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Caleb grabs Wulf on his way to lunch and drags him into the quiet conference room, the only one at Lucid Bastion Inc. without floor-to-ceiling windows inside and out.
“Okay,” Wulf says with a shrug as Caleb closes and locks the door. Wulf grabs him by the face and pulls him in for a kiss.
Caleb shoves him off. “That's not-” he says before his brain actually processes the sensation. Damn, Wulf is an even better kisser than when they were teens. “Well, okay, maybe a little,” Caleb says, and leans back in.
He allows himself a lovely five minutes to make out with his ex before he pulls away and sits at the conference table. “Can we talk about Essek?”
“Sure,” Wulf says, taking the seat across from him. He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “How’s tricks?”
“HR violation,” Caleb says sourly, as he has begun to do every time Wulf says or does something wildly inappropriate for their workplace. He's not actually sour because of Wulf, however. “It's…not great,” he admits, looking down at his hands. “Essek's still struggling to communicate.”
Wulf snorts. “No shit.” When Caleb pouts at him, his tone turns condescending. “Aw, did you think dick from you was going to be so magical it would fix all his issues in a single week?”
Caleb blushes. “Well, when you put it like that… That was foolish, wasn’t it?”
“He’s 123 years old,” Wulf points out. “He’s been like this for longer than we’ve been alive.”
“That is actually what I want to talk to you about,” Caleb says, looking down and fidgeting with his hands. “Do you think it would help to understand why he’s…like that?”
Wulf hums, considering. “He’s never told me anything,” Wulf says. “Everything I know, I got without permission.”
Caleb nods. “It’s not like asking would get you anything,” he mutters, as if saying it without conviction will hide his frustration from Wulf.
“It’s only been a week,” Wulf reminds him.
“I’m not asking for my own curiosity,” Caleb says, defensively. “If I can be a better friend to him by understanding him, if I can avoid things that will hurt him…” Caleb sighs and drops his head into his hands.
“Tell me what happened.”
The simple command from Wulf is easy and comfortable to follow. “We were trying restraints. I think he mostly likes the bruises they leave; he pokes at them all day under his clothes.” Caleb smiles, thinking of the way Essek had smiled when pressing on the bruises Caleb had left him. Then, he frowns remembering last night’s disaster. “He doesn’t talk, so I figured: let’s throw in a gag. Bad idea.”
Wulf wince sympathetically and Caleb turns his frown on him.
“You didn’t warn me about that one!”
“I didn’t know,” Wulf quickly defends, raising his hands like Caleb's expression is a weapon pointed at him. “He doesn’t talk so I never bothered to try gagging him. But—” Wulf hunches his shoulders “—it does fit one of my theories.
“You should understand, they are just theories. Essek has never told me anything. What I have is call logs, texts and emails, medical records, news articles and press releases. Evidence, but no context. I have some guesses at what it all means, but no confirmation.
“And it was all stolen. I dug into Essek's records—his family’s and his friends’—without his permission. I can tell you what I learned, but…fruit of the poisonous tree.”
Caleb sets his jaw. “I understand,” he says. “You already told me how you got it and you know I didn't forget.”
Wulf sighs. “I’m just making sure you understand. Wouldn’t you rather hear it from him?”
“I would rather not trigger a panic attack that I can't distinguish from his usual reactions to pain and pleasure,” Caleb says, resolved. “You have known him for years and never gotten an answer. I can’t wait that long, or longer. I want to be informed. I want to have all the data, and make the best choices I can based on it.”
“Alright,” Wulf says, “I have a few theories. Let’s start the furthest back. Even if it’s not what I think it is, I think it still sets the stage.
“Den Thelyss is a powerful, public family. Essek had been groomed to run it from a very young age, trained for corporate leadership and publicity. That kind of public-facing life, during his youth, may have required him to learn how to keep things hidden, how to repress anything that wouldn't reflect well on the company.”
“This, I already know,” Caleb interrupts. “Everyone knows. Surely, there’s more to it than that.”
“I’m building a narrative,” Wulf snaps. “It’s all interconnected. I think. His family and the company.
“Okay, look. Essek was involved in the business from a young age. You know that. Here’s what I know: he was involved in ways he shouldn’t have been.” Wulf sets his jaw and sighs again. “Phone records only go so far back. The earliest I have are from when Essek was in his thirties, so he was an adult, but that’s still considered ‘young’ for Kryn. Really young.”
Wulf shakes his head, suddenly. “Wait, how much do you know about the history of Lucid Bastion?”
Caleb shrugs. “Is it relevant?”
“His family is,” Wulf says. “His mother is the founder, the head, the brains. But his father, when he was alive, seems to have been the face, the public relations expert, the one to make connections. And he involved Essek in that.
“It’s mostly calls, back then, few texts and emails. But there are pictures. From Essek's father to his business contacts.”
“Don't be vague,” Caleb rasps, mind going immediately to the worst places. “Don't leave it up to my imagination.”
Wulf purses his lips. “They are suggestive photos,” he says, carefully neutrally, “of Essek. Not fully nude, but sometimes shirtless. Sometimes, fully clothed but in vulnerable positions. Trancing.”
Caleb covers his mouth as his stomach turns.
“They start when Essek is in his thirties,” Wulf says again, “and I do believe he’s an adult in pictures, but sometimes old ones get shared years later, so I don’t really know. He looks about the same as he does now.
“Mostly calls, few references to the pictures in text and email,” he continues. “There isn’t much evidence to say it was more than that.”
“Not much?” Caleb repeats. “But not none?”
“Essek was caught by some paparazzi while out with one of those contacts. There was an article in a very trashy magazine speculating about the two of them. The man was already well into his fourth life, 800 to 1000 years older than Essek, and the magazine was not kind to Essek about it.
“LBI made a press release, smoothing things over. They claimed it was nothing torrid, just Essek getting involved in company business, learning the ropes, all perfectly professional.”
Caleb frowns “You sound like you don’t believe that.”
“The pictures don’t stop after that,” Wulf explains, “but there is never a new one.
“My theory is that Mama Thelyss didn’t know what Papa was up to with Essek before that, and that she put a stop to some of it. But she still covered it up. Given Essek’s frosty relationship with her, I don’t think she handled it very well. I don’t think she supported him or protected him.”
Wulf leans back in his chair and focuses on the ceiling. “I don’t have any evidence to suggest his dad was pimping him out for favorable business dealings or anything that egregious, though I have wondered.”
“Do you think- Is there any evidence to suggest- Did his father ever-” Caleb starts and stops, unable to complete the thought.
“No evidence that I could find,” Wulf says, understanding Caleb's half-formed question. “And I did look. My best guess is no, but those pictures… I don't know.”
“His father is-”
“Dead, yes. About fifty years now.”
“But consecuted?”
Wulf nods. “He may be back.”
He looks at Caleb and gives him a tight smile. “Maybe you don't want to hear the rest of my theories.”
“No,” Caleb insists, “this is helpful. I'd been thinking of asking him if I could take pictures of him, but now I won't!”
Wulf leans forward and shakes his head. “No, no, don't do that. Don't try to interpret him like that. He might be totally okay with you taking pictures. It might be fine in a different context. And we might be totally reading this all wrong. Maybe he noticed the older businessmen taking an interest in him and maybe he suggested using it to the company's advantage.”
Caleb scoffs. “You can't really believe that's possible.”
“I don't think it's likely,” Wulf concedes, “but he has a ruthless streak, and a manipulative one. And he's vain in a way that maybe he'd like that you want to take photos of him.
“He likes pain and I know he's been hurt before,” Wulf says, seriously. “You have to be careful what you do with this information. We don't have the full story.”
Caleb hears him out, but he focuses on only one thing. “He's been hurt?”
Wulf crosses his arms. “Are you sure you want to know?”
Caleb's stomach still turns from what he's learned, and Wulf makes a fair case that he shouldn't jump to conclusions. Maybe it's the analyst in him, but he still thinks more data is better. “Please, Wulf. I can handle it.”
“The things we go through in our youth set our expectations,” Wulf says, “for what we consider normal or tolerable. I can see pieces of how what his father did might have led to his struggles with communication, but there's actually a more direct route:
“When he was 66, he was hospitalized for a broken jaw. Shattered, really. It had to be wired shut to heal. It took over a year.”
“That's too long,” Caleb says immediately.
“It should have only taken six months,” Wulf agrees.
He pauses and Caleb has to spur him on again. “Please, don't make me guess.”
“Maybe it's not so bad,” Wulf says. “You know how poorly Essek takes care of himself. Maybe he didn't do his physical therapy, maybe he didn't take his medication, maybe he didn't eat or rest enough for his body to have the energy to heal.”
“Maybe,” Caleb allows, “but you think otherwise.”
“I do.” Wulf stands and begins to pace. He doesn't express much emotion in his face or tone, but his body language gives him away. “He had a boyfriend at the time,” he says. “They were living together. Essek doesn't take great care of himself, but his partner should have.”
Caleb's pulse quickens, and he tries not to jump to conclusions. “How did he break his jaw?”
“The report says he fell,” Wulf says, his own jaw clenched. “There was no investigation.”
“But?” Caleb presses.
Wulf grabs the back of the chair he had been sitting on and squeezes. “Look. He's in the hospital a lot. He doesn't wear his brace, he trips, hospital. He doesn't eat, he faints, hospital. He's been single for the past thirty years and he averages about one trip every four months. When he was with Verrat, it was closer to one every three months.”
Caleb's cheeks burn as anger floods his system, but Wulf shakes his head.
“Don't interpret, Caleb,” he says sternly. “That's a thirty year average compared to a three year average, with a difference of one month. And there are other possible explanations. Maybe Verrat took Essek in for now minor things that Essek himself brushes off or ignores. There have certainly been advances in medicine in the last sixty years, and specifically improvements in his condition.”
“You pointed out there was no investigation,” Caleb counters. “You clearly think there should have been. You've read his medical records? Texts and emails, you said? His and Verrat's, I'm assuming. You have a theory, so share it.”
Something in Wulf unspools and he collapses back in his seat. “Yes, alright. I think he was abused. I think Verrat broke his jaw. I don't want it to be that, but that is my theory.” He lets some pain show through, some concern on Essek’s behalf, and Caleb remembers that Wulf had once loved Essek—and maybe still does.
“More relevant to you,” Wulf continues, pushing his own feelings aside, “I think something happened while his jaw was wired. Either something that made him associate talking with pain or not talking with safety.” He spreads his hands and concludes, “And that's my main theory for why he's like that now.”
Caleb tries to dissipate his own anger and focus on his mission: supporting Essek through understanding him. He feels guilty for the pain he had inflicted on Essek, even knowing Essek doesn't enjoy sex without it. He sags back in his chair. “What do I do with this?”
“Nothing,” Wulf says. “Don't interpret, don't jump to conclusions, don't make decisions based on it. We don't have Essek's side of things. Fuck, maybe it's not even trauma, maybe he's just screwy.”
“HR violation,” Caleb says, purely out of habit.
Wulf rolls his eyes. “The point stands. We don't know. You can't act on this.”
“I feel like I'm going to lose it the next time he mentions his mother. How do you handle knowing all this?”
Wulf shrugs. “It's no different from an undercover mission. It comes easy to me.”
Caleb drops his head to the conference table. “Less so to me.”
“Give yourself some credit,” Wulf says. He reaches over and pats Caleb's head. “I mean, you haven't killed Adeen, so you know you can control yourself.”
Wulf's tone is playful, but Caleb's stomach sinks. Adeen is awful to Essek, yes, but not on the same level as his father and this Verrat. Right?
Caleb slowly lifts his head and looks at Wulf. “Why would I want to kill Adeen?”
“Fuck,” Wulf swears, face falling. “You don't- of course, not, how could you?” He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you even know that they dated?”
Caleb did not. That must be obvious from his expression or stunned silence, because Wulf curses again.
“What about his time in rehab?”
Caleb shakes his head. He thinks aloud, “Are the two connected? Wait. Adden's company, Gallimaufry, has a pharmaceutical subsidiary…”
“So, okay.” Wulf heaves a heavy sigh. “Fuck Adeen because he got Essek hooked on designer drugs while they were together. Ones only Adeen could him, with his connection in his company. Made Essek dependent on him. For years. I've read their texts, to each other and to their own friends. Essek tried to break up with him for years, but kept going back to him for the pills.”
Wulf bites his bottom lip. “It's—weird. He averaged only one hospital visit every six months for the time he was week Adeen. And they were notably less severe.”
“Do you know what kind of drugs?” Caleb wonders. “Could it have been pain medication? He barely takes anything for the pain anymore, he's very strict about it. I got a headache at his apartment the other night and he had to order some ibuprofen delivered because he didn't have anything.”
“It was,” Wulf nods.
“Is that why he likes pain during sex?”
“Not why, not alone,” Wulf says. “Some of his texts to Verrat and other partners show he was into that before Adeen, but it might have changed aspects of it?”
Caleb nods and considers. “It kind of seems like Adeen isn't that bad?”
“Oh, he is,” Wulf says, darkly. “Some of his texts to his friends-” Wulf cuts himself off for a moment to seeth. Collecting himself, “He bragged about fucking Essek while high, while barely concious. About not having to deal with Essek's kinks. About not having to bother with Essek's pleasure.
“And now he has the nerve to try to worm his way back into Essek's life through his business,” Wulf growls. “What I would give for ten minutes alone with Adeen.”
Caleb swallows thickly, trying not to think the same and worse. He is not a violent man, not anymore. And vengeance isn't his, nor is it Wulf's. He tries to redirect the conversation. “You said he's been single for thirty years? Was Adeen his last partner? Well, other than you.”
“Adeen was the last, yeah, but I was never-” Wulf blushes. “We never dated. We weren't boyfriends. It wasn't…” Wulf trails off, looking away.
“When did you meet him?”
“Eight years ago, when Cerberus first started courting him. I'm the undercover guy, and I'm good in the Dynasty, despite being human, so they sent me for a lot of things.”
“When did things get intimate?”
Wulf shrugs. “Pretty quickly. We've been on-again-off-again basically the whole time I've known him. Off for a good bit in the middle.”
“After you fell in love with him?” Caleb guesses.
“After I admitted it, yeah.” Wulf rubs his arms and pivots away from that. “I think we're on-again right now? Unless you've talked about exclusivity?”
Caleb shakes his head. “No, I honestly think you're good for him. You understand him better than I do. Though I worry he's not good for you? It seems pretty one-sided; I don't want you to get hurt.”
Wulf coughs. “You'll figure him out,” Wulf says, pointedly ignoring the second half of Caleb's dialogue. “It has only been a week.”
“Danke, Wulf,” Caleb says, sighing. He thinks, “I've only got five minutes left on my lunch break.”
“Do you want to make out some more?” Wulf offers.
“Not really in the mood,” Caleb says, apologetically. “Though it was nice. Some other time perhaps?”
Wulf winks at him. “Maybe with Essek in the middle?”
Caleb laughs, feeling lighter. “Ja, if he’d like that.”