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Title: Untitled
Fandom: CSI: Miami
Author: Hoot
Rating: R
Pairing: Horatio/Rentboy, hints of past Horatio/Speed
Spoilers: Lost Son
Summary: To forget the one you lost, lose yourself in another.
Author's Note/Warnings: I should be writing a Greg/Archie piece for a friend of mine, but no. I wrote this. It's full of good old Horatio style angsting. Comments are welcome, flames will be used to warm my house. If you cry, I know my work was done. As for warnings, harsh language. And mindless sex.
Disclaimer:If I owned them, I wouldn't be working two jobs.

***

It's easy to lose yourself in another person. Easy to forget about the pain, the all-consuming guilt when you bury yourself cock deep in someone else. It's not love. It could never be love. Not like it had been. There will never be anyone like him again for you.

The person you're with, you don't know his name nor do you care, is pressed against a cold, unyielding wall. He grinds his ass back against you, moaning like a bitch in heat. And that's all he is. A streetwalker. Someone you've never seen before. And will never see again. But he's stocky and has dark hair and dark eyes and he reminds you so much of the one you really want.

But the one you really want is gone. Lost in the line of duty. For most, another picture on a bulletin board. For you and the rest of your team, a lost brother. A lost son. You couldn't save him, no matter how much you begged for him to stay with you. Listen to your voice.

Don't you dare let go, Speed. Don't you dare leave me.

But he gave up on you, didn't he? He couldn't force himself to go on. After everything. After all the promises whispered fervently in the dark, he left you after all. Left you to mourn alone. Left you to seek solace in dark alleyways with nameless faces.

Because no one can really replace him, can they? And you don't even want to try.

You come hard into your current fuck and you aren't sure if you're really screaming or if it's all in your head. At least, until he has the nerve to talk to you. "Who's Tim?"

How dare he say his name. You tell him to shut the fuck up and pull out harshly, putting yourself to rights. Another night, another few hundred bucks down the drain. Money means nothing to you.

You live so lavishly, H. Like a king in your elegant apartment. I don't feel worthy to be here.

But you let him in. You let him take over your apartment. He's still there, Caine. You may have forgotten him for a few minutes, lost in another, but once you return home, he'll be there. Waiting in the pictures. The things that were his. The platinum ring you keep on your dresser when you go out at night. You won't risk one of your tricks making off with it.

You smell him on your sheets no matter how many times to wash them. It's the room. It's the entire place. He got under your skin and even though he's in the ground he refuses to leave.

You let me in, H. Now you won't be able to get rid of me.

"I didn't want to get rid of you, Timothy." You're talking to a picture again. The one someone (Calliegh? Delko) took at the informal ceremony on the beach. The one where you made the promises in front of friends. Oh sure, it wasn't legal, but legality meant nothing.

You shower, scrubbing your skin till it's raw. You dress for bed in a pair cotton pajamas. The pair Speed got you for Christmas one year. You close your eyes and drift under. No dreams anymore. Just the empty void of a dreamless sleep. In the morning, you'll be who they expect you to be. You'll play the role.

And at night, your hunt will begin again. Another body. Another mindless fuck to make it all go away.

***