An ocean themed hoffstrahm diptych anthology, composed of the series Street Cats (Making Love) by doztoevsky and Rushed like a dreadful wind by bleakwinter, both stories of which I've read over and over again.
Technically the book is pretty much composed of two typesets in one, but I really liked that the two stories were both, in a way, ocean themed. As a result I enjoyed being able to incorporate an oil-tanned Cabezon fish skin I had caught and tanned a few years back (although it makes the spine stiffer than what I would like it to be) and incorporating many sea-themed designs. The text block itself drove me nuts as for the first time I decided to try trimming the edges since PDFs being printed had been giving me grief recently; only for me to completely botch it the first time, but luckily I had a mishap printing so had already half a second text block... But it's finished now :) links to the fics below the read more.
Stray Cats (Making Love) Series by Doztoevsky
Street Cats (making love), (M, 9k)
Hoffman changes the rules of the game. Peter's just trying to catch up.
Nervous from the fall (M, 6k)
The ground beneath them shifts. Peter tries to regain his footing.
The shape it takes (M, 10k)
Peter attends a wedding. It goes as well as things usually do for him.
rushed like a dreadful wind by bleakmidwinter (E, 44.5 k)
Hoffman saves Strahm from getting crushed, but keeps him captive. Hoffman wants Strahm to understand him. Strahm just wants to escape, until he doesn't.
(aka the fic where mark conducts intricate rituals in order to touch the skin of another man by putting he and peter in wireless handcuffs set up to explode if peter walks a specific amount of feet away from him)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 9/14
Fandom: Saw (Movies)
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Mark Hoffman/Peter Strahm
Characters: Mark Hoffman, Peter Strahm, Lindsey Perez, Allison Kerry, Eric Matthews (Saw), Seth Baxter
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - No Jigsaw Killer (Saw), Enemies to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Gay Sex, Porn with Feelings, Denial of Feelings, Bisexual Peter Strahm, Gay Mark Hoffman, Angst and Feels, Hurt/Comfort, slow burn but they fuck the whole time, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mutual Pining
Summary:
“Speaking of, back in New Jersey?” Perez picked up right after downing some noodles, “Some such ghoul just shortened a murderer’s sentence on a technicality. Twenty five years cut down to - get this - five.” She drew out the last word dramatically.
”Christ…” Erickson winced, and Perez continued;
“Yeah, and he already served five, so in a couple of weeks or so he’s just gonna walk, thanks to some careerist. After slitting his girlfriend’s throat.”
A cold shiver ran down Peter’s spine. Perez tilted her head at him, “You haven’t heard about that?”
*Summary: Hoffman didn't mind shutting his brain off. He felt like it was a treat after a day at work as a detective. Apparently, someone else on the internet didn't seem to mind much either.
*Rating: +18 for mature explicit content.
*Content/Tags: Smut, Shameless Smut, PWP, Modern Era, Feeding Kink, Hand Feeding, Slob, Huc0w elements, Alternate Universe
*Status: Oneshot/Complete
Author's Notes: First of all, thank you to dixxiemaegraphics on tumblr this artwork that I commissioned especially for this fic that I put at the end. They knocked it out of the ball park as always, and I hope you all will enjoy the art as well! Second, Happy HalloChristNew Year! This fic is so long overdue, but I wanted to make sure it was good enough to live up to the title of my 100th fic on AO3 before I uploaded it! In the time it took for me to write this, I managed to finish the newest Dragon Age game, start a new job, celebrate the aforementioned holidays, and get a new laptop. So you can say I was a little bit busy xD. I hope you'll enjoy this pure smut because I certainly enjoyed writing it.
Hoffman glanced down at his watch. He had thirty minutes before he’d be going live and still had so much to set up. He quickly threw his work clothes off to the side out of the camera’s gaze and walked into his kitchen. He pulled a liter of soda he’d been saving for this stream out of his fridge and carried the four pizza boxes up to his room. He threw them down on the makeshift table he had before slipping on a tight fitting t-shirt that just barely covered his stomach but would ride up after maybe two slices of his dinner. He didn’t worry about his lower half nearly as much since the camera wouldn’t pick it up. He adjusted his seat, making sure his face was out of frame, and when he was ready hopped online. He’d barely even let a sigh slip past his lips and his most devoted followers were already there to watch him. He let his lower lip dip into the frame as he couldn’t hold back the smirk at seeing these perverts so willingly wasting their time to watch him eat.
“Hi everyone, did you miss me?” He asked. His voice was smooth and warm like he was in these people’s houses with them. “In case you’re new here… I’m the piggy apprentice and I love to eat. Today, I’m going to be eating pizza…” He opened the first box and showed it off to the camera, careful to make sure the logo on the box wasn’t in plain view since it was from a local place and not a chain. “I’ve got three more of these big guys waiting for me after I finish this one.” Immediately, a message from one of the first people to log in:
“Quit talking, stuff your face.”
“I will, I will.” Mark had to laugh, “Sounds like someone can’t keep it in their pants tonight, huh?” He slowly pulled a slice out from the box, giving that viewer blue balls as he waited for the cheese pull to break off on its own. He shoved the pizza into his mouth quickly, talking between bites. “You know, normally, I’d tell you all what I’m eating… how much I plan on eating on the stream, but today I feel like just getting into it. I’m sure I’ve got at least some approval to just go right ahead and make a mess out of myself.” Another message from the same guy:
“You were barely able to handle two pizzas last time you ate, fat ass. What makes you think you can handle two more?”
