Not My Spook!

by Tinnean

  “I cut the stitching at my waistband and hid it in there.”

  “Smart move.”

  “I’m glad you approve.” He started to sway, but before I could catch him, he straightened up. “Mark, he never called me mon cher.”

  “What?”

  “Your agent said Max called everyone mon cher. He never—”

  “Okay. That’s fine.”

  “So you won’t have to kill him.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about, Mann?”

  “I saw the way you were looking at Max.”

  “I wasn’t—” He swayed again, and this time I did catch him. “Let’s get you out of here, Quinn. You look like hell.”

  “Robinson says I look like shit. You say I look like hell. What is this? ‘Pick on Quinton Mann Day’?”

  “No, it’s ‘Let’s Get Quinton Mann to a Doctor before He Falls on His Ass Day’. Let’s go.”

  XVI

  THE doctor who examined Quinn assured me that aside from various scrapes and bruises, and a lump the size of a pomme de terre, nothing was broken, and he was in fairly good shape. A little dehydrated, a little undernourished, but nothing a week in bed wouldn’t repair.

  “I can’t spend a week in bed.”

  The doctor ignored Quinn’s scowl and continued to address all his remarks to me. “And if he should complain of discomfort, this will remedy that.” He gave me a prescription for painkillers.

  “Merci. Come on, Quinn. I’ll get you to that hotel.” It wasn’t too far from the doctor’s office, but even though he insisted he was sound enough to walk, I whistled up a taxi. “You don’t want to walk without shoes on a French sidewalk. And don’t sulk. It’s unbecoming a man of your position.”

  This time he turned his scowl on me. “I don’t appreciate being treated like a child.”

  “Quinn, I may see you as a lot of things, but a child is definitely not one of them!” I kept my hand gentle on his back as I urged him forward. “Now get in the cab. I wasn’t kidding. You really do need a bath.”

  “Mark.”

  “Hmm?” I gave the driver the name of the hotel. “I wonder if this hotel has a haberdashery. If it doesn’t, would you be okay by yourself while I run out to get you new clothes?”

  “I’ll be fine. Mark. Before you came to Paris?”

  “Yeah? Of course, if I have to, I can always twist someone’s arm to do the shopping. Let’s see. Underwear, shirt, pants, shoes….” I was too busy enumerating what Quinn would need to really pay attention to what he was saying.

  “You thought all your agents were dead.”

  “So? Socks, belt, tie….”

  “You came after me. Didn’t you?”

  I became very still. Okay, so he had heard the stupid thing that had come out of my mouth earlier. I said easily, “Sure.” And I turned that manic grin on him. “You promised me a housewarming gift.”

  “And?”

  “You told me your mother has it. Well, come on, Quinn! Your mother would never give it to me if I didn’t bring you home.”

  “So you’re saying you risked your life for what was behind Door Number Three?”

  “Yep.” He was buying it. I couldn’t help feeling insufferably pleased with myself.

  “You’re full of shit, you know that, Vincent?”

  I opened my mouth to tell him I didn’t know what he was talking about, and the sneaky spook brushed his lips over mine.

  “Thank you, Mark.” He leaned against me and went boneless, and I ran a hand over his hair, being careful to avoid the lump. I glanced up to see the driver watching in the rearview mirror.

  “He is very lucky, m’sieur.”

  “What?”

  “To have a man such as yourself to care for him? Yes, très chanceux.”

  “Who’re you?”

  “I am Didier, m’sieur.”

  “The Division?”

  He grinned at me through the mirror but didn’t answer.

  “Tell whoever sent you I said merci bien.”

  “I will, m’sieur. And she would have me reply, ‘de rien’.”

  XVII

  QUINN, being Quinn, was a damned good patient. He ate when I told him, drank when I told him, slept when I told him, even took the pills I handed him, although in that instance he groused the whole time that he didn’t need them.

  The only thing he wouldn’t do was sleep alone.

