Hunter and Morgan: Gatecrasher

by H. K. Nightingale

  Ms Rosero shook her head. "Not a peep. You've been very lucky, Morgan."

  He didn't feel lucky.

  "I'd advise you to stay away from places like Bubble in the future. They attract bother."

  Because he'd met her when he was still a child, Michaela still fitted the role of teacher in some part of Morgan's mind. That part felt told off and ashamed, especially as he had no intention of taking her advice. He murmured noncommittally.

  "What was it about the argument that drove you to lose control, Morgan?"

  "It was this man I've been working for. He's a Private Investigator. He had a bad experience as a child and now he loathes all majos with a deadly loathing. And I gravely underestimated the deadliness of his loathing."

  Ms Rosero said nothing.

  "He found out," Morgan continued. "And now he loathes me."

  Again, she waited.

  "I liked him a lot," said Morgan.

  And then the tears came.

  Having bawled in Michaela's office for half an hour and come away with an extra hour's worth of meditation exercises to do every morning for the next two weeks, Morgan found himself at a loss. Then he got a text rom Sahil, who was very kind and sympathetic and came over to make him lunch. Morgan thanked him for the cover story and explained he was feeling a bit wrung out after therapy. He couldn't bring himself to say what kind of therapy, even now when he knew Sahil knew he was majos. But Sahil said he'd had therapy himself after attending a particularly bloody crime scene as a novice copper, so he understood.

  And then, as he put a plate of sandwiches on the coffee table in front of Morgan, Sahil said, "You don't have to worry about Jess, by the way."

  "What d'you mean?"

  "Well, she understands more than your average copper might. She's majos."

  "She's…" Morgan stared at the sandwich in his hand as if he'd never seen one before. That was impossible. If Jess was majos, how come Hunter had never mentioned it?

  "She doesn't like people to know unless they need to. There's always a level of suspicion about majos in the police force, and she wants to succeed on the strength of her policing skills, without exploiting any advantages. She knows what it can be like. So you won't get any trouble from her."

  Morgan took a bite of bread, cheese and chutney and chewed without really tasting it. Well. No wonder Hunter didn't get on with his sister.

  "We didn't find anything at the club," Sahil said. "The investigation's focusing on the drugs now. Thing is it's hard to prove, without any substances for forensics to get their paws on."

  "You still think it's connected to Bubble?"

  "Mr Klyne placed a bet using his phone at ten forty two on the night he died. He was at Bubble at the time. That was the last time he used his phone, despite the fact that his greyhound actually came in the winner fifteen minutes later. Now, Mr Klyne doesn't sound like the type to miss a win, but according to his phone records he never read that message."

  "So you think that's when he died?"

  "Looks like a possibility. The only question is, if he did, why didn't anyone at Bubble notice?"

  "If he was in the orgy room, maybe people were too involved with their own, um, activities. Or too high."

  Sahil shrugged. "It's possible."

  After Sahil had gone, Morgan did some online research on cardiac arrest, sex party etiquette and Essence. It was a popular drug among the orgy crowd, apparently. The encanté varieties of Essence could strip away your inhibitions and give you a hit of happy like ecstasy, along with a libido rush that turned you into a sex machine. The problems though, went further than any questionable choices you might make under the influence. Like any drug, it could be cut with just about anything. The majos making the drug could bleed in other effects without even knowing, especially if they were unskilled. Sometimes Essence was cut with other drugs to encourage crossover trade. Cocaine, speed, even heroin. A cocktail like that could definitely stop someone's heart. By accident or design.

  After an hour of research, Morgan put his iPad away, made a cup of ginger tea and numbed his brain with TV. Caleb came back at dinnertime with armfuls of takeout, and Harlequin and Darius in tow.

  "She/her pronouns," announced Harlequin, as she marched through to the kitchen. She was wearing a vest top and a little flippy skirt. Her hair was held back by a sparkly purple band. "Have you got any soy? They never put enough on."

  Darius kissed Morgan on each cheek, 'muah, muah'. "Caleb said some ignorant twat of a man let you down. We've come to cheer you up."

