by Jack Parker
"I couldn't care less about your questionable predilections—excepting when they affect me. If you continue to go about flashing your money and scrapping with the local pikeys then there'll be nothing fake about my next death. Did it occur to you at any point that drawing attention to yourself whilst threatening one of the richest men in the country was quite possibly a bad move?"
"You're makin' a big deal out of nothing!" Sheridan insisted. "No one is gonna bat a fuckin' eye. Christ, we're practically in the middle of nowhere here."
"Chester, Cheshire, population somewhere around eighty goddamn thousand," Scott interrupted. "Not exactly the middle of fucking nowhere."
"Close enough," Sheridan huffed.
A fist suddenly planted into the table in front of Sheridan, making him jump. He looked up guardedly at Sterling. "No, mate. Not bloody close enough."
Sheridan at last seemed at a loss for what to say. He looked between his associates with a conflicted expression before surrendering to the unanimous reprimand. "Alright. Alright. I get it. My bad, okay?" He gestured to himself with a sneer. "Excuse the hell out of me for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Won't happen again. Happy?"
"Ecstatic," Kurt snapped.
"Great. Now," Sheridan cleared his throat, trying to shake off the accusing stares of present company, "since we're all dictating my fucking behavior here, is it alright with everyone if I get some sleep?"
When he received no response, he stood, giving them another heated look and a, "You all need to lighten the hell up," before ascending the stairs and out of sight.
* * *
The night only got colder. It was the first one of the season where ice began to form at the edges of the window panes and without a working heater it was truly miserable trying to get to sleep. Emery was only able to do so after putting all of his clothes back on and shivering under the covers for an hour, but even then it was fitful. He kept fading in and out, slipping into that hallucination filled, half-awake state that he so despised. The one in which he sometimes looked around to find himself back in Hunter's sprawling mansion in a room at the furthest end of the hall, a room filled with all earthly possessions he retained from childhood and the only reminders that there ever existed a life outside of this cage. A room he had to lock himself into because if he was caught sleepwalking he knew he would be led back to the wrong bed under the guise of concern.
He kept starting awake to the brutal cold, falling into another fit of shivers and trying to bury his face into the pillow so that his nose stopped hurting from the chill. He was good about suppressing the memories in the daylight. In dreams he was vulnerable. He hadn't had them much since his being kidnapped, oddly. Maybe it was because this ordeal had afforded him a sliver of hope, but with the latest incident Emery's confidence in their success was a somewhat shaken. If their leader didn't have it all together, what could they do?
He was in and out several more times before something woke him out of his latest stupor. He groggily shifted as he felt someone get into bed beside him, hands tugging at the hem of his sweater. His first reaction was to panic, but then he registered the familiar scent of Kurt's cologne and shuddered in relief. "What?" he moaned by way of demanding an explanation.
"I'm taking this off," Kurt whispered into his ear with a husky drowsiness to his voice that was deep and comforting in the dark.
"Hm?"
"Just relax. It's bloody freezing—I'm going to warm you up," Kurt said. Emery didn't have the wherewithal to argue. He let Kurt pull off his sweater and began shivering again in just his undershirt, but arms quickly wrapped around him and pulled him into a strikingly warm body.
"Were you lonely or something?" Emery jested sluggishly.
"Shut up," Kurt murmured as he buried his face into Emery's hair.
Emery smirked and slowly closed his eyes again, the cold waning. "Tausend dank…" he yawned.
"Gerne," Kurt replied, sounding already asleep.
It was odd, but he didn't think he'd ever felt so content. Both the dreams and the cold faded away for the night, and the rest of his slumber was entirely peaceful.
CHAPTER 13
It was about eight the next morning when everything went to hell.
The day started out simple enough. Kurt awoke early to slip out of Emery's bed and couldn't get back to sleep in the icy cold with sheets of frigid rain banging on the roof, so he sat around in the kitchen drinking bitter instant coffee to try and warm up. It didn't seem like anyone else did much sleeping either, however, as Sheridan was already somewhere downstairs at that point and Sterling followed shortly after to go outside and have a smoke. Scott huddled at the table with Kurt, sounding like he was getting sick as he hacked over his own cup of coffee. Eventually Emery joined them as well, arms wrapped around himself uncomfortably while Kurt pushed him a mug.
