by Helena Maeve
“Stop,” Klaus said again. This time, he curled his fingers around Arthur’s wrist, a clear and definite warning. Stop or I’ll make you.
It wasn’t an empty threat. In the car, when it suited him, Klaus had deployed the handcuffs and backed Arthur against the door. He’d snapped a man’s neck like it was child’s play back at the loft. Next time, he could just put Arthur in the boot, drive in peace and quiet for the rest of their trip.
Arthur shook him off, throat tight with absurd, baseless rage.
“Did I say you could touch me?”
The window was behind Klaus and what little light it cast into the room didn’t serve to illuminate his face.
Arthur quaked where he lay, somehow feeling worse without Klaus’ hand on him than he had before. I’ve done it this time. I’ve made him snap. He fought not to flinch when Klaus slid a hand under his boxers and pried out his own soft length. Irrationally, Arthur found himself cataloging the differences.
Klaus was uncircumcised—which wasn’t rare so much as odd, for Arthur, who hadn’t had any uncut men since he started working stateside. He hadn’t realized it during the split-second glimpse he’d gotten of Klaus in the shower, but now he could look his fill if he wanted to.
He couldn’t resist.
Klaus slid his fist down slowly, the muscles in his thighs pulling taut under the skin as he pumped into his own grip. His gaze never strayed from Arthur’s, no matter how many times Arthur glanced at the hypnotic seesaw glide of his hand. If Klaus minded, then he didn’t mind enough to stop.
He hardened fast. Between one stroke and the next, Arthur could see the mushroomed, flushed head, a bead of pre-cum pearling at the tip. A moan threatened to escape him as he tightened his hold and discovered that Klaus wasn’t the only one enjoying himself.
Neither of them spoke, but their syncopated breaths soon filled the room with the tell-tale soundtrack of illicit, lewd behavior. What would Robin say, if he knew?
It didn’t help that Arthur’s fingers soon grew moist and sticky, every wet slide echoing obscenely in the stillness of their surroundings. Klaus wasn’t far behind, releasing his grip on his cock to roll his balls in the palm of his hand. His warm breath gusted onto Arthur’s shoulder as he ducked his head.
“No, wait,” Arthur panted.
Klaus stiffened, movements abruptly halted. “You—”
“I can’t see,” Arthur said, praying that the streetlights outside didn’t give off enough of a glow for Klaus to notice his rising blush. Before he could think better of it, he made to shove Klaus back onto the pillows, to expose him with his crippled, clawed hand.
A cold shower wouldn’t have been as rousing.
Instantly, Arthur abruptly pulled back the offending limb, an apology brimming on the tip of his tongue. How could he fuck up like that? Why wasn’t he thinking? Klaus was going to grimace and put up with it—he seemed like that kind of guy—but he had to be repulsed. It was a revolting sight.
Arthur didn’t know why that mattered.
The mattress dipped toward the center as Klaus shifted to lie on his back. “Can you see me now?” Moonlight settled into the soft angles of his face. His eyes shone like marbles in the low light. Nothing in his expression suggested he’d given a second thought to the hand.
Arthur propped himself onto an elbow. “Can…can I touch you?” Straight answers were far too easy to come by, so he dealt in questions and desires he didn’t let himself think through.
Klaus nodded.
It took some effort to find the right angle. Arthur had to use his left hand since the right was out of commission. He sat up to ease the ache fast developing in his lower back and hesitantly wrapped his fingers around Klaus, smoothing down the soft, silky skin. His knuckles scraped coarse hair and hot flesh, pulse kicking.
“Never done this before?” Klaus guessed.
“I have.”
His arched eyebrow was a wordless question, but Klaus didn’t dig deeper into that snappish retort. He left him to his own devices for a moment or two, chest heaving as Arthur tugged him with ginger strokes.
But patience wasn’t infinite, least of all in a man like Klaus. At length, he wrapped a warm hand around Arthur’s fist, tightening his grip. “Like this,” he rasped, seeking Arthur’s gaze in the dark, “and faster.”