  Morgan's heart sank. Being cheered up was hard work, in his experience. People tended to get upset if it didn't work, and really, he'd rather it was just Caleb, who never expected very much of anything from him. Except trouble, possibly, which Morgan could reliably supply. But Darius and Harlequin were quick to prove him wrong. They didn't expect him to talk; nobody suggested DVDs or board games. They just gave him really nice Thai food and hung out and tried to talk Caleb into going with them to this new karaoke bar. Well, Darius did. He seemed to have got a bit carried away with the whole Spice Girls act and was demanding a reunion.

  "So, what's the plan with you?" said Harley.

  "Plan?" said Morgan. "I'm not going to be Posh Spice. I already told you."

  "Not that plan, your plan. We want to help. Seems the most positive thing to do, given that your boss is a jerk and doesn't deserve you."

  "So Caleb said," Darius added. "And he usually picks the right team."

  "I really can't ask you–"

  "You don't have to. Caleb did. And we said yes."

  Morgan glanced at Caleb, not sure whether to be angry with him or pleased.

  "Harley's right," Darius said. "We need a plan."

  "Lucky for you," Caleb said, "I have it all worked out. Gather round people."

  Morgan presumed that to be rhetorical, as they were all gathered anyway.

  "We go to Bubble tomorrow," Caleb said.

  "Who's we?" said Harley.

  "Us four."

  "I don't think that'll be happening," said Harley. "Honestly, I'd be one big panic attack from beginning to end."

  "Oh. Oh, well, okay. You can be nearby, in case we need you to get help."

  "I'll wait in the cafe in Morrisons," she said. "I'll be fine so long as there aren't people having sex everywhere."

  "Should be safe from that in Morrisons," Darius said. "So long as you don't go in the gents after eight on a Saturday."

  Harlequin rolled her eyes.

  "Okay," said Caleb. "So the three of us go into Bubble on my free ticket. We'll get a table, have a few drinks - it's okay, Morgan, they have fruit juice - and I'll look out for Jennifer's dealer, score some Essence for you to experiment on. We'll keep very low key, lurk in the shadows so we don't get noticed, then toddle off home as soon as we've been there long enough to not cause suspicion. I don't want to piss them off, it was a sweet night I had there. I wouldn't mind going back one day under less cloak and dagger circumstances."

  Morgan thought it through, prodding for potential problems. Surprisingly, he couldn't find any, so long as they didn't get spotted by anyone who knew who he was, and what his connection with Hunter was. "If the police or Hunter turn up, we leave," he said.

  "Naturally," said Caleb. "We could use a lookout for that, just in case."

  "I can hack into Bubble's security camera on my phone," said Harley, her voice as level and matter of fact as if she'd just said she'd order a cinnamon latte in Morrisons.

  "Can you?" Morgan asked, wide-eyed.

  She shrugged. "Easy. I wrote this app."

  "We've got your back, Morgan," said Darius. "No problem."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Morgan changed his clothes about eight times before he finally checked with Caleb and was informed he looked fine for a prelude-to-a-sex-party event. He wore skinny black jeans, a button-down grey shirt and a black waistcoat. He considered a bow tie, but Caleb gave him a searing look, as if he'd disown him the minute he
put it on, so he put it back in the drawer.

  Caleb put some kind of product in Morgan's hair so it lay flat, with a side-swept fringe and a lot of shine. Darius liked it. Harlequin opened and shut his mouth a few times and finally settled on, "You look very un-you."

  Which was the point, after all.

  Harlequin drove them to Horsforth in his car - a fairly old Ford Kia, which Darius was a bit too tall for - and parked in Morrison's car park.

  Morgan's nerves mounted as they reached the door of Bubble. What if the caretaker doubled up as a doorman and recognised him? But to his relief the bouncer on the door was a complete stranger. He checked Caleb's ticket and let them in. As they walked away Morgan thought he heard him say something into the headset he was wearing, but he couldn't pick up the words. They weren't out of the woods yet, that's for certain.

  To say the place looked different at night was an understatement. They were shown to a table on the first floor, up a set of spiral stairs which Morgan presumed were not original to the office building. The tables were laid with white linens and the lighting brought warmth and sparkle to the surroundings. Their table had a good view of the ground floor below, in the centre of which was the stage, with dancing poles to each side which Morgan hadn't noticed before.

