by Tinnean
“We can’t do this now. Dinner will be ruined if we don’t eat it soon,” I murmured against his mouth. I should have taken him up on his offer to bring takeout.
His hand was on my ass, cupping it. “I’ve missed this.”
“I have also.” We’d been busy with work and hadn’t seen each other since the previous weekend.
“Don’t you want to unwrap it?” If this hadn’t been Mark Vincent, I would have said the man standing before me seemed a little nervous.
“All right, I’ll open my gift.” I tore the brown paper off in long strips. “Then we can eat. And then we can—” Words caught in my throat as I saw what he was giving me.
It was a print of Degas’s The Young Spartans Exercising, my favorite of his works of that period. I had carried on about it when we had gone to the National Museum.
And the frame was beautiful. I ran my fingertips over it, tracing the fine grain of the wood.
“Do you… uh… like it?”
“I never expected Mark Vincent to ask such a stupid question,” I told him acerbically. “Yes, I like it!” I loved it!
“Cool.” He grinned and stuffed his hands in his pockets, pulling the material tight across his groin and drawing attention to his cock, which was straining against his fly. “So. What’s for dinner?”
“The hell with dinner!”
“But you said it will be ruined.” He backed away from me, laughing.
“We can order takeout later.”
“What kind?” He backed away another step, playing hard to get. Right behind him was the butter-soft leather couch, and of course he was aware of that. He managed to get his hands out of his pockets just before the backs of his knees hit the couch and he toppled onto it.
I followed him down, covering him with my own body, lining up our cocks. “Whatever kind you want, Mark,” I murmured before I kissed him. “Whatever kind you want.”
What a Difference a Day Makes
I
QUINTON MANN was my lover.
My lover. Sometimes I wondered how the fuck that happened.
Oh, not that I had gone to bed with a man. I’d done that before, whenever I’d wanted a change of diet. I scratched whichever itch itched the most.
I didn’t believe in heterosexuality, homosexuality, or bisexuality. Letting yourself get labeled was for wusses.
I’d never had an affair that lasted longer than a night, and I didn’t do relationships. But I’d let Quinn fuck me.
Up until that point, I could count the number of men I’d let do that to me on one hand, and still have four fingers left over.
I used the opportunity of having to travel to Massachusetts for a funeral to end it.
He came after me.
No one had ever given enough of a fuck to do that, and so I decided to humor him, to relax and enjoy it for as long as it did last.
Only—Quinn had been kidnapped during the course of an assignment, and it was my turn to go after him. I’d killed a man for him—no big deal, I’d killed other men—but afterward, I took him to a doctor to make sure his injuries were all as superficial as I’d thought, hoped. I took him to a hotel so he could recuperate to some extent before the flight home.
And on the flight home, in spite of the almost twenty hours of sleep he’d had, he dozed on my shoulder.
After that….
After that I had no intention of ending it.
II
I WAS awakened in the early hours of the morning by lips, teeth, and tongue industriously working my cock.
Quinn’s lips, teeth, and tongue.
He teased my cock with his tongue. He tormented it with his teeth. The rippling of the muscles in his throat caressed it. He eased a couple of slicked fingers up my ass and found my prostate. I groaned and arched up, and he took more of my cock down his throat.
Quinn might have been a gentleman, but he had one talented mouth. Who’d have thought? If all my brain cells hadn’t been concentrated on what he was doing to me, I would have laughed at the idiots who labeled my lover as cold.
As it was, all I could think of was the hot, wet suction on my cock, those clever fingers stroking in and out of my ass, and in a shamefully short amount of time, he tipped me over the edge and made me come.
“Quinn!” I barely had time to groan out a warning, but it didn’t matter. He swallowed.
I lay sprawled on the bed, my lungs pumping like bellows, trying to catch my breath. Since the first time he’d blown me, on my birthday, he’d had this effect on me.
“Nice to know I haven’t lost my touch, Mark.” His tone of voice was nothing short of smug. He licked his lips and smiled, then leaned over and kissed me. I tasted myself on his mouth.
“That’ll be the day.” I reached for him, intending to repay the favor, but he flipped me over, got me up on my knees, and slid into me. “How’d you…?”
My prostate was already sensitized from his manipulations, and his cock targeted it for a steady pounding, and I didn’t give two shits how he’d managed to take me unaware. My cock twitched, in spite of the fact it had no hope in hell of getting hard again so soon.
I rested my head on my folded arms, spread my legs wider, and closed my eyes. “Hit me with your… with your best shot, spook,” I taunted as I let him have his way with me. I decided I could get used to this lover thing, having someone who knew what I liked and who didn’t have a problem giving it to me.
Quinn gave a breathless laugh. “My intention, baby.”
The thrusts were relentless. He drove into me, making me feel every inch of him, again and again.
“After last… last night, how do… do you have the… the energy?” I panted.
“I… am a man… of vast… unexplored resources.”
“I’ve ex—explored you, baby.”
He growled in my ear. “And I’m… going to be feeling you… inside me all day.”
“So this is revenge?” I was usually the one who fucked him. I sometimes wondered which of us was more surprised by the fact that Quinn liked my cock up his ass.