Arthur nodded and hurried his strokes. He didn’t trust himself to judge. He barely had the guts to breathe for fear of waking himself from what had to be a dream.
Klaus groped for purchase on the bed sheets and encountered his knee. He didn’t seem to think twice before clasping his fingers into the meat of Arthur’s thigh, at once possessive and clinging for dear life.
Grappling with an out of body experience, Arthur thought of telling him to return the favor—it was only fair—but his arousal was a fleeting thing. Already his cock had begun to soften, pre-cum a slick trail against his inner thigh. He didn’t want the pressure of having to work himself up again.
Better to focus on Klaus, on the choked growls that spilled from his lips the more he tried to hold them back.
He came quietly, too, hips stuttering against Arthur’s hand as he grimaced through his orgasm. It had been a long time since Arthur had paid attention to someone’s O-face. Most, in his experience, were either ridiculous or plain fake—which probably said something about his sample size more so than orgasms in general.
Klaus didn’t look like he was trying to impress anyone. His eyes were tender when he finally opened them, bottom lip trembling through harried exhales.
He looked—hot.
Unsure what to do with that information, Arthur ran his thumb into the slit of Klaus’ cock, teasing out the last drops of semen. It earned him a shudder and Klaus reaching down to separate them. He didn’t seem to know what he was doing when he slotted their palms together and squeezed Arthur’s slick hand.
Sex will fry your brain. Arthur had been there before. He wasn’t about to hold it against him.
“I’ll…I’ll, uh, get you something to clean up with.” The afterglow he’d envisioned was supposed to come with a little more in the way of aches and pains. It wasn’t supposed to be so easy—on the eyes or other body parts.
Klaus nodded. He seemed beyond speech.
He didn’t stop Arthur climbing out of bed. Now would be the time for a quick getaway. If only Arthur wasn’t naked. If only he had the energy.
The bathroom was as far as he made it before the fish hook that snagged in his chest pulled him back to bed—to Klaus, who lay there obediently and let Arthur clean them both up with a hotel towel. He was asleep by the time Arthur finished washing his hands, curled up on his side and snoring softly into Arthur’s pillow.
Arthur smothered the quiver of unease that threatened to take root and climbed back into bed. He was tired enough that he was sure he’d fall asleep at once, dread or no dread. All the same, he couldn’t resist wondering if Klaus would press up against his back, or drape a possessive arm around his waist.
He was slightly disappointed to feel neither.
Chapter Ten
Breakfast was bacon sandwiches and watery coffee at a fast food joint twenty feet from the hotel entrance. They got lunch to-go, filling the car with the scent of greasy fries and burgers guaranteed to acquire the consistency of sneaker soles by the time noon rolled around. It was a small inconvenience—Klaus wanted to make Istanbul by nightfall, so tomorrow they could be on their way to Cairo.
He didn’t go as far as to explain the urgency. Arthur didn’t ask.
He rested a hand against the car window as they sped down the highway. The glass pane hummed with every revolution of tires on tarmac. Past the windshield, the sun clambered anemically over the edge of horizon. Leaden cloud soaked up most of the timid blades of daylight.
Rain seemed probable—perhaps they were even in for a storm. On an abstract level, Arthur greeted the prospect with vague enthusiasm. The landscape couldn’t look any less familiar draped in hail and shimmering pud
dles, and rain might at least dissipate the crackling, dusty tension in the air.
Nothing seemed particularly familiar this morning, including his own body. He’d woken up to the sound of the running shower again, only this time he felt oddly rested. Klaus had been nothing but courteous to him all morning. Either the other shoe was about to drop soon or this was their new normal. They traveled and ate—and apparently fucked—together. They weren’t friends. Arthur wasn’t certain that what they’d gotten up to in the night qualified them as lovers.
But it was something.
Section might not have taught him how to seduce his way into a handler’s good graces, but they were instrumental in giving Arthur the opportunity to stretch that atrophied muscle. Why else would he have offered himself up last night?