"This sucks," Scott declared after a pronounced sneeze. "I work with killers, druggies and psychopaths for a living but I'm gonna fucking die of exposure."
"You don't look so good," Emery agreed sympathetically.
"I never get sick. Ever," Scott continued to complain. "Who the hell chose this place, anyway?"
"Believe it was Sterling's suggestion," said Kurt.
"That figures. Who else would be stupid enough to pick a joint with a broken heater in the winter? I can't take another night like this. We should move this operation."
"Maybe he's right," Emery said hesitantly, looking at Kurt. "If Sheridan's gotten us noticed around here that might be the best thing anyhow."
Kurt shook his head. "We're a bit far in to be packing up and moving now. Besides, Sheridan's little escapade was a ways away from here."
"Well hey, some of us are made of flesh and not just unfeeling ice statues, so something's gotta give," Scott said, mostly to Kurt. He then turned to Emery. "How did you even survive the night? What do you weigh, like a buck fifty?"
"I run hot," Emery answered casually.
Scott clucked his tongue against the side of his inner cheek and took a drink of his coffee, making a face and setting it down. "Yuck. I never thought I'd say it, but give me a goddamn cup of tea."
"Fresh out," Kurt informed, taking a sip of his without complaint.
"Right, right, with three Englishmen in one house, go figure." Scott stood up and began pacing the kitchen, rubbing his arms.
Emery held his coffee mug into himself, trying to absorb the heat and looking a little too miserable for Kurt's liking when a crash sounded from downstairs, followed by a gunshot and a series of yelling voices.
Scott was the first to leap into action, snatching two guns from off of a nearby counter and making for the stairway. Emery stood, looking after him worriedly and Kurt grabbed him by the arm, drawing out his own gun and pushing the younger man back towards the bedrooms.
"What the hell was that?" Emery asked as he tripped over his own feet, but Kurt didn't let him go until he had shoved him back into his room's bathroom.
"Stay here and stay down until I come back," Kurt ordered militantly as he loaded his handgun. "Do not move."
"Kurt—" Emery attempted, but Kurt shut the door and locked it behind him. The cacophony downstairs had died down, but he could still hear voices as he slid along the wall towards the top of the stairway. Some of them were unfamiliar. He slowed to a halt at the very top, listening in closely for a cue to act.
"Fer yer own sake, put the guns down," a high Irish voice ordered.
Scott, sounding like he was a little ways down the stairs, replied. "Fuck no."
"A'right. For his sake, then." Kurt could hear the hammer of a revolver creak back into firing position.
Scott didn't seem to even flinch. "So shoot him, but I am taking you out first, Lucky Charms."
Kurt chanced a brief glimpse around the corner to survey the scene before drawing back. There were three of them. One was facing off Sterling with a sawn-off shotgun to his semiautomatic, the other two had their guns trained on Sheridan who was backed up against
the table.
"Yer boy here owes us a lot of money," the man continued. "If you've got it, you can buy his life."
"Yeah? How much?"
"Fifty thousand."
Scott snorted. "He ain't worth that much to me. I could maybe give you, ahh…ten for him."
Scott was good at buying time. Kurt quickly rummaged through his options as he did so.
"Is that a joke?" the ringleader asked stonily.
"Is this? How about you put down your guns and I don't drop all three of you? You don't know me—I'm a great shot."
"And you don't know me," was the response. "Or ya clearly wouldn't be wastin' me time. Now I ain't here to rob ya or take somethin' unfairly. I just want what I won."
"Did you stiff these guys, man?" Scott asked.
"No way. Just a bunch of sore losers," Sheridan quipped back, and this was immediately followed by a sharp crack and a cry of pain.