  “I’ve been doing that for the last eternity, Mark. There was a reason for it while I was being held by Prinzip, but there’s no reason for it now. Humor me. Please?”

  He looked so—

  “Hey, I was just trying to make it easy on you.”

  “Oh? You think you’re so irresistible?”

  “No. But I can’t help it if you do.”

  He started to laugh, and then it strangled in his throat.

  I pulled him into my arms and held onto him. “It’s okay, babe. It’s okay.”

  “They were all depending on me, Mark. They thought things were going to be okay because I was there.”

  “And they were.”

  “Only because you came riding to the rescue.”

  “Bullshit. You would have gotten them out.”

  “No, that’s bullshit. Gaston would have kicked me in the ribs one time too many, Max could have been discovered—”

  “Neither of those things happened.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “There is no but. Now get the fuck in bed.”

  “Mark! You’re so masterful!” He was teasing me again.

  “And you’re so—”

  Damned spook kissed me again.

  After the Lights Go Down Low

  I

  “WHAT do you think?”

  I was in Mark’s apartment for the first time. It was also the first time we’d been able to get together since we’d returned from Europe almost a week ago.

  “The truth, Mann.”

  “It’s… very nice.”

  He turned on his heel and went into the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. “It’s temporary.”

  “I’m serious, Mark. It is a nice apartment. I just… well….”

  “Jesus, Mann, just spit it out, would you?”

  It was farther from my place than his last apartment. Oh, well, that was what cars were for. “It’s a little on the small side.”

  He gave me a look. “Quinn, if it’s escaped your notice, there’s just one of me. I don’t need a lot of space.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. The truth?” The last thing I wanted was for him to see how needy I was. “It just reminds me of Drum’s place.”

  “It does?” He looked around. “Oh, shit, it does! Now I’ll have to move!”

  “Just a second, Mark. How do you know what Drum’s apartment looks like?”

  He shrugged. “If it comes to that, how do you?”

  “I had to bring him a file that the OIG needed.”

  “To his apartment?” I nodded. “And you had to bring it personally.”

  “Yes. It was classified.”

  “Fuck it.”

  “Mark?”

  “Nothing.” He took a couple of mugs from a cabinet above the sink and put them down next to the coffeemaker. “So what’s the word on Drum?”

  “He’ll still be around to make our lives hell. General Kirkpatrick arranged to have it appear that Drum was given sanctioned leave.”

  “That—one of these days his pretty blue eyes aren’t going to be able to get him out of trouble.”

  “They really didn’t help this time.” Shortly before we’d left Paris, Robinson had contacted me at the hotel. The major had turned up at the American Consulate, with his blood alcohol level off the chart. “You think his eyes are pretty?”

  “It’s a figure of speech, Quinn.”

  “If you say so.” I swallowed a smile. “I wonder who Marie-Ange is.”

  “She must have been something for him to get her name tattooed on his ass.”

  “And how
do you know where he’s got a tattoo?”

  Mark gave me his innocent look, and I knew he wasn’t going to answer that. However, I hadn’t really expected him to answer. “Get the half-and-half from the fridge, would you?”

  “Thanks for having it for me.”

  “My pleasure.”

  This really was a small apartment. I wished he hadn’t felt the need to move out of my town house. “At any rate, General Kirkpatrick sent me a note of thanks.”

  “That was the least he could do.”

  “I hadn’t done anything.”

  “You were the one who got Drum to a hospital so he could dry out. I’d have left him at the Consulate. And I bet he would have wanted you to babysit him, even though you weren’t in the best shape.”

  “You worry too much, Mark.”

  “Bullshit. First off, I don’t worry. And second off, you could have—”

  I shut his mouth with my own. I wasn’t sure how long he’d hold still for that, but I knew he had worried, and I didn’t want him to consider any of the possible ways that could have ended. He seemed to think I would have gotten myself and the others out of this. Possibly I could have, with Max’s help.

