Iconic by elfin



~ Adam ~  

I watch him as he gets out of the taxi, body and face set in a mix of confidence and defensiveness.  Eyes so hungry they're eating up everyone around us.

Patting him on the arm, I tell him to relax, and his gaze scrapes over mine; dislike, distrust, disapproval.  All shored up against the need, the arousal that’s driving him nuts.

Difficult audience.  But I like a challenge.  That's why we're here.

 

 

~ Tom ~

 

'Aristos' is one of the classiest - if not the classiest - strip clubs in West London.  I'll grudgingly admit he's got good taste.  It’s not exactly somewhere his usual T-shirt and jeans ensemble would be welcome.

No jeans tonight.  Dark suit with a deep pink pin stripe over a lush silk crème shirt, high collar, open at the neck.  Makes me wonder if Zoë chose his wardrobe for this assignment.  He looks good though.  Great, in fact.  I picked the loosest fitting trousers I own.  No way he's getting his hands on this bit of intel. 

He turns, leans in to pay the cab driver, and something catches my eye.  We've all noticed the ear piercing, we are trained in observation and it’s not like he’s hiding it, but the smart money is on it being a throwback from his college days.  Seems we’re wrong.  Tonight he's got a simple diamond stud in, and I'd bet a year's pay it's real.  It suits him.  Suits his role.  And it is unbelievably sexy. 

The taxpayers are footing the bill for this choice night out and neither of us bats an eyelid at the fifty quid entrance fee.  He makes a show of handing over three crisp red notes and immediately we go from punters to royalty. 

We're shown to a private booth with an excellent view of the stage and the longhaired blond twisting half-naked around the pole in the centre.  Adam asks for a bottle of champagne, a tray of tequila slammers and a lap-dance. 

We sit and I watch him admiring the entertainment, the coloured spots playing on the surface of his eyes.  Having to tear my attention from him to the stripper makes me realise with dread just how difficult this night’s work is going to be. 

No more than a minute goes by before a waitress brings over the tray and a gorgeous brunette in black brings over the champagne.  She pops the cork, fills two glasses and holding them in long, perfectly manicured fingers she straddles Adam's lap.   

But she deliberately leans over to me and hands me one of the flutes, running one gloved finger over my bottom lip before sucking on it slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. 

I'm glad of the loose trousers, although I would be worried if she wasn’t having the desired effect.  Worried, maybe, but not surprised after what’s been interesting my libido recently.  Glancing at Adam, I catch him smiling at me with all the humour of a predator. 

She turns to him and she has his full attention as she tips the edge of the champagne flute carefully against his lips. 

He sips at the bubbles, watching her through dark eyes.  I drag my gaze from them and take the opportunity to glance around the room.   

Our mark's easy to spot.  The great Jake Edwards, owner of three exclusive London sex clubs fronted by leather armchairs, open fireplaces and silent waiters.  It’s where many powerful men meet and many important decisions are made.  And we want in.   

He's staring at us - at Adam - from the booth opposite to ours on the other side of the club.  I let my eyes slide over him, paying him no more or less attention than everyone else. 

I turn back to see Adam sucking champagne from that same gloved finger that turned me on moments before. 

Our brunette leaves him holding the glass and straightens up on four-inch heels, slipping effortlessly into her routine, thinking she’s making Adam feel like he's the only guy in the whole place who can satisfy her.  What's in his wallet probably can.  He’s not falling for anything else.   

I don't want to think about the bulge in his not-so-loose trousers.  Don't want to stare either but my eyes keep shifting from her to him. 

When it's over, he folds a fifty into the black waistband of her g-string and finishes off his glass of champagne as she picks up her things and leaves us wanting more. 

Then he turns to me, leaning over.  And for one insane moment I think he's going to kiss me; I can already taste the sweet champagne in his mouth.   

But he just smiles, full lips parting inches from mine, and tells me he'll be right back. 

He heads for the gents and just before I press finger and thumb into my eyeballs to relieve the pressure that isn’t in my head, I see our mark's on the move too. 

We're wired, but only to one another.  Adam's insistence, overriding Harry's orders, that he didn't want all of MI5 listening in to this particular operation.  And he definitely didn’t want it on tape for MI6 to get their hands on. 

"You're about to have company," I tell him over the comms device in the collar of my jacket. 

"Thanks."  The breathy response in my ear leaves me wondering if he's already found an entirely different form of company.   

I remind myself that this is a strip joint, not a sex club.  I'm sure there are ways of getting something more hands-on than the lap dance he's just had - everything has a price - but somehow I don't think it's Adam's style.  Despite all the casual bravado and teasing looks, my bet is Adam prefers to keep his work out of the bedroom if at all possible.  It's the false name moaned just at the wrong moment; being that vulnerable around someone who thinks you’re somebody else.  Passion killers both.  And although he's playing this for all he's worth, I don't believe he'd do anything overt.  Not here. 

And for some reason that's got me thinking about the safe house we're staying in.

 

~ Adam ~

 

So Tom isn't the only one I've hooked.  This is turning into a successful night.  Edwards definitely isn't getting what he wants but Tom... we'll just have to wait and see.