  A waiter came to take their drinks order. Caleb and Morgan stuck to soft drinks, while Darius ordered wine. When they arrived the waiter told them they were on the house, compliments of Mr Appleford.

  "Was he that quick to notice you before?" asked Morgan.

  "No," said Caleb.

  "Well, we are extra specially gorgeous," said Darius. "I'd certainly notice me if I was looking for pretty people. Cheers, boys."

  Morgan clinked glasses with them both and gulped a mouthful. It was pleasant, sharp lemonade with mint and a hint of peach juice.

  "Okay," Caleb whispered in Morgan's ear. "I see Jennifer's contact. I'll go score."

  Morgan nodded.

  As Caleb left the lights went low, highlighting a spotlight in the middle of the stage. Curious, Morgan leaned forward to take a proper look. He'd never seen burlesque in real life before.

  Two women came onto the stage, each holding a leash with a man on the other end. The men prowled onto the stage on all fours. They wore skin-tight black catsuits, with ears and tails and collars studied with sparkling stones. The women tied their panthers to the poles and the music started. The women were dressed in corsets that matched cut-away skirts, revealing fishnet stockings beneath. The skirts had bustles bristling with feathers, and more feathers erupted from their elaborate up-dos. Silky gloves stretched up their arms, past the elbow.

  "Very classy," Darius murmured. Morgan wasn't sure whether he was being sarcastic or not. It did seem classy to him, or at least, not tacky. There was very little skin on show. The women danced sensuously with each other, flirting with the audience. The room was hot. Morgan downed the last of his lime and soda, and a waiter immediately appeared with a refill. Just as the song finished Caleb appeared. "Done," he said, sliding into his seat next to Morgan. "Shall we go?"

  "May as well finish our drinks," said Morgan. He really wanted to see the men dance too. "Keep up appearances and everything."

  They had another couple of drinks and watched the show. The panther-men really lived up to his expectations with slow, sensual body rolls and acrobatics around the poles.

  Morgan felt hot, and horny, and annoyed with Hunter for not being around to have sex with.

  "It was so good," he told Caleb. "Did I tell you how good it was?"

  "What was good?"

  "Hunter. He fucks like… God. So hot and he has a great dick, but he was… Sensitive, you know? Caring." He took another swig of fizzy lime. "Bastard."

  "That sucks, mate," said Caleb.

  Darius said, "You need to move on, honey. Rebound shags have a lot going for them. Seriously, so cathartic."

  "Catharti-licious," said Caleb with a giggle. "Hey, are you offering, Dar?"

  Darius looked Morgan up and down like he was something delicious. "Are you serious? Who wouldn't want to tap that?"

  "Thanks," said Morgan, squirming a bit; he wasn't used to compliments. But it felt really good. "You too."

  Caleb leaned in conspiratorially towards Darius and said, "Between you and me? You won't believe it, but we never fell into bed, him and me. All these years, not so much as a drunken snog."

  "There were reasons," Morgan said. He frowned. He couldn't exactly remember what those reasons were. "I think."

  The waiter popped up at Morgan's elbow, so unexpectedly that Morgan jumped and giggled.

  "Mr Appleford sent this over for you boys," the waiter said. He presented Caleb with a silver tray, upon which was a key and three feathery masks.

  "Well, shit," said Darius. "Y'know, it seems a shame to turn a guy down."

  "Yeah," said Caleb. "Man, it was fun last time."

  They both looked at Morgan.

  He knew there was a reason this was a bad idea, just like there was a reason he'd never had sex with Caleb. He did. But it was a foggy sort of thought that kept slipping away. His dick was really hard, and maybe if whatever it was that had denied him Caleb had led him to Hunter and disappointment, he'd got it wrong. Maybe Darius was right, he needed a rebound… something. He really wanted to get off. No, not just that. He wanted to touch, God, just to feel another person's skin. To let down all his walls and protections, to let go of his precious control just for once in his fucking life and have fun. Fun.

  "This won't wreck our friendship, right?" he said to Caleb.

  Caleb's face lit up like a summer sunrise. "You mean it? You want to do it?"

  Morgan grabbed the key from the tray and stood up, a little unsteadily. "Lead the way."

