It had been two days and two nights since Agent Kent Mansley had come to say at the Bates Motel.
During the day Norman didn’t see much of him; he had his field work to do, questioning the citizenry of Fairvale about the things they had seen. Norman wasn’t quite certain what he was surveying them all for but the gravity with which Mr. Mansley tended to speak had lead him to believe it was important. At night, though, was when he got to have the agent in his company. He always brought food from the diner in town to eat but he nevertheless did had dinner with Norman. Their conversations were surprisingly pleasant. Norman got to catch glimpses of the real Kent Mansley in between every guarded or flippant response he gave to all of his questions.
And then, after dinner, he’d pull down Susanna and the Elders and peer into Cabin 1.
Kent was loose when he thought no one was watching. His features were softer, his posture less rigid, his affectations absent. He disrobed from his daywear with the care a knight would have his squire dismantle his armor. Piece by piece, the gun-gray ensemble was slipped off and folded away. Norman felt at ease, oddly enough, watching him. With women it was always like some test of his mettle, a way to prove to himself that he was… Normal, at least somehow. But he would feel next to nothing, and then the worry would get to him, and then Mother would sniff him out, and– and–
It never ended well.
Kent was not one to shower immediately. The other two times Norman had watched him labor on a report while puffing his billiard in nothing but his underwear. It was novel, that was for certain. But tonight was markedly different. Tonight Kent was sitting almost spread eagle in his chair, boxers gathered at his ankles and his right hand wrapped tight around his cock.
Norman nearly let out a squeal in surprise but the hand he reflexively clamped over his mouth spared him from giving away his precarious position. His eyes screwed shut almost immediately. When the darkness had fully cleared away his shock, they fluttered open. Hesitantly, he re-focused the gaze of his right eye and took in what he could through the peephole once more.
Oh and by God what a sight it was. Perhaps prudishly, but certainly ironically, Norman made himself avert his attention from what Kent was doing and honed in on the rest of him. His shoulders were tensed in a way he’d never seen before; usually they were quite animated, like a hunting cat’s haunches, but now they were stiff and steeled for the task at hand.
The agent’s face was really something to behold. There was desperation, salacious want, the burning need to feel written in every fold of his furrowed brow, in every tremor of his tightly closed eyes, in the way his lips were pressed in a firm line to stop himself from making noises that were dangerously lewd. Even so, Norman could hear him breathing heavy through his nose. There was sweat beading up on every inch of his skin, and there were freckles in places Norman would have never expected. Across his broad shoulders, his smooth chest, down his doughy abdomen, between– between his legs–
Norman shut his eyes again as a shudder ran through him. This was already too much. He’d seen too much. But…
Slowly his eyelid yielded and through a heavy bat of his dark lashes he finally let himself focus on Kent’s cock. There was only so much of it to see, through quick glimpses; the angle was awkward and the peephole was small. But Norman was still able to get a sense of its form. It was long and tapered like the rest of him. He was circumcised with the skin of his shaft was paler than the rest of him, but the slender head was bright and rosy. And leaking; precum was beading out of the tip and sliding through Kent’s deft fingers as he kept stroking. A clear trail was rolling down the curve of his testes, unabated by the thin red hairs that barely grew there.
It was all rather… Sleek. That was the word Norman settled on. It was as if some streamline modern designer had built Kent’s cock. It fit him the way his sharp attire and fancy car and fast wit did. Norman closed his eyes once again– not to shut out the sight of Kent pleasuring himself but to focus on the sound of his muffled whimpering and stuttered gasps.
That… was all he was willing to let himself see. Norman felt himself at odds with some unfamiliar emotion. Something had had him running hot and breathing heavy— something like shame that felt good. Something Mother would no doubt sniff out. Susanna eclipsed the view into Cabin 1 once again.
Norman stuffed his hands into the pockets of his slacks and paced the parlor once, twice. The feeling evaporated… The mental images he’d taken did not. God, the way Kent looked… He wanted– he wanted something to do with that look. Something… Norman’s bottom lip fell victim to nervous teeth. He had some Kandy Korn lying around somewhere, didn’t he?
There was an opened bag up in the lobby under the front desk. Norman retrieved it from its hiding place with a sense of relief. Each piece consumed, chewed up, swallowed alleviated that… Feeling. Each gentle play of his nimble fingertips across his lips, each drag of his tongue across his teeth, each breath caught in between… A sigh of relief rose out of him.
There would be nothing for Mother to nose up and ruin now.