The High Road(Sequel to 'Tales From the Red White and Blue')

Chapter 1: The Details

Pairing: HB/Myers

Feedback: Welcome.

Disclaimer: This is not a cash venture. I know the characters are not mine, and I mean no copyright infringement by writing this.

Notes: Spoilers for first Hellboy movie, and Hellboy comics

Hellboy:

The phone rings.

I ignore it. Myers wakes up on the second ring with a little groan of protest, and half climbs over me to answer it.

"H'lo?"

"Agent Myers, Hellboy's missing again. Have you seen him?"

"Uh yeah," John clears his throat, smiling down at me, "-he's right here."

"Hellboy's with you?"

"Yes."

"Well thank god for THAT," the voice on the other end of the line growls, "-I'll call off the search."

"Sorry about this, Ellis."

"It's cool," Ellis sighs, "-you've got your own way of handling him."

The line goes dead, but Myers keeps the receiver to his ear for a moment longer, a troubled look on his face.

"Hey," I say, taking Myers's chin between finger and thumb. Myers looks down at me, and his expression softens. He puts the phone back, and snuggles against my chest.

Man, that feels good...

Myers:

Man, this feels good.

I put my conversation with Ellis aside the moment, and focus on the way the tip of Red's tail is rubbing circles along my lower back. It's wonderful. I look up when he finally stops, curling his tail around the back of my knee.

"...Good morning," I say.

"Got that right," he rumbles, smiling at me. It's mostly in his eyes, like always.

I stretch out, not bothering to get up first. Red likes that. I can feel his hands close around my waist, just enough to make sure I don't get away. When I look back, his eyes are waiting for me, and I don't know what it is exactly, but I can feel my cheeks flush.

Dammit, I was trying to stay cool... This'll teach ME to sleep with a demon.

Red reads me like a book, and his smile becomes more amused.

"How 'bout it?" he asks.

"What does it feel like?" I counter, a little annoyed at how quickly he's gotten me hard. Red rocks his hips against mine, not -quite- firmly enough to be useful.

"...Like you're glad to see me?" he guesses.

"Dammit, Red!" I snap, and bite my lower lip as he does it again. His stone hand's heavy, holding me down against him, and his other hand is a pressed against my hip, guiding us. My breath hitches, and I arch down against him.

Red groans softly, shutting his eyes. His left hand plays along my arm and shoulder, a light touch with sudden pauses and half-grips as we build a rhythm.

This is all upside down. It should be me teasing him, not the other way around.

...Then again, do I -want- Red to treat me like a girl? -No, I guess I don't...

I'm confused, and happy, and pissed off, and in love all at once, and somehow that makes this BETTER. Sliding together, we hang on and chase it to the finish, until black spots start in the corners of my vision, until that little frown between red's eyebrows digs in deeper and he cries out, muffling his face in my shoulder, until the sudden, slick, more-than-human heat hits my skin in a wet rush, and I lose it too, fingers digging into the iron strength of his arms.

Hellboy:

"...Whoa," I manage, finally.

"Yeah..." Myers sighs, looking adorably goofy.

"...This bed is totaled, ya know that?"

"-I know," Myers snickers.

I draw him up into a kiss, slow and warm and lazy. He returns it with interest, then lounges on top of me, tracing a spiral on my stone hand with the tip of his finger.

"Whaddya got planned for us today?" I ask, because I know he won't bring it up first. Myers looks appropriately guilty.

"Well, the usual. You've got PT this afternoon, and I'm running an urban tactics lesson with Richards and Pierce to get the new guys up to speed. -It's because of what happened with the bratwurst stand in Amsterdam."

"Ah." Giant rat demon. Hot sauerkraut. Second-degree burns. Gotcha.

"...And I've also sort of promised Abe I would help him research one of the sects of Tukano shamanism later," Myers finishes, uncomfortably. ...As well he MIGHT, 'cause that's gonna take all flamin' night.

"Tukano shamanism," I repeat.

"Um, yeah."

Pause.

"You're the boss," I tell him, evilly.

Myers drums his fingers on my chest, and -I am not makin' this up- pouts.

"Do you want some breakfast?" he asks, looking up. -He's tracing my spirals again.

"For once I feel like I should be tha one askin' YOU that," I say, watching his pale hand as it plays with mine.

"It's my job," Myers shrugs, smiling.

Myers:

"Sir, I've been wondering a few things. Do you have a minute?"

Manning looks nonplussed, but he waves me into the chair in front of his desk. ...Some guys will pay real money to stay out of that chair. I shut the door, and take a seat.

"What's the problem, Agent Myers?" Manning asks, getting straight to the point.

"Well, there's no problem that I know of, but I've been wondering about this facility. It was originally built as a bomb shelter, right?"

"Go on..."

"It uses a lot of power. And- and it's like a vault. Some of the artifacts down here may need that kind of protection, but do we?"

"I never expected to hear that from you," Manning says, skeptically.

"Think about just the elevator. Every time it breaks down or has to be serviced, we have to call in a government contractor with a top secret clearance, who understands -ballistic- -missile- lifts. Or... what about the team's mobility? The garbage truck idea looks good on paper, but the thing's spotless, and it's been photographed at over a dozen crisis locations. The reporters have gotten wise, Sir."

Manning just stares at me for a moment, and steeples his fingers.

"So you're basically here to question everything the BPRD's done for the past twenty years."

"I- -just think that in the current- um- -that there's room for improvement now, that's all," I swallow.

"Ah-huh." Manning lets an icy silence descend, and it's an effort of will to keep my mouth shut. "-Make a list of all these ideas of yours, Agent Myers. And ah- -email me."

Funny, now I CAN'T think of anything to say. I nod, and look at a small coffee stain on the blotter of Manning's desk.

"Was there anything else?" Manning asks.

"-No."

Manning considers me for a moment.

"You're doing your job well, agent Myers. ...Don't try to do mine."

I reply with something civil, and leave before he can say anything else.

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