If You're Going Through Hell Keep Going

by Tinnean

  “Quinn.” Nothing. Well, this sucked canal water. I looked from the lobby doors of my condo to Quinn, and I poked his shoulder. “Come on, babe, wake up!”

  Again, nothing.

  I couldn’t leave my car parked in front of the building while I lugged Quinn up the stairs—the condo association Nazis always patrolled at night, and they’d come after me. If the manager of Forest Heights, the place I’d lived before moving back into the attic apartment, had kicked me out due to an insignificant explosion, their reaction would probably be worse, and it wouldn’t look good if I hurt them. But if I parked the Dodge in the garage that went with my condo, I’d not only have to lug Quinn up three flights of stairs, I’d have to lug him back here as well.

  The only thing to do was get him into my condo. I’d worry about everything else afterward.

  I went around to the passenger side of the car, opened the door, and unfastened his seat belt. “Okay, Mann, let’s get you out of there.”

  I yanked him up, got my shoulder into his gut, and hoisted him up in a fireman’s lift.

  Jesus, when did he get so heavy? Did I need to work out more?

  I staggered up the steps and into the lobby, having used the swipe card to unlock the door. And it had to have been a sign from God: the elevator was standing there with the doors open.

  With Quinn stripped and in bed, I went back down to put my car away. Wouldn’t you know someone from the Neighborhood Watch was sticking a notice on my windshield?

  “If I can’t get that off, I’m going to tear you a new one,” I growled.

  He jumped, and I saw it was Chester Johnson, vice president of the condo owners association. He’d tried throwing his not-inconsiderable weight around when I’d met with the association before I’d closed on my condo last fall, but it hadn’t worked, and I had the feeling he resented it.

  “You’re not supposed to leave your vehicle on the street—”

  “Which is why I was about to garage it. Now get that fucking piece of shit paper off my windshield.”

  He had a little trouble doing it, and he grumbled under his breath the entire time.

  “Y’know what, Chester? The annual board meeting is coming up soon, isn’t it? Maybe I’ll run for office.” I’d heard from other residents that the president and vice president had been in control for the past thirteen years, and each time an election came up, they intimidated other possible candidates to the point they ran uncontested.

  “You can’t!”

  “Wanna bet?”

  “You won’t get a single vote!”

  “I’ll get the votes from this building.” The way Quinn had helped me decorate my condo for Christmas had won the building the “best decorated” award for the first time since construction had finished.

  Chester harrumphed, stalked over to his car, and wedged his fat ass into it. He was still glaring at me as he drove off.

  Goddammit. Why had I let him piss me off? I had no desire to run for a position on the condo board. I had too much going on at work.

  I garaged the Dodge and walked back to my condo, to find Quinn sprawled on my side of the bed, my pillow in his arms.

  Well, it was kind of my fault he was like this, so I could let him have the left side for a change. I removed my clothes, lifted up the bedspread and sheet, and got in beside him. Then I pulled him against me and kept him there with a leg over his and a hand around his cock.

  ***

  The next morning I woke up to find our positions reversed. I could feel his cock nestled in the crack of my ass, and I shivered at the thought that with a single push, he’d be in me.

  I wasn’t worried about the fact he’d take me without a condom—we both had a clean bill of health every time we had blood drawn by either of our agencies—but we should talk about it first. I didn’t want him to have any regrets.

  “Morning, Mark.” His voice was sleep-roughened as he murmured the words in my ear and ran his palm over my treasure trail and down to my cock. “We’re at your condo.”

  “Yeah.”

  “We were supposed to spend the night at my place.”

  “So?” I started to tell him what we needed was a place that wasn’t his and wasn’t mine but was ours. Then this conversation wouldn’t come up.

  “I know, that isn’t a big deal. But in order for this to work, we need to compromise.”

  “This is working fine.” I wanted to smack his head—we compromised plenty—but I didn’t. He had had a lot of beer the night before, and maybe it was his hangover talking. “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “You’re putting me on!” I leaned back on an elbow and stared into his eyes. “After last night?”

