by Coreopsis
Part I
See this? This is Secret Agent Nick. He's got the cool car, the black
leather, the steely eyed gaze that still manages to make it all look like a
game to him. He's also got freshly applied lip balm (I'm thinking Justin's
Vanilla, but it could be Lance's Blue Raspberry) because he never knows when
he might have to kiss his way out of a sticky situation. He can talk his
way out of trouble, or shoot his way out, but he likes to take the quiet
unexpected approach whenever possible.
He's pretty, sure, but he's dangerous. He knows a hundred and eighty-seven ways to kill a man using common household items.
But he still knows how to party.
Part II
Here's Secret Agent!Nick again. He's trying to get away from an agent for
the evil opposition. He's got the microfilm with the top secret plans
tucked away safe in a special hidden place, and now he's speeding through
the midnight streets of Paris. The boulevards are spread wide open before
him and he's got a burning desire to get to the safe house. He knows that
Secret Agent!Howie has completed his own mission and is waiting for him.
SA!Howie gets really hot and bothered by tales of high speed chases, and
SA!Nick wants to have a good one to tell so with one quick look in the
rearview mirror, he pushes the accelerator all the way to the floor.
Although the main portion of his mind is totally focused on the job at hand, there's a little part of Nick's brain that is thinking ahead. He's thinking about when he steps through the safe house door and Howie presses a gun to his head. Once he's assured Howie that he is himself and in total control, he takes off his long leather coat. Hangs it carefully in the closet, arranges his weapons just so with the attention to detail that has been pounded into him. Knows Howie watches all this with a lambent gaze full of promise. They speak sporadically and only in professional shorthand, until they go upstairs...
Locked away safely in the bedroom--well, as safe as secret agents ever get-- Howie runs his fingers over Nick's face and licks Nick's lips and whispers, "Tell me."
And as Howie strips the clothes from both their bodies, Nick does.
Part III
Secret Agent Howie has completed his mission--the official part anyway. Now
he's thinking of going for a bonus. Hey, the agent seems to actually trust
him, having no idea that Howie's an agent too, only for the other side.
And that makes it all the sweeter, because while Secret Agent Nick makes it
look like a game, it *is* a game to Howie. All of it is one big chess match
and he's master of the board. He stopped taking it seriously long ago. Not
that he goofs off now. Oh no, he's a total professional. He's just
intensely aware of how little it all means in the grand scheme of the
universe.
So he drives with relaxed hands and tosses his passenger his best come hither look. It's a good one, he knows. He doesn't have room for modesty and he does *everything* well. That's why he's the best, why younger agents like Nick are assigned to him. They're supposed to watch and learn. Nick's learned plenty already, more than the bosses ever would have expected. Or maybe it's exactly what they intended all along. Howie will never know and he doesn't much care. He plays the game by his own rules and if they occasionally fit in with the company policy, well so much the better.
The memory of Nick's mouth flashes through his mind, as quick and bright as the strobe of the passing streetlights. Howie's lips almost quirk into a smile, but he stops it as his passenger begins to speak in his heavily French-accented Spanish. Howie answers him flawlessly, the seemingly careless words of a clueless man looking to score a quick fuck in a strange city. Howie could have spoken in the man's native English, but that doesn't fit the part he's playing and it's more fun to watch the other agent struggling to keep it all straight as he pretends to be French but speaking Spanish because he thinks that's all Howie understands. It's the little things that amuse Howie the most these days.
Like watching Nick make his first kill in the field. The kid had nerves of steel until the next morning when he woke up with tears on his cheeks. But he never said a word and he didn't balk at the next assignment, and that's when Howie decided to fuck him.
And hasn't *that* gone well? If the kid's a natural on the job, he's a veritable artist at sex. As much as Howie enjoys having Nick blow him, he likes to listen to him talk even better. And the kid gets it, so all Howie has to do is ask the right question to get him started and Nick will keep up a running commentary while Howie goes down on him or bends him over the end of the bed {or couch, table, desk, car, stair railing, whatever's handy} and takes that round perfectly fuckable ass, usually slow and steady but sometimes fast and hard if a job has left him with excess energy to work off.
Howie glances over at his passenger once more, still thinking of Nick's ass. Suddenly the man in the car with him doesn't seem so interesting. Too skinny, not nearly blond enough, and his voice is starting to be really annoying. After a moment where he seriously considers shooting the guy and dumping his body later, Howie blinks slowly and pulls over to the side of the street. He has the guy out of the car and standing on the sidewalk before the poor fool even knows what hit him. Howie forgets about him the instant he pulls back out into the street.
Nick should be finished with his own job soon, and Howie will be at the safe house waiting for him.
