by Abigail Roux
Carl had fully intended to maintain control over this encounter, but somehow
he’d lost it. And he didn’t mind, not one bit.
The sweats didn’t make it any further than his knees before Shawn grabbed
his hips and slipped him off the table. He kissed him hard once more before forcing him to turn around.
Carl could have fought, and probably won, at this point. He was pretty sure
he could have, anyway. But he was too fucking turned on now to try. All he wanted was for Shawn to bend him over this table and fuck him into next week.
Shawn pushed him, right between the shoulder blades, and forced him over–
Carl’s chest hit the table with a thump. He groaned wantonly and pushed his hips
against Shawn’s hard cock as Shawn pressed against him. He felt Shawn reaching for something on the other side of the table, but he neither knew nor cared what it was.
They were both still fully clothed, though Carl’s sweats were now around his
ankles and Shawn’s jeans were riding low around his thighs, and Carl spread his
hands flat on the table as he realized how completely debauched the whole scene was.
They ate on this table.
Fucking beautiful.
It wasn’t gentle, and it wasn’t slow. But goddamn, did it feel good. Carl
moaned against the pain and his body jerked when the fingers brushed his prostate.
He had started this in a brutal manner; it looked like Shawn was going to end it the same way.
XXX.
SHAWN had needed this more than he’d known. Something with no strings and no
deeper meaning attached. Something physical and slightly violent to vent the
frustration and anger and sadness. He gripped Carl hard as his entire body suffered through the pleasurable spasms of orgasm.
At some point during their impromptu therapy session, Remy and Brandt
joined them. Neither man seemed surprised to find Shawn and Carl fucking on the
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kitchen table. Brandt, in fact, took a seat to watch the show from the first row.
Shawn could feel Remy behind him. He let his head fall back against
Remy’s shoulder and his entire body went limp as the anger and frustration and
exhaustion of the past several days slipped away. Remy whispered to him softly, and Shawn’s eyes drifted closed as he felt himself being pulled backward. Before he knew it, he was on the floor cradled in Remy’s arms and watching Brandt tackle Carl to the floor. Brandt took Carl’s cock in his mouth and sucked him off until he writhed and begged him not to stop.
“Fuck,” Shawn breathed as he watched Carl’s fingers thread through
Brandt’s hair and his hips thrust upwards into Brandt’s mouth desperately.
Remy’s lips were at Shawn’s ear, and he heard the younger man whisper in
amusement. “You should have let Carl fuck you,” he said. “He’s fucking amazing.”
“Mmm,” was all Shawn managed as he tried to regain his wits. “What the
hell?” Shawn groaned, not certain of what exactly he meant. Apparently, Remy took it as a question.
“Brandt didn’t want the table getting… messy,” Remy explained as Carl
bucked again and went into spasms. “We eat there.”
Shawn’s brow furrowed and he thought he should be smiling, but he didn’t
feel the urge to do so.
“Jesus,” Remy whispered into Shawn’s ear as they watched.
Shawn was still breathing heavily from the exertion, harder than he should
have been, and he felt a little light-headed, but he wasn’t certain why. He hadn’t expended that much energy. Not nearly that much.
Remy’s arms tightened around him, and Shawn suddenly realized what the
feeling must be. He sat on the cold tile of the kitchen with his jeans hanging off his hips and watched the man he’d just fucked being sucked off by another man, a man
Shawn had thought he loved. But he was being held by the man that he did love.
Truly loved.
Son of a bitch.
Shawn liked that saying. It had no real meaning when said correctly, it was
all tone and inflection and feeling, and when you said it with just the right amount of disgust, it was perfect.
Was that it? He had loved Remy for a long fucking time, why would
‘realizing’ it just now make him light-headed?
“Wait, what?” Shawn asked aloud, not realizing that he was no longer
speaking just to himself.
“Fucking hot, aren’t they?” Remy murmured into his ear.
Shawn nodded distractedly. He had loved Remy for a long time. A long
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fucking time. He had never been able to admit it, though, not even to himself. Fuck, what had he been thinking?
Son of a bitch!
But he loved him. He really fucking loved the little bastard. Now what was
he supposed to do? Tell him? After all this time? And what the fuck was he supposed to say about Brandt? He wasn’t even sure himself what that had been.
Shawn blinked stupidly as he sat in Remy’s arms. He did know. Brandt
reminded him of Remy. A flush of heat flooded Shawn’s body as he thought that, and he thought it again just to make sure it was correct. Brandt reminded him of Remy.
Yes. They were a lot alike. Hell, they even looked alike, in a way. They had the same eyes. Remy’s eyes gleamed like that every now and then, too.
Son of a bitch.
Brandt had told him the night before that they really didn’t feel what they
thought they felt. Shawn knew if he tried to remember the exact words Brandt had
used he’d give himself a headache, but that was the gist of it. They weren’t in love. It had been the proximity.