  “I told you I don’t have hangovers.”

  “So you remember drinking all that ale.”

  “I was having a good time. I lost track of how much I drank.” He flushed a little. “But I let you down. I apologize.”

  “Huh?”

  “I started to give you a blow job and fell asleep in the middle of it.”

  “It was just as well.” I ran the backs of my fingers over his cheek. “A cop came by to see what was up.”

  “I’m so sorry.” He looked miserable. “I could have gotten us arrested.”

  “No, it’s okay. I knew him.”

  He groaned. “Even worse. Your reputation—”

  “Quinn, everyone thinks I’m a sociopath. What do I care if they think I’m a sociopath who likes guys?”

  “But….”

  “I tell you what, Sleeping Beauty. If you want to make it up to me, I’d have no objection.”

  “Excuse me?”

  I rolled over, kicked back the bedspread, and gestured toward my morning wood.

  “I see what you mean.” He made his way down my body, but then paused to look into my eyes. “You’re really not annoyed with me?”

  “Nah. It would take more than an interrupted blow job to piss me off.”

  “No, I mean about the cop stopping by.”

  “Well, you couldn’t know he’d show up.”

  “Mark!”

  “Yeah, baby?” I stroked his shoulder. “Why don’t you swing that sweet ass of yours around so I can give you some attention too?”

  He nuzzled the spot where my hip and thigh joined, and nipped the skin. “I’d like that.”

  “Then hop to it. Time’s a-wasting, and we still have to have breakfast.” And he had to change into his riding clothes.

  I’d have to ride also, but so far I’d been able to avoid buying a pair of jodhpurs.

  Quinn positioned himself so I could reach his cock. God, his ass drove me crazy. It was so round, so firm, so…. I ran my fingertips over it and down his crack before turning my attention to his cock.

  “Mark, I….”

  “Yeah?” I angled up my head and lapped at the tip of his cock, tasting precome. “I love the way you taste.”

  “Do you really?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “In that case…” He lowered his hips until his cock was nudging my lips. I took him into my mouth and swallowed him down. “God, I….” He didn’t finish, though; he just began blowing me, and I totally lost track of what he might have been about to say.

  By the time we finished sucking each other to a mind-bending climax, Quinn was sprawled all over me, breathing heavily. This time I dragged my fingernails over the curve of his butt.

  “Mmm.” He wriggled under my touch.

  “Y’know something, babe?”

  “Mmm?” This time the sound was obviously a question.

  “I’m glad you leave some spare riding clothes here.” I’d bought him a pair of jodhpurs last fall, but he also needed a fitted shirt, jacket, gloves, and padded boots. And a helmet. I’d shoot the horse if it threw him and made him land on his head. “This way you can stay longer.” The next thing I knew, I had an armful of lover. “What…?”

  “I like being your… your boyfriend.”


  “I think we’re a little old for that. At least I am.” I had three years on him.

  “In that case, what would you call what we have?”

  “Partnership? Significant other-ship?”

  He gave a choke of laughter, tucked his head under my chin, and wrapped his arms around me. “Well, whatever it is we have, I like it.”

  “So do I.” I petted his hair.

  “You do?”

  “Forever, remember?”

  “I remember.”

  “Good. Now let’s get up. I have to take a piss.”

  Chapter 2

  Sunday was cool, so I put on a sweater and a bomber jacket.

  “There really is no justice, y’know?” I said as I looked him over. I unlocked the front door and followed him out.

  “Oh?”

  “No one would ever guess you were smashed last night.”

  “Excellent genes.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll drive.”

  “Works for me.”

  We walked briskly to where he’d parked his car.

  I was going riding with Quinn and his mother. I was getting pretty good at it. At least I didn’t wind up as sore as I had the first time I’d gotten up on a horse.

  And Portia’s smile was proud.

  Afterward, as the horses were being stabled, Portia said, “You’ll have brunch with us, won’t you?”

  Novotny was standing at her shoulder, and why didn’t her suggestion make him more unhappy?

