Counterfeit Conscience

by Helena Maeve

  “It’s a little more complicated than that. If you’ll let me explain…”

  Cleo barked out a laugh. “What, you’ll tell me you weren’t planning to screw me over and disappear under a false passport? You’re collaborating with a traitor, Will! And you’re having off-the-record chats with a known criminal.”

  “For us!”

  “Is that so?” Cleo glowered. “Did you screw him for Queen and country, too, or was that just a bonus?”

  “They were going to shut us down,” Will volleyed back. “I could have clung to my so-called dignity or I could do something to save everything we’ve worked for. To keep us from being recalled to London—”

  “We’re not.”

  Will frowned, sure that he had missed a step. “What?”

  “Jennings wanted to give you the good news in person. Your proposal’s been accepted, whatever that means… Seems we’re to remain active.” Cleo sounded none too pleased with the news. It was easy to guess why.

  “Are you going to shoot me?” Will wanted to know.

  “I should.”

  “I’m not a defector.”

  Cleo sucked her lips as though biting back a slur. She’d never been fond of incivility. It was one of the many reasons Will had always expected to dislike her. Instead, she was the closest thing he had to a friend these days—and she was holding a gun to his head.

  “I’ll tell you everything.”

  “I don’t know that I’ll believe you.”

  “Then you can call it in,” Will allowed, shrugging. “I’m sure the real Alistair Jennings will stand up this time…” The joke fell flat, as he expected it would.

  One tense beat later, Cleo lowered the pistol. “Talk.”

  Will did.

  He told her about his relationship with Ignacio, ten years before, and its messy, questionable end. He told her about Pakistan and Manila, about earning back trust bit by bit and bullet by bullet. It took longer to explain Karim’s situation, largely because he didn’t know many of the details himself, but between supposition and conjecture, Will cobbled together a probable chain of events leading up to their latest meeting at Café do Sol.

  “And the gangster? Where does he fit into all of this?”

  “Our newest asset,” Will told her. “Not my doing, I promise you. Section was outsourcing our ops to his people while we were cutting down on staff. Decision came from higher up the food chain than yours truly.”

  Cleo slumped against the edge of the desk, her hip nudging a stack of folders into a worrisome teeter. “You had me write those reports to distract me, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wanker.”

  Will didn’t deny the charge. “Plausible deniability seemed like the best thing I could do at the time. Jennings knows you’re an asset, but Karim—”

  “Wouldn’t care.”

  He nodded. “Casualties happen in every war. He’s always been upfront about that… Did you know the office was bugged?”

  “I had a hunch.”

  “Did you—”

  Cleo cocked the gun in warning.

  “Right. Sorry. Don’t know why I asked.”

  “Because you’re a spook and you don’t trust anyone.” The ways she said it made him sound like a strange animal. “But no, I wouldn’t bug your office.”

  Will looked down at his empty hands, at the shiny revolver loosely clutched in Cleo’s grasp. “Even if Section asked?”

  “Even if.”

  “You’d disobey a direct order for my sake?”

  It was a far greater commitment than he could’ve asked of Cleo. It was on the very edge of a professional relationship, right there with being held at gunpoint by his secretary and bending the rules to keep her in the same country as her husband.

  Cleo snorted haughtily. “Who says it’s for your sake? I have to work here, too, remember? I don’t want some greenhorn tech looking over my shoulder for no bloody reason. I’ve worked for GCHQ fourteen years. I know I’m loyal.”

  “Still unsure about me?”

  She scoffed even as she eased back the hammer on the revolver. They’d moved past the tipping point, circumventing bloodshed at the last possible moment. It wasn’t much of a victory.

  “They’re sending us new manpower,” Cleo added as silence settled around them.

  “I figured as much.”

  “New blood to report to Jennings directly… We’re not out of the woods yet.”

  The bugs in the lamps and phones might have been gone, but suspicion still hung over them like a shroud.

  Will pushed away from the desk. “That’s the business we’re in.”

  Their every move was scrutinized, their every decision questioned, twisted, made into something ugly. Reputations were made and unmade overnight. Men and women disappeared wholesale, only to wake up in black-sites in friendly nations with poor human rights records.

  “We should head home. Luis’ll think we’re having a quickie.”

  The awkward mental image was worth it for Cleo’s disbelieving laugh, her grimace of distaste. “Oh, wouldn’t that get Jennings going!”

  “Can I have the gun back?” Will asked, smiling ruefully.

  “Only if you promise to hide it better next time.”

  The revolver exchanged hands.

  Cleo pressed a kiss to his cheek. “This doesn’t mean you’re forgiven.”

  “I expect nothing less.”