“That was a long time ago.” He rounded his lips as he blew the steam off his next piece of pizza, “You must’ve been watching me for a long time if you remember the last time I ate pizza. Honestly, it’s real cute of you to keep sticking around to watch me.” His eyes glazed over with lust as the words spilled out without much thought. This is why he did it, because unlike his normal job, Mark didn’t have to think. He didn’t have to find the right words to say to avoid conflict, didn’t have to make himself smaller to impress other people, he could do what he did best: mindlessly eat and flirt. In a blink of an eye his first pizza was gone, he pouted a little bit as he opened up the next box knowing that this would be his least favorite of the pizzas this evening. “You know… I was trying to be a little bit healthy with this one, getting green peppers on this, but now I wish I had just gotten extra sausage instead.”
“Like eating two pizzas in one night is healthy for anyone?”
Mark looked at the viewer count, it was just him and his devoted follower. He bit the inside of his lip before asking, “Were we being too horny for other people? Or did my attention seemed too focused on you?” His bottom teeth showed up at the edge of the screen as he smiled at the man watching him. “I guess… if you’re the only one here with me, I could get a bit messier than normal. If that’s something you want.”
“Be the disgusting, useless pig you were born to be.”
Mark nodded as he read the message, using his shirt as a napkin to wipe the grease off from his hand then diving in to grab more. Instead of one slice he grabbed two. He moaned as he managed to fit both slices into his mouth. He chewed quietly, trying to get his cheeks to deflate before he checked what messages his mystery man sent him.
“Maybe you’re not a pig, but a cow with those huge tits you’ve got.”
“What these?” Hoffman took his greasy hand and purposefully cupped as much of his chest as he could with one hand. He let out a soft moan as he slowly massaged it. “Maybe you’re right, maybe I am a cow…” He used his other hand to throw back another slice while he rubbed his thumb over his nipple under his shirt. Slowly, he snaked a hand underneath the creeping shirt and gave his stomach a quick pat. “Don’t even feel like I’ve eaten anything yet. Look at how soft it still is…” Almost immediately, his viewer responded to him:
“Then finish that second pizza and get on with the third one. Have to tell you to do everything around here, don’t I?”
“You just love how dumb I act while I eat, don’t you?” Mark cooed, “You like mindless cows stuffing their faces for your pleasure?”
“If your fat ass can finish your pizzas in the next thirty minutes, I’ll buy dessert.”
“God you’re too sweet…” Mark replied, tossing the second pizza box off in the same direction he threw the other one to get started on the third. His jaw was starting to get a bit sore from all the chewing but managed to two pizzas down, all the while continuing to flirt with the man. Nobody else dared enter Mark’s stream. Was his viewer his guardian angel? He let out a loud burp as he threw the fourth box on top of the rest and stood up from his chair. He groaned as all the weight in his stomach shifted while he stood in front of his camera, showing off how round his belly had become. He poked and prodded the taut skin, releasing more noises from his mouth while he waited for his man to say something to him. “Like what you’re seeing?”
“Dm your address. I’ll send whatever you want.”
“And if I asked for caviar?”
“You’d get it. You’ve been so good tonight.”
Mark purred as he leaned in, letting his belly droop over the table but careful to keep his face out of frame. He let out a pained little laugh as he did his best to scroll through his computer and get into his admirer’s private messages. He sent the man his address and a teasing little message, “Can you get me a whole cake?”
“Delivery will be there in 30 minutes.”
“Thank you.” He said, plopping back down into his chair. He let a belch out as he settled back into his spot. He quietly turned off his camera before sending another message. “You know since it’s just you and me… we could talk.”
“How was your day?”
“Kind of forward of you.” Mark laughed to himself but supposed it wouldn’t hurt him if he got a little more personal. “Day was pretty good… better now that I got to shut my brain off for a while and eat. Hope you enjoyed yourself.”
“Always do. You do this all day?”
“No. I couldn’t afford to eat that much all the time if I didn’t work.”
“Can’t imagine you working and actually having to use that brain of yours for something other than telling your hands to bring food up to your mouth.”
“Yeah? Would it surprise you if I told you I was actually good at my job?” Mark asked, trying to get under this man’s skin. He slowly started palming the bulge in his underwear while he waited for a response. The man kept typing then stopping, typing, stopping… until he finally came up with something to say.
“Wish I could be there to massage that stomach of yours. Maybe help you make room for that dessert.”
“Don’t worry, babe… working on making all the room for that cake you bought.” Mark had to roll his eyes. Was that really the best his man could do after sitting there and typing for almost five minutes? Not that he was keeping track. He just needed his phone handy for when his food shows up. “Now that you have my address, you could always come and feed me yourself if you’re in the area.”
“Might just take you up on that some time.”
“I bet I could eat even more if you were here.”
“I could make you beg for every last bite you get from me.”
When he noticed that the driver was nearby, he threw on some extra loose sweat pants and a sweatshirt to meet the driver. He got his cake and stared at the box for a second before heading back inside. He waddled back to his computer as fast as he could with his sheet cake in hand and typed to his admirer. “Just got the cake. Might take me a while to eat this… Not even sure I have enough room in me tonight.”
“Have it as breakfast then. Dive in face first so everyone at work can see what a disgusting pig you are.”
