Walking Wounded

by Lee Rowan

  “Who needs a table?” Johnny pulled him closer and turned Kevin around so that he was braced against the sink front. “You realize it’s been more than twenty-four hours?”

  The way he said it made hours sound like weeks, and Kevin felt the same way. “Let’s fix that, then.” He grabbed Johnny’s face and kissed him, distracted from the hard edge of the counter behind him by the hot, hard pressure of the body holding him against it.

  Kevin pulled at John’s sweatpants, but John caught his hands.

  “No, I said I’d take your pants off.” John kissed him again, lingeringly, then turned his attention elsewhere.

  Kevin shivered as Johnny kissed down his throat and licked along his collarbone, blowing cool air over wet skin at the same time he ran his thumbs over Kevin’s nipples.

  By the time Johnny slid slowly to his knees, Kevin had both hands buried in his hair. “You can take ’em off now,” he said hopefully.

  “Not yet.” John eased the waistband a little lower, rubbing his face against the fabric and Kevin’s cock, tracing the length of it with his lips as it responded to the attention.

  “Johnny, damn it—” He might just have been able to control himself if it had only been that one point of contact, but Johnny’s hands were busy too, running up the back of his thighs, working their way under the briefs from beneath. He pulled the waistband down just far enough for Kevin’s cock to slip free; the slight pressure of the elastic against his balls created a weirdly erotic sensation. But he couldn’t pay much attention to that either because John’s hands were pinning his thighs just as he took the sensitive tip of Kevin’s cock into his mouth.

  A good thing he was holding on. Kevin bucked involuntarily and nearly toppled even with the support. He dug his fingers into John’s shoulders and simply held on as the waves of pleasure mounted, built toward a peak—

  And the phone rang.

  Johnny ignored it.

  Past the point of no return, Kevin felt his body climax even as a part of his brain counted the telephone rings. Five… six… seven….

  It stopped, and John looked up at Kevin. He caught hold of the counter, pulled himself to his feet, and dropped a kiss on Kevin’s damp forehead just as the phone began to ring again. “I’ll get it.” He connected the receiver and lifted it. “Hello?”

  Kevin started to take a step forward, realized the damn briefs were now down around his knees, and pulled them back up.

  “No,” John was saying. “It’s not convenient at all. The phone’s in the kitchen, and it’s difficult to hear when the shower’s running. Is this an emergency?” He listened to whatever the other party said, and responded, “All right, then. Any harm if he calls you back in about twenty minutes? Thank you.” He didn’t bother to hang the receiver back up, just disconnected it and dropped it on the table. He splashed his face at the sink and toweled dry. “Damned busybodies.”

  “I could’ve got that,” Kevin said.

  “Not unless you wanted Sergeant Jones to know what you sound like when you’re shagged out. I don’t think that comes under ‘need to know’ for him.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Yes, you do. You sound all warm and fuzzy, like you just had the best kitchen sex of your life. I don’t want him getting any hotter for you than he already is.”

  Somewhat recovered, Kevin checked in the cupboard and found to his surprise that their usual mugs were in there. He filled them with tea and set them on the table. “I didn’t realize you had a jealous streak.”

  John nodded thanks and sat down. “I’m not jealous of random men, love. But a whole damned squad? They seem to think we’re sitting here desperate and dateless, waiting for them to call. At any rate, it isn’t an emergency. Jones says they have some new information.”

  “They could’ve told you that just as well.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Johnny sipped at his tea. “Must be for your ears only.”

  “Twenty minutes,” Kevin said. “Want to go back to bed for a little while?”

  John shook his head. “Thanks, no. Not after that mood-breaker.”

  He looked understandably disgruntled, and Kevin felt a pang of guilt. “Guess I should’ve asked about sex last night, instead of hypnosis.”

  “Oh, I’ll get over my sulk soon enough. At least I got to see you in those pants, and you’re right—that’s not your color. Will cold cereal do?”

  “Fine.”