  “Please, Mark?” Quinn looked hopeful. How could I say no to him?

  “Sure, babe. Thanks,” I said to Portia, and I resigned myself to hearing Novotny snark at me the entire time.

  Quinn parked at the curb, and I followed him up the walk to the front steps, keeping an eye on the neighborhood because that was the way I was.

  He opened the door, then stood aside so I could enter first. I’d no sooner gotten three feet into the foyer when everyone chorused, “Happy birthday!”

  “We were sorry to miss it, Mark.” Portia kissed my cheek.

  Turned out that was why Quinn had wanted to have brunch in Great Falls. They had a cake for my birthday. Portia gave me a set of Mikasa dinnerware, and Novotny… he laughed his Czech ass off while I unwrapped his present, a golf towel with my name embroidered on it in hot pink letters.

  Ha fucking ha.

  Still, it was a nice birthday party, and afterward, Quinn drove me home, staying long enough to get out of his riding clothes and into my bed for a little afternoon delight.

  ***

  Monday didn’t turn out as piss-poor as I’d expected, although I was irritated to find my department looking like the city morgue. Matheson, my senior special agent, was away on assignment—I assumed The Boss had sent him on it—and Ms. Parker was taking some sick time. That had me concerned because she was never sick.

  Human Resources provided a temp to replace her. He made a decent cup of coffee, brought me a sandwich from the cafeteria, and stayed out of Ms. Parker’s file cabinet. I had him call Carnations and Roses and Orchids, Oh My and order a spring arrangement to be delivered to her apartment.

  He worked on Matheson’s files, I worked on my own, and the day moved along smoothly.

  Tuesday, though, made up for it in spades.

  Things started off quietly, with the regular Tuesday morning meetings and the paperwork they required, but then just before noon, it hit the fan. That was when I found out Matheson had been sent to California for almost a month, for no good reason. He’d sat out there pretty much cooling his heels, given instructions by that idiot Gershom, the Director of Security, not to contact anyone. Since I hadn’t been there to countermand that order, he’d had no choice but to obey.

  Where was I that this could happen? I’d been out of the WBIS for a month, first taking care of Wexler, and then on the job in Phoenix. Someone had taken advantage of my time away.

  And how did I find out about this? Theo Bascopolis, who was involved with Matheson, had managed to reach me to ask about his whereabouts. My one-time landlord had been desperate to know what had happened to his lover.

  I wanted to know myself, and when I discovered what had gone down…. Well, I wasn’t a happy camper, and that was putting it mildly. After I contacted Matheson and told him to get his ass back to DC, I went down to the first floor to tear Gershom a new one.

  Everyone in the WBIS who crossed my path either decided there was someplace else they needed to be or ducked into the nearest office, hoping I didn’t see them. Of course I saw them, but they weren’t the reason for my aggravation, so I wasn’t about to take it out on them.

  Gershom’s secretary stared wide-eyed as I stalked through her office and into his without bothering to knock.

  “What the—Vincent, what are you doing here? You could at least have the courtesy to knock!”

  “Hold your breath. And I’ll tell you what I’m fucking doing here! You’re screwing with my agent.”

  He bared his teeth at me. “Isn’t that what you’re doing? Screwing him? He’s very good-looking, isn’t he?”

  I reached over the desk and closed the fingers of one hand in the front of his shirt, while twisting his collar with the other, and I jerked him to his feet and across toward me.

  “Why?” I demanded, shaking him.

  He couldn’t get a word past lips that would start turning blue in a minute or so, clashing with the red in his face. His eyes began to bug out, and he scrabbled at my hand, trying to get me to release him.

  I gave him a final shake and then tossed him back into his chair.

  “Start talking.”

  He coughed, slid a finger into his collar, and tugged on it. “Corcoran needed—”

  “Bullshit. Corcoran had no idea why Matheson was there and he only kept him out there as a favor to you.”

  “That’s not true….” Gershom’s voice was raspy. His color was slowly returning to normal, but there was a mulish twist to his mouth, and I could see he wasn’t going to admit to anything.