Hoffman hummed to himself as he imagined his co-workers’ disgust as he walked in with frosting smeared across his face. They’d already taken to calling him names behind his back when they didn’t think he was listening and he couldn’t deny how hot he found it. “I would love all that sugar to get me going in the morning, but I don’t think my co-workers would find it nearly as cute as you do.”
“Is it too much if I ask for pictures when you do eat it?” He asked, suddenly getting shy on Mark.
“Sure, but I’m not going to show any more of my face than I normally would.” He sent back quickly
“Fine by me. Hear from you tomorrow?”
“You’ll definitely be hearing from me.”
“Good night.”
And like that, his viewer was gone. Hoffman glanced back at his cake before firmly deciding that there was no way he could get a piece down this evening and needed to sleep instead. He flopped into bed and thought about the guy on the other side of the screen. Had he gotten off to Mark eating this time? Was he also thinking about how incredibly full Mark was after all that, but still hoping for more with his cake? He hauled his heavy ass up from out of bad and walked back over to the sheet cake. He opened the top up and after making sure he had his phone ready, took a handful of cake out from the corner. He ate from his hand, savoring the frosting as he let the dessert slide down his throat with ease. He took a picture of the cake, his hand, and the messy corner of his lip that he purposefully smeared with excess frosting. “Guess I just couldn’t wait for tomorrow morning.” and signed it with a heart emoji. After cleaning himself up and stripping out of his dirty clothes he fell asleep with the thought of what his viewer would have to say about the photos in the morning.
After their first stream, Hoffman had basically turned his streams into his viewer’s personal streams. Nobody got the cop by day’s attention like he did. He was crass and seemed like no matter what Mark did, had a stick up his ass. Every one of his messages read like a man so in the feeder closet he lived in Narnia, and frankly it turned Mark on to edge him just a little bit more each time. Tonight, he would binge on some doughnuts and talk. Not that he would see his viewer’s face, but they seemed like they almost had something after all this flirting between the two. As soon as his camera was on, his viewer’s status went from offline to online like that.
“Hello… mhm, we’ve only been going at this for a month or so and you’ve branded me as your cow. What pet name do you like?”
“Whatever you want to call me is fine” his viewer answered with haste.
“Honey feels right on my lips, but if you disagree… you can always come over and take it off.”
“I’m flattered.”
“That’s all you have to say, hm?” Mark raised an eyebrow. Not that he would see, but it made Hoffman laugh. He pursed his lips into an ‘oh’ shape before asking, “Want to know what I have planned tonight or just want me to start eating?”
“Tell me your plan.”
“Well I’ve got about five dozen doughnuts… a little gift leftover from work if you will, that I was going to eat for you. But that’s really all I had planned. I already started on the way home.” He rubbed the top of his growing gut, showing off the room it still had for more.
“Looks like you managed to get a dozen down already.”
“I did, had to break into the second dozen because I was absolutely starving. Don’t worry, eating five dozen doughnuts will be like nothing to me.”
“Shame, I like seeing you with a challenge.”
“Why don’t you set a timer then?”
“Finish it in an hour and a half for me?”
“You’re too sweet.” Mark opened the second of five boxes and immediately finished the last three doughnuts in there before moving onto the third. He was a little bit worried about the fourth box since it was filled with the stuffed doughnuts, but he didn’t need to worry about that now. Right now, he needed milk as the sugar caught up to his taste buds. He knew the man didn’t want to see him pour out a skimpy glass of milk, so instead he twisted the lid off and drank straight from the gallon like the fat ass he was. He cursed under his breath as some of the milk dribbled down his chin and onto his poor stretched out t-shirt that was barely hanging onto Mark as it was these days. “Not that you can see them, but I’ve got cow ears now to help me power through my meals when it feels like I just can’t eat anymore.”
“Bet you look hot with those on.”
“You’re right, I do look hot. I look even hotter when my eyes get all glazed over and there’s food all over my mouth and I’ve got my ears on.”
“Now you’re just teasing me.”
“Mhm, maybe I am.” Hoffman adjusted himself under his table. He finished the third box with almost an hour left to work on the next two boxes. He carefully looked down at his next box before taking the Bavarian crème doughnut out and sucking the filling from the hole it was piped into. He ate the empty shell then continued the same process with a long john. “You’ve been quiet for a while. Got anything to say?”
“Your thick lips look so sensual wrapped around that doughnut.”
“You’re being too nice. I’m a fat ass aren’t I? I managed to eat three dozen in an hour and I’ll have this one down in the next couple of minutes.” He snaked his hand into the fifth box, taking a frosted doughnut out just to change it up a little bit. After all, he could only eat so much filling. His eyes were starting to droop, his brain screamed at him to stop eating about two boxes ago. He looked at the camera then the screen for some kind of validation from his viewer.
“You’re a fucking heifer. Well past a pig, and damn near as heavy as a cow.”
“That’s what I like to hear, honey. Especially when I’ve had such a tough day at work. I bet you’d love to hear about it, huh?” Hoffman palmed his bulge, knowing that his words would probably make the man snap.
“Why don’t you just shut up you sack of lard? After all, your job can’t be that hard. You shut your brain off a long time ago to become the useless cow that you are.”
“Fuck…” Hoffman muttered under his breath, “I mean… moo.”