Somewhere after Sofia, as rain began pelting the windshield and the radio crackled with warnings about traffic jams ahead, Klaus reached over the gearstick and laid a broad, warm hand on Arthur’s thigh. He kept his eyes on the road and his other hand on the steering wheel.
Arthur sucked his lips into his mouth. The Audi glided on down the rain-soaked highway, spraying runoff to either side.
This was Section’s doing, their fault, which made him blameless.
He struggled to believe it.
They reached Istanbul late in the night, burning through two tanks of gas before they’d even crossed the border. The lights of the city made for a breathtaking landing strip in the distance, beckoning on approach.
“Would you look at that?” Arthur popped a muscle in his neck and sat up a little straighter in his seat. The crenellated skyline commanded his attention.
Beside him, Klaus hummed a breath of agreement. “Beautiful, isn’t it? I was about your age when I saw it for the first time.”
“You were posted here?” Arthur guessed idly.
Prying intel out of Klaus was like pulling teeth. He tried not to reveal how astonished he was that suddenly they seemed to be sharing without that old song and dance.
Klaus shook his head.
“But Section has a field office—”
“I never said I worked for Section,” Klaus pointed out, his German accent thickening as though to prove the point.
Arthur plumbed his memory for some sign to the contrary, but no, he couldn’t remember Klaus ever saying he was in cahoots with Arthur’s enemy number one. “BND? MAD?” Germany had its own dedicated three-letter agencies, although nominally cooperation between EU member states extended as far as intelligence sharing and beyond. The Five Eyes network of secret organizations included European allies.
Klaus’ smile was enigmatic. “At first,” he said. “Unlike you, it took me a few years to discover that the private sector pays better.”
“So you turned mercenary.”
It shouldn’t have come as a shock. What was Robin, if not a glorified warlord using unaffiliated field operatives to accomplish his ends? He didn’t have the infrastructure to start recruiting. He had to rely on poaching from a small pool of disgruntled agents instead.
Well, considering that one of his ends involves saving my neck, perhaps there’s some merit to his methods.
“Double agent,” Klaus corrected, as calmly as if he’d decided to inform Arthur that the earth was, in fact, flat. “You seem surprised,” he added, when he noticed Arthur’s expression. “I thought you knew my reputation.”
“As a fixer. I…didn’t realize I was riding with Edward Snowden.”
Klaus had the nerve to laugh it off. “Hardly.”
“All that talk about trust and doing the smart thing…and you went from lining your own pockets to funneling state secrets to some guy?” Arthur couldn’t wrap his head around it.
Stepping on Section toes was a serious mistake, but it wasn’t as if he’d gone in looking to stumble. Unforeseen circumstances were to blame for his current predicament. Just about the only thing worse than killing spies was stealing from their parent agencies—and admitting it openly.
Spooks had a habit of being fiercely protective of their secrets. Maybe more so than their personnel.
“We wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t taken a few wrong turns,” Klaus pointed out.
“What a loss that would be!”
“Indeed. You could be riding with Jules…”
“Oh, me and her wouldn’t have gotten this far,” Arthur countered, brimming with certitude born of experience. In their short time together, Jules had acquainted him with fear in new and exciting ways. Section, Arthur knew full well, would have been a lot worse.
It wasn’t much consolation.
He tipped his head against the seat and let the rumbling of the chassis steer his thoughts away from bleak could-have-beens. As Klaus drove past the suburbs and into the tangled snarl of city streets, the growing brightness of the Turkish capital blotted out the stars above.
The mix of old and new grew more and more pronounced as they neared the blue strip of the Bosphorus Strait. Apartment complexes and glass-walled towers vied for space beside old wooden houses and domed mosques. Quaint cobbled streets peeked from between crowded villas festooned with dangling porch lamps and swarms of pedestrians ambling up and down the pavement despite the late hour.
“Any chance we can get some sightseeing in while we’re here?” Arthur wondered aloud. It was a juvenile hope, more farce than sincere.
Klaus idled at a stoplight, his profile illuminated by billboards and brightly lit shop windows. “I’ve already made arrangements.”
“You don’t say.”
