by Jack L. Pyke
Gray frowned. Jack changed from that one stroke to a gentle grip down his cock, and the frowned heat about him had Gray stroking at Jack’s side, to calm, to cool him down. He had every look of needing to be fucked, of missing being fucked in old ways, but—
“Have you touched yourself yet?” he breathed against Jack’s ear, although he knew the answer already.
Jack choked a soft smile, a blush, and it hurt to see this awkwardness at such a simple question. “I play.” His look said just that. “But it’s alone, it’s... it’s... alone.”
“And Jan?” Jack had found it hard, but Jan...? “Has he played alone yet?”
Jack shrugged, and Gray caught the fall of his shoulders. “He...” Jack came in, kissing at Gray’s shoulder, nibbling. “He shakes every time I go near him. I don’t know if he’s wondering who’s touching him... me or Martin.”
“Easy.” This time Gray kissed at his neck, adding a harder bite. “And you think you’re ready to talk about getting back into BDSM, stunner? You think Jan’s ready to see you back in the BDSM lifestyle, knowing that?” Gray had sworn not to interfere on Halliday’s psychological evaluation of them both. Records and sessions were kept private, no matter how deep the temptation. They all talked when they needed to, not because they had to.
“He had no question over coming back here to you, Gray,” breathed Jack, his hand coming up Gray’s neck, his head tilting more, wanting the kiss at his throat to turn into something... more. “I think he knows it will happen eventually. And me... I’m so fucking tired of fighting this heat. I need us; what we are to each other.”
Gray screwed his eyes shut, controlling his breathing, but refusing to run with Jack a little more even though his bite was almost hard enough to mark Jack’s throat now.
Jack sighed, body relaxing into the rougher touch. Maybe he was ready to talk, to at least look at ways to coax mind and body into play, but....
Jack had found it hard just to come into the shower and be seen. The gap between concept and the reality of what he wanted seemed so far apart, and Gray still felt the cuts and bruises from the last time he’d tried to put a pair of handcuffs on Jack. There were ways to calm and care for a sub, to help lessen the width of the steps he wanted to take, but....
Gray pulled away a touch.
“You’re scared too, mukka,” Jack breathed quietly again, and this time Gray felt a hand slip between them. “I know what I’ve done.” Jack pressed his cock flat against Gray’s hip and rode a few strokes. “You’re hiding from me too.”
Now Gray eased back for a different reason, watching every line on Jack’s face, every change in emotion as Jack found solace in very old habits.
Breathing was heavy, Jack’s hips dipping, curving, his cock riding Gray’s hip and leaving a wetness there of its own that had Gray wanting to cry out and encourage. But he stayed back, kept quiet, and just let Jack use him to chase away ghosts.
Then it came, a slight drop of brow, almost lost under the mass of black wet hair framing Jack’s face. Eyes were closed, screwed tight shut now, calling out past fights and struggles, and Gray reached a hand under Jack’s jaw, knowing this was where life became hard.
“Me,” he said quietly as grey eyes flickered open. “You stay with me, stunner.” Gray pulled him in by the gentle touch on his jaw and kissed him deep.
Gray took control of Jack’s touch on his cock, playing one slow and long stroke down his shaft as he covered Jack’s hand. Feeling the thickness and heat through Jack, Gray’s body reacted, his cock crying out its own need. Ignoring it should have been second nature, but damn his soul, he’d missed this, this way of Jack’s, to find and take comfort through innocent play of his body up against Gray’s. And feeling that slip of hard cock against his hip brought back a familiarity all of its own that Gray wanted to wrap his soul around and claim back. From the cries in Jack’s sleep, Vince had asked him to do this at some point, taking away all of Jack’s peace and twisting the most basic innocence behind self-exploration under a Master’s careful eye. And it must have been what broke Jack all those months ago back in Gray’s bedroom.