“I missed you, Shawn,” Remy said to him quietly, and Shawn could hear the
smile in his voice, feel it against the skin of his neck. He so very rarely called him by his name unless he was angry. The tender note in the name struck a chord somewhere very deep, and Shawn closed his eyes as an entirely new feeling washed over him.
Yes. This was love. Devotion. Adoration. He was smitten. He had been smite-ed.
Whatever you called it.
“Now about this dress.”
“Son of a bitch.”
Almost an hour later, Shawn was still fighting tooth and nail to stay out of
anything resembling a dress.
“What about a nice pantsuit?” Brandt asked in all seriousness as they sat in
the main room and argued with him. “You’d look good in purple, I think.”
Shawn stared at him, trying to decide if Brandt was serious. Finally, he
decided that he wasn’t and threw a pillow at Brandt in retaliation. Brandt grinned and giggled ridiculously, and Shawn once again thought he should be smiling. He knew
he should be, in fact. But he wasn’t.
“He can’t wear a pantsuit, it’d look like a suit,” Nikolaus protested.
“Yeah, Niko,” Remy agreed eagerly. “He needs a dress, right? A skirt, at
least.”
“And heels,” Carl murmured with a cheeky wink.
Shawn growled unhappily at them all and shivered.
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“Let’s think this over rationally,” Thiago suggested finally, and Shawn
looked at him gratefully.
Thiago stared at Remy thoughtfully, though, and Shawn couldn’t help
feeling he was missing something. Missing something inherent, not only in the
general mood of the group, but something within himself. Why did he feel so fucking out of it? Everyone was acting oddly, even himself, and Shawn frowned as he tried to decid
e why. Was it real or was it imagined on his part? He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure of much of anything right now.
He shook his head and tried desperately to pull himself back into the
conversation.
XXXI.
“SHAWN? You okay?” Thiago asked in a voice laced with concern, and Nikolaus
turned to look at Shawn curiously.
The older man nodded, albeit uncertainly, and Nikolaus turned back around
only to discover that he was no longer ‘alone’ on the sofa. Brandt sat beside him with his arm draped over the back of the sofa, smiling crookedly.
How in the fuck had the big man moved that quickly? How had Nikolaus not
felt the cushion dip? Why was he grinning? Nikolaus’s stomach flipped unnervingly and he blurted, “I don’t have anything flammable!”
Brandt chuckled wickedly and said, “That’s what you think.”
Nikolaus swallowed uncomfortably and blinked slowly, not sure of what to
say. Technically, he supposed he was flammable. Ooh, now he felt sort of nauseous.
Not good. But Brandt winked at him and turned his attention back to the group at
large, and Nikolaus tried to relax. Remy smiled winningly at him, and Nikolaus
wondered if Remy wasn’t maybe just a little crazy too. He had seriously considered that possibility when they were on the run together, but it seemed more likely now than it had then. Nikolaus idly wondered why that was, as Thiago continued speaking.
“Now, Shawn, you said earlier that there were other options besides the one
we’re discussing,” the Argentinean prompted.
“I did?” Shawn asked in surprise.
Thiago’s brow wrinkled and he cocked his head curiously. “Yeah,” he said,
sounding half amused. “You said there were other options and that Remy and Brandt were just being twats.”
“He’s right,” Brandt said happily.
“You did say that,” Remy affirmed with a worried little frown.
“Oh,” Shawn said, sounding lost and a little confused.
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“You also said you had a plan of action for after we met with the Oliver
woman,” Thiago supplied as he leaned forward and rubbed his eyes as if he were
tired.
“I did?” Shawn asked again.
Nikolaus did a double take. What the hell was wrong with him?
“You said it required weaponry, though. So, what was it?” Thiago asked
slowly as he looked at Shawn carefully.
Shawn edged forward and looked at them all with a frown. Nikolaus
examined him closely. He looked pale. Sick, even. Nikolaus glanced at Remy and
saw that he too was looking at Shawn in concern. This probably wasn’t good.
“You alright there, Beignet?” Brandt asked carefully as he scooted forward
and sat on the edge of the sofa, looking at Shawn like a hawk would a mouse.
Nikolaus was still looking at Brandt when he saw Remy lunge out of his chair and
pounce across the room. He was so quick that Nikolaus only had the time to turn his head around to look before Remy reached Shawn, and Remy was just in time to catch the other man as he went limp and slid forward out of his chair.
Nikolaus and Brandt both jumped up to help but, when Nikolaus got to his
feet, it was as if he hit an invisible wall. He gasped and literally fell back into the sofa as the room spun and his stomach lurched.
‘What the fuck?’ he thought dazedly as the room went slowly black.
XXXII.
Brandt watched in alarm as Shawn and Remy sank to the ground together, and he felt more than saw Nikolaus fall back onto the sofa. He reached back blindly but missed grabbing the smaller man as he fell. Remy looked up at him pleadingly for help but Brandt’s attention was drawn by a soft gasp from the other side of the room. He
turned in time to see Thiago slowly sink to his knees, as if his legs had simply turned to putty when he had jumped to help Shawn, and Carl was at the older man’s side
almost instantly trying to give him aid. Thiago fell forward and Carl wrapped strong arms around him and pulled him back until Thiago’s unconscious body was cradled in the Kiwi’s lap.