“Sweet revenge.” He paused long enough to lean forward and lick my ear, then blew a hot breath into it.
Sneaky bastard. “Think that’ll make me follow you anywhere?”
Quinn gave a choke of laughter, then shuddered and gasped his climax openmouthed on the side of my neck. Long seconds passed before he relaxed on my back, and I sprawled under his weight. His cock was still inside me, but it was softening, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before it slid out.
I was asleep before it did.
III
“I WON’T be able to stop by after work,” he mentioned casually while he was knotting his tie the next morning. “I’m going out of town.”
He didn’t tell me where he was going, and I didn’t ask—I could find out later. I also didn’t ask why he hadn’t mentioned it the night before.
“Watch your ass, Mann,” I told him, brushing his hands away and using the tie to pull his body against mine.
“I thought that was your job.” His hazel eyes were almost green with devilry. He wound his fingers in my hair and brought my face down to his.
“Damn straight,” I whispered against his mouth. “Just remember, I won’t be happy if I have to haul the CIA’s bacon out of the fire again.”
“You talk too much, Mark. Why don’t you shut up and give me something to take with me?”
“Sure, babe.” I ran my tongue over his lips, and Quinn’s mouth opened under mine. I shivered at his husky moan.
The fingers of his other hand were flexing on the curve of my ass, tracing the crevice, probing through my trousers to find my hole, and when they did and I jumped unexpectedly, he laughed.
“Spook,” I growled.
“You like me anyway. Admit it, Mark.”
I… liked the way he said my name. “What makes you say something like that?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Quinn ran his fingertips over my ear. “Maybe the fact that you came
looking for me when that madman from Prinzip kidnapped me?”
I didn’t tell him that I couldn’t see where I’d had much choice. He was mine.
His mother had lined up someone fairly competent to go after him, but fairly competent wasn’t the best.
As for the CIA—I didn’t think he was aware that if I hadn’t gone looking for him, the CIA wouldn’t have. One of their best officers, and they’d have let him go, let him become a star on that goddamned wall.
“Mark.” He stroked my cheek, bringing my attention back to him, then stepped back and straightened his tie. “And don’t give me that bullshit about only doing it because Mother wouldn’t let you have Sam the Second otherwise.”
“Well, she wouldn’t have.”
“Of course not.” He smiled at me, and I wondered how many other lovers had seen that particular smile. And if they had, how could they have let him walk away from them?
My gut tightened. “Mann.” I breathed through my reaction to the thought of someone from his past—the French boy, to name one, who’d no doubt become fat and a drunk to boot—coming back and trying to take him away from me. It didn’t matter. They had blown it; I had him now. “Think you know me so well?”
“Well enough, tough guy.”
I followed him out of the bedroom. “I can make you some coffee. And toast.” I knew I had a stick of butter in the fridge, and I was pretty sure the loaf of bread wasn’t too old.
“Thank you, but I’m running too late. Which, I might add, is your fault.” He came back to me and kissed me. “Another time?” He waited until I nodded and unlocked the door, then kissed me again. “I’ll see you in a few days.”
I stared at the door as it shut behind him. “Damn straight you will,” I repeated to myself.
IV
THE morning went downhill from there.
The Boss, back from wherever he had been, called me into his office, chewed on my ass for not delegating the Prinzip matter, although nothing was said about what had gone down in Phoenix when I’d sent Matheson there, then informed me that Browne was being assigned to my department for the interim. He didn’t say it was punishment, but I got the message.
I didn’t like disappointing The Boss, but I wouldn’t have changed what I’d done.
I was in the middle of writing up an expurgated report of the incident with Prinzip when my intercom buzzed.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Vincent, I have Browne on line 2.”
Well, he hadn’t wasted much time.
“Thank you, Ms. Parker.” I glowered at the phone, then punched 2. “What can I do for you, Browne?”
“It’s Browne. Oh, uh… you knew that. Uh… look, Mr. Vincent, Mr. Stanley told me I’ve been transferred to Interior Affairs.”
I’d heard through the grapevine that Browne had been calling him every day trying to get reinstated. I’d also heard that Stanley was losing patience. Well, I’d learned myself he wasn’t a very patient man.
I cradled the phone between my ear and shoulder, crossed my legs, and relaxed in my chair.
“That’s right. The Boss has said you’re mine now.” For the time being.
He was silent for a minute as he mulled that over.
There were two things that most of the people in the WBIS knew about me. One was that I hadn’t reached the position I now held by getting on my hands and knees for any of my superiors, not that there were many. And two was that no one who worked under me would ever be in that position in order to curry favor or obtain a promotion. So there was no doubt that he knew there was no sexual connotation to that statement.
“Okay, fine, but you have to let me come back to work!”
“I do? And why is that?”
“Well….”
“Last I heard you weren’t given medical clearance.” I studied my nails. One of them was getting ragged, and I wondered if I’d marked Quinn’s back the night before. He hadn’t said anything, but—
“C’mon, Mr. Vincent, you can override that! I’m going stir-crazy here!”
“And that’s supposed to affect me how? Stanley said no; I’m saying no.”
“But Max says I’m fit to go back to work.”