  “Isn’t it?” Okay, not a problem. I might not get along with most of the senior directors, but the support staff would be more than happy to help me out. I’d talk to his secretary later. But now it was time to lay the cards on the table. “I’m going to tell you this once, Gershom—leave Matheson, leave all my people the fuck alone. If I have to tell you again, you’re not going to like the results.”

  “You can’t touch me!”

  “No?” I let the corner of my mouth twist in a grin, and he turned pale. I knew my grin hadn’t reached my eyes. “Sperling thought the same thing.” For almost a year everyone had believed I’d killed the former Director of Interior Affairs. I hadn’t been there when he caused the door to explode in his face, but I wasn’t above using it to throw a little fear of God into this asshole. “Don’t fucking cross me.”

  He shrank back in his chair and swallowed audibly.

  I turned on my heel and walked out of his office. Now we’d just see how this played out. Would he go crying to The Boss? Or would he try to handle it on his own?

  He didn’t waste any time in running to Mr. Wallace. By the time I got to seven, there was a message The Boss wanted to see me.

  The temp looked pale. He murmured, “Good luck, sir.”

  I went up to ten and stalked down the corridor to The Boss’s office. Ms. DiBlasi glanced at me and shook her head. “You do stir things up, don’t you?”

  Hey, it wasn’t my fault. If people fucked with my department, they’d have to expect there would be consequences.

  I opened the door and went in. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  “Yes. Would you care for a cup of coffee, Mark?”

  “Uh… thank you.” I went to the urn and poured myself a cup. “Can I get one for you?”

  “Please.” The Boss took it the same way I did: black, no milk, no sugar.

  I brought it to him and waited to hear what he had to say.

  “Have a seat.” He took a sip, wat
ching me over the rim of his cup. Finally he put it down. “How’s your golf game coming along?”

  This was the last thing I’d expected him to bring up. “Okay.” I shrugged. “I’m still at par.”

  “It took me a while to shoot under par. But I imagine soon you’ll be doing better. Your golf pro seems to think so, at any rate. I’m pleased, Mark. I understand your condominium complex offers a nine hole golf course.”

  “Yes.” I wasn’t surprised he knew, but I was surprised he mentioned it. “As a matter of fact, my living room looks out on the water hazard.”

  “Interesting. I’d like to play it with you once the weather warms up.”

  “Of course, sir.” Like I would tell him no?

  “Now tell me, how do you think Matheson is coming along?”

  “I’ve got no complaints. He’s competent and does the job well. Even when he’s had to kill.”

  “I know what you’re talking about. I’ve questioned Adams about it.”

  “How did he explain it?” James “Bond” Adams was the man who’d trained Matheson. He’d chosen him to be a wet boy, something I could never figure out.

  “He honestly didn’t think Matheson would stick with it. He was aware of Matheson’s background, but he failed to take it into account. Matheson’s uncle is a retired Marine who taught him to use his hands in self-defense, as well as a knife. Sloppy work on Adams’s part, and you didn’t hear me say that.”

  “No, sir.”

  “I regret to say this, but Adams is growing old.”

  I swallowed a cough. Adams was a couple of years younger than The Boss.

  “I’m afraid he also overlooked the fact men from Matheson’s family have been in every major conflict—and some not so major—going back to before the Civil War. In addition, another uncle, the one who’s teaching at Caltech, wasn’t the first Matheson to head west. One carried the mail for the Pony Express, another was an Indian Scout, and still another rode the Chisholm Trail. All men who didn’t sit home and let life pass them by.”

  “You know a good deal about my agent, sir.”

  “That’s why I wanted him to be your agent. Keep me posted about him.” He finished his coffee and rose. “Well, thank you for coming to see me, Mark.” He could see I was at a loss. I’d expected him to tear into me for not only challenging a senior director but manhandling him as well. Instead we’d just had coffee and chitchatted for twenty minutes. He chuckled. “Yes, Gershom is unhappy with you. He demanded I speak to you. We’ve spoken, and I believe that concludes our business.”