  They ate quickly, wanting to get the meal over with before Kevin had to make that phone call. Johnny finished first, and as he rinsed out his bowl, he said, “Kev, it’s not that I don’t appreciate your team being out there, but every time that phone rings, my whole body goes on red alert—and I can’t go out and run or ride my bike to burn off the adrenaline.”

  “And their timing couldn’t be worse,” Kevin agreed. “But we have to maintain communication—” He caught himself. It wasn’t his mission anymore, or his team. His team was right here at the table, stuck in a wretched situation through no fault of his own. “What do you need, Johnny? What do you want me to do?”

  John sighed as he dropped back into his chair. “If there’s a crisis, of course they have to call immediately. I realize that. And they waited till ten in the morning, when they could’ve called hours earlier. I can’t complain about that. It’s the not knowing that gets to me—thinking every call might be an emergency. Do you suppose they’d be willing to set up some sort of schedule, maybe check in at even-numbered hours?”

  Kevin realized he should have thought of that. “A schedule would be good. That would give us a time for the first call of the day—I could phone in at a set time in the morning, whatever o’clock and all’s well, and if all’s well at their end, we could just go back to bed.”

  “That should help.”

  “At least it wasn’t as bad as the time my mother called when we were otherwise occupied.”

  “But she left a message. This stupid thing—” Johnny spun the disconnected receiver on the table. “I damn near told them the truth,” he said, and Kevin suddenly realized there was real anger under his reasonable demeanor. “I just couldn’t think of a way to describe what we were doing that wouldn’t embarrass you.” He picked up his mug.

  “You could’ve said you’re too polite to talk with your mouth full,” Kevin suggested. As the tea splattered across him, he realized he should’ve waited until his partner had swallowed.

  “Sorry—” Johnny finally managed. He tried to compose his expression, but the corners of his mouth kept turning up. “I am. Really.”

  “That’s okay, we can take a shower when I’m finished here.” Kevin snagged the dish towel and mopped himself and the table.

  “I already showered.” Johnny gave him an apologetic smile and a kiss. “I want to start unpacking things in the bedroom, love. If the coast is clear, come on up—I’m not playing hard to get.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” Kevin promised. He picked up the phone, which he was beginning to hate. This was twice now that he’d let Johnny down, and that was twice more than he’d ever done or meant to do. Ah well. Check in, find out if there was anything they needed to do, then go coax Johnny out of those baggy sweats. If he was sorting out the bedroom, that bottle of massage oil would be somewhere to hand, and it shouldn’t be too difficult to distract him. Maybe there’d even be good news, and they could go out to dinner to celebrate.

  But the news was minimal. Blackwell had used a credit card to buy a meal in London the night he’d arrived at Heathrow. That was the kind of information that would be part of a mosaic, a valuable part—if there were any other data to put with it. There wasn’t. Kevin hung up, disgusted, and went upstairs.

  Chapter 14

  “ANY NEWS?”

  “Nothing.”

  They had been living this way for three days. They had unpacked everything, put up the bookshelves in the library, and rearranged the living room twice. Their computers—John’s older desktop model, Kevin’s lapto
p—had been established in the nook off the library. If they hadn’t been trapped in the house, the place would have seemed roomy and comfortable. As it was, nothing seemed more desirable than a walk down the street—not only was it a waste of expensive, highly trained manpower to have milk delivered by a disguised special-ops trooper, but both he and Johnny were in serious need of fresh air and exercise.

  On the bright side, Kevin had been sleeping soundly, and John had assured him that he had left no more posthypnotic suggestions about underwear. But they were both getting restless, and after lunch on the third day, John took serious exception to the kitchen wallpaper, declaring that it had to go or he would.

  He had never quoted Oscar Wilde before. Kevin took that as a sign that Johnny was really feeling the strain, and agreed immediately that it was well past time. They soaked the stuff down with vinegar solution and scraped the walls down to a creamy yellow that had been the previous color. Apart from the whole house smelling like a jar of pickles, Kevin had to admit that the change was for the better.