  They were spies. The only pardons they issued were at the business end of a pistol.

  * * * *

  “It’s been ten years,” Ignacio noted, peering between the blinds at the street below.

  “Yes.”

  “And you still live here?”

  “I moved back here,” Will corrected. “Remember Pakistan? IEDs…” He joined Ignacio by the window, a wineglass in hand. “Thank you for dinner, by the way. You didn’t have to.”

  “I was hungry,” Ignacio retorted primly, as though there were nothing more to bringing takeaway from a Michelin star restaurant.

  Will thought better of pressing the point. If he went down the route of debts and gifts he couldn’t repay, he’d lose. He didn’t have the kind of money Ignacio had amassed. He never would. His retirement would be comfortable, should he live long enough to see the pension he’d worked for, but not lavish.

  Peaceful obscurity was the ideal future he envisioned for himself—a hard sale to a man whose main residence was a beachfront villa.

  “And now that you’ve slaked your appetite,” Will mused, resting his chin on Ignacio’s shoulder, “what’s next?”

  “What do you think?”

  Will affected an outraged gasp. “You expect me to put out to make up for dinner? That’s less than generous…”

  “And yet,” Ignacio murmured as he turned to face him, “you seem to enjoy the prospect.” He cupped him with a bold hand, squeezing lightly at his cock through layers of linen and cotton.

  Outrage turned to a delighted moan on Will’s tongue. “Ah…”

  He staggered into Ignacio’s arms, knees threatening sedition.

  He had always been easy for Ignacio’s talented hands. Even in his youth, when he got out more, when he shagged men for the sheer pleasure of sex rather than sundry professional ends, he’d been hard-pressed to replicate the sensations Ignacio aroused in him.

  Ignacio nuzzled at his cheek with wine-slick lips. “Mm, let’s see if I still know my way around. Bedroom is…through that door?” He jerked his chin in the right direction.

  Will could only nod, glad Ignacio’s memory was as sharp as the rest of him, and allow himself to be backed down the dim hallway.

  The living-dining room faded from view, plates still on the kitchen island where they’d enjoyed a feast of ultra-slow cooked lamb, baked red peppers stuffed with sirloin and raw watercress salad. Will spared a thought for the leftovers, hoping they would keep until he could stock them in the fridge. Then the backs of his knees struck the edge of the mattress and h
e stopped thinking altogether.

  Ignacio nudged him back none too delicately until Will gave up trying to hold himself upright. He was delighted when Ignacio followed him down, graceful and dangerous as he straddled Will’s thighs. He made short work of the buttons on his shirt—never pulling, never losing patience when one refused to open. He was barely flushed by the time he eased the garment off Will’s shoulders and cast it off the bed.

  Will swallowed hard, his insides flip-flopping. He couldn’t look away as Ignacio brushed knuckles across the scar on his flank, then up the ridges of Will’s rattling rib cage. There was no way he didn’t feel the accelerated metronome of his heartbeat, each thump resonating against Ignacio’s fingertips. Will’s breaths quickened independently of thought as the caress arced ever higher. The barest flick of fingers over his nipple had him gasping. Shame followed quick on the heels of arousal. Was he that easy?

  The answer was a clear and definite yes.

  He sucked air in through his mouth, inhaling the spicy scent of Ignacio’s cologne and the sizzling air around them. He was greedy for the kiss Ignacio pressed to his lips, craning his neck for more.

  He didn’t need to beg. Ignacio gave in with an appreciative moan, sinking fingers into Will’s hair as he claimed his mouth.

  It was overwhelming, all teeth and tongue, and Will’s hands fluttering uselessly at his sides. Instinct told him not to touch Ignacio without his permission, but the kernel of desire at his core was fast putting down roots, making him yearn for liberties he knew he couldn’t take. He nearly whimpered when Ignacio pulled away with glistening, kiss-swollen lips.

  “I want to fuck you,” Ignacio whispered, breaths hot on Will’s cheek. “I want you to go to work tomorrow thinking of this.”

  That’s a foregone conclusion.

  Will whimpered. “Please.” Anything.

  He could have told Ignacio that he’d be thinking about him anyway, that he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of memorable lovers he’d been with and he didn’t need much fodder for his fantasies to latch on to his image.

  He didn’t, because Ignacio was undoing the fastenings on his trousers and reaching inside, and Will’s breath fled his lungs in a rush.

  “Does that feel good?”

  A harried jerk of the head was the best Will could do. As answers went, he hoped it would suffice.

  Ignacio gave his cock a squeeze, expertly rocketing past pleasure and straight into discomfort.

  Will whimpered and lurched up before he could quell the impulse.

  “Please… Fuck.”

  