“That’s right, fatty. Cows don’t use words do they? They just moo and graze. I bet you don’t even have the energy to squeal like a pig if I came over and played with your fat rolls. No, you’re just a fucking heifer in every sense of the word. Can you feel my hands run over your tits as I plow into you from behind? The bites my teeth would leave on your stomach given the chance?”
If Hoffman had a tail, it would be flying right about now. He knocked the second to last box out like it was breathing, and demolished the last box with almost a half an hour to spare. He tried in vain to cover his mouth every time a burp or a hiccup came up his throat but got tired of it quickly. Once some of his brain cells returned to the forefront, he asked his viewer. “Well, did I put on a good show for you?”
“Best yet.” was the short reply he received. He didn’t say anything, but the other man’s curt answer rubbed him the wrong way. Almost as if he could sense his displeasure, the viewer’s typing icon lit up. “Wish I was there to clean those crumbs off your shirt myself. Or help you relieve all that tension in your stomach.”
“You’re too sweet.”
“Want anything? I’m buying.” He offered
“Something super salty. French fries would be heavenly right about now.” Hoffman had to laugh. The desserts would only settle more, like a brick wall forming in his gut and he still wanted to eat something for this man. Was he insane?
“Got it.”
“I could just about kiss you.” Hoffman leaned into his camera, pressing the thick bottom lip over the edge of his computer.
“I have to go for the night.” His viewer typed quickly, “See you tomorrow?”
“I might still be in a food coma tomorrow. But as always, I’ll let you know if I feel like I can get something down.”
“Please do… good night.”
“Good night.” Hoffman let the words trail over his lips as the viewer left. Hoffman didn’t even try to make it to his bed. He took a comfortable nap in the chair for a second before getting up to greet the delivery driver for his fries. He massaged the tight orb at his center and nibbled at the fries. The salt cut the sluggish feeling that the sugar provided him but it wasn’t enough. After finishing his light snack, he passed out on the nearby couch and woke up the next morning. He groggily threw himself into the shower, his stomach still slightly swollen from his previous night’s excess. He didn’t have time to dwell on the session, but he did run his fingers over the tuft of hair just below his belly button. After that moment of something quiet he remembered he had to get to work. After stopping to get coffee on his way in, he tiredly waltzed into work.
“Rough night, huh?” One of his co-workers remark. Mark mimes his coworker’s words behind the co-worker’s back before answering him.
“Yeah. Rough.” He took a sip from his coffee before walking across the bullpen and into his office. Not long after he had settled into his seat, his supervisor came in and told him to get his ass down to a crime scene. Must’ve been something high profile if they needed him on the scene of all people. He shrugged it off and headed to the scene. He stopped by another coffee place on his way to the scene and sat in his car for a moment. He seriously contemplated quitting right then and there, but managed to talk himself back out of it after the first sip from the new drink. Slowly, he got out from his car and walked in to be briefed by someone from forensics. While he poked around the edge of the scene, mostly uninterrupted two agents from the FBI walked in. Hoffman had to roll his eyes. He couldn’t deal with his swollen stomach and their inflated egos today. He really should’ve just stayed home. After that, he finally processed that the two were walking up to him.
“Detective.” The woman was the first to talk to him, “My name’s Agent Perez and this is my partner, Agent… Strahm.” She paused as it seemed like Agent Strahm had an aversion to being too close to the detective. Hoffman shook hands with Perez before leaning in to close the distance between him and Strahm and taking his hand by force. The other man looked down at Hoffman’s hand with a look of disgust that flashed across his face for only a second, but was evident to Hoffman. Mark could confidently say he felt the same way about the agent. Perez snapped Hoffman back into focus. “Why don’t you tell us what you know about this case?”
“There’s been a serial killer, as of right now this murder seems… unrelated.” Hoffman shrugged
“Unrelated my ass.” Strahm muttered under his breath. He crossed his arms in front of him before asking, “There must be something here.”
“If you can find a connection that five of my officers couldn’t, then congratulations. You get to say you’re the smartest man here.”
“Couldn’t be that hard with a guy like you running the scene.” Strahm pushed past Hoffman, brushing against Hoffman’s arm as he stormed off. The agent took a quick look back, maybe to see if Hoffman was phased before turning his attention to the crime scene. Perez rolled her eyes and looked in the opposite direction, politely asking if she could look further into something that one of Hoffman’s officers seemed to be studying intensely. Normally Hoffman would put up more of a fight when an FBI agent felt like turning his crime scenes into a pissing contest, but something about Strahm seemed like he was avoiding Hoffman personally rather than trying to assert his jurisdiction over the case. He slowly walked up to Strahm as Strahm squatted over a blood splatter, eyeing up the pattern and how it could end up where it was. Hoffman leaned forward slightly, his belly straining against the buttons at the front of his dress shirt. Strahm’s eyes darted towards the other man before averting them just as fast.
“Something the matter, agent?”
“I’m trying to think, fa… you fucker.”
“Sounds like you had something else on your mind.” Hoffman kept pressing at Strahm’s already tenuous buttons
“Do you do any actual work at your crime scenes?” Strahm scoffed, once again looking at Hoffman’s center rather than his eyes. Hoffman adjusted himself so that he was standing upright. He crossed his arms right under his chest and let them rest against the top of his stomach.