  But they had finished that project a couple of hours ago, and John was back to roaming through the house looking for something to do, while Kevin sat on the sofa, occupied with a pad of graph paper.

  “Would you like to watch The Lord of the Rings?” Kevin offered. “The extended version?”

  Johnny stopped on his migration between kitchen and front window. “Is it that bad, then? I’m sorry.”

  “No—we’ve talked about a movie marathon. Why not now?”

  John dropped down beside him. “Kev, this isn’t working.”

  “Would you rather send the Army out for a gallon of paint for the kitchen?”

  “No. And don’t start snogging me either—I’m—” Kevin’s notebook caught his attention. “What are you working on?”

  “Oh, this. I’m probably planning too far ahead, but—” He showed John the sketches he’d made. “When I went up in the attic, it struck me that we could recover some of the living space that was lost when they put in the spa bath. I just wanted to rough out a couple of ideas.”

  “The roof pitch seems really steep,” John objected. “Wouldn’t the space be too narrow?”

  “It is steep, but it’s steep and high—there’s more room up there than you’d expect. The center peak is at least a meter above my reach. If we just insulated between the rafters and put the ceiling at a comfortable level—maybe have pot lights installed—the usable space would be eight or ten feet wide and the full length of the house.”

  Intrigued, John moved closer, his arm stretching along the back of the sofa. “Where would we put the stairway? No room for that, it would come up where the roof goes down.”

  “The easiest thing would be a spiral staircase. Right here, just inside what’s now our bedroom door. We’d have to shift the door, over here”—he pointed—“and take out the closet, but that would give us room for separate offices, which we’re going to need eventually. If we got wildly ambitious, we could even make the top floor a master suite.”

  “But we can’t start in on that until we buy the place, can we? If we buy the place.”

  “Well, no, not yet.” Kevin leaned against John’s warmth, slightly amused at his own domesticity. After all the times he’d complained about being roped into his father’s property-improvement projects, he was finding surprising enjoyment in his own nest-building. Due to having someone to nest with, no doubt. “But I expect we will want to stay—particularly if we want to avoid losing our deposit because we vandalized the kitchen wallpaper.”

  “That wasn’t vandalism. That was an act of kindness.”

  “I agree, Johnny. And once it dries, the kitchen will look better and roomier with some yellow paint.”

  “White.”

  “Cream?”

  “Off-white?”

  “Let’s get color cards and negotiate.” Kevin could have kicked himself as soon as he said it for putting Johnny back on track. All his careful maneuvering, shot to pieces.

  John saw his chagrin and laughed ruefully. “I’m not asking Sergeant Jones to go pick up paint chips for us. That’s beyond daft.” He let his arm slide down Kevin’s shoulder and leaned in to kiss him. “And you get full marks for diversionary tactics, but we really need to decide what we’re going to do about this situation.”

  Kevin enjoyed the kiss without trying to turn it into something more. He wasn’t about to insult John by pretending he didn’t know what he was talking about. “What do you have in mind?”

  “I’m not sure, Kev. But—even putting off starting my house-officer post, which I can’t do for much longer—I can’t keep living like this.”

  “What’s the deadline on the job?”

  “Either I start January seventh, or I have to apply for an extension. And if I do that, I have to apply by the end of next week. I’d rather not delay the job if I can help it.”

  “We should be through with this by then.”

  “We hope we’ll be done with it,” John said. “No reason to believe we will—not from what we’ve seen so far.”

  “True. You could go to and from your job with a bodyguard.”

  John snorted. “God, wouldn’t that be a sight. But I suppose they’d fit right in—it’s a veterans’ assistance center.”

  “So you don’t really need to ask for an extension.”

  “No. But I’ll be ready to check in myself, by then.” He ruffled Kevin’s hair and rose, resuming his restless pacing. “Kev, if this isn’t resolved, and soon, I’m going to be in trouble.”