Arthur was a ticking time bomb. He had the SIS on his trail. The sooner he was defused, the sooner Klaus could go back to his life.
There was always a chance that once Robin saw what a useless cripple Arthur had become he’d rescind his patronage, leave him in the lurch in a foreign country to fend for himself. Arthur couldn’t blame Klaus for not wanting to stick his neck out for him.
“Maybe next time,” Klaus suggested.
“Sure.” They both knew there wouldn’t be a next time.
The light changed. They lumbered on down the vast boulevards, into the heart of the city. After days on the open road, the tight press of houses and shops on either side was enough to have Arthur feeling a mite claustrophobic.
It got worse as they crept along past the elegant ambit of the Golden Horn, into Beyoğlu, the business-cum-entertainment hub of the city. Out there, they might have been in London or Manhattan. The same sense of a caffeine-fueled fever dream kindled once Klaus had squeezed into the tiniest parking spot he could find and told Arthur they would make their way on foot.
“What, all the way to Cairo?”
Klaus scowled. “Yes. How do you feel about swimming the Mediterranean?”
Point taken. Arthur had to psyche himself up to open the door and step out into the flurry of evening crowds.
Istiklal Street dipped and rose like a gentle wave hemmed on either side by a surfeit of cafés and patisseries, bookshops and fashion shops. All the big brands had a flagship store here, though whether they were still doing business so late at night, Arthur couldn’t tell.
He didn’t realize he was standing on the sidewalk, feet rooted to the cement, and holding up traffic until Klaus planted a warm hand to the small of his back.
“All right?”
“Yeah, I’m just…” Overwhelmed.
There had been a time when crowds and lights and people didn’t faze Arthur. He had sought it out often, whether a bustling nightlife meant the chance to hook an easy mark or complete a contract.
“I’m fine,” he lied, shooting Klaus a crooked smile. “Please tell me that red cable car is our new ride.”
Klaus huffed what might have been a chuckle. “We shouldn’t linger.”
His touch was gentle—gentler, Arthur thought, than it would’ve been if they hadn’t shattered the commandments last night—but he remained firm. He had a job to do and he was too much of a professional to let a good lay throw him off course.
&n
bsp; All it meant was that Arthur had to try harder to get under his skin. I still have time.
They weren’t in Cairo yet.
* * * *
When Klaus said he had contacts in Istanbul, Arthur had pictured well-fed men with violin cases that just happened to conceal machine guns. Cartoon gangsters. Klaus, squared. He was sorely unprepared to step into a noisy little tearoom where students and tourists alike elbowed for space at narrow wooden tables, and see a white-haired woman in a brocade tunic wave to them.
“Sezin.” Klaus stalked on ahead, leaving Arthur to follow or be pushed out by the mob.
He chose to follow.
He was maybe three steps behind when Klaus put his arms around the elderly woman and swept her up into a warm embrace. Arthur froze. He had resigned himself to dealing with a cerebral, smooth operator. He didn’t know what to make of Klaus showing genuine affection for little old ladies.
Or with old ladies cupping his face and chiding him. “You’ve lost weight. What happened?”
“Work,” Klaus confessed fondly. It stung Arthur’s pride to be indicated with a sharp jerk of the head.
Sezin trained a pair of keen black eyes on him. “Ah. Is this him?”
“Yes,” Arthur answered. He could speak for himself just fine.
Sezin took her time scrutinizing the cheap clothes he wore, the dark circles under his eyes. That not so car-fresh smell that seemed to cling to the skin after a long drive. Her sallow face gave little away, but Arthur had the sneaky suspicion that he was somehow found wanting all the same.
“Hm. You’d better sit.”
Arthur hesitated. “Shouldn’t we go somewhere a little more…private?” The tearoom was filled with a cacophony of voices and clanging cups, but that was no guarantee they wouldn’t be overheard.
“This is private.”
Sezin gestured to the table she had been occupying before they entered. A cast iron pot steamed, lidless, between three clear glasses. The sickly sweet perfume of pear and cinnamon eddied in the shut-in air.
Reluctantly, Arthur sat down.