitive action, when the trial in the holding cell let out a glass-shaking roar.

Bentley yelped and sprang back, ungracefully falling on his ass. Startled eyes flashed up to the creature. He appeared to be...laughing, a gruff, hacking sound. Shoulders shaking, wide smile showing off thick, curved feline incisors.

Getting up off the ground, Bentley brushed himself off and gave 298B a sheepish grin. “Yeah, yeah, you got me, very funny.”

With a shake of his head, Bentley went back to his duties, pride dictating he try as hard as he could to stop the embarrassing shaking in his hands, blood pumping with residual adrenaline.

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Back in the janitors’ room, shift almost over, Bentley was refilling his spray bottles when Bill stomped back in.

The older man rolled his cart out of the way and wiped a hand over his forehead. “Shit, you didn’t warn me about that mean motherfucker in room 117. Ugly ass fish rammed himself right into the glass when he saw me. I almost pissed myself until I saw the window would hold.”

Bentley faltered. 139C? Ugly? Ramming the glass? “Sorry man, he musta been having a bad night.”

Bill groused. “That fish is seriously disturbing.”

“Sharks aren’t really fish-fish. I mean, they have their own class because their skeleton –” Bentley began to correct automatically.

“Yeah, thanks for that report Jack Hanna. I don’t care. Still creepy. I hope you don’t think I’m going to trade with you again.”

After that night, Bentley went back to cleaning 139C’s room, embarrassed or not. Still, it would be weeks before he could go near the tank without feeling his face heat and his cock jump.

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Thank you, thank you, thank you if you’ve reviewed. If you haven’t yet, what are you waiting for a personal invitation? …Seriously, ‘cause I’d totally do that for you. :P