  Just like the rest of the club, the basement room looked totally different at night. The lighting was flattering and the room filled with soft moans and cries of pleasure. There was a sense of continual movement, one touch flowing seamlessly into the next. There were other people there, a lot of them, but Morgan was sandwiched safely between Caleb and Darius on the bed; naked except for their masks. Darius kissed him, his tongue and lips insistent, masterful, while Caleb pressed up against Morgan's back, rubbing his cock lazily into the dip at the base of his spine. He reached around to stroke Morgan's belly, slid down to touch his dick. Morgan was so hard, so pleasantly achy. Caleb pulled him onto his back and slid down the bed; Morgan kept his fingers in Caleb's hair, enjoying the sense of intimacy, of connection. Caleb slurped Morgan's cock into his mouth and started to suck. Morgan arched into him with a moan.

  Time floated along. Morgan licked and nuzzled at Darius' cock, his hand around Caleb's. Caleb gasped between sucks of Morgan's dick, "I need to get fucked, fuck me, Morgan, tell me you'll fuck me," and Morgan replied, "yes, yes, of course, shh, baby, shhh…" And then Morgan came, an exquisite pulse that started deep inside and flooded over Caleb's tongue and lips and cheeks and-

  The lights went on.

  There was no sense of panic, maybe because he was still kind of coming, but Caleb squeaked and sat up, wiping spunk off his face with the back of his hand, and Darius growled, and Morgan blinked into the harsh, white light that had shattered their pleasure.

  And then there was Hunter.

  "Shit," said Caleb.

  Morgan was so pleased to see Hunter. He reached out a hand across the bed to him and said, "Join us?"

  Hunter said, "What the fuck?"

  And then all hell broke loose.

  It wasn't like when his magic came from anger or despair. There was no flood, although Morgan felt the tug of the water surging through the pipes below the basement more strongly than ever. There were no flames, no wind, no tempest. But Morgan sparked and fizzed, and he laughed because, wow, there were little bolts of lightning crackling between his fingers; he shook his hands and there were more and bigger and it felt so good, freedom and energy and it was so damn pretty he–

  "Morgan, I'm going to ground you."<
br />
  Morgan looked up to find Harlequin standing in front of him. There were other people who hadn't been there before, too. One of them was in a police uniform. Sahil? No. A flash went off.

  Harlequin put his hand on Morgan's shoulder, and Morgan fell back into Hunter's arms. The last thing he noticed was a strange, treacly burning smell and the distant sound of a motor humming. Then the humming filled his head like a swarm of bees, his magic faded, and he was out.

  Caleb was holding Morgan's hand when he woke up. He was covered in a blanket and it felt really soft. It smelled nice. Wait, not a blanket. A shirt. Morgan nuzzled into the collar. Hunter. It was Hunter's shirt. And although Caleb was holding his hand, it was Hunter who had his arms wrapped around his middle; Hunter whom he was leaning against.

  Hunter looked down at him, eyes glowering but his body cradling him.

  "What happened?" Morgan asked. He was wearing trousers again. How strange.

  "You took drugs, had sex with a bunch of strangers and let your fucking magic loose," said Hunter. His voice was really harsh.

  "You don't know what you're talking about," said Caleb. "He was trying to do your bloody job for you."

  "How? By fucking the truth out of people?"

  "God, you are one hundred percent arse, you know that?"

  "It has been mentioned once or twice, yes. Fortunately I don't much care for your opinion."

  "Could we not?" Harlequin's voice cut through the rising boil of anger. "He's only just stable. We need to get him somewhere quiet and safe."

  Morgan looked around. He wasn't in the basement anymore; he was in the main part of the club, on the ground floor, by the stage. He wondered if Hunter could pole dance.

  "Stay with us, Morgan," said Harlequin. He put his hand on Morgan's arm. "For some reason your magic spiked really hard and fast. You need to keep calm until we can get you home."

  Oh. That explained things. Morgan didn't really care about his magic, but everyone seemed worried. His book was at home. Perhaps he needed Aiyeda. But he felt okay. Better than okay.

  He tipped his head up and saw Hunter glaring down at him. "Can you pole dance?"