I deliberately stand at a urinal with a free one next door, and Edwards - predictably - uses it.   

I'm convinced it's a skill, peeing when someone's watching, and watching closely.  He's nothing but a dirty old man.  But I carry on, pretending I haven't noticed him until I've zipped up.  Then I glance down at his dick and up at his face, giving him a smile before turning away. 

I wash my hands and head for the exit.  I'm half-expecting him to grab my collar and herd me into one of the empty stalls but instead he waits until we're outside in the darkened corridor, the bass rhythms of the club clearer but still dulled. 

He doesn't even touch me, just blocks my way and I stop, feigning surprise but not fear.  "You know who I am?"  Half of London knows who you are, mate.  I just nod.  "I want to take you home," he states, clear and confident. 

I give him a wide smile.  "Sorry.  You couldn't afford me."  Give him what he wants and it'll be a quickie in an impersonal hotel room and a quick trip back into town with his chauffeur.  Waste of time.  He needs to want me, needs to think about me. 

He laughs.  "You said you know who I am.  I can afford anything." 

I look at him, like I'm seriously considering his offer. 

"Not tonight, I'm with someone." 

"Get rid of them." 

"I don’t treat my clients like that."   

I take a card from my inside jacket pocket, nothing but a phone number printed in black, and slide it between two of his chubby fingers.  He's a fat bastard.  The thought of just a blowjob makes me feel faintly sick, although I’m almost certain that’s how it’s going to play out. 

"Give me a call," I tell him before side stepping him and strolling back into the club.   

The sight of Tom is an odd sort of relief.  I should stop giving him a hard time.  I like him.  He might have gone off the rails for a while a few weeks back but it just shows he’s human, not the MI5 robot rumours had him pegged as.  It’s good to be working with him.  He’s a solid ally, a good man, reliable backup.   

And I’ve got no problems with dropping to my knees for him.

 

~ Tom ~

 

He looks at me from across the club and at that moment there isn't a girl in here who could have stolen my attention.

The slow burn I've been feeling since I first laid eyes on him suddenly turns into a raging furnace. 

We're in the most expensive strip club in London with the most beautiful, lithe girls in the city and all I want to do is taken Adam Carter back to the safe house and screw his brains out against a wall. 

I watch him approach, no longer obviously aroused but still playing the role.  When he sits back down it's to face me.  I'm sure he's going to touch but he doesn't.  My pulse is racing and it's all I can do not to let it show.  He tilts his head, the red lights catching his blue eyes, turning them purple. 

"Want to watch again?" he asks me, voice low and rough, "or would you prefer to have one of your own?" 

And with absolute relief and stark disappointment I realise that during his encounter with Edwards he made me into his client for the night.  He's playing his part, I have to play mine. 

As tempting as both offers are, I really do just want to get out of here.  I want Edwards' cannibal stare off him as soon as possible. 

I know I'm taking liberties when I curl my hand around the side of his throat, rub my thumb over the short, surprisingly soft stubble on his jaw.  His mouth curves up into a genuine smile and his lips part playfully.  

I don't speak for a few long seconds, enjoying the freedom to touch.  And he allows it, eyes sparkling.  He lowers his chin and turns his head, catching my thumb lightly between his teeth.  My next breath locks in my throat and I can just imagine what my body language is screaming.  Don't really need to read it, only have to glance down.... 

"I'd prefer to take you home with me," I somehow manage, knowing as soon as we're out of here - out of Edwards' sight - Adam will break the spell. 

He releases my thumb and stands gracefully, lean body stretching up in front of me, silk over firm flesh and taut muscle.  Risking a glance at his crotch it's a pleasure and a relief to see we're both enjoying the game. 

The rest of me rising, I follow him out of the club, neither of us sparing Jake Edwards a sideways glance.

 

~ Adam ~

 

There's more testosterone in this taxi than there is on the grid during a crisis.

The driver must be worrying whether we’re about to fuck right here on his back seat. 

Tom thinks it was part of the act, and that the act dropped once we were outside the club.  In way it was, the move with his thumb was tacky and not something I'd have pulled if I wasn't supposed to be an extortionately priced escort.  Our whole play tonight was beautifully ambiguous; if Edwards was paying attention it'll have given him something to think about while he's got his hand wrapped round his dick later on. 

I may just be me again, but Tom's still thinking he's playing hard to get with someone who doesn't want him.  I'm waiting for my moment when I get to show him it's not all in vain. 

He leans over, turning his head so I can feel his breath in my hair, his lips against my ear.  A shudder runs through me, one I can't help, as he asks, 

"You do know Edwards will be jerking off tonight with your name on his lips?" 

He straightens, and although I have my response already prepared I wait a beat before leaning in, making sure he can feel me when I say,  

"I know you will be too." 

He doesn’t say a word after that, but the tension between us has heightened a notch.  It heightens another when the taxi pulls up on the road adjacent to ours.  I pay the driver enough to drive away happy, not enough for him to remember me, and we walk the rest of the way in silence, side by side.  Not touching. 

The safe house is a studio apartment in a new warehouse block close to the city centre.  It’s on the second floor.  Windows sealed, one entrance, state-of-the-art security system.  Mezzanine bedroom with a massive en-suite and a black metal rail overlooking the lounge.  Brick walls that haven’t been plastered.   