“C’mon, stunner,” Gray breathed before going in for another, deeper kiss. His breathing matching Jack’s despite having no touch on his own cock, Gray took Jack’s shaft harder, faster, feeling every tension, every build of release as Jack ground his body in so close, hips now riding the touch as much as the touch rode Jack. “Fucking c’mon, cariad,” he whispered, the Welsh running off his tongue in the heat of the moment.
“Fuck.” Jack came so quickly, burying a cry in Gray’s shoulder in a bite that would bore into bone, let alone draw blood. Gray instinctively grabbed a hold around Jack, one hand seeking his ass, the rough grip there encouraging Jack to ride the last few ounces of come out of him, the other threatening roughness down his back.
“Fuck,” breathed Jack again, gripping at Gray’s ass and pulling Gray off the wall, his cock rubbing hard into Gray’s. “Fuck...”
There was a moment where Gray felt Jack shift, move to kiss his way down Gray’s chest, repay the first touch, but Gray stopped him with that hold under his jaw, keeping him on his feet, then went in for a long kiss.
He wanted this. The taste of his lips, nothing more. There was a time and a place for sex. This wasn’t it.
Jack sighed, easing a nip at Gray’s lip, then traced a run of slow kisses along Gray’s jaw and nuzzled back into the curve if his throat. Jack cuddled in close as his heart started to slow. Gray could feel it, that pounding chasing a normal beat, chasing calm, and Gray stroked gently at Jack’s ass, happy to stay there as he found it. This... the hold in the aftermath, this was what life was all about.
“Where did you go?” Jack stopped the playful kisses on the curve of Gray’s throat, now holding on for life. “Those five months away... where the fuck were you?”
Gray let his fingertips skate over toned skin. “Too far from here,” he mumbled quietly. “Too fucking far from here, stunner.”
A hand eased off Gray’s ass to come between them and stroke distractedly at Gray’s stomach. Jack nipped, occasionally licking at the moisture on Gray’s throat, then he pulled back slightly and ran a hand over the stubble making its presence known on Gray’s chin.
“Keep it,” he said quietly.
Gray frowned as grey eyes searched his. Heat was still there in his cheeks and Jack offered such a soft smile.
“Fucking gorgeous on you, mukka.”
A kiss brushed Gray’s lips, then Jack eased the door open. He stopped for a moment and glanced back. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Fine now, stunner.”
Jack nodded. “Then we’ll talk, yeah? Maybe about looking at ways to get things back to normal in the bedroom, if only that? All three of us?”
Gray offered a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Small steps—”
“Yeah,” finished Jack. “Time. I know, mukka.” His gaze saddened. “We all need it. Hm... who was on the phone?”
“Hm?”
“Just.” Jack thumbed back to Gray’s mobile.
“Work,” said Gray.
After a brief glance back, Jack nodded. “You... you just stay safe, okay?” Then he was gone.
Giving a rub at his jaw, Gray looked over at his shaving kit, then his phone. An investigation into Ryan Keal from the SSTP was something he didn’t need. Not today. He rubbed at his head as he got out of the shower.
Chapter 7
Missing Persons
After the usual security checks and body search needed to get into MI5 Headquarters at Thames House, Gray slipped his jacket back on and made his way up to his office, offering the occasional smile that seemed to have more people frowning at him and offering a slight nod, but nothing more.
Rachel was already tucked neatly behind her desk, sorting through the documents that had been given priority for the day. Hearing the door ease open, she glanced up, giving Gray the once-over despite the checks that had already gone on down
stairs. Late twenties, she came smartly dressed in a crisp, white short-sleeved blouse and suit trousers, the latter short slim-lined enough to turn a few conservative eyebrows in public, and probably get the blood pumping in private. Long brown hair was tied tightly away from her perfect Oil of Olay face, and big green eyes finished the killer look. But Gray employed her for her management skills, her two years in the field, her uncanny ability to tell the difference between bureaucracy bullshit and field-op priorities.
“The district-general would like you in his office by 9:00 a.m. for a meeting with the SSTP.” She handed over a file. “This also came through for you, marked Restricted Circulation.”