“I didn’t become the head of the department because my ass looks pretty in a mini-skirt. If that’s what you’re thinking.” Hoffman scoffed right back at Strahm. Strahm turned around fully to face him, only to draw back into himself as he realized his finger was dangerously close to jabbing into one of Hoffman’s pecs.
“I wasn’t thinking about that, pervert.” Strahm sputtered. Clearly Hoffman had touched a nerve. In order to ‘foster a co-operative work environment’ most would back off now, but that wasn’t Hoffman’s goal. He just had to wait for his opportunity. He backed away from the agent for a minute or two but never let him out of his line of sight. Lindsey seemed to be circling the two as well but was pulled away when asked for help by one of Hoffman’s subordinates. Finally, it was just the two men alone at the scene. Strahm walked over to the detective and handed him a small evidence bag. “Only thing I could find that your officers didn’t. Congratulations I guess.” Hoffman practically threw the baggie off to the side and rushed Strahm like a bull, taking the other man by utter surprise. Hoffman only stopped when he heard Strahm’s back make a soft thud noise against the drywall.
“Let’s quit playing games, Agent.” Hoffman slipped into his seductive voice that he reserved for his extra curricular activities. A flush spread across Strahm’s face all the way to the tips of his ear. His eyes refused to meet Hoffman’s, even as one of the detective’s hands took hold of Strahm’s chin and forced his head down slightly. Strahm stared into him, looking past Hoffman’s pupils.
“You’re the one playing games with me… you fucking heifer.”
Suddenly it clicked for Hoffman. Oh, oh this was too juicy for him not to tease him more for.
“You’re the perv that’s been watching me?” Hoffman leaned in, speaking no louder than a whisper into the fed’s ear. Strahm shivered and his face turned even more red. “I knew something was up when you walked in, but I didn’t know that my knight in shining armor would come strolling into my life like this.”
“Can’t fucking believe this…” Strahm muttered, mostly to himself.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.” Hoffman’s mouth hovered over Strahm’s neck, aching to kiss the man that had been waiting for him on the other side of his computer screen right then. Goosebumps crawled across the agent’s skin and his breathing became heavy. It sounded like he was really struggling to come up with something.
“You told me you actually had to think at your job, and I couldn’t fucking believe it… no wonder you like mindlessly eating for my attention, you fat fuck.” The bass in his voice echoed through Hoffman as he sat with Strahm’s words. Now it was Hoffman’s turn to be stunned into silence. Strahm’s hands found themselves on Hoffman’s stomach after a moment of hesitation. He gave the doughy skin a firm squeeze before massaging the fat with more care than Hoffman ever thought a feeder would give him. Strahm’s hands continued to roam across Hoffman’s body mindlessly as his eyes fixated on Hoffman’s lips, desperately begging for contact without words between the two. Hoffman smirked and pressed the full weight of his body into Strahm before finally giving the agent what he wanted. His thick lips devoured the other man’s mouth in a kiss. Strahm broke the contact first as he ran his thumb over Hoffman’s bottom lip.
“What if someone sees us?” He asked, eyeing up Hoffman’s lips for another kiss while he feigned modesty.
“If it’s any of my officers, they’ll turn around and act like they didn’t see shit. What about if it’s little miss girl scout?”
“She’ll clear her throat and make it known she’s here. And she has a name, dick.” Strahm took Hoffman’s hands off of him before he started playing with his own shirt collar. “You free tonight?”
“No.” Hoffman rolled his eyes, “I’m eating on camera for this fucking pervert who can’t pick up on any of my hints about how badly I want him to stuff my face.”
“Dumbass.” Strahm hissed, “Fine. I’ll come over and stuff your fucking face, you want that you cow?”
“Great I’ll see you there.” Hoffman walked off with an air of confidence. He had some paperwork to fill out once he got back to the precinct, but he definitely wouldn’t mind filling it out now that he had a date waiting on the other side of it.
Hoffman bit down on his lip. He had no idea what to expect from Strahm and thus didn’t bring any food home with him. God he really felt like he was starving without his after work snack before a proper meal. He wore the loosest clothes he still had left, not bothering with pants that’d be discarded quickly for one reason or another. He heard the knock on his door, checked the peephole and barely cracked the door open to let Strahm in. His hand went immediately to the center of the agent’s chest, and his head titled in anticipation for the hungry kiss he knew Strahm was going to lay onto him. As expected, Strahm’s teeth dug into the skin of Hoffman’s lips and pushed Hoffman back into his apartment. He placed his hands firmly against Hoffman’s love handles and moved his mouth towards Mark’s jawline. Hoffman slid his hand down, teasing Strahm as if he was about to undo the other man’s belt only to wrap his fist around the plastic carry out bag handles that the agent had pressing into him.
“What’d you get me?” Hoffman bit his lip, waiting for an answer from Strahm. Any confidence the other man had was gone now that Hoffman was looking at him with such desire.
“Just… some burgers.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “Thought you’d look cute with grease running down that stupid face of yours.”
“Let’s start then.” Hoffman took his arm and pulled him towards the room he usually stuffed himself in. “Give me one and unwrap the next one right away.”
“Okay.”
Hoffman ate the first one without much hesitation, inhaling it rather than just eating it. He held his hand out for Strahm to give him the second and ate that just as fast.
“At least tell me you got me something besides just the burgers.”
“Yeah, fries too.” Strahm grumbled a little
“You’ve seen me clean up five dozen donuts like it was nothing. Are you really surprised I’d ask if there was more food?”