It’s up against the exposed brick wall next to the steel door where Tom throws me the moment we’re inside; his mouth finding mine, fingers in the open collar of my shirt, stroking the base of my neck, into the hollow of my throat. 

No room for ambiguity now.  My heart and dick are singing the same, predatory tune and I seal my arms around him, one hand at his waist, the other behind his shoulder.  I pull back, head hitting the bricks, and gasp a breath or two, informing him with a grin I can’t help that it’s okay, he gets to have me.

 

~ Tom ~

 

The first fastened button pings off his shirt as I try to get more of him; chest and shoulders smooth in contrast to his habitually stubbled face.  He laughs - that soft, gentle laugh - and presses his hips, his shoulders, his mouth to mine, opening under me.

Is this just another thrill for us?  Another high?  Not enough danger in our lives already that we have to go hunting for more? 

The street lights outside are casting a sodium hue through the apartment giving the whole scene a surreal quality. 

But Adam feels real enough, hands locking me in place as if I might bolt at any minute.  Not going to happen, *mate*.  Tearing my mouth from his I drag him forward just enough so that his head tips back and I get access to his neck. 

A long lick of my tongue from his jaw downwards, a nip of teeth at the base of his throat, and he's moaning - a low growl that seems to vibrate straight along my dick.   I wonder what that would actually be like…. 

The distraction lets him regain control and he grabs at my shoulders, kisses me hard while his fingers drop to the buttons of my dark blue shirt and unfastens them with consummate skill.  Then those hands are everywhere, rough thumbs skimming over my nipples, mapping me by touch and sound. 

Okay - God - so he's good.  Very good.  It's all I can do to remain standing as his mouth leaves mine desolate and attacks my throat, teeth skimming, lips soothing bites too light to leave a mark. 

He guides me until my ass hits the back of the sofa.  Then he's on his knees before I can think, long fingers getting my fly undone, reaching inside to cradle my aching balls in his hot palm.  His tongue's fucking my belly button slowly, teasing and I can't take my eyes off it.  I can feel his fingers exploring, working back, stroking up to my hole, rimming it gently, to the same silent beat his tongue's working to. 

It feels like forever before he strokes his hand forward, gets a hold of my straining dick and exposes it before sliding his mouth over it. 

That fair head bobbing at my crotch is the most erotic sight I've ever seen.  No way I'm lasing long, no way he wants me to and I realise this is just for starters - that his fingers had been promising – or threatening - more. 

His eyes lift to meet mine - big and blue and giving nothing away - and the suction along my dick gets fiercer.  Unbearable.  He's hardly moved and I'm coming... a shocking climax that has me clawing at his head when he won't ease up, keeps sucking on me long after my legs have given out and I'm leaning heavily against the sofa. 

Slowly he does ease back, licks his lips and smiles - almost but not quite triumphant. 

"Bedroom," he orders quietly.  "I want you naked."  For once I’m willing to comply.

 

I can feel him everywhere; all over me.  He uses his mouth to make me hard again then slides his tongue inside me, day-old stubble rubbing sensitive skin. 

I twist my neck to watch, reaching back to claw harsh fingers into his hair.  He winces but doesn't pull back, doesn't try to stop me.  I try to move, first to him then away, and he abandons my ass to kiss a path up my spine, coming to rest only when his body is lying on mine, his mouth at my throat. 

He had a travel-sized tube of lube in his jacket pocket - something I don't want to think about.  Whether he planned this, or was prepared to talk Edwards into at least being gentle, isn't something I want clarifying.  Later I can examine the sudden possessive streak that's chanting, 'mine' in the back of my mind.   

Now I just want to concentrate on what his fingers are doing, on the first penetration of the first digit; slick and wet. 

One, two, three.  Index finger, middle finger, thumb. 

Then he pushes himself up on his hands, lifts my knee further and I feel the blunt head pushing against me, feel the exquisite pressure as the muscle gives way and he slides inside. 

I tense up with the pain of him, hearing his soft moan just above me and I forget to breathe for a second.  But he's moving, no time to adjust to the sharp stab of relief before he's filling me again, not quickly but to a rhythm all his own. 

There's a breaking point, the brink of agony.  The breath I drag in, deep and desperate, relaxes everything and suddenly he's no longer unwelcome but accommodated.  He goes deeper, changing the angle and striking that point inside me that sends shocks of pleasure up my spine. 

Shifting his hand across the sheets he presses his fingers between mine and I lock us together, arching up to meet him.

 

~ Adam ~

 

Jesus, he's tight.  And confident now.  I can barely think about anything, my dick's running this and it has a single, clear agenda.

I'm helpless when he pulls my arm out from under me with his hand in mine, pulls it under him and pushes up to his knees so I have to follow, still buried to the hilt inside him.  For a second we're kneeling up, his back to my front.  He twists his head around and takes my mouth greedily, his tongue demanding. 

I could drown in this man. 