Kurt took the distraction and decided to bank on Sterling's reaction time. He stepped out and aimed, firing a shot just a little low into the chest of the man with the shotgun. Sterling didn't disappoint. In that instant, he lunged forward, tackling the other gunmen to the ground while Scott opened fire on their leader. He fired back, but knew he was about to be in trouble and scrambled for the door, catching a bullet in the calf on his way out. Scott tore out after him.
The man Kurt had shot rolled onto his back and had found his gun again. He was jerking it towards Sterling by the time Kurt made it down the stairs and pointed his gun warningly. The man didn't take the warning. He quickly twisted his weapon back on Kurt, who fired another round without hesitation into the downed man's skull with a quick spray of blood. Kurt turned back to Sterling on the ground to catch the gruesome end of the last man's life, screaming in agony as the Cockney's large hand gripped him by the face and bashed his head into the shop floor with a jarring crunch.
Kurt held up his gun and jogged out the door after Scott, following a trail of blood as far as he could before he lost track. Moments later he found Scott near an alleyway, rain dampened and panting out great clouds of steam. He saw Kurt and shook his head. "Fucker got away from me. Shit. Bleeding like a stuck pig and I fucking lose him!"
Kurt looked around suspiciously for a few more moments before beckoning Scott back with him. When they arrived, Sterling was pulling Sheridan up off the floor, whose nose was badly bloodied as he stumbled to his feet. "Those motherfuckers," he hissed.
"What the fuck was that, Sheridan?" Scott growled. "Were you playing cards with the goddamn IRA?"
"Not now, Scott," Sheridan spat. He pushed Sterling away, walking over to the man on the floor, who was missing most of the back of his skull, and kicked the body in the face for all he was worth. He then bent over with his hands on his knees, wiping at his nose.
"How the fuck did they know where to find you?" Scott continued. "What the hell have you been doing? We almost all just—"
Sheridan pointed to him, blood-spattered and crazed. "Victor, shut the fuck up and get over here." He turned, reaching down and grabbing the legs of the nearest corpse. "You and Sterling help me get this goddamn trash to the back. Kurt, go check on the kid and get back here to help us pack up. We need to be ready to leave by tonight, before that cocky shithead brings any more of his friends our way."
Kurt nodded, looking down at the blood stained floor and tucking his gun away. This was a definite setback, but at least Sheridan had his head back in the game. If he could just keep it that way…
* * *
Emery had never heard unexpected gunfire in all his life. When it happened for the first time, it was lucky that he was nowhere near it, because it was all he could do to freeze like a gaping idiot wondering if that's what he'd really heard. It was also lucky that Kurt was there to thrust him out of harm's way, but halfway through being dragged back to his room, Emery fully realized the danger and started to struggle. It was no use. Kurt simply shoved him into his bathroom and locked him in, leaving him to wait terrified for the end results of this confrontation with no explanation whatsoever. He futilely banged a fist against the door with clenched teeth in frustration. What was Kurt walking into just now?
For a few agonizing moments he could hear only muffled voices below. He paced back and forth in the small tiled room, biting a thumbnail nervously when the next shot rang out. Emery instinctively fell to the floor, bracing himself up against a wall between the toilet and the shower as his heart pounded in his throat. This was immediately followed by several more shots, banging footsteps, loud thuds, and then everything was eerily quiet. Emery stared in shock at the door. What on earth was happening? Who was firing? He bore down hard on the panicked hyperventilation that threatened to break loose and waited.
It was a few long minutes later when he finally heard footsteps approaching. He gripped the edge of the tub with his right hand, fingers searching for some sort of weapon and finding only a bar of soap. When the door opened, however, it was the best of all possible candidates. "Kurt!" Emery gasped. He sprang to his feet without thinking and threw his arms around Kurt's neck, sending him stumbling back a step and making his gun drop to the floor. He buried his face into the taller man's shoulder in relief. "Kurt, oh, I thought something terrible must've…"
Kurt's arms suddenly seemed to wake up and wrapped around him tightly enough to hurt.
Emery pulled back after a second, his hands gripping Kurt's shirt as he scanned him over. There was a splatter of blood on his right side. "God, are you hurt?"
"No," Kurt replied, his expression strangely flummoxed. "I'm fine, it's…not mine."