Part IV
Secret Agent Kevin is astounded. He's been at this job a long time, and
he's seen a lot of things, things that make him wake up in a cold sweat in
the middle of the night. And he's grown accustomed to the danger, the soul
stealing little treacheries, the complete lack of trust and faith in his
fellow human beings...he expects it all now. But he never expected this.
He never expected to see Howie and Nick going at each other like rabid dogs, hands tearing and teeth flashing. He almost rushes forward to pull Nick off of Howie until he realizes they aren't actually trying to kill each other. No, killing's not on the agenda, although what they are doing seems as bone-shatteringly violent as the shockingly sensual voice coming out of Nick's mouth whenever it parts from Howie's skin. Kevin bites back a gasp when Nick finally gets Howie's pants halfway off and lifts him off his feet. Kevin's mouth falls open a bit as Nick slams Howie's back against the wall and pushes up into him. Howie's legs--one still in his pants and one bare with a 6 inch dagger tied around the calf--circle Nick's waist and bunch his pale green shirt even higher so that Kevin can see the muscles in Nick's lower back and ass ripple and flex as he thrusts into Howie.
Kevin feels a flash of jealousy, but can't pinpoint at whom it's really aimed. He's often been a little envious at how easy everything comes to Nick, and apparently Howie's just one more of those things. Although Kevin rarely does men and when he does he always tops, at the moment he'd happily trade places with Howie and that may be the part that astounds him the most.
As he finally thinks about turning away, he tears his gaze away from the bodies grinding together and meets Howie's eyes over Nick's shoulder. A hint of surprise is quickly swept aside by amusement and then invitation.
Kevin turns and walks away.
Part V
Chris waits in Central Park. He's patient, casual, just another regular guy
out for a little stroll on a nice autumn day. Except that he's not. He's
waiting for his fellow Secret Agent, who is supposed to bring him some vital
information that the organization needs immediately. But Nick is late.
Nick is never late. Chris is not worried--because he never worries--although he is starting to be concerned. Nick is over five hours past due. He gets six, and then is assumed dead and wiped from the system.
Chris reviews contingency plans in his head, over and over like a mantra. Tension tightens his stomach, but he maintains his outward calm. The mission will go on without Nick. JC is already in place, awaiting Chris's call. Chris could call right now, and JC would immediately spring into action. But Chris will give Nick his full six hours.
It's the least he can do, after what Nick did for him in Cairo. Chris shoves his hands in his pockets and pushes the memories away. His shoulder twinges a bit with phantom pain and he pushes that away too.
Nick has forty-two minutes left. Chris waits.
Part VI
JC waits impatiently. His priestly vestments sit uneasily on his shoulders
and while that makes him feel jittery, he tries to appear comfortable. He's
not even Catholic, although maybe if he were, this job would feel like a
sacrilege. As it is, it merely feels like a waste of time. Time that would
be better spent with Chris in New York.
Nick will show up. Of that, JC has no doubt. Nick always does. JC clasps his hands together in what he hopes is a conservatively pious pose, and gives a little prayer of thanks that Nick always comes when he's needed. Chris still won't talk about Cairo, only that Nick got him out. But JC has seen the scars and is grateful to Nick, even without knowing the details.
JC watches the people around him, constantly alert for anything out of the ordinary, any vague hint of danger. So far this has been one of his easiest assignments, and he wonders about that. Why did he, with his perfect record, get this basically nonessential back up post? He knows he won't be needed.
Nick always shows up. So JC thinks longingly of Chris all alone in New York. And he waits.
Part VII
"See? All in one piece." Nick looks down at himself with a grin and Chris
wants to hit him. He wants to smack him upside his head and yell at him for
barely making it. He had eight minutes left. Eight minutes to keep his job
and his fucking life, and the bastard has the audacity to smile and tell
Chris that he worried for nothing.
Well, he's wrong. Chris didn't worry. Chris never does, not even over a punkass agent who's hardly past field training. A punkass agent who saved his life less than a year ago, and never asked anything in return, who shrugged it off as doing his job. Chris understood that concept, but rookies seldom did. Nick was obviously not your average rookie, even then.
Chris buys them both coffee from a street vendor and doesn't comment on the way the younger man's hands shake just the slightest bit as he reaches for his cup. They wander along a path, casually chatting about Nick's new litter of puppies and Chris's daughter who loves dogs and would like to come see them. Of course, this is code for the information that Chris needs and Nick has, but no one passing by would hear anything but two friends chatting about pets and kids. When the coffee is gone, Nick drops his in a trash bin and warns Chris that sometimes puppies bite.
With a jaunty wave, Nick walks away and Chris casually leans down to place his cup into the trash next to Nick's. As he stands up, he palms the microchip that Nick left behind. As he walks away in the opposite direction, he rubs his shoulder and thinks about puppies. He knows how sharp their teeth can be.