I love the taste of him, sucking at his throat when pulls away for air.  But he's moving again, and I can't help the sound that escapes when he edges forward.  Then he turns, pushing me down, my back hitting the mattress hard, head falling off the end of the bed.  And I realise what he's doing, claiming control of this, squatting back down, taking me into him as deep as it’ll go. 

All I can see are white dots and all I can hear is a rush of blood.  I watch as he wraps his fist around his second erection of the night, reach to meet him.   

Orgasm crashes over me and some distant part of me feels his on my hand.  

Palms flat on the bed he stares at me for a long time, then he leans down carefully and kisses me; the sweetest kiss I've ever tasted.

 

###

 

Tom’s alone when he wakes.  He rolls over onto his back and listens for a minute or two to the sounds coming from the kitchen below.  He can smell a fry-up and his stomach reminds him he hasn’t eaten since last night.  Not food, at least. 

Sliding out from under the Egyptian cotton duvet and off the seven-by-seven bed, Tom pulls on a pair of jeans and pads down the uncarpeted wooden stairs to pause at the bottom and take in the sight that meets him. 

Adam’s standing at the hob wearing a tea towel over his shoulder and a pair of faded jeans hanging low on his hips, zipped but unbuttoned.  He has the handle of the frying pan in one hand, a white plastic spatula in the other.  On the work surface next to him buttered bread waits for the bacon Tom can smell burning. 

It’s a difficult decision, which to eat first.  But as soon as Adam turns off the gas, Tom decides and strikes.  He catches Adam, one hand sliding behind his head, taking his mouth in an open kiss.   

Adam squeaks in surprise but recovers quickly, letting go of the pan and wrapping his arm around Tom’s waist, pulling him close, stroking his tongue into Tom’s mouth as possessively as he’s holding him. 

Tom isn’t ready to be caught.  He breaks free of the kiss, licking a wet trail along Adam’s jaw, following the line of his throat, down over his chest.  He bites each hard nipple in turn, hearing Adam’s sharp breath, feeling the tension ripple through him, learning something he didn’t last night.  But he continues down, kissing the taut belly, tracing the ‘V’ of Adam’s abdomen, unzipping the fly and dropping to his knees. 

He nuzzles the fine blond hair above a rapidly filling dick before sliding his mouth over the erection, settling the head at the back of his throat, as comfortable with it as Adam was with him last night. 

The long fingers of one hand rest on his head, not exerting pressure, just stroking his hair.  The long fingers of the other hand are still wrapped around the handle of the spatula.  Tom glances at it from the corner of his eye and smiles around the thick length in his mouth.  He doesn’t want to think about why he’s doing this, about why he needs it not to be just last night.  But he wants Adam to acknowledge too that it’s more than a one-night fuck.  And he wants to show him that he doesn’t get to lead every encounter. 

Tom lifts his eyes to catch Adam’s indigo iris’ flash over the tensing muscles of his flat stomach.  He slides both hands around to Adam’s firm ass and pushes his fingers into the taut muscles, parting the cheeks, pressing towards the tight ring of muscle. 

Adam comes hard, hot spurts against the back of Tom’s throat.  His fingers claw at Tom’s scalp for a moment but Tom ignores it, teases the slit with the tip of his tongue, getting every drop before sliding back along the wilting dick. 

Instantly Adam’s hand whips around the back of his neck, fingers lifting from the base of his skull, lifting him to his feet, pulling Tom’s mouth to his own; an act of pure possession.  He hustles Tom to the breakfast bar, pauses long enough to order Tom up onto it, kisses him again, passionately, with the same drive and single-minded determination he does everything else. 

His hands work Tom’s jeans down over his hips.  In one smooth, graceful move he pushes Tom back with one hand flat on his chest and leans over to swallow his weeping dick. 

Too much, too quickly.  Gasping, Tom threads his fingers into the unkempt blond hair, tightening, pulling at the scalp.  Adam doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t miss a beat.  He sucks at Tom like a starving man and it’s scant minutes before the searching, bright gaze staring up at him, challenging him, from between his legs sends Tom over the edge and he comes, arching into Adam’s mouth, gagging him for a second while the hot ribbons slide down his throat. 

Adam licks him clean, that gleam still in his eyes, and steps back, pausing a beat, still in control despite his state of undress, before tucking himself in and zipping his fly, leaving the button again. 

“Bacon sandwiches all right?” he asks, as if nothing has happened since Tom came downstairs just ten minutes ago. 

Tom nods, finding his own voice as he slides off the breakfast bar and fastens his own jeans.  “Yeah.  Thanks.”

 

###

 

~ Tom ~

 

“Are those your clothes or has MI5 changed its wardrobe staff?”

Edwards has called; Adam’s got a date.  He’s dressed in skin-tight, black leather trousers and a white silk shirt, sister to the one he wore last night, open at the neck.

Gorgeous, I realise with no small amount of shock.  He’s gorgeous.  

He smirks but doesn’t answer. 

And it’s with more than shock that I realise I really don’t want Edwards’ grubby hands all over him. 

“It’s too dangerous.” 

“For me or for him?”  Adam’s smile is almost mocking and I feel a brief moment of overwhelming hatred towards him for making me feel this way.  “Don’t worry.  I don’t intend to give him exactly what he wants.” 

Unlike me.  The words hang unclaimed between us. 