“No.”
“Good. Give me the fries now.” Hoffman demanded. Strahm put the bag into Hoffman’s hand and pulled another burger out from the bag. Just as Hoffman was about to tell Strahm to give him the sandwich, Strahm shoved the bun up against Hoffman’s lips. Hoffman bit down into the burger and ate as Strahm fed it to him. Strahm brought the next one up to his lips in a similar fashion and Hoffman finished it before mouthing off. “Big ass burgers you got me…”
“Don’t act like you don’t like it.” Strahm rolled his eyes slowly. Hoffman could feel that he was close to his limit. He wanted Strahm to count the wrappers and tell him how many he’d eaten but he wanted to get more in before he was completely full. “You’ve eaten at least six of these fucking things.”
“Yeah?” Hoffman looked up at him with lust filled eyes
“One of those is probably like three burgers for a normal person.” Strahm walked behind Hoffman’s chair. His hand slid under Hoffman’s belly. He lifted the heavy mass up only to let it drop onto Hoffman’s lap with a noticeable thud. A moan escaped from Hoffman’s lips as Strahm’s hand firmly rubbed circles into his stomach. “I could probably fit two more in there and being the stupid cow you are would ignore every other part of your body telling you ‘enough’s enough’.”
That’s right, Hoffman was Strahm’s cow. A greedy, mindless cow.
“Hell I could probably fit a baby in you and no one would be able to tell where your bump ended and your fat started.” Strahm’s hand snuck below the elastic of Hoffman’s underwear. “You’d look so good carrying my calf, you fucking heifer.”
Hoffman’s teeth were threatening to tear the inside of his lip open as Strahm talked to him. With a quick jerk out of the chair, Strahm sat on Hoffman’s bed and ran his hand over the silver belt buckle. Still in a head fog, Hoffman leaned into Strahm and wrestled with the cold metal himself. Strahm used his fingers to force Hoffman’s face to look at him. The detective’s heart caught in his throat as the agent’s lips pressed against his, softer this time for some reason. When Hoffman returned the kiss with a familiar hunger Strahm stopped playing nice and kissed with some passion behind it. He only disconnected from his fatass to pull the struggling shirt off over Hoffman’s head and strip his underwear off.
“You’re even fucking bigger than your stupid little work outfit makes you look.” Strahm’s nostrils flared as he looked over Hoffman. Hoffman hated how much he loved being glanced over by the agent like this. It was completely personal but felt impersonal; like Strahm wanted to distance himself from his creation but if Hoffman was the one to pull away, he’d only be pulled back by his leash harder. “Ride me.”
No ‘please’, no ‘you need a minute?’. This was about what Strahm wanted. Hoffman carefully maneuvered around his full belly to grab the lube and handed it to Strahm. Strahm shoved two fingers up into Hoffman to ease him into this. Hoffman scoffed for a second only to be shut up by the feeling of Strahm shoving himself into Hoffman. Mark couldn’t hold back the moan that ensued as Strahm began thrusting up into him. He wrapped his arms carefully around Strahm’s neck as the man let out grunts from the effort of holding Hoffman upright.
“Making me do all the fucking work, huh?” Strahm’s lips trailed along Hoffman’s jawline. Hoffman slowly bucked his hips up into Strahm’s, desperate for another point of contact between the two of them. Strahm moved his hands down along Hoffman’s back and gave his ass a generous squeeze before bringing them to the detective’s front and pressed down on his thighs to keep him from bouncing down too hard onto Strahm. The agent’s finger tips dug in so perfectly to the plush skin on top of him, it was all getting to be too much. With a couple more firm thrusts up into Hoffman, Strahm finished inside of him. He pulled out slowly, despite Hoffman’s whines.
“You’re really going to fill me up and not let me get off?” he pouted. Strahm leaned in for a kiss that turned into a bit of a fight as Strahm’s teeth sunk into the inside of Hoffman’s mouth. With all his weight, Strahm pushed Hoffman onto his back and ran a hand over the still firm curve of Hoffman’s stomach. He massaged some of the tension away, trailing his hand down to the other man’s dick. He slowly jerked Hoffman off. Already in an overeaten state of bliss, Hoffman didn’t take long to cum into Strahm’s hand as the agent brought the ejaculation up to his mouth. He licked his hand clean in plain view of the detective.
“God you drive me insane, you fat fuck.” He let out a sigh. He used his palm to apply pressure against Hoffman’s belly, rubbing circle after circle into the distended orb at Hoffman’s center. Hoffman was barely able to let words slip from his lips, continuously interrupted by belches he couldn’t keep in from Strahm’s soothing. The agent’s lips connected with Hoffman’s earlobe, kissing behind his ear as they both came down from the feeding high. When Hoffman could finally string his words together, he asked Strahm,
“Was that everything you hoped for?” His eyes were still glazed over
“Yeah… It was pretty good.” Strahm nuzzled into the crook of Hoffman’s neck.
“Just good?” Hoffman rolled away as best as he could, only for Strahm to pull him in closer. “You’ve got some high standards for ‘good’, ass.”
“Can’t let your ego swell as big as your stomach.” Strahm snipped back at him. He only pulled away from Hoffman when he saw that Hoffman’s eyes were growing heavy and went to turn the lights off for the two of them.