He waits until he's out on the street to pull out his cell and call JC. When JC answers, his voice clipped and cool, Chris says two words. "Come home."
He folds up the phone and smiles for the first time all day.
Part VIII
Chris walks out of his house and sees JC waiting for him. The knot that had
been tightening in his gut ever since Nick's tardy return, starts to ease a
little. JC made it back from Italy safe and sound. Not that Chris ever
really doubted that he would. But unexpected things happen all the time.
Chris smiles at the way the sunlight hits JC's beautiful face and wonders how on earth he pulled off the priest gig. That face has imminent sin written all over it. It also has anger and suspicion, but Chris expected that. JC's smart enough to see what's going on, so Chris also expects the first word out of JC's mouth. "Why?"
Shrugging and walking over to inspect the new car, Chris doesn't answer for a long moment. When he does, he looks JC right in the eye. He needs to impress upon JC the gravity of the situation as he explains there's a slight question about what he can handle now. Chris doesn't even blink as JC's eyes narrow dangerously and his voice drops to a near whisper. "I can't be trusted?"
"Around me." Chris says it calmly and with finality. They know JC cares too much about what happens to Chris, and until that changes or his presence is absolutely unavoidable, JC will be removed from the vicinity of Chris's assignments. No question, no argument. They will not be allowed to be partners anymore.
There's even talk of pulling Kevin out of Europe and bringing him to the North American bureau. Chris doesn't care one way or the other, because he will still have JC in the off times. He just has to remind JC of that fact.
Drinking in the sight of JC's long lean body framed by the sharp red convertible, Chris feels his blood start to race like the finely tuned engine under the hood JC is propped on. He could take JC right here, out in the open, in front of God and everybody, and JC wouldn't protest, would in fact urge him on with slow hands and a quick mouth.
Chris smiles again. He tells JC that he might be ready to talk about Cairo soon.
But not today. Today is for other activities, like driving along the coast with the top down, pretending to be normal, everyday lovers. The one thing they'll never actually be...normal.
Part IX
JC is ready to listen. He always has been, but he couldn't force the words
out of Chris. It had to come from Chris voluntarily, when it was right,
when he needed it. He seems to need it now.
After feeling vaguely premonitory all day, JC makes sure the evening is as relaxing as possible. Chris's favorite dinner, a roaring fire in the fireplace, classical music playing just at volume so low it's at the edge of hearing, and a bottle of wine JC had been saving for a special occasion. Chris is ready to talk, and that's special enough in JC's book for the finest champagne, but the merlot will do quite nicely.
When Chris tells of the death and destruction that resulted from a mission gone horribly awry, he looks JC in the eyes, as if watching his reaction carefully. When he takes a break in the story, he looks away. JC couldn't take his own eyes off Chris for a million dollars. He silently waits for Chris to get to what happened to him personally, patiently letting Chris get there in his own time.
Chris looks at JC once more as he speaks of his capture, and JC can see bitter traces of the anguish he must have felt watching his partner brutally murdered in front of him. Pain flashes through Chris's eyes and one hand twitches spasmodically when he speaks of the knives his captors used on him. JC thinks of the scars he has seen and touched and kissed, and his stomach rolls unpleasantly. For just a brief moment, he worries that he'll lose his dinner before he gets himself under control. He's done things almost as bad as what happened to Chris, he's been eyewitness to even worse, but none of those horrors happened to someone he knows. Someone he loves.
When Chris finally finishes up the tale of Nick's daring rescue, he looks away again and clamps his mouth shut. JC stares at him solemnly then reaches out one hand, fingers brushing lightly over Chris's thigh. He wants to make love with Chris right here on the rug in front of the fire, but he's...not afraid...apprehensive about making a move when Chris is so obviously emotionally drained. So he touches Chris gently, reassuringly, reminding Chris that he's there. He's right there.
When Chris finally returns his gaze to JC's face, his eyes are sad but the set of his jaw is determined. "That's why I didn't fight the brass for you. I don't want you to ever have to see something like that. If your partner is ever eliminated before your eyes, I don't want it to be me."
JC nods, suddenly understanding if not actually agreeing with their business separation. "It would kill me."
Chris blinks slowly and reaches for JC, pulling him close. JC goes into Chris's arms willingly, eagerly folding his body into his lover's. Chris presses a kiss to his mouth and whispers, "yes."
Just that, "yes", but it speaks volumes to JC, who's ready to listen.
Part X
Secret Agent Nick was so mad over this new assignment that he could spit.
Not angry that he was playing a hustler--he'd done that before--but because
they were making him wear a lady's blouse. The necklace hiding his
transmitter and radio was kind of girly too, but with a slight S&Minfluence
that made him kinda like it.