  But I wouldn’t have wanted to bet Shadow Brook, the Sebring farm, on it.

  Instead of putting me away from him, his hand curved up around my skull, and he deepened the kiss.

  “Mmm.” He leaned his forehead against mine.

  “Shall we find something else to do?” The words were scarcely out of my mouth before he had my zipper undone.

  “Good idea, Quinn. And later you can show me what you can do with that mouth of yours.” My trousers dropped down to bunch around my ankles. “Fucking hell in a handcart! You’ve gone commando!” His voice was hoarse. I could feel myself blushing. I’d never done anything like that before, and I wasn’t sure how he would react. I should have known; he spun me around and bent me over the counter.

  “You noticed!” It was okay. He didn’t think I was being ridiculous. I started to laugh, but it caught in my throat and turned into a breathless moan when he got a hand around my cock. He gave it a single stroke, causing it to quiver—causing me to quiver—then let it go. This was so similar to what he had done to me one night when he’d been staying with me. “In me! Now!”

  “Do I need to remind you who’s in charge here?” The material of his trousers was rough against my naked ass. He spread my hands and put them on the edge of the counter. “Hold on, and don’t let go!” He slicked his fingers and eased one into me, then laughed. “You prepared yourself!” He licked my neck. “Very good, baby.”

  He still took his time, adding more lube, and I was so dazed with lust that he had three fingers in me before I realized it. My hips angled back, trying to take them deeper. “Too long,” I groaned. I heard his zipper being lowered, and my breath hitched.

  “Even if it was just this morning, it was still too long,” Mark panted as he withdrew his fingers and replaced them with his condom-covered cock.

  When had he had time to put the condom on? Where had the condom been? I was CIA; I was supposed to be aware of things like that at all times. Then he pulled almost all the way out, until just the head of his cock was within the tight ring of muscle, and then rammed back in, and my thoughts splintered.

  I shivered at the feel of him measuring his length in me over and over again, pounding my prostate each time. He threaded his fingers through mine and rested his weight against my back while his hips drove into me relentlessly.

  “Mark! More!”

  “Sure, baby.” He freed one of his hands and brought the fingers to my mouth. “Open up.” He slid them past my lips, and I expected to taste the chocolate of the lube we’d found together in Cape Cod, but he was using the fingers of his other hand, and he fucked my mouth as his cock fucked my ass.

  I whimpered and sucked his fingers deeper, teasing them with the tip of my tongue.

  The pressure was starting to build up, and I knew that sooner than I liked I would explode. I thought of blizzards. I thought of the Arctic and the North Atlantic two thousand fathoms down. And then Mark took my cock in his hand, smeared my precome over the shaft, and started jerking me off. With a muffled groan I began to come, pouring semen over his hand, over my abdomen, over the counter.

  My inner muscles clenched rhythmically, and Mark bit down on the side of my neck. I could feel his cock pulsing in my back passage, and my own cock tried to spurt once more.

  He took his fingers from my mouth and petted my flank with his wet hand. “Oh, baby, you will definitely be the death of me.”

  “You sweet-talker, you.” Instead of being enervated, I was energized. “Let me up, Mark.”

  “Why?” He nuzzled the side of my neck. “We’ve got all night.”

  He was going to let me stay over. I hadn’t been sure, hadn’t wanted to presume. “I’ve got your housewarming gift in the hall.”

  “I thought this was my housewarming gift.”

  “Smartass.” I held still while he eased out of me. He removed the condom and dropped it in the trash, finally reaching for a washcloth. “You were planning this!”

  “I could say the same for you.” He soaked it in warm water and wiped me off, then turned me around, pulled me against him, and kissed me. “Mmm.”

  “You’re repeating yourself.” I tasted his kiss on my lips.

  “All right, Quinn.” He tucked himself away and buttoned his fly. “Quit screwing around. I want to see what your mother’s been hiding all this time.”

  I pulled my pants up and brushed that lock of hair out of my eyes. “Mother told me.”

