by Aiden Bates
He didn't mean to suggest anything by it. He'd just gotten used to the living room being Jake's space. Still, when Sam got up and followed him, Oliver froze. "What are you doing?"
"Oliver, I'm sorry." Sam put his hands on Oliver's shoulders. "I feel like I'm… I feel like I've dropped the ball here somehow, even though I know I'm doing the right thing."
Oliver turned to face him. "You're not doing the right thing here. You can convince yourself that you are, but if you can't trust an omega to know what's right for himself, then you're not doing the right thing by writing him off."
Sam leaned in and kissed Oliver then, not soft or gentle but rough and demanding. Oliver cradled Sam's face and let it happen. His mind reeled from the whiplash of it. "You make it so hard to keep control," Sam growled into his ear, edging him into the bedroom door. "All I can think about is you, do you understand that?" He pinned Oliver against the door, and Oliver didn't resist.
Oliver lifted his head and turned it to the side. "I'm right here," he said, baring his neck as Sam mouthed along his jaw. "Right where I've always been. I've always given you what you wanted."
Sam just made a wordless sound and unbuttoned Oliver's shirt. Oliver let him. He would have loved to say that he didn't want this. He'd have been thrilled to say that he'd convinced himself to get over Sam Nenci so much that he was able to push him away and tell him no. The truth was that he'd never been able to tell the big alpha no, and he didn't want to.
He treasured the feel of Sam's rough hands as they slipped under his undershirt, seeking out the most sensitive parts of his skin. He moaned as Sam's lips teased the flesh of his neck and his collarbone. When Sam pulled the undershirt over his head, he offered no resistance but opened the bedroom door.
Sam blinked, and some of the haze cleared from his eyes for a moment. "Lube," he said. "We need lube."
Oliver didn't have any lube. He'd never needed it before. "I think Jake has some." He winced, only remembering after the words were out of his mouth that Sam was Jake's father.
Sam just tightened his mouth. "Be naked when I get back."
A shiver of delight ran up Oliver's spine, and he rushed to finish disrobing. Rustling sounds reached him from the living room as he tossed his dress pants into a corner; he'd deal with them later. He turned the covers back and sat on the edge of the bed as he heard his alpha returning, his dick standing up from the thatch of hair between his legs.
Was he really this needy? Was he really going to sleep with Sam again, when he knew that there was no future?
Sam came back. The lustful haze returned as soon as he crossed the threshold of the bedroom. Oliver's more scientific mind could tell him the exact chemical reaction that caused it, the precise hormones triggered and in which amounts by Oliver's scent. The rest of Oliver just glowed with pleasure. He had caused that reaction. "Hands and knees," Sam ordered, after pausing to drink in the sight.
Oliver complied. He'd rather be able to see Sam, but if Sam wanted to do it this way, he'd give him what he wanted. He got into position and listened to the rustle of cloth as Sam undressed. The bed dipped as Sam got into bed behind him, and Sam's hand ran along the lines of his body again. "Oliver, you have no idea how beautiful you are like this, do you?" He peppered Oliver's back with kisses and love bites just as Oliver heard the cap on the lube bottle pop off.
One cool, lube-slick finger slid into him, and then two. Now that Oliver had a better idea of what to expect he was less tense, and it felt better. It felt amazing, and he moaned out in his pleasure. By the time Sam added the third finger, Oliver was rocking back onto his fingers with abandon.
Of course, Sam's cock was different than a few fingers. Sam entered him slowly. Oliver panted through it and relished the stretch of it. He tried not to focus on the fact that it was Sam, who he loved in spite of everything. Instead he concentrated on the incredible feeling of fullness. When Sam started to move, Oliver was able to move with him.
It was just as well that Jake wasn't here tonight. Oliver was learning something new about himself tonight: he was loud. Sam didn't seem to mind. As he thrust into Oliver, harder and faster than he had during their first time, he added a few loud moans of his own. Oliver could do this all day, and he kind of wanted to.
After a while, Oliver felt Sam's rhythm falter. Sam hauled Oliver upright and grabbed hold of his cock, jerking him to completion just as he finished inside of him. Oliver cried out as he came, all over himself and Sam's hand. Sam held him up for a long moment, before lowering him carefully to the bed.
They lay there for a long moment, still joined, before Sam pulled out. He held Oliver for a long while, and then he sighed. "We shouldn't have done that." He kissed Oliver's shoulder.
Oliver sighed. "I'm sorry you feel that way."
"I know." Sam got out of the bed and left.
Tomorrow, Oliver would cry or something. For tonight, he decided that he would pretend. His bed smelled like his alpha. He would sleep in that illusion for the night and wash the sheets in the morning.
***
Sam drove back to his house alone. He slumped so low in the driver's seat of his Ford Taurus that he almost couldn't see over the dash. He hadn't felt so low since Chris died.
It would have been so easy not to feel this. He could have been back in that apartment, back in that big and comfortable bed. He could have had those arms wrapped around him, all night long, and then maybe a little bit of something in the morning. Or not; Jake would have come home eventually and made them do a whole lot of uncomfortable explaining.
