Trial 139C

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~ The Aftershocks ~

He was trapped.

The apartment unit was collapsing around him in huge, heavy chunks of concrete, loud and dusty. So dusty it was hard to breath and he was coughing. 139C was across the room. He tried to get over to the hybrid but there was something in the way. A thick pane of glass running across the middle of his bedroom. He pounded on the glass, but couldn’t get the trial’s attention. He yelled for him, but still 139C didn’t look over to the glass. Then the ground shook harder, giving way under his feet like a giant sink hole and he was falling...

Bentley jerked on the mattress, coming awake with a gasp, disoriented. His skin was clammy with a cold sweat. It took him a moment clear the foggy remains of the dream out of his head and recall where he was and why he ached all over. The earthquake. Fuck.

“You’re awake. Finally.”

Having assumed he was alone in his bedroom (because why wouldn’t he be?), Bentley was startled by the rough voice to say the least. He bolted upright in the bed, only to be pulled back to the pillows jarringly. His arms were tangled. Not tangled, he realized as he tried to pull his arms down from above his head, his shoulders forced back. Not tangled – tied!

His eyes strained to adjust to the morning light.

139C!

The trial was in his bedroom, huge body standing at the foot of the bed.

He pulled harder at whatever was holding his wrists, making the head board creak. The sight of the trial looming over him was terrifying. For a moment, he almost convinced himself he was still dreaming.

But 139C was really there. The shark hybrid was looming over his bed, still clad in the ill-fitting clothes procured from the debris-strewn beach. The soft morning light from the window created shadows that made the sleek, defined muscles on C’s throat and arms stand out even more.

“Wh..what are you doing here?” Bentley stammered, hating the way his voice broke with alarm.

Dark eyes pinned him to the mattress. “You ran from me.”

Heart in his throat, Bentley craned his head around, trying to see how his wrists were tied. It looked like the orange extension cord that was usually plugged into his bedside lamp, was wrapped tightly around each wrist, then around both wrists, and then around the bed frame. Bentley gave the cord another fruitless tug before looking back at the trial, “What are you doing here?!”

“You already asked that.” The trial’s voice was even, as if standing in the middle of Bentley’s bedroom, having this conversation while Bentley was bound to the bed, was completely normal. “You ran. I came after you.”

“What...Why...How...?” Bentley’s brain was a jumble of loose, half-formed thoughts. He finally settled on, “How did you find me?” He had been so careful to make sure he wasn’t being followed from the beach.

Lips slanted into a taunting sort of smirk that revealed an unnatural number teeth. “You showed me where you lived. Remember?”

It took Bentley a moment. The lease agreement. He had shown the trial months ago. It looked like the shark could read after all.

“It didn’t hurt that I could probably smell your blood from miles away.” The trial continued, “Like iron, and sea salt, and citrus and you.”

Bentley’s chest tightened in fear. The scratches on his stomach! But 139C couldn’t have possibly smelled the blood, could he? He grunted softly, still trying to pull free of the cord tying his arms up over his head. “Why are you here?”

The trial’s eyes never left Bentley, unblinking and predatory. “You’re here.”

“I know I’m here. This is my home.” Some of Bentley’s fear was giving way to exasperation; his jaw clenched slightly, hands fisting as the cord dug into them. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here because you’re here.”

“That doesn’t make sense!” Bentley cried out.

“Doesn’t it?” The look 139C gave him was piercing.

“You can’t be here!” Bentley wondered briefly if he was the crazy one here, the trial was speaking so matter-of-factly. “You can’t stay here!”

“No,” the trial granted, “You’re right.”

The ready agreement momentarily calmed Bentley, sending a wave of relief through him. Thank God, the trial wasn’t expecting to stay with him.

“Only until I figure out where to go next. I am not going back to that place.”

That place. The Lufdor Institute. The idea of 139C swimming around in a giant fish tank 24/7 hadn’t seemed too horrible to Bentley before – when he had thought C more shark than man. But now that he was quickly figuring out the trial could talk, even think, like a human, Bentley found he couldn’t blame the man for refusing to go back. If their positions were reversed, he’d want to maintain a hold of his freedom, too. Still, he couldn’t quite believe it when the next words came out of his mouth, “O...Okay...Just...Untie me, okay?”

“No.” C didn’t even consider it.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?! Let me go...Please…” He was begging now, there was no two ways about it. The smallest part of Bentley that wasn’t scared stiff was ashamed of his desperate pleading.

The trial’s arms folded over his broad chest. “No. You already ran once, I can’t trust you not to run again.”

“This is insane. You’re insane. Let me go!” Bentley began to struggle again, twisting side to side on the mattress.

