Date: Sun, 11 Oct 2015 23:10:53 +0700
From: So Watso <sjwauthor@gmail.com>
Subject: The Blacklist - 1

This is one part of a (maybe) two part series exploring characters from
NBC's The Blacklist.

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Please send thoughts to sjwauthor@gmail.com

Agent Ressler walks down the hall of his apartment building, fed up with
trying to catch Red and Liz. Or, at least find out how to bring someone to
justice. His body is still on high alert from the hostage crisis that
served as an escape cover. To be honest, he enjoys the high. It makes him
feel strong. He'll certainly need a wank tonight.

As he walks down the hall, he hears a step behind him.

Turn. Draw. Aim. Process.

Tom. Ressler thinks to himself, seeing hooded figure of Tom Keen, his
piercing green-blue eyes and crooked nose gazing back at him. His body
relaxes. He knows he needs to not catch Tom today if he wants the truth.

"We need to talk" Tom says. His voice, slightly hoarser than normal.

Inside Ressler's apartment, sitting on the couch, Tom takes the coffee that
Ressler hands him and looks into the flaccid brown liquid. He smells the
expiration date. As he sits on the couch, he tries to formulate the words
to describe what needs to happen. He looks up to see Ressler leaning
against a dresser, the palms of his hands on the top of the wood. Tom's
eyes are drawn to Ressler's chest. It flexes in this position. His pecs are
full and strong, his nipples are visible through the shirt. Tom's eyes
drift upwards to Ressler's shoulders, round, detailed. Even through the
shirt, he can see the details of each muscle.

"I thought you were out of all this," Ressler quips.

"I did too. I have barely any contacts, barely any money, and no knowledge
of where they are."

"Then why the fuck are you here?"

"Because I want in."

"In. In how?" Ressler crosses his arms, his biceps nuzzled against his
chest. He crosses one leg over the other, his thighs aching against the
pant material that is tired and worn from the repeated stresses of the
blacklist.

"Appoint me a special convoy of the FBI."

Ressler laughs. One hand moves up to his head and brushes through the
ginger locks on top of his head. Tom can see the freckles that straddle the
border of hair and forehead. They exist all down his face, and no doubt
down his body. Even with his body getting little sunlight, Tom knows that
this gorgeous ginger must be freckled all over.

"You're serious?" Ressler says, coming off the laugh, "You're wanted for
dozens of murders, and no doubt guilty of more. You tried to kill me twice.
You destroyed Liz, sent her spiraling into this mess"

"You can't blame me for this mess, Donald. For my mission? Sure. For this
mess? Hell no."

"If you hadn't've"

"If I what?" Tom stands up. The coffee in the cup sloshes onto his hand,
and his sweatshirt and the floor. He knows that he should engage the
argument. He knows how to win, but he is so weak and tired and defeated
from the days of running, he just buckles and looks down at his clothes. He
collapses back down onto the couch, drops the cup, and buries his hands in
his face. Tears stream.

Ressler watches as this spy, this killer, this..villain collapses into a
heap. His arms uncross and he stands, as if to go fix something. But what?
Even when Liz cries, he has no way of fixing it.

He crosses the room. Sits on the couch. Hesitates. Puts an arm over Tom's
shoulders. Tom is sobbing, his wails are loud, his defenses are
non-existent. He slowly falls into Ressler's chest. As Ressler rubs his
back, he feels the muscles and tendons, strong, stretched. There is not an
ounce of fat on him. Ressler feels envy. His gut, though strong and
muscular, is still slightly out, his abs slightly hidden.

"Tom, I."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Tom, I."

"How the hell am I supposed to be a person now?"

"Tom,"

"How can I ever"

"Tom" Ressler pulls Tom's head up and stares into his eyes. Ressler's eyes
purvey the pointed architecture on Tom's face as he speaks.

"Do you want in because you care about Liz or because you're scared about
yourself?"

"I,"

"Because, either way, the Bureau can't help you with that."

"But,"
"But. I can help you with one of those."

Ressler leans in and plans his lips on Tom's. Tom's tenses then relaxes,
his hand goes up Ressler's arm, stopping on his biceps, and squeezing them.
Ressler's hands come up Tom's neck, caressing and caressing the stubbly
smoothness of his jaw and chin. His hand then clamps down on Tom's neck as
he swings he body to straddle the now confused stud beneath him. Tom
panics, thinking he's being choked maliciously. It's only when he feels
Ressler's fat, hard cock grinding against his abs that he relaxes. He opens
his eyes to see Ressler staring down at him, drooling with excitement. Tom
struggles to breathe, but trusts the hunk above him. His cock strains
against his jeans, desperate to get out and find flesh to meet.

Ressler suddenly leaps off Tom.

"Come on, let's go." He almost shouts as he runs to the bedroom ,disrobing
on the way. Tom stands slowly. He undresses, unzipping his hoodie, and
letting it fall to the floor, his muscled forearms now exposed. They flex
and flair as he pulls off the white T-shirt revealing his glorious abs,
tight chest and muscular arms and shoulders. They are lightly dusted with
brown hair. He drags his hands up his torso, savoring the feel of his abs
and the hair that leads down to his cock, still screaming to release. He
lingers on his nipples then brings his hands to his throat, choking himself
and savoring the control over his own air, a feeling he knows he won't have
again soon.

The hands move down to rub the length of his cock, desperate to escape. It
points across his left leg, hard and strong. His hands traverse the shaft.

One hand dips below to massage his balls, then comes back up to pull on the
hair on his chest. The light tugging is so powerful. He moans and shudders,
slightly buckling over. The hand continues up. It traces his lips and
detects the little hairs emerging from the skin. It breaches the lips and
two fingers go into his mouth, right to the back of the throat. He pulls
out his hand and smiles. Still no gag reflex.

He unbuckles his belt.