A father shouldn't have to explain that sort of thing to his son.
It had been physically painful to leave that bed, but it was the right thing to do. He shouldn't have been so weak. He hadn't planned to touch Oliver. He hadn't even planned to stay long. He'd just wanted to make things right, to make sure that Oliver understood where he was coming from.
All of that had gone out the window when he'd gotten close enough to pick up on Oliver's scent. The only thing that had kept him strong after that had been his own willpower, and that faded once he put his hand on Oliver's.
He'd been wrong to give in to his desires, even if it was what Oliver wanted. At least he could leave before things went further, before it got to be harder to leave. That didn't make him feel any better when he crawled into his cold bed, but he'd told his sons that right didn't always feel great at the time. It was time to take his own advice.
On Saturday, he got a phone call from Jake. Jake's voice was quiet, as though he was trying not to be heard. "Hey, dad. I don't know what happened last night, and for the record if you try to tell me I'll burn out your vocal cords and make it look like a coffee burn."
Sam chuckled in spite of his pain. Jake had more of his old man in him than anyone could have expected from an omega. "Son, it's not a big deal, I promise."
"It's a big deal because he hasn't said a word all day. He did take his sheets out to the dumpster, though. Look. Just… stay away, okay? You can work this case with him, to the extent that you have to communicate at all, electronically."
"Jake, this is between me and Oliver. Don't interfere." Sam sat down in his favorite chair.
"Wrong. Oliver is my friend, and you're screwing with his head and his heart. I'd love to be able to say, You know what? You're grown adults. You do your thing, I'm not going to get in the way. But the thing is, Dad, this is all new to him and you've already convinced him that love is a myth, okay? That it's something alphas just don't feel for omegas. He deserves better. He deserves to be cherished."
Sam's stomach sank. "Look, Jake, you know I'm not trying to hurt him."
"I know, Dad. I know. In a very real way, that makes it worse." Jake sighed. "Dad, look. I know you're trying not to hurt him, but every time you do this stuff you're basically just twisting the knife. Just stop. Just stop. If you can't behave like a real alpha, and treat him with respect, then avoid him. I'm going to ask Nina to have a talk with your boss and keep you away from th
e lab." He coughed. "Anyway, Joey, I'll give you a call later when I know what's going on. Talk to you later, bro." The line went dead.
Sam stared at his silent phone for a few minutes. Jake had clearly called him behind Oliver's back; he'd pretended to be talking to Joey when Oliver had come back into the room. Could Oliver be that devastated? Oliver had seemed to understand last night.
Or maybe his need, or his desire, had just been so great that he hadn't been able to stop himself any better than Sam had.
Damn it. Why couldn't Oliver understand that this was right for them?
Sam tried to distract himself with housework for the rest of the weekend. He'd never thought of this place as being all that large. Neither he nor Chris had wanted an enormous house. They'd been happy to get the water view. After Chris died, Sam had been too caught up in taking care of the kids and working to think about moving.
Now the kids were gone. Chris was gone, the kids were gone, and Sam was alone in the house. Fourteen hundred square feet had never seemed so vast as it did that weekend. For the first time, Sam wondered if he should sell.
Even though his footsteps echoed on the floors, Sam dreaded going into work on Monday. He knew that the lab tended to start earlier than Cold Case. Jake would have made sure he got there early, which would have meant that he spoke to Nina. Still, there was no getting around it. He had to go to work, or else he'd probably explode.
Much to his surprise, there was nothing waiting for him when he walked in. He headed for his desk and pulled up a chair. Sure, he was apparently flying solo on this case now, but that didn't mean that the clock wasn't ticking. He had work to do.
The guy currently running the Marsten family was a guy by the name of Isaiah Marsten. Sam made an appointment with him to meet up the next day, and then he cajoled Langer into heading out with him for the meeting. Sam wanted to have as much information as possible before he headed up to Manchester-by-the-Sea, so he started digging as soon as he made the appointment.
The Marsten family story looked a lot like the Coucher family story, at least on the surface. Both families had been some of the first settlers to come to Salem, and they'd risen to prominence relatively quickly as the town gained in stature as a shipbuilding and mercantile center. As their fortunes grew, both families invested heavily in real estate. After the Revolution, both families invested outside of Salem, although both families continued to reside in the city until 1904 for the Couchers and 1929 for the Marstens.
A suspicious man might think that the 1904 date might be a little too coincidental, given the overlap with the claiming of young Walter Coucher, né Towne. Sam had been a professional suspicious bastard for a very long time.
He wouldn't have bothered digging this far back into a family's history under normal circumstances, but the Cooper Block case wasn't a normal case. It was bound up in the history between the families. He knew that he didn't need to spend a lot of time on a duel between Frederick Coucher and Alfred Marsten back in 1807, but it certainly played a role in building up to the fatal fires in Cooper Block.
He compiled as much information as he could, working late into the night. The work was absorbing, and it kept his mind off of Oliver and his beautiful eyes. He managed not to think about Oliver until he went home and faced that oversized house again.
The next day, Sam drove Langer up to Manchester-by-the-Sea. The town was pretty, although Sam figured he had enough angst to make up for the difference between reality and the film version of the town. Langer seemed to be a little uncomfortable with some aspects of the case, but he was willing to come along anyway. "So we're just going along to mess his day up because some other guy said so?" Langer scratched his head. "I'm no lawyer, but I'm pretty sure that's not probable cause."
"I told you, sleeping with the enemy." Sam shook his head. "That defense lawyer of yours is getting to your head. Seriously, though, it doesn't have to be probable cause if the guy agrees to talk to us. A guy who's made it this far, and who's got such varied business interests? You'd better believe that he's got lawyers out the wazoo. And I mean really, just because this Coucher fellow seems like a nice enough guy doesn't make it so, right?"
"Oh, so you're going there just to see what his side of the story is?" Langer smirked and cracked his knuckles. "I think my defense lawyer might be getting to you too."
"Ugh, now I feel dirty," Sam complained. He grinned, though, so that Langer would know he was only teasing.
Marsten lived in a veritable palace overlooking the harbor. One thing about this case that Sam would not miss was wealthy, old money semi-criminal families with family compounds that overlooked harbors. A maid, dressed in black with a white cap and apron, let them in and guided them through the elegantly decorated house to a gray back porch that overlooked some kind of small marina or dock. Their host waited for them there.
Isaiah Marsten rose to meet them. His deeply lined face was tanned, and a silver-tipped walking stick was balanced on the edge of the table, but he had no visible difficulties rising to his feet. "Gentlemen," he greeted, shaking their hands. "I'm pleased to meet you."
"We're pleased to meet you, Mr. Marsten. I'm Detective Sam Nenci, this is Detective Ray Langer. Thanks for being so willing to meet with us. I appreciate you taking the time." Sam sat down in the wicker chair indicated by their host. Langer did the same.
Marsten gave a thin smile. "I'm always willing to help the police. A man in my position almost has to be, don't you think?" He chuckled quietly to himself. "How can I help you today?"
Sam and Langer exchanged glances. They got a lot of different types of responses from people in the course of their interactions, but it was safe to say that Marsten's behavior was just a little bit off. There was nothing that they could point to and say, This is suspicious, but Sam could feel comfortable with his own judgment that Marsten didn't come off as a typical real estate mogul.
Not that Sam came into contact with all that many real estate moguls in his line of work. It happened, but not very often. He chose not to contemplate the reasons for that.
"Mr. Marsten, Detective Langer and I work on the Cold Case squad. All that we do is investigate cases that have gone cold. Now that arson investigation techniques have advanced, the State has decided to take another look at the Cooper Block fire in 1967."
Sam kept careful watch of Marsten as he spoke. Marsten crossed his arms over his chest, but otherwise showed little reaction. "My God, that was a horrible business. So many people, killed so horribly!" He twisted his face in disgust. "You know, I was just a young man when that happened, in my mid-twenties. I had this long hair—you'd laugh at me now! I remember the bidding for that block. I remember that my father was livid, just livid, when we lost out." His eyes narrowed, and one of his hands clenched into a fist. "The Couchers bid less than we did, and by a lot of money too. They should never have gotten the place, but they did." Then, Marsten's whole body relaxed. "But of course the whole thing worked out for us in the end. If we'd won out, it would have been our tenants that died. It would have been us living with that on our consciences, and I'm not sure that we could have handled it."
Sam had to exercise all of his self-control to keep his opinion to himself. After all, these people weren't like him, or like anyone else that he knew. Their minds were always attuned to profit first. The fact that Coucher had accused them didn't make them guilty.
Langer stepped in. "You think that it was just some random arsonist, someone who decided to escalate?"
Marsten knit his eyebrows together. "What other explanation could there be, Detective?"
Sam cleared his throat and reached into his briefcase. "One of our crime scene technicians found these while he was going through the old evidence." He found the page with the images of the jewelry and passed it over to Marsten. "That's actually how we found your name. The person who identified the jewelry mentioned that someone in your family might know something about it."
Marsten laughed, deep and rich. "Ah. Coucher. I see. S
till trying to start trouble, is he? As it happens, I do recognize these. They belonged to my grandfather." He picked up the printout and studied it. "I remember seeing them in his study when I was a boy." He looked up at Sam and moistened his lips, just a little bit. "Of course they were stolen sometime in the fifties. It could only have been the Couchers."
Langer frowned and leaned forward. "Did you file a police report or an insurance claim?"
"My dear detective, I was still in grade school when they disappeared. I don't believe that my grandfather would have filed a police report, though. He was always mistrustful of the police." He smirked again. "He said that they reminded him of the omega that he should have had."
"Your grandfather was an alpha." Sam scratched at his beard.
"He was. It wasn't something that people tended to advertise in those days, of course, but there you are. He was supposed to have had an omega from Salem, but the Couchers intervened and kidnapped the poor thing. I don't know how that all played out, but I know Grandpa never quite stopped carrying a torch for him. My uncle, who was an omega himself, was named for him."