"What happened?"
Kurt continued giving him a strange, demure look as if this was the first time he'd laid eyes Emery. "A couple of Sheridan's new enemies from the night before, it's nothing to…no casualties on our end, it's taken care of, don't worry."
"Don't worry?" Emery repeated, wincing at how high-pitched and frantic his voice sounded. He shook his head and kissed Kurt hard on the mouth. "Don't tell me that! I thought you might have been killed, don't—" he kissed him again, "bloody ever do that again."
Kurt held his face firmly between his hands and leaned down to silence him with a much longer, more sensuous kiss. When he pulled back, he ran his thumb along Emery's cheekbone, his bewilderment replaced with passion "I'm sorry."
"I'm not angry, I'm just—" Emery was cut off as Kurt kissed him again more heavily and he had no choice but to return the gesture as urgently as he could. Suddenly hands were working at his pants in a frenzy and Emery pushed back. "W-wait, wh—the others—" he protested weakly.
"Doesn't matter," Kurt rasped, resuming the kiss and yanking Emery back towards the bed.
Didn't it matter? While it might or might not be a catastrophic affair, it certainly wouldn't do them any favors if the others found out about their inclination towards each other. What on earth had made Kurt stop caring? Emery quickly found himself flat on his back, his shirt hiked up and hungry kisses making their way down his abdomen. He reached down and carded his fingers through Kurt's hair as thumbs hooked into his waistband and took his pants down. He didn't know what had gotten into him, but he wasn't about to object. Kurt pulled off his own shirt and leaned back over Emery. His skin was extraordinarily warm in the cold air. Emery wanted to touch every inch of it, he thought as his neck was ravaged, and he set out to try.
Every time Kurt's teeth grazed his skin he felt like someone was throwing kerosene onto an already raging fire. No one he'd ever slept with had made him feel so shamelessly wanton. No boys at school he went around with to try and make himself feel normal, no week long relationships with men he'd tried to have in secret before being found out, no one night stands, no passing fantasies could hold a candle to the sensations Kurt Gabler seemed to effortlessly inflict on him. The man was a beautiful, erotic menace.
Kurt had abandoned his usual gusto for a slow and teasing stride. Emery wasn't sure why—he especially didn't think they had the time for this right no
w—but it felt so good he couldn't be bothered to question it. Instead he gripped the pillow next to him and moaned into it as Kurt lifted up his legs and unhurriedly penetrated him. He began an incredibly laidback pace that at first was soothing, but shortly thereafter became maddening. He clenched his knees around Kurt's middle to try and spur him on, but the speed remained steady. God, he wanted to come so badly. The pressure was already building up to be too much.
Just when he thought that he was damned to sit at the brink of climax for all eternity, Kurt snapped his hips, picking up the pace hard and fast and Emery fell apart like a house of cards in the face of a strong gale. He whimpered into the pillow, shivering and writhing as warm streaks of ejaculate landed on his stomach. After a few more thrusts Kurt followed. His rhythm stuttered, his fingertips sank into Emery's skin and he began breathing rapidly. It wasn't until a long moment later that he finally relaxed.
Emery was still shaking blissfully when Kurt pulled out, leaning back over him to kiss him again in a clumsy, drunken way. Emery responded just as fuzzily, looking up at him with concern as he stroked Kurt's jawline. "You're sure you're not hurt?" he asked softly.
"Very," Kurt panted. He rested his forehead against Emery's and closed his eyes. After regaining a bit of strength he took Emery's chin in his hand and chastely kissed him on the mouth once more before sitting up. "Come on. We haven't got much time."
"Wh—for what?" Emery tried to sit up as well, but had to weather a few failed attempts before he was able.
"We've got to leave," Kurt said as he pulled his shirt back on. "You were right. Sheridan's drawn too much attention here. We don't need any more early morning visitors."
Emery grabbed the edge of a blanket and wiped his mess off of himself hastily, snatching clothes off of the ground and tripping into them. The cold was coming back with a vengeance but it was tempered by adrenaline. "Where?"
"The others are seeing to that."