“What the fuck’s wrong with ’em?” Brandt asked in agitation as he turned to
look at Nikolaus. The smaller man was limp and unresponsive, and Brandt quickly
bent to take his pulse as his own heart raced in fear. He couldn’t find one, and Brandt began to panic slightly. He didn’t know exactly where to look, but that wasn’t much consolation. “Gizmo?” he said softly as he gave Nikolaus’s face a couple of gentle slaps. He got no reaction. Brandt turned back to look at Carl when he realized he hadn’t yet gotten an answer from the other man.
“Don’t feel so hot myself, Wally,” Carl mumbled as he checked Thiago’s
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pulse. “I can’t,” he said weakly as he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He
closed his eyes as if trying to steady himself.
“Trigger?” Brandt ventured as he straightened up and took a step closer.
Brandt blinked as Carl’s body slumped back against the chair, his arms still wrapped protectively around Thiago dragging the older man back with him.
Brandt turned and looked at Remy in confusion and desperation.
Remy was kneeling on the floor beside Shawn’s body, laying Shawn’s head
gently onto a throw pillow, and when he looked up his eyes were dark and sad and
dangerous.
Brandt cocked his head, trying to understand what was happening, and Remy
stood slowly. He seemed to unfurl, rolling his shoulders and looking up at Brandt through lowered lashes, and Brandt was suddenly reminded of a film he’d once seen.
He couldn’t remember the name of it, or even the plot really, but it had been
one of those good versus evil things where the evil things were big winged creatures with horns and the good were pure and beautiful and righteously indignant. At this moment, Remy looked like that final evil creature as it rose from its fire pit and unfurled its wings. Brandt was so distraught by the thought that even the image of the fire pit didn’t distract him.
“I’m sorry for this,” Remy said softly, his voice hard as steel and his eyes
black and deadly and soulless. “Even as big as you are, I thought a little exertion would make it hit you sooner, but….” Remy pursed his lips and shrugged
apologetically. “I’m truly sorry, but I can’t wait for yours to take effect.”
Brandt tensed as Remy drew the gun from the waistband of his jeans and
aimed it at him. He didn’t have time to do anything more than raise his hands in an automatic gesture of self-defense before Remy pulled the trigger.
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PART FOUR: BLUE-ON-BLUE
I.
REMY dropped the tranquillizer gun as soon as the dart was shot and lunged forward.
He wrapped his arms around Brandt and tried his best to ease the bigger man back
onto the sofa instead of just letting him fall to the ground. Brandt’s body was nearly a dead weight, though, and despite Remy’s best efforts, they sank to the ground slowly.
“Bastard,” Brandt whispered disjointedly as they slid down the front of the
sofa and to the floor together. Remy hit the ground with a thump and he pulled Brandt gently into his lap and nodded sympathetically.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into Brandt’s ear. “If you’d just eaten more of the
fucking pastries, man,” he continued sadly
Brandt struggled against him, trying to sit back up. Remy was amazed that
the other man was still conscious. He could have knocked an elephant flat on its ass with the amount of sed
ative he’d loaded in those darts. Brandt gripped Remy’s bicep painfully and writhed slowly, fighting unconsciousness, and Remy held him close as he plucked the dart out of Brandt’s chest. Brandt growled and whimpered a little.
“I’m sorry,” Remy whispered again. “It’s okay,” he added soothingly, his
heart breaking as Brandt struggled against him. “You’ll just sleep for a while, then you’ll be good as new.”
Brandt growled wordlessly again, then his eyes drifted shut and he finally
went completely limp in Remy’s arms. Remy stared down at him sadly. This would
complicate matters a bit. Brandt didn’t seem the type to take kindly to being shot, even if it was just a tranquillizer dart.
The plan had been for the others not to know who had drugged them. They
were supposed to be knocked out, and then wake up in the warehouse dazed,
confused, and completely unaware of a traitor in their midst. But Remy was on a time limit. They were all given very small dosages, and if Brandt was as resistant as Remy thought he was then it was entirely possible the big man would still have been
struggling against the effects by the time the others were waking up. Remy simply couldn’t have that, and he had been forced to dart him.
“If this is the treatment your allies get, I think perhaps I’m on the wrong
side,” Gray Kincaid’s soft voice observed wryly as it wafted into the room from the area of the balcony.
“Va-t'à la merde, salaud,” Remy hissed bitterly as he brushed the long curls away from Brandt’s eyes and unconsciously rocked him back and forth. “This is your
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fault.”
“Oh, they’ll get over it,” Gray told him carelessly as he stepped into the
room and examined the scene with entirely too much amusement for Remy’s taste.
“Get over it?” Remy repeated angrily.
“Well, maybe not, but we couldn’t have one of them hearing me, now could
we? I don’t want my ass shot off before I even make an entrance!” Gray told him