  “Can’t you use your hypnosis?”

  “Been there, doing that.” His smile was forced. “I’m not listening to music while you watch the news, love. You don’t want to know what I’d be like without those tapes.”

  The pain in his eyes made Kevin’s stomach twist. “And I can’t distract you with wild sexual excess?” he said lightly.

  “You do. Any time we’re in the same room, I can feel you mentally undressing me. It’s incredibly distracting.” John seemed uncertain whether he wanted to move or sit; he swooped down onto the sofa again and lay back against the end cushion with his legs across Kevin’s lap. “But we can’t shag every minute, and I can’t shut off my mind.”

  Kevin rubbed his lover’s knee, hoping it was a comforting gesture rather than an annoyance. “At the risk of sounding like a broken record, what would—”

  “I’m not sure what I have in mind. But from what you’ve told me—from what they’ve told you—it seems as though you did an excessively professional vanishing act, and Blackwell—if he’s out there—is just as good at staying invisible. How long do we sit here and wait until he launches a rocket through the upstairs window? Or until the government gets tired of paying our minders and we wind up facing the bastard on our own?”

  Kevin shook his head. “I don’t think they’ll back off unless they know for certain he’s gone somewhere else. It seems like forever to us, Johnny, but three days isn’t all that long for this kind of job—and he’s killed one of their own. There’s a murder warrant out on him now, both here and in the States. I don’t think he can call on his former employers to pull him out this time.”

  “I understand that.” John sat up, frowning at the window, with its drawn curtains. “It’s just—Kev, do you realize what it was that pushed me over the edge, that finally made me crack?”

  Kevin didn’t know how to answer that. He could guess, but he couldn’t know.

  “It was the waiting—partly that. But the worst of it was just what you’d predicted—the helplessness. Knowing something was going to happen, and no matter what it was, I wouldn’t be able to do a damned thing about it. So what I’d like to do now is—anything. Just about anything that can get this situation moving.” He jumped up again, as though his own stillness was more than he could stand. “But at the same time, I don’t want you in danger.” He met Kevin’s eyes. “Your turn, now—what do you want to do? What would you do, if I weren’t here?”

>   “Those are two different questions,” Kevin said.

  “I know. Sorry.”

  “What I want to do is go out and hunt him down, see how he likes it to be in my territory with a warrant out on him. I want to kick his balls so far up they come out his ears. But that’s just wishful thinking until he shows up. Given that the troop owes me one, I would probably just take a few more days off and let them do the tedious work.” He grinned apologetically. “Sorry. You’ve had a quieter life than I have, these past few years. Or maybe I have a higher tolerance for comfortable boredom.”

  “Lazy sod,” John said affectionately.

  “I am.” An idea struck him, something so obvious he could have kicked his own arse for not thinking of it sooner. “But you know what we should do for now? Have Jones pick up the treadmill box as though we’re exchanging it, and bring you a real one—or a stationary bike, or an elliptical machine. Maybe two different machines, so we can both work out at the same time and cross-train. We could put them in the cellar, make an exercise room down there, set up a TV and video. And put in a couple of full-spectrum lights, as well—that’s supposed to be useful against depression, isn’t it? It wouldn’t be as good as getting outdoors, but it would be something.”

  “That would help, I think,” Johnny said. “But it’s not a solution, is it?”

  “No. And you’re right, even on my own, I would get restless eventually. It wouldn’t be much longer before I’d suggest a little more visibility—doing the usual sort of thing, shopping, dinner out, find myself a local. I’d expect a few days of quiet, because if he’s out there stalking, he’d most likely wait for me to let my guard down. Once I’d established a pattern, I’d expect some kind of attack within a week.”

  John’s jaw tightened. “And what are they expecting—your former colleagues?”

  “The same as I am—they’re hoping the sodding bastard will get stopped for a traffic offense, picked up by routine police work. Or, next best, that he’ll show his face here in town and they’ll be able to take him quietly. But if not—the next practical step would be the same.”