  He looked affronted. “I did not go to her house and ask about that gift!”

  “No, Mark. She told me about that visit you paid her, of how you promised you would find me and bring me home.” And I’d gotten the strangest feeling in my chest when I’d heard that.

  “As if I’d let anything happen to you.” For once he didn’t try to blow it off, and as I stood there looking at him, I had that feeling again.

  “I…. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I rested my palm against his cheek. “Why don’t you get your crowbar?”

  “Why? What did you get me?” he asked suspiciously. “And what makes you think I’ve got a crowbar in my apartment?”

  “Because you’re Mark Vincent. And you’ll see.” I went out into the corridor, where I had left the crate on a dolly.

  It had been a chore getting it up the front steps and then four flights of stairs, but I’d received some help from Mark’s landlord and the WBIS agent who was living with him. His name was William Matheson, and he kept himself between his lover and me, watching me as if he expected me to… I had no idea what he expected me to do. I’d shaken my head. WBIS agents!

  I rolled the crate into Mark’s apartment, took the crowbar from him, and went to work on the nails that secured the top.

  Mark looked into it with interest, but all he could see was the packing that cushioned my gift. “If it’s a Grecian urn, Quinn, I’m going to be severely disappointed.”

  “Trust me, Mark.” There was a piercing shriek as the front gave way, and then the floor was covered in Styrofoam peanuts.

  “Oh.” Mark was on his knees in front of the crate, brushing aside the Styrofoam. He sucked in a breath. “Oh, Quinn. This is….” He sat back on his heels and stared at it. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “I… I thought bronze might be a better idea than another ceramic. The temperature has to be a lot higher to melt it, and water from fire hoses might knock it over but won’t shatter it.”

  “You’re expecting me to blow up my apartment again?” His face was averted, and I couldn’t see his eyes.

  “Of course not, but—I… I’m sorry, Mark. This wasn’t a good idea. I shouldn’t have—maybe you don’t want another dog to replace Sam. Look, I can return it and get you something else.”

  Mark stood so quickly that I rocked back. �
��You touch Sam and I’ll—” He dragged me against him and buried his face against my neck. “Thank you, Quinn. No one’s ever—thank you!”

  I stroked his hair and breathed a silent sigh of relief. He liked my gift to him.

  II

  SOMEONE was leaning on my doorbell. I wiped my hands on a dish towel and went to answer it. Through the peephole I saw the back of Mark’s head. My lover was studying his surroundings with his usual WBIS thoroughness. I opened the door.

  “Come on in, Mark.”

  “That guy across the street was watching me.”

  “Who, McVey? Forget about him.”

  “Not safe, Mann.”

  This was my neighborhood, and I knew how safe it was. Besides, Mark stood before me, and my mouth went dry just looking at him.

  He was dressed in jeans that fit snugly. I was almost jealous of the way the material caressed the muscles of his thighs and encased his cock and balls. His short-sleeved knit shirt was open at the throat and molded his pecs. He wasn’t wearing an undershirt, and his nipples were twin points that drew the eye to his chest. I licked my lips, imagining them in my mouth. Mark’s nipples weren’t as sensitive as mine—were anyone’s?—but I liked his reaction whenever I worked them. He’d twist and moan, and a couple of times I’d even gotten him to beg. Which was only fair, considering how I came apart when he did that to me.

  “You could have used the key,” I reminded him. I hadn’t asked for it back.

  “I had my hands full.” He was hefting an awkward rectangular package that was covered in brown paper.

  “What’s this?”

  “My way of saying thank you. For letting me stay here with you. For Sam.”

  “This wasn’t necessary.” Judging by the size, I’d guess it was a print that he’d had framed for me. “But thank you, Mark.”

  I leaned the package against the console table, threaded my fingers through his hair, and pulled his head down. His lips were warm, and the feel of them caressing mine roused me as no one else’s kisses ever had. I knew he was aware of my reaction.