“You’ll have to give him something.  You’re expensive.” 

“No problem.  Put your mouth around a guy’s dick and it isn’t often he’s in a position to say no.” 

“You can’t.”  But I know he can and I know he will, I’ve known all along.  It’s why I’m here and there isn’t a blue surveillance van parked around the corner.  Luckily. 

“Why not?  Better that than he gets me bent over the front of his Limo in some deserted car park.” 

He taps the invisible comms device sewn into the collar of his shirt and I check the sound on the earpiece I have to wear tonight.  This isn’t going to go down as one of my favourite evenings. 

“Besides, he’s never going to be able to get these trousers off.  It took me twenty minutes to get them on.” 

He needs me to laugh and I do but it sounds forced even to my own ears and he straightens from tying his laces, looks at me levelly.  “What is it, Tom?” 

“Edwards is dangerous.” 

“No, he’s not.  He’s a fat, horny man with dangerous connections.” 

“How many times do you have to prostitute yourself?” 

He closes the gap, stands inches from me and looks into my eyes like he’s trying to read my soul.  “It’s just the job.  Doesn’t mean anything.  It’s just some guy’s dick and as you’ve noticed, I don’t mind that.” 

“That’s different.”  The words are out before I can stop them.  I expect him to laugh but he doesn’t.  

“Yes it is.”  He leans in and kisses me, just a slow, closed-mouth kiss this time.  No passion.  But I can’t name what is behind it.  My eyes close as his do, blood flooding south.  Then he’s gone, turning away from me.  “It’s okay.” 

There’s a car waiting for him in the garage under the apartment.  He asked for something expensive.  They’ve given him an Aston Martin Vanquish.  It’s wasted on him.  Adam doesn’t do cars.  The image of him draped over it naked has been chasing itself around in my mind all afternoon. 

“Don’t crash,” are my final two words to him.  He throws me a smile and guns the engine.  I wait until he’s disappeared around the corner before starting the engine of my own faceless Mondeo and following his tracker signal. 

~ 

“…what man wouldn’t want a mouth like yours around his cock, Lucas?” 

I've just been audience to an audio sex show that's turned my stomach.  Nothing erotic or sexy about the words spilling from Edwards' fat mouth made loose with sated lust. 

The thought of Adam on his knees in the back of the Limo with that fast bastard's dick in his mouth hasn't done anything for me either.  But it's hearing his voice afterwards, that wonderful cockney lilt with a hint of upper class snobbery, that’s made me feel sick. 

"My pleasure." 

"I don't suppose you're available tomorrow night?" 

He's hooked.  One night with Adam and he's putty.  Familiar notion.  But it's not sympathy I'm feeling, it's vivid jealousy. 

"I am, actually.  A client cancelled on me at last minute." 

A pause, and my treacherous mind provides me with a mental construction of what could possibly be happening in the car three spaces away from where I'm parked. 

"He doesn't know what he's missing." 

I'm surprised at the gentleness of Edwards' tone, pleased by the very slight disgust in Adam's when he answers. 

"Same again?" 

"Come to my apartment in Canary Wharf.  I have a wonderful chef." 

"I don't usually make house calls." 

"I'll double your usual fee if you make an exception.  Tell me where you live, I'll have my driver pick you up." 

"No.  I always drive." 

"Stay overnight." 

"I never stay overnight.  I don't like to destroy the illusion."  

Edwards laughs out loud at that. 

"You look like the devil tonight, my darling.  In the morning you probably look like an angel." 

I think back to the breakfast bar and smile to myself at how wrong Edwards is. 

"Here, this is the address of my apartment.  I'll see you tomorrow, around eight.  Maybe... after dinner we could do something more... adventurous." 

"I'm all for adventure." 

That sick feeling's crawling around inside me with its insidious intentions.  I have to let it go.  I'm Adam's only backup on this one, can’t afford to lose it. 

I can hear the rustle of paper – Adam’s payment.  Leave the money on the dresser on your way out.  It’s not the same, I remind myself.  He’s comfortable doing this.  It’s safer than most of his cases and no one’s shooting at him, or worse.  Edwards isn’t a violent man.  He isn’t a killer.  I don’t even think he’s cruel. 

Adam doesn’t say goodnight.  I watch him get out of the car and walk across to the Aston.  A second or two later the engine roars in the quiet of the night as he turns the car onto the exit ramp.  Edwards’ Limo follows more sedately.  I wait until I won’t be in the driver’s mirror before exiting. 

On the roundabout journey back to the safe house Adam doesn’t speak to me and I don’t expect him to.  I catch up to the Aston though, making sure as I know he’s doing that Edwards’ isn’t following us before we actually head in the right direction.  It’s a precaution, Edwards isn’t even suspicious – doesn’t have cause to be.  It’s not him we’re after; it’s the people who frequent his clubs.  If this goes well, he’ll not see this one coming and will never know it’s been. 

In the apartment’s underground parking I stop next to Adam, lock the Mondeo and climb into the Aston.  The engine’s off but he’s still sitting, staring out of the windscreen.  He doesn’t look at me and I wonder if it’s because he’s scared of what he’ll see on my face.  Maybe not scared.  Maybe he just doesn’t want to know. 