Gray looked over the file. “Let Andrews know I want to see him in ten minutes.”
She watched him for a moment. “That meeting with the district-general is marked as a priority.”
Gray handed her the file back. “Pass on my apologies to Stuart for any inconvenience caused by Reignfold’s visit. Give Reignfold my apologies too.”
Rachel scanned the file, then raised a brow. “A PIIC... and delivered this morning? Sir Stuart Worthington will be relieved. He has a COBRA meeting at ten thirty.”
“Then fax that through with the Restricted Circulation notice. Also, nice of you to offer to get me a coffee from the cafeteria in about... five minutes.”
“Oh?” She eased back a touch. “You need coffee in... five minutes, sir?”
“I have a feeling a nice gent by the name of Mr Reignfold will be down there then, needing coffee.”
“In five minutes?”
“Find out what intel he’s after. See if you can get a name other than Logan Keal on who sent him here. SSTP members come in twos, so if they put their heads together, make sure you breathe discreetly enough on their throats to listen so that they question their own sexuality.”
Rachel smiled and pulled up a ministerial file off the computer. She sat studying Reignfold’s image. “I need a coffee anyway, sir. Oh....” She handed over a slip of paper. “This came from Grantham. He’s the field operative working the Bhasin case.”
“Thank you.” Gray frowned as he read the note. “Tell Andrews to be here in five minutes, not ten.” He headed into his office, taking Grantham’s note with him. He didn’t need to be there for the district-general to ask the Security Service Tribunal panel to take the hint and let sleeping whores lie. The PIIC would do its job and ensure they wouldn’t return and no doubt gnaw bone-deep into those who pushed Logan Keal for playing time. Rachel would do her best to find out who sent it. That just left the private matter of Jack’s mother to wrap up this morning.
A knock came at the door, forcing Gray to cast a distracted look away from the window as Andrews pushed on through. Gray switched off the data on display on the Durbar database and picked up Grantham’s note as Andrews came over and took a seat.
A bruise lined the man’s lip and his usual light-frame glasses had been replaced, no doubt a throwback from the latest case he worked. The Westwood suit he wore added a few years to him, making him more Jack’s age, when he was closer to Jan’s at twenty-eight. Andrews had gone through a few MI5 departments already, the various bosses shifting him around because there was “never something quite right about him.” He’d passed top of his class at Oxford University, but he had that quiet bookworm nature and look to him that had... worried some.
It hadn’t worried Gray.
“You wanted to see me?” Andrews gave a push up of his glasses, making him look like he was more ready to take notes and type them up, over going on a field operation.
“Two things. Do you remember Bhasin’s arrest over a year ago?”
“The Indian banker?” Andrews eased one leg across the other. “He was found with a street value of heroin of over one million at one of his London properties, and was charged under Anti-terrorism law with Narco-terrorism. He sold the drugs here and sent the money back to India.”
“There had been months of intelligence-led investigation that led up to the Counter Terrorism Command raid in Bhasin’s South London apartment, mostly run by Grantham.” He tapped the note on his desk. “But it was Bhasin’s screw-up, or more his panic to get out of London, that pushed Grantham to request the raid.”
Andrews frowned over his glasses. “India’s known for its narcotic traffic zones. That’s nothing new. With his panic to get out of London, was he tipped off about the raid?”
“That was the thought back then, but I received that off Grantham this morning.”
Andrews picked up the Internal Note. “Another terrorist cell has migrated in the past few days?”
“Over the past year that makes four known franchises to Al-Qaeda who have gone underground, cutting ties and flying out to America. CIA, FBI, and the Department for Homeland Security have been notified, with MI6 heading the migration and collaborating with Interpol.”
Andrews leaned forward, his interest piqued. “And it ties to Bhasin, how?”
Gray heard his beeper go and shifted to pull it out. The district-general had received the PIIC. The code that came through demanded business as usual now. “Under questioning,” said Gray. “Bhasin predicted four cells would migrate, just after his arrest, with one of them being linked to Al-Qaeda. One of the others came from a suspected ISIS cell that Grantham’s report shows migrated within the past few days.”