The job itself, helping to bust up a ring of white-slavers, was not the problem. He could do that. He could do anything that was required of him. And that apparently included wearing a lady's blouse and looking pretty.
And therein lay the problem, Nick hated looking pretty. He hated being made to wear a flimsy top with frou-frou bits at the cuffs that would get in his way in a fight. He hated having someone else fix his hair because just combing it wasn't good enough. He hated having his eyebrows plucked and wearing lipgloss. He hated the excessive tightness of his pants and being told to pout.
He especially hated the strange looks Kevin kept giving him when he thought Nick wasn't watching. The rumour around the office was that Kevin would soon be transferred to the North American bureau, but Nick didn't think that had anything to do with Kevin's change in attitude toward him lately. No, the weirdness had been going on since before the rumours, and certainly before it was decided that Kevin would be his back up on this job.
Kevin had been acting strange since that weekend in Paris when he had almost missed a meeting with Nick and Howie, and when he had shown up he'd been slightly flushed and unable to meet Howie's eyes. Nick had wondered for a brief moment if there was something sexual going on between those two, but Kevin was exclusively straight as far as Nick knew, so he discounted that as a possibility. When he mentioned it to Howie, the older man just shrugged and smiled enigmatically, so Nick didn't bring it up again. He had more important things to worry about anyway.
Now he's finally ready to go. He sticks his hands in his pockets and looks down at himself. When he raises his head he meets Kevin's eyes and says, "Well?"
A muscle ticks in Kevin's jaw and his dark green eyes smolder before going carefully blank. He nods. "You look...pretty."
Part XI
Kevin felt like he was drowning. For a second or two, he considered turning
his face up into the rain and just letting nature takes its course. This
obsession he had for Nick was both stupid and dangerous. It could get them
both killed, and possibly endanger many other people also. He had to
concentrate on the job at hand, and stop noticing the way Nick tipped his
head back when he laughed, how the rain water ran in rivulets down his pale
neck and turned his shirt transparent.
Still listening carefully for the signal to move in, Kevin closed his eyes and opened his mouth to draw a deep breath. Memories flashed against his eyelids like a filmstrip, spotty and out of focus one moment and clear as crystal the next: Nick's whispery voice making provocative suggestions, dirty and raw demands that make Kevin's mouth go dry with longing, the broad width of Nick's shoulders nearly blocking Howie's slender form from view, the tense curve of his ass, the flash of white teeth biting into the caramel of Howie's skin, Nick's big hands reaching out for Kevin, eyes burning blue fire just for him.
Opening his eyes and blinking away the rain, Kevin shook his head at the fantasy that had started to creep in at the end. Nick had never reached for him, had lever looked at him with desire, had only cut him subtly with nonchalant camaraderie. Nick had never flirted with Kevin like he was right now with their mark, had never gave him the sly glance and the flick of his tongue over a pouty bottom lip. Kevin didn't want that anyway. He was mostly straight and he always topped, so why on earth would he think about Nick pinning him to the ground and fucking him senseless? He wouldn't. He didn't want to push Nick onto his back and ride him until they both collapsed from exhaustion. He certainly didn't want Nick to push him against a wall and bite his neck and whisper dirty impossible things in his ear. He'd never dream of stripping Nick naked and licking him from his chin to his toes. He didn't wonder what Nick would look like with Kevin's fingers tangled in his hair and Kevin's cock in his mouth. He told himself he didn't want any of that.
Kevin was a liar.
Part XII
Nick looked at Kevin like he could read every thought in his head. Kevin
stared back blankly, hoping that wasn't true. Kevin himself was usually
very good at reading people. It was a part of his job, after all. But some
how, at some point, Nick had become enigmatic, as unreadable as he was
untouchable. Since the last undercover job, Kevin has been unable to look
at Nick without seeing the role he played, so pretty and tender and
fuckable. He played it so well that Kevin almost believed it.
What puzzled Kevin was that now, days after the assignment was finished, Nick was still pretty. His hair was gelled into a sexier tousled style, his face smooth and still kind of delicate looking. But mostly the change was subtle and hard to describe. It was in Nick's attitude, the way he carried himself, the way he watched the people--especially the men--around him. There was something both vulnerable and predatory about Nick now, and Kevin puzzled over it when he wasn't unbearably aroused by it.
When Nick parted his lips slowly and started to speak, Kevin drew in a sharp breath and wanted to stop him. He wanted take the three steps that would close the distance between them and press his tongue into Nick's mouth so he wouldn't ask what Kevin knew he was going to ask. But Kevin stood motionless, not even blinking.
Nick tilted his head just a little and it wasn't a question after all. "You want me now."
Kevin shook his head and threw caution to the wind. "No. I want you...still."
Then Nick smiled quick and sharp, eyes flashing the blue fire that Kevin had imagined. "Okay."
... to be continued???
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