I want to tell him it’s okay but he doesn’t need to hear it.  This operation was his decision at every turn.  I think Harry understands what it’s going to ask of him, but I’m not sure the others do.  He did elaborate during the briefings, but I think they took what he said to be a joke.  I don’t believe Danny, Zoë or Ruth could wrap their heads around what Adam did tonight. 

I can because I have to.  I won’t risk the operation, and I won’t risk pushing him away. 

We sit in silence for a few minutes before he says, “I need a shower.  And a drink.  I need to wash him out of my mouth.” 

~ 

I pour him a neat vodka and take the glass through into the large en suite.  I can see him behind the frosted glass of the walk-in shower, standing naked under the fierce pelt of the water, letting Edwards wash away.  And I can’t help but wonder just how comfortable he really is with playing this part. 

Sticking my arm inside the shower I hand him the glass without looking.  He takes it from me, knocks back the vodka and steps into view, putting the glass into the soap dish.  I have a second to watch the water drops chasing one another down over the lean body before one hand shoots out, grabs the open collar of my shirt, and pulls me in with him. 

No way to deny him what he wants.  Stepping back under the water, taking me with him, he seals his mouth over mine and I taste the vodka mixed with a slightly copper tang and the heat of him.  He’s hard – I can feel him through my soaked trousers – and I know it’s not a reaction to sucking Edwards off.   

He releases my shirt and undoes the rest of the buttons with difficulty, leaning down to fasten his front teeth over my left nipple, tearing a howl from my throat at the same moment as the pain becomes pleasure and the bite turns to suckling.  He does the same on the other side, and I stifle the yell to a whimper, my hands in his drenched hair, over his back, around his waist. 

He straightens and looks at me, and I hope it’s just water in his eyes. 

“Please.” 

Anything.  Whatever he wants, whatever he needs. 

He’s handing the shower gel to me, a viscous, amber liquid.  I get that he doesn’t want me to wash him.  Backing up I get rid of my trousers and shirt, closing in again to take the soap from him and kiss him, long and luxurious. 

When I lift my head he turns, palms flat against the mosaic of tiny tiles, legs spread, back arched slightly.  Squeezing some of the gel onto his tailbone I watch it, mesmerised, as it finds its way down between his cheeks, and I follow it with the tip of my middle finger.  He shivers, moans softly, and the sound alone is enough to make my dick throb with the blood pulsing through it. 

When the tip of my finger reaches his hole I push inside, as far as it’ll go, twisting gently.  He lifts onto the balls of his feet for a moment, as if trying to get away from it, but drops back down slowly onto it, impaling himself.I don’t need any more encouragement.  Grasping his hips, slippery with the waterfall, I position the head of my dick and plunge into him.  He growls my name, twisting his head back to look at me and I push in further just to reach his mouth with mine. 

“Hard,” he pleads softly and I give him exactly what he’s asked for, pulling out almost all the way, ploughing back in smoothly, quickly.  Rhythm set, I reach around and take a hold of his erection, sliding my hand up and down it, my grip tight, thumb brushing over the head on each up stroke. 

He’s caught between the bite of my dick inside him and the bite of my grip around him and the torture’s something he can’t take for long.  He comes, white ribbons hitting the tiles, instantly washed away by the cascading water.  Two more thrusts and I join him, leaning on his back, kissing the curve of his spine.  When I pull out he lets the hot water smooth his strained muscle. 

I leave him in the shower, grabbing a towel and padding naked into the bedroom to lean against the rail and stare out through the high windows in the wall opposite. 

It’s ten minutes before he joins me. 

“What are we doing?” I can’t help but ask. 

“Fucking,” he responds simply, but his voice carries more meaning, meaning I’m surprised to find I don’t need to ask about. 

We don’t talk again until we’re lying in bed in the sodium dark.  He turns onto his side and looks at me for a long time. 

“What did you report back to Harry?” he asks, just a murmur. 

“Just that Edwards has taken the bait.” 

“Don’t give him the details.” 

“I won’t.” 

“Not unless you have to.”  Not questioning me, restating his own proviso.  “It’s one thing you knowing, it’s another having the others all sitting across from me in a briefing and wondering.” 

“I know.”  I want to reach out to him but he seems so far away right now, closed off.  I don’t know where this mood has come from.  I thought he was comfortable, he assured me…. 

“It’s not what I did with Edwards,” he interrupts my thoughts like he’s reading them.  “It’s us, what we’re doing.” 

“It doesn’t have to leave this place.  Just here.  Then we go back to real life.” 

He looks at me, a little sadly.  “Do you want that?” 

Truth?  “No.”  I push myself up onto one elbow, head resting in my hand.  “I want you.  Four a.m. fucks in the gents at Thames House, morning blow jobs on the breakfast table, naked showers, rare Sundays in bed.” 

There’s the challenge Adam.  Feel like taking it up? 

He laughs, drops onto his back, and I think not. 

But I’m wrong.  He reaches his arm out around my shoulder, cradles the back of my head in his palm and pulls me to him.  I collapse onto him under the pressure, his mouth catching mine as I fall. 