“So not a coincidence, not with predicting four?” Andrews saw the concern. “Al-Qaeda and ISIS broke all ties years ago. They never did make good bed partners. Are you suggesting Bhasin was playing both sides and that he knew something would spook them enough to migrate?”
“Hm. I’d really like to know how Bhasin could have gone Nostradamus on this. Whatever it is that’s making the cells migrate, it spooked Bhasin a year ago too.”
“Is he still available for questioning?”
“Committed suicide a few months after the trial.”
“Okay. What would you like me to do?”
“Get word out to your sources on the ground and see if they’ve caught any undercurrents. I don’t like how it suggests that Bhasin had connections to both ISIS and Al-Qaeda. It hints at a merge that’s been going on for a while. If there’s evidence of a macro merge, no matter how minute the evidence, I want it on a board visible in all departments from here to the Metropolitan Police. But I want to know what’s spooking them. Why it started a year ago. Is the Israeli Intelligence Operative from Mossad and the one from Interpol still acting as liaison with MI6?”
Andrews nodded.
“Make sure they’re kept up-to-date via the channels and are aware ISIS and Al-Qaeda have ties. See what they’re prepared to divulge from their end, and get it out to Grantham.”
“I take it this is why the district-general is at a COBRA meeting this morning?” Andrews handed the note back.
“Partly.” He saw how Andrews fidgeted.
“Anything else, sir?” He knew this could have been done over email. “You said ‘two’ issues.”
“Personal favour,” said Gray, pushing over a file he’d kept on his desk.
Andrews picked it up and looked it over before flicking a look up at Gray. “During subject 639’s interrogations, this list of six numbers is repeated three times.” He frowned. “And 639 used this specific penmanship under interrogation?”
Gray nodded. “It’s Devanāgarī Sanskrit. Take note of the vowel diacritic, and pay attention to how all repeats are never in the same order.”
Andrews thumbed through the rest of the file. “639’s a computer specialist, where Sanskrit is known but....” He had that look about him that Gray shared. “It could be an encrypted code for something beyond technical language. Do we have access to 639’s computer system?”
“The Met has been through them, but they weren’t looking for this.”
“And you don’t want them to look for this?”
“No. You find out what; you find out why, and if you obtain any names from them, you don’t engage; you don’t act. You report
solely to me. Are we clear?”
“Understood. I’ll get the computers back from the Met.” Andrews tapped the file. “The word ‘Richards’ is repeated four times.”
“I’m aware of who Richards is. If you come across any other mention, you make a note, then discard the name. The same goes for mention of Jack and Gregory Harrison; those leads stay dead. All three are under protection.”
“Protection?”
“Hmm?” said Gray, pausing a moment.
“You said protection, not witness protection.”
Sharp man. “I said protection.”
Andrews fell quiet for a moment and Gray could see him evaluating the validity of their detainee.
“An Italian missing person report was filed a few months ago over a woman who was deported from here.... A Mrs Fortello.” Andrews glanced over. “Gregory Harrison’s ex-wife.”
“So the report said.”
“This information isn’t to be reported to MI6 either, who are handling the case.”
“No.”
“Okay.” And it was evaluated as quickly as that. He’d connected the dots between Elena, the missing person report, and external business beyond MI5/6 control. Gray wouldn’t want it any other way. Andrews was pure culling capability. “I’ll prioritise this,” added Andrews.
“Keep intel via the shared email address. No connections through MI5; no calls unless it’s urgent.”
“I’m due in your main debriefing meeting with you at eleven, would—”
“Skip it.”
Andrews nodded. “Okay. I’ll email as soon as I dig something up. Is 639 still available?”
Gray took the file back and shelved it. “Only directly through me.”
He stood to leave, paused, then—“I’m here for any business you need clearing up, sir. Contact through the usual channel.”