“I doubt that. He may be French, but he’s not stupid. Aside from that amputation of your finger—”
“But it was just my fucking pinkie finger!”
I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see me. “You still need to recover from dehydration and malnutrition before he’ll clear you.”
Futé had brought what food and water he could without drawing attention to his actions and getting himself canceled, and he’d gone short on rations himself.
Browne was too pigheaded to realize it, but the little Frenchman had done that because he was infatuated with him. I hoped it was just infatuation, because I was getting the feeling that if Max was in love with Browne, he was in for a world of hurt.
At first I’d thought it was attraction to Quinn that made Futé willing to leave his homeland behind. It would have bothered me a bit to kill him, since he’d taken such good care of my lover, but I still would have done it.
No one poached on my territory.
But when I’d realized which way the wind was blowing, I’d offered the Frenchman a position in the medical sector of the WBIS.
“Mr. Vincent—”
“Browne, what part of ‘no’ don’t you understand?”
“Max gets to go in to work,” he said, his tone almost sulky.
“And…?”
“I’m home all alone; I’ve got nothing to do. I’m bored.” There was shocked silence. “Jesus, that was whiny. I’m sorry, sir.”
So was I. “Your request for reinstatement from medical leave is denied.”
“Mr. Vincent—”
“Just between the two of us, I’d suggest you find another way to amuse yourself than calling me.” Was this a form of revenge—Stanley’s way of paying me back for all the calls I’d made to him earlier this spring? “Isn’t one of the cable stations running a James Bond marathon?”
“I don’t have cable. I’m not home long enough, usually, for it to be worth it.”
“Then order it for Max. You owe him.”
“Yeah, but Mr. Vincent—”
“Your request is denied,” I repeated. I’d grown tired of the conversation. “Have a nice day, Browne.”
I disconnected the call and turned back to my computer. I still had that report to finish.
V
IT WAS almost seven when I left WBIS headquarters to go home to an empty apartment. I glanced around the open space that was my living room. Faint sunbeams angled through the windows that faced to the west; it was Daylight Saving Time, and although the sun was sinking, it hadn’t set.
I felt antsy. Eat first, then shower? I’d stopped at the Portuguese restaurant yesterday, and there was some lemon pork in the fridge.
Shower, then go out for dinner, maybe take in a movie? Where did I want to eat, and what did I want to see?
As I hung up my suit jacket, considering my options, there was a tap on my door.
I pulled my Glock and checked the peephole. It was Theo, wrestling with a rectangular box. I slid the pistol back into my shoulder holster and unlocked the door, using the new combination I’d come up with.
“What’s up, Theo?”
“Some guy left this for you.” He thrust the box toward me. “And don’t have a cow. Wills wasn’t happy when I told him I’d accepted a package for you, and he checked it out to make sure it wasn’t a bomb.”
“It’s called being careful.”
“Yeah, well, he nearly took my head off for not being careful, and it’s going to take some work to get him in a better mood.” He touched the tip of his tongue to his upper lip. A faint flush colored his cheeks, and the look in his eyes became….
I’d never seen that look on him before.
“Took your head off, how?” I took the box and placed it on the floor in the foyer; I’d run some tests mysel
f to make sure it was harmless. Being paranoid had kept me alive. I scowled at him. “Did he throw your having been a rent boy in your face?”
That was my old lady’s favorite method of getting rid of a guy. He’d look like he’d be willing to stay with us, and she’d tear into him about something he’d said or done, or hadn’t said or done, and then he’d be out of our lives.
Theo looked surprised. “No. Wills has never done that. He… Vince, he said he’s….” There was a brief pause.
I’d known Theo for more than ten years, and unbeknownst to him, I’d seen him when he’d been out with a john and in full rent-boy mode. He’d made the man feel as if he were handsome and witty, a raconteur on par with Noel Coward, and I’d had no doubt that afterward, when they were in bed, he’d have his john believing, no matter how erroneously, that he was as skilled in the art of lovemaking—all the world’s greatest lovers rolled into one.
This was nothing like that. There was awe and hope and wonderment in his eyes. I remembered the look on Matheson’s face as he’d held that photo in Davies’ office.
“He loves me!”
I shook my head and stared at the box. “What can you tell me about the man who gave this to you?”
“Hmm?” He snapped out of his bemusement. “Oh. Average height, kind of stocky build. Nothing remarkable. He asked if you lived here.”
I went cold and could feel my game face slipping into place.
“He didn’t look too dangerous….”
Those were usually the most dangerous ones. For instance, I could manage not to look dangerous. Most of the time.
“And neither did this older woman he had waiting in the car for him. She was a really classy-looking lady, Vince.”
I was more concerned about the man just then. “Did he happen to leave his name?” Not that he couldn’t have lied about it.
“No, but I heard the woman call him Gregor.”
Gregor? Novotny? Mrs. Mann’s… butler?
Yeah, I guessed it kind of made sense. She’d want to see where her son was spending his nights when he wasn’t at home. I wondered if she thought he was slumming. This house had had some serious renovations, and the area had been slated for gentrification, but it wasn’t Georgetown or Dupont Circle.