I feel like I’ve won a competition where I’m not sure of the prize. 
 

###


Adam feels a spike of fear when Edwards rises from the dark wood table, the meal over, and throws open a pair of large, dark, sliding doors.

His mouth falls open, although he closes it fast enough.  His pulse rate rockets but he hides that too behind a mask he patented in the Middle East. 

Thirty stories up in an exclusive apartment complex in Canary Wharf and he didn’t expect to see what he’s seeing now.  Nothing about Edwards has pointed to this.   

As he walks around the dining table to approach the open doors with trepidation, the safe word – the word on which he is to run as hard and as fast as possible, the word which would bring Tom running just as hard and just as fast to him, armed, ready to kill to defend him – is on the tip of his tongue.  He can taste it on his lips. 

The bedroom is black and red leather.  There’s an array of dildos, vibrators, butt plugs, beads… along with things Adam doesn’t even have names for.  But it’s the whips hanging from one wall and the chains around the bedposts that take him back to a place and time he never wants to revisit.  He’s felt the sharp bite of leather into his flesh and he’d kill or die before he felt it again.

“Pain doesn’t turn me on,” he says levelly, a warning for Tom’s benefit.  He can imagine the expression on Tom’s face, outside in the Aston.  The sudden movement, car door open, adrenaline pumping, ready to run.  Just like he is. 

“You never know if you don’t give it a chance.”  Edwards turns, a smile on his face and Adam’s mouth opens to give a one-word response.  “But I wasn’t going to ask you to tonight.  I hoped you’d do something… special for me.”  He reaches up and strokes the long leather tails of a flexi-cat whip.  “You do know how to use one of these, right?”   

Taking it down, he stands very close to Adam and guides the handle into his grip.  Adam relaxes marginally.  Yes, he can dish it out just fine. 

He weighs it experimentally and nods, steps back and flicks his wrist back sharply, using the power and strength there to crack all nine tails in the air. 

He looks up at Edwards through long, blond lashes and doesn’t have to say a word.  Edwards is already hungry for him.   

He grins and moves away, stripping off his shirt and trousers.  As he does, Adam turns his head a quarter-inch and murmurs, “safe” into the device in his collar.  He’s okay – not going to lose it, not going to wreck such an expensive operation with such massive long-term benefits just because an over-zealous Syrian once took a short leather strap to him for hours and hours. 

Edwards lies on his front on the large, solid bed in the centre of the platform against the far wall.  His feet hang over the edge, his fat ass rising from the crease of his thighs like two molehills.  Adam can see the dark plumpness of his balls at the top where his legs are parted. 

Last night, when he was giving Edwards the blowjob in the back of the Limo, he’d closed his eyes and thought of Tom.  Imagined it was Tom’s thick cock resting on his tongue, Tom’s rough fingers in his hair, Tom’s low cries of orgasm in the warm darkness.  But he hadn’t insisted Tom wear a condom, he hadn’t tasted latex instead of skin, and Tom’s fingers in his hair had been gentle, coaxing, every stroke turning him on. 

Tonight he’s happy to keep Edwards clear in his mind as he gets his footing, gives the whip a second trial crack, then takes it to Edwards; to those mounds of fat, to the quivering tops of his huge thighs. 

Ten minutes later he’s barely broken a sweat.  Edwards is panting; dick undoubtedly painfully hard, trapped between his bulk and the bed.  The red marks criss-cross his hairy flesh like brands, his fists bunched in the dark sheets. 

Adam perches on the edge of the bed and trails the ends of the whip teasingly, almost cruelly over the small of Edwards’ back, along the crack between his cheeks. 

“You’re… so good,” his host chokes out. 

Adam smiles.  “I could be better.  And I could be cheaper, regular, if we could say… come to a business deal?” 

Edwards’ enthusiasm is obvious.  He lifts his head, eyes eating up the sight of the man he believes is just his expensive whore. 

“Whatever I can do …?” 

“I have a… protégé.  He’d be perfect for the more discerning gentlemen who attend your Mayfair club.  If he could be allowed to work the floor now and again….”   

Adam turns the whip in the palm of his hand and pushes the end of the thick handle between Edward’s thighs, following the curve of his ass, pressing between them. 

Edwards shivers and nods his assent, to the deal and to the sexual perversity being silently promised. 

“Good.” 

The thick, sweaty handle of the whip sinks easily into Edwards’ willing body.

 

~

 

Adam drops into the Aston’s passenger seat and rolls his head to look at Tom.

“You okay?” 

“I feel sick.” 

“What do you need?” 

“A drink.  And a shower.” 

“And sex?” 

With a sigh, Adam shifts his gaze to the windscreen.  “Goes without saying.” 

 

###

 

 
~ Tom ~

 

His photograph’s in the file – Adam’s replacement, so to speak. 

Nicholas Willing, a professional whore as Harry so bluntly put it.   

His first night working at Edwards’ Mayfair club is tonight.  After that, Adam’s previous engagement for whenever Edwards asks to see him next shouldn’t be too much of a disappointment.  Edwards’ affections should be easily won over by someone who looks like Willing.   

After all, anyone can wield a cat-o-nine-tails.  Even me. 