The trial leaned in and placed a hand on the cord. “You’re only going to hurt yourself. Stop it.”

“Let. Me. Go!” Bentley punctuated each shouted word with a hard jerk at the cord. Maybe if he made enough noise, someone in the building would hear and send help.

139C’s lips pressed into a tight frown. He let go of the cord and moved across the room to Bentley’s disorganized closet.

“You’re craz– what are you doing with that? C, don’t – auugh!” Bentley twisted his head as 139C came back to the bed and wrapped a sky blue bandana over his head.

139C growled finding it difficult to knot the bandana around Bentley’s head with his webbed fingers, at the same time struggling to keep Bentley’s wild, dark curls from getting caught in the knot. He grunted a little, not entirely successful. Bentley winced as the material pulled tight and tugged painful at a strand of hair.

“Sorry.”

Bentley found it absurd that the trial would offer an apology for that – for tugging his hair – and not for breaking into his apartment and tying him up. He glared, green eyes blazing.

“Just until you calm down. Then we’ll talk.” The trial explained.

The dark haired human glared and made some muffled noises behind the makeshift gag.

The trial remained expressionless. He appeared the check the knots one more time, taking a moment to brush his fingertips over Bentley’s stubbled jaw. Then he left the room.

Bentley spent the better part of the first hour twisting and pulling and jerking, trying to free himself. The extension cord had no give at all and the blue bandana just managed to get more tangled in his hair, biting into the corners of his mouth.

Eventually, he stopped struggling. He was tired and hungry and still sore all over from the night before. In the silence than followed, bound tight and gagged, he really had nothing to do but think.

The more he thought about it the more it sunk in that this was 139C. His 139C. The trial he had known for over a year. The shark hybrid could have killed him easily several times in the last 24 hours and hadn’t. So maybe he was safe. Maybe it was going to be okay.

By the time the bedroom door opened and the trial’s head appeared around the door to look at him, Bentley had gotten a hold of his emotions, more or less.

C approached the bed, movements cautious. Bentley didn’t move a muscle, watching the shark hybrid carefully.

When the trial reached the bed, he stretched forward and carefully tugged the bandana from Bentley’s mouth. Instead of pulling it off over his head, 139C left the material hanging around Bentley’s throat, which was telling.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Am I feeling better?!” Bentley sputtered, choking down a disbelieving laugh. What kind of question was that to ask when this…man, animal, trial had him tied to the bed and defenceless in his own apartment.

“Perhaps you’re not ready yet.” 139C reached for the gag again.

Bentley jerked his head back into the pillows. “No, no…I’ve calmed down, really, C. Don’t.”

The trial stopped with his hand extended, unsure.

“I swear.”

139C continued to look at him.

“Listen, you saved my life,” Bentley tried to convince the trial he was sincere. “So, I guess… I guess you stay here…Just until you decide on somewhere safe to go!”

The trial didn’t comment on what Bentley felt was a very generous offer, instead he changed the subject. “You called for me while you were sleeping. Just before you woke up.”

“What?”

“When you were sleeping. You called out ‘C’, several times, you sounded distressed.”

Oh, right. Bentley swallowed. The details of the dream had faded quickly but he could still clearly remember the highlights. He felt bare under the trial’s stare and broke eye contact, looking up instead, to the ceiling. “...I was having a bad dream.”

“About me?” the trial sounded displeased, long webbed fingers tightening into fists.

“No, about the earthquake. I guess it will take a while to get over it.”

139C narrowed his eyes, displeasure growing. “You’re safe now.”

“That’s debatable.” Bentley muttered, giving the cord around his wrists a pointed tug.

“I will keep you safe,” C grumbled, unwaveringly. His wide jaw was clenched, clearly resenting Bentley’s tone.

Bentley gave him a look of incredulity, it felt a little like a spider reassuring a fly.

“I will.” The trial’s voice was harder now, growing impatient.

Bentley dragged his teeth over his bottom lip, knowing there was no use arguing over it. “Can you please untie me now? I’ve calmed down, I’ve told you can stay.”

“No running.” The trial pressed, voice raspy.

“No running.” Bentley confirmed, “I promise.”

139C’s eyes bore into him. “I am faster than you.”

“Urr…” Bentley’s brow furrowed a little.

“I am stronger than you.”

Bentley frowned in confusion, wondering if there was a point to this peculiar boasting. “Uh… good for you?”

“Don’t think you will get away again.”

Bentley swallowed. Oh, that was the point.

The trial leaned over him, huge body pressing into Bentley’s space. He unfastened the cord and traced the chafed skin underneath with cool fingers. Bentley was too intimidated to move at first, but when the trial moved back a few inches, Bentley took advantage of the space and rolled away.

He scrambled off the far side of the bed, putting space between himself and the shark. The trial’s eyes followed him but C didn’t try to stop his retreat.

The trial straightened, shadowing him. Bentley took a step back, legs hitting a small desk.

“Ah…I’d like to change into clean clothes.” Bentley pointed to the dresser 139C was standing right in front of. His clothes were torn and filthy from making it through the earthquake and impromptu ‘swim’ in the water, but it was mostly just an excuse to get to the trial to leave the room.

When there was no response, Bentley pointed again, “Please?”

C moved three feet to the side.

Bentley warily inched closer to the dresser, sticking close to the wall, carefully out of reach. When it appeared that 139C wasn’t going to attack him, he quickly pulled the drawers open, yanking out some fresh clothes. He grabbed the first things that he found, uncaring that the thin, green tee probably clashed with the navy and yellow Fox board shorts. He turning back to 139C, holding the items to his chest.

For a moment, there was a silent standoff. Then Bentley cleared his throat pointedly, “Can you excuse me?”

The trial didn’t even blink, the sheer size of him seeming to take up the whole room.

“I’d like to change in private.” Bentley stressed.

“No.”

Bentley let out a frustrated exhale and moved to skirt around the crossbred to change in the bathroom. A strong arm came out to block his path.

“I want to watch.”

Bentley tried to brush off the pseudo-command without angering the trial. “Sorry, voyeurism isn’t really my thing, C.”

139C’s look was blatantly provocative. “You’ve seen me naked nearly every day for the last year. You didn’t seem to mind then.”

Bentley cursed, feeling his face heat. Busted…He had ogled the naked trial in his cell – on more than one occasion. “It’s not the same thing.”

“Why not? Because you think I’m an animal?”

“No!” Bentley blurted before he could think about it.

“Then why?”

“Why would you even want to watch? Not as if there’s much to see...” Bentley countered, holding the stack of clean clothes a little tighter with one hand, other hand nervously pushing his hair off his forehead.

“You don’t think I’ll find your body pleasing?” The trial’s voice was pitched with incredulity. “That’s stupid. Change your clothes, Bentley.”

Grudgingly, Bentley set the clothes down on the end of the bed and started to undress. He tried to pretend he was back in middle school having to change in the locker room with other boys around. It didn’t work that well; none of his classmates in sixth grade had been six and half foot tall, shark-like Adonises with eyes that seemed to drill right into him.

He pulled his long sleeved tee off first. Standing up straight, his chest puffing out just a little. He was lean, but not skinny. And strong, though he certainly didn’t have the bulging defined muscles that 139C had. There was a sprinkling of hair down the center of his chest, the same chestnut brown as the loose curls on his head. He disliked his nipples which were smaller than average, browny-pink, and nearly always hard. All and all though, his body wasn’t horrid.

He heard an irritated grumble from the trial and flushed in embarrassment. Or maybe it was…

“So that’s where the blood was coming from.” C frowned fiercely.

Oh…Bentley looked down at his scratched stomach, “Um, yeah. It’s not too bad though.”

“I caused this,” The trial stepped forward as he spoke, reaching his hand forward, fingers touching the scratches reverently, “When I pulled you in the tank.”

Bentley inhaled at the touch, stomach pulling concave. “Y…yeah, I think so.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No… not too bad.

The trial traced his fingers over the scrapes, his touch exceptionally tender.

Unnerved, Bentley shifted back. “Um, yeah, I’d like to finish changing…”

The trial scowled but he pulled away to give Bentley a little more room. As he pulled back, his fingers went to his lips and he licked the ones that touched Bentley’s stomach. Eyes never leaving his human.

Ugh, gross. Bentley looking away quickly and turned his attention back to changing. He took a steadying breath before pushing off his jeans and boxers in one go.

It was obvious he went shirtless at the beach sometimes, because hips to knees he was two or three shades paler than his tanned chest and arms. The trail of hair tapered under his navel, pointing the way below. He awkwardly held his hands in front of his package. He wasn’t small in that department, with just over six, uncut inches, but compared to 139C...well, he did not come out ahead.

The trial just looked at him, showing no expression.

Well fuck, what did that mean? Did the trial approve? More importantly, why did Bentley care if the trial approved? He snatched up his clean clothes and started to jerk them on, feeling foolish and exposed.

139C’s hands came up and stopped him briefly as he was stepping into his shorts, “Your body looks delicious.” And then he was gone, leaving Bentley to finish redressing alone.

Delicious? Bentley, stood in the middle of the room, dumfounded, shorts around his ankles, otherwise naked. He really hoped that that was an aesthetic compliment and not a menu description.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Redressed in clean clothes, Bentley regained his composure and ventured out of his room.

The trial was in the kitchenette. He had apparently found some plastic tarp and the staple gun in the closet and was using both to cover the broken window. That in itself wasn’t alarming. What was alarming was somewhere along the way from the bedroom to the kitchen, the trial had stripped off his clothes.

6 feet 5 inches of bare shark and man stood in front of him. Bentley nearly tripped over his feet, looking anywhere but directly at the trial. “Why are you naked?!”

“I’m not used to clothes.” 139C answered abruptly, not looking from the window. “They are uncomfortable and restrictive.”

“You can’t just walk around naked.” Bentley studiously inspected a crack in the Formica counter top.

“I can. This is our territory.”

“This is my apartment.” Bentley corrected with exasperation.

The trial grimaced lightly, the corners of his eyes tightening as if he was trying to figure out some difficult intellectual problem, “Apartment, territory, same thing.”

“No,” Bentley’s eyebrow lifted of its own accord, “It’s really not.”

The trial growled lightly, “It is when you have a shark brain fucking with your thought processes. It makes it hard to think along human lines sometimes. The shark DNA altered my mind as much as my body.” His expression turned possessive then, tongue running over his angular teeth, “but I meant it when I said ‘ours’. Your territory is now my territory.”

Bentley shifted uncomfortably, barely preventing an eye roll. “Just until you figure out where you’re going.”

The trial made a sound that was neither an agreement nor disagreement and went back to fixing the window.

Bentley watched for a few minutes, silent. He came to strange conclusion that it didn’t frighten him the way it probably should have. Over the last year, he had gotten used to seeing the trial nearly every single day. Naked, even. So yeah, it was bizarre that 139C was standing right there, in the middle of his apartment, but somehow, at the same time, it felt like he had always been there.

Feet bare, Bentley padded silently over to the TV to check if the power was back on – it wasn’t. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten in a while. He walked into the kitchen and rummaged in the cupboards, finding some s’more granola bars. He opened one and shoved the end in his mouth. Tentatively he cleared his throat, holding another one over to C. “Want one?”

The trial finished covering the window. He turned and looked down at the granola bar and then up to Bentley’s eyes. “I’m not hungry. And even if I was, I wouldn’t eat that.”

Bentley chewed and swallowed. “Can’t exactly run to the grocery store, now can I? Hell, I don’t even know if the grocery store is still standing.”

“I’ll just stick to water.”

Bentley noticed, then, several empty water bottles on the counter. Apparently, the trial had found the Aquafina stashed in the closet. And by the looks of it, he was thirsty.

Lips tightening in concern, Bentley tried turning on the sink. The water pressure was minuscule, and the water itself was still running a copper-brown and filled with silt. He looked at 139C, picking up one of the bottles, “Do you... need more water?”

“No. There are still quite a few bottles left. I can ration despite my thirst.”

“I wasn’t asking about your thirst.” Bentley pressed. “I’m talking about the fact that the apartment isn’t, you know, underwater.”

Broad shoulders shrugged. “It feels uncomfortably dry, but I have no problem staying in the air.”

Bentley’s eyes darted to the gill slits on C’s neck. “You can breathe okay?”

The trial put down the tools and turned to Bentley, giving the human his full attention, “It feels different, because when I use my lungs instead of gills, my chest lifts and lowers with each breath. Something that doesn’t happen in the water.”

Bentley stared at the five closed gill slits marking each side of 139C’s thick neck. He was more used to seeing them open and drawing in water in the tank. They looked raw, like someone had used a knife to cut C’s neck in a series of parallel swipes.

139C noticed his stare. “Go ahead, touch them.”

Bentley brushed his fingers over on his pants to make sure they were no chocolate left over from the granola bar. Then, he tentatively reached his fingertips up and traced the closed slits that housed C’s gills. They were firmer that Bentley had imagined. The skin was also not nearly as smooth as it looked, it was actually rather rough against his fingertips.

The trial let out an uneven breath under Bentley’s touch, causing the brunette too pull back as if his fingers had been burned.

“Sorry! Did that hurt?”

The trial’s black eyes gave nothing away as he answered, “No.”

“Your skin feels nice.” Bentley murmured and then felt his own skin heat. Ugh, it was like being around 139C scrambled his brain/mouth filter.

Webbed finger reached forward and lightly stroked over Bentley’s upper arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “I like touching your skin, too. I had forgotten how warm and smooth humans are.”

Bentley held still while C stroked his skin a few more times, fingers light and cautious. After a moment, an arrogant smirk quirked the trial’s lips. “You enjoy my touch.”

Bentley’s eyes flashed at the almost gloating quality of the statement. He turned slightly to pull his arm from C’s reach – and to try to hide his flush. “No.”

C’s sinful smile widened. He found Bentley’s denial amusing. “I can smell your arousal. Sharks have far superior sensory organs. Your scent is always alluring, but particularly now. It’s like you’re in heat.”

“I am not!”

The trial stepped into his space, naked body familiar but oh-so intimidating. “So if I reached down, I wouldn’t find you primed for mating?”

“Mating?” Nervously, Bentley’s brow furrowed.

C deliberated for a moment trying to choose the human word. “So if I reached down, I wouldn’t find your prick hard? Ready for mating.”

Oh. Well, maybe not a moment before, before the trial’s heat sank into him and the word ‘prick’ hung between them in the air.

“Mating? Sex, you mean?” How could he deny that in his current state? Not to mention the fact the trial could apparently smell him. How humiliating. “Whatever. I’m 21, you know. I get hard like hundred times a day, don’t get the idea it’s just you.”

C’s brow furrowed lightly, his lips tightened too, with disapproval, “Only 21? I thought you’d be older.”

“Well, I’m not.” Bentley answered a little defensive. “How old are you?”

139C appeared to concentrate for a moment, clearly working out the number in his head. Bentley supposed that made sense, they probably didn’t commemorate his birthday in the institute; he probably hadn’t been keeping track of it either. He finally settled on, “Older.”

Bentley opened his mouth to respond when the floor started to shake, glasses rattling. 139C crossed the small distance between them lightning-fast. His huge body slamming into Bentley’s with enough force to almost knock the breath out of the brunette’s lungs. In an instant, the trial had Bentley pushed back against the wall in the hallway, body pressing and covering like he had at the bottom of the tank. Even after the shaking stopped, 139C kept him pinned there, unable to move.

The trial was clearly agitated. He didn’t like to see the trial upset, Bentley realized. “C...It’s okay. It was just an aftershock.” He attempted the shift out from the trial’s hold with no success. The muscles holding him felt like steel, not budging an inch as Bentley tried to squirm free. Their faces only inches apart, Bentley tried to reassure the trial, “An afterschock is just the crust along the fault line readjusting after the plate movement of the main shock…It’s o –”

-kay. The trial’s head dropped down, lips pressing to Bentley’s, mid-word.

“You talk too much.” The words were mumbled into the kiss. Lips, one set warm and soft and pink, the other set, cold and rough and pale, smashed together.

C’s voice. C’s lips. You’re kissing C! Surprisingly, those were the thoughts of the rational side of Bentley’s brain. The other part of Bentley’s brain had only one, even less sophisticated, thought: More…

As the kiss deepened, Bentley’s lips became the center of his nervous system. Sparks radiated out from there, down his neck, his spine, his limbs. Tingles spread all over and he nearly forgot to breath.

Fortunately (unfortunately), 139C broke the kiss before Bentley passed out from lack of oxygen. The brunette felt a little unsteady from the aftershock and then from the trial’s heavy-handed response to it and finally from the feverish kiss. 139C looked just as unsettled.

And he still had Bentley pinned back against the wall.

“C? Say something, okay? You’re starting to scare me.” Bentley squirmed to get free again.

Slowly, seeming to relax one muscle at a time, 139C pulled back from Bentley, expression closing off. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“C? Um, I mean...139C. Sorry, that’s just what...What would you like to be called?” Bentley stumbled over his wording.

“My name.”

Bentley slid against the wall, side-stepping to put a little more space between them. “You have a real name?”

“Yes.”

Bentley swallowed, “So, what’s your name?”

“Evander.”

“Evander.” Bentley tired it out, it didn’t sound right. It was too normal. He thought aloud, “Sounds human.”

The trial crossed his arms over his chest, one eyebrow lifting with I-seriously-how-slow-are-you? expression.

Bentley felt his heart stop for a moment, putting the pieces together. “You were human. You were human? You - ?”

“I wasn’t always some sort of Frankenstein, genetic experiment gone wrong? No. I was completely human for the first 20 years of my life.”

“What?!”

The 139C just grunted.

“What did you mean you used to be human?”

“We’re not going to talk about that.”

“But –”

“No.”

“Come o –”

“Leave it.”

Bentley wanted to press the issue, but the trial looked like he was out of patience. “Fine, Evander.” A change of subject was in order and Bentley had the perfect one. His cheeks heated, “Let’s talk about pants instead.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~