“Peter?” He asked in an almost sing-songy voice
Strahm choked a bit on his own spit as he tried to answer Mark in a timely manner, “Y-Yeah?”
“Wanna feed me again sometime?”
“Yeah, yeah I do.”
“Maybe I could stream it. Show off that it’s been you making me fatter this whole time.”
“Or I could just film you, for myself.”
“Perv.” Hoffman kissed his partner and leaned into him. Strahm’s hand ran up the outside of Hoffman’s thigh, rubbing in small circles along the bigger man’s love handles. “Can you promise me something?”
Tags/Warnings: mild violence/blood mention, allusions to Strahm being a chubby chaser, and good ol’ 1990’s internalized homophobia
Summary: The Jigsaw case wasn’t the first time Hoffman and Strahm met. When they were tasked on an assignment in 1992 they got to know each other, but the lines between professional and personal started to blur…
Author’s Notes: Sorry if the grammar and wording is off, may go in and tighten it at some point.
2006
The creeping feeling was there, all the way on the ride from their field office up to the tip of the stairwell leading into the scene the Metropolitan PD was checking out. Peter Strahm knew he would be on the case. He just wasn’t sure how long it would be until they crossed paths.
And then there it was.
Perez was halfway through stating her title before Strahm even noticed who she was addressing.
“Detective Hoffman?”
God, he was just Officer Hoffman back then. Before. It was weird seeing him out of the starched, black uniform.
There was some chatter about Allison Kerry being their liaison and the information she had provided, but it bounced off Strahm, who was not at all absorbing the words. He just kept staring. ‘Fuck. This guy.’ Or more like Fuck this guy!
Strahm’s eyes scrunched and narrowed as he gave an annoyed exhale, which was saying a lot as his disposition was in a perpetual state of fixed glaring—wrinkles under his tear ducts crinkling and cutting across to his cheekbones. The surrounding officers milling about were probably wondering why he was leering, what his problem was. Perez, after all, had introduced themselves so courteously.
Detective Mark Hoffman’s face, meanwhile, had an equally curious slant. His eyes rolled up and down Peter’s physique, awestruck and indiscreet about it. He quickly resumed some semblance of a dignified, unfazed stance.
Despite taking in the physical differences that hadn’t quite sunken in (Hoffman’s field vest wasn’t quite covering all if his chubbier midsection the way it once did, and his hair was pushed to one side like a typical desk jockey), all Strahm’s vision could muster was a screen of the past overlaying the current space.
He remembered that night in front of the tavern…
AUGUST 1992
It started as a celebratory night with the majority of the precinct reveling at the nearby tavern—a regular spot for most of their off-the-clock activity. On this evening they were giving the metaphorical sigh of relief over closing the case on a killer that had been plaguing the city and surrounding areas for little over a year.
The FBI had been brought in, assigning a handful of agents from the nearest field location to assist in the efforts. One of them was Peter Strahm, all of 28-years-old and green in Bureau. It was only evident in his appearance—on-edge demeanor, mullet slick in the front but slightly unruly in back, button up a little long on the arms—that he was new. It was his intense cold gaze and to-the-point tactics that got him taken seriously and carried him far. Far enough to earn his shots at the Metropolitan law enforcement’s party.
Most of those wince-inducing whiskey shots were taken while glancing curiously across the bar at Officer Mark Hoffman. Marcus, the front desk’s woman had often doted on him with a little smile. Deservedly so, Strahm agreed. Mark’s brand of handsome was a blank smoldering model in a cologne ad. A tanned, blue-eyed shyness in some kind of sporting backdrop in a department store. But when his features were pried with a stupid joke or some out of pocket comment by a senior figure, he cackled a silly laugh, prominent nose scrunched, crooked, gapped smile on display.
It made Peter sigh, which sent him into a mild fit over feeling like a school girl.
Mark was only a couple of years younger than Peter, but had a good few years in the force on his side, which was what paired them up most times on the case. It meant hours turning into days in casing out places, taking turns driving from diner to drive thru just to stay awake with bland coffee. Some nights got more interesting than others, but each day they were tasked together was a new canvas.
Now that they were at the end of the line, Peter would resume business as usual at his office, maybe even have time to go back to Nevada for a while. Which seemed nice, except… something felt left undone. Unsaid.
He pushed his emptied tumbler to the edge of the bar and casually glided over to Mark’s barstool.
“Smoke?” he offered.
Mark’s glassy eyes did a little up-down over Peter’s taller form before sliding off to the back hallway that lead to the parking lot.
“Hey,” Mark paused, stopping their tracks in front of the restroom door. “I appreciate the help you’ve brought on the case.”
“Oh, knock it off,” Peter chuckled with a heavy-browed eye roll. “We did all the thank you’s already. We’re getting drunk now.”
“Yeah, okay,” Mark shot back, working his lips into a sassy curl. “I was just trying to be nice.” He craned his head slightly forward, more as a punctuation to his rising sarcasm.
But Peter wasn’t laughing anymore. His face had dropped into something else, eyes dark and fluttering. Mark’s brows knitted into a mixture of intrigue and confusion, not breaking his stare.
Bam, bam, bam. One thing after another. Strahm occupied one palm against Hoffman’s chest, and the other clenching his uniform tie in his fist. With the motion their faces collided, some teeth cutting against lips and tongues. It pushed them into the restroom behind them, so blurred and intense that no one else had noticed.
Against the sticky floor tiles within, Mark tumbled onto his butt, gaze still transfixed with confusion on Peter. He darted out and into the lot before Peter could even offer him a hand up.
Outside in the dewey summer, Strahm darted after Hoffman, calling out “Hey! HEY!”
Mark ceased his stamping off and settled into place, squared up like a statue. “I’m not a fuckin’ queer.” His Jersey
drawl dripped out, lazy but threatening. Though on the defense, his words spilled out like a plea. Please, don’t tell the guys at the station. Don’t get me kicked off the force. Please don’t find me disgusting.
“Neither am I!” Peter lied without quite realizing. “Not that it matters. Just… I dunno. I like this. I like you.”
When Mark wouldn’t respond to the acknowledgment out loud, blue eyes drifting off sharp in the velvet shade of night, Peter pressed on.
“We kissed.”
“No, you kissed me!” Mark spat, face screwing up in a betraying twist. He was blushing. No, fuming. Peter knew exactly what he was masking. Because this wasn’t their first encounter of that sort.
“Fine. You know what? Fuck you. Try not to bite the curb when you’re drunkenly getting back to your patrol car. Fucking lush.” ‘You can’t even kiss me without getting drunk,’ Peter wanted to follow up with. But he had turned, resisting a glance back, only remembering the times before. Those times were a long different: alone in the car, behind a motel, at a gas pump somewhere deserted…
He didn’t want to leave Mark behind. He wanted a next time. Another time to see his goofy smile, his puppy-ish eyes.
It wasn’t meant to be.
Uncoordinated scuttling—rubber soles on crumbling tar—echoed in the lot. “Hey, don’t talk to me like that,” Mark called behind, anger cracking through his tone, deep from in his chest.
Peter tilted his glare so slightly over his shoulder, instantly meeting a dull, radiating impact.
Mark wrung his fist out as it recoiled from Peter’s cheek: minimally bruised, but marked with a ghastly-bright splatter across his knuckles. “That’s what you get,” he choked out.
Without a beat, Strahm was on him, writhing somewhat weakly over the officer on the pavement while still reeling from the punch. He tried throwing all the force he could behind rapid hits, but missed or occasionally caught some awkward angle on Mark.
In a blind reach, Mark went to grab whatever he could to regain some stability, hoping to dig his fingers into Peter’s shoulders. Instead his fingernails caught tacky, humid flesh with a hard impact, raking down a thin trail of blood.
“Fuuuuck!” Peter rasped, pausing to dab the pads of his fingers along a cut on his orbital bone. Thick red seeped alongside his nose, down his cheek.
Mark could feel his own face desperately tense with regret.
The last thing he would ever see of Peter Strahm was the visage of him sat atop his thighs and a tightly wound fist heading between his eyes.
2006
Peter pressed his fingertips down on the raised scar tissue just below his eye. It throbbed maliciously as he took every step through the precinct halls, watched every tiny movement Mark made as he lead them around.
Perez had remained close at Peter’s side through their whole investigative venture so far. But she had to take a call from Erickson before entering into the file room where Hoffman was going to set them up to work. It was fine. Apparently Officer Rigg was in there reviewing footage anyway. Hoffman and Strahm could just wait for the call to end and the room to clear as Rigg wrapped up with the interrogation tape.
Peter released a cartoonishly impatient sigh and pressed his stiff back against the wall.
That was enough.
“You suck on a lemon or something? This whole time you’ve been scowling like I fucking pissed in your coffee.” Hoffman grit his teeth like a junkyard dog, the first time he’d let himself slip with the absence of Perez beside them.
“You’re such a thick-skulled fuck.”
“Oh yeah? That’s rich coming from someone hittin’ the slopes too hard.”
“Wow, very harsh, Detective Bimbo.” Strahm was taken aback by his own sass.
Mark leaned in. “You know, you got real old and bitter. You look like you been chewin’ on nails.”
“You got old and fat.” Peter couldn’t say that it didn’t look appealing on Mark, though. The cockiness was very much still there, but slightly humbled by the rounded edges and layers of cushioning that had expanded his width.
Peter wanted to picture it was a result of comforting, indulgent cooking: a smile spreading on Mark’s idiotic lips at the person across the table from him—the person who had cooked for him. But he knew that wasn’t the case. Even in being strangers for over a decade, Strahm was aware of what had happened to Angelina—the story spread through the news. Hoffman’s appearance wasn’t just extra weight from night after night of spiraling binge drinking, followed by quelling the hunger with takeout; It was a sunken quality to his eyes, a void just under the lids, the line over his brows. He looked hollow behind his own face, which creased with laughter years ago.
‘I could’ve—’ Peter started with himself, quickly cutting it off. No. Whatever he was about to tell himself was a delusion. It wouldn’t matter, especially not once this case was done with.
“You know,” Mark mused on with that purr-like bass to his voice, “I get it. You’re just cranky. Take a nap, sweetheart.” He cupped a thick hand to the scarred side of Peter’s face, grazing a fat thumb over the deeply pink line.
The body reacted before the rest of Peter could catch up, leaning into the touch, but only slightly. Internally he was on the brink of mewing like a starved cat. No no no. NO. He slapped Mark’s hand away.
The flat clacking of Lindsey’s shoes resounded through the hall, subconsciously signaling for the two to behave. They straightened up, but not before Mark leaned into Peter’s ear for a final remark.