I haven’t plucked up the courage to ask Adam where he learnt, and when.  And with who.  There’s a lot of darkness in his past and I’m not sure I want to know. 

We’re awaiting the ‘all clear’ from Harry to come in from the field.  Adam’s crashed out on the sofa across from me, dressed in black jeans and his crème shirt from the other night, slouched with the TV remote, changing channels every other minute.  The only thing he ever watches is the news. 

I guess with lives like ours, television seems bland to him.  I like it.  It doesn’t require any thought, doesn’t demand interaction. 

Finally he bores of it and switches the set off, launching the remote to the end of the sofa, eyes settling on me.  I recognise that look. 

“No.” 

He stretches his neck, fingers his shirt collar.  “Don’t tell me, it was Lucas you were attracted to?” 

I don’t deem that one worthy of a response.  “I was worried about you last night.” 

He sits back, and I think he’s off the prowl.  “I was worried about me too.  When he opened those doors… I was ready to abort.  No way was he coming near me with any of that stuff.” 

For all he’s seen and done, his sexual fantasies are remarkably vanilla.  Or maybe it’s because of it.  Maybe he’s been on the receiving end, an unwilling participant.  Settling my gaze on him I know that that way madness lies. 

He told me a couple of his fantasies last night after half a bottle of vodka and an hour of slow, painfully gentle sex that had me whimpering and begging.  No one’s ever made me make those kinds of sounds before.  

He lay, sprawled over me, and told me things that felt more intimate than anything we’d done in the last couple of days.  Unveiling himself to me, one layer at a time, parts of himself that have been buried so long I think he’s only just remembering about them. 

I paid him the same compliment, telling him things I’ve never told anyone.  It was a while before I realised he’d fallen asleep on me. 

“No way I was going to let him.”  Back to the here and now and me realising how wrong I was.   

His hand’s at my throat before I know he’s moved, long fingers tracing the line of my neck.  He’s leaning up on one elbow, mouth against mine as he speaks.  “Don’t you want to claim me, one last time?” 

Yes.  Jesus, yes!   

“Harry could phone any time…”  I can taste him, coffee and toothpaste.  His tongue snakes out to rim my lips and I have to force myself to swallow. 

“So what?” 

“If we don’t answer….” 

He kisses me.  “He’ll leave a message.”   

“He might send someone round to check on us.” 

“It’ll take them at least half an hour to get here.” 

“Seducer.” 

“Tempter.” 

I slide my tongue over his, hauling myself up onto the sofa to lie half-next to him, half over him.  I know I can’t get enough of him.  I know I’ll never be able to.  I know it’s how dangerous it is and I don’t care.   

Sooner or later one of us is going to get killed.  Until then, he’s mine. 
 

~ Adam ~

 
I’ve fallen in love with him.  Something I promised myself I’d never do with anyone, not while I’m in this game.   

But I look at him, look into his eyes and see the same feelings, the same fears, reflected back at me and I know it’s okay. 

He doesn’t fuck me, he makes love to me.  It’s a difference that’s had me on the brink of tears at least once in the last couple of days, as pathetic as that may sound.   

He puts his hands on me like he’s worshipping me, something that’s going to go straight to my ego if he keeps it up.  No way Harry’s not going to know – I think we’re both glowing from the rush of each other. 

We get to bare skin quickly, although I haven’t had to sacrifice any more buttons since the first time.  His fingers work my trousers open and surround me.  I love the way he touches me, like he’s sharing everything he is with me and that’s so much… he’s so much. 

I need him inside me; turn over under him and wriggle out of my jeans to make my point.  He pushes my shirt out of the way and kisses my back, across my shoulders, down my spine as he reaches under the sofa for the tube we dropped there yesterday. 

I don’t care about that, I don’t care about the pain; I just want him.   

He goes in so deep, slowly pushing until he’s all the way inside.  Then he stills, lowers himself onto my back and drops his forehead to my sweat-damp skin.  I feel his lips, his teeth, as gentle as the rest of him.  His mouth on the back of my neck, under my hair. 

“When this is over…” he breathes. 

But I know where he’s going with this, what he’s thinking. 

“It’s never over for us.  We’re not going back… to the real world.  We step out of that door and Lucas… Lucas is still as real as I am.  Nothing changes.  Here, my place… your place, another safe house.  It’s all the same.” 

Don’t leave me. 

I can’t give voice to those three words.  I’m scared to need someone, especially someone like me.  But I can’t push him away, can’t deny him. 

He moves his mouth to my ear and whispers, “I won’t leave you.” 

I might have started this but he’s the one who’s going to keep us together.  I find his hand, stab my fingers between his; hold on tight.  “Please.” 

The phone starts ringing as he arches up and slides back inside me, the pressure incredible.  I’m still sore from yesterday but it doesn’t change how much I want him.  I push up to meet him, both of us ignoring the phone, knowing we’re on a schedule the moment it stops ringing.   

In the silence I crane my neck around to look at him and I know we’re both thinking the same thing.  Twenty, thirty minutes we’ll be surrounded, our boss knocking on the front door.   

Makes it all the more exciting. 

We thrive on danger.  That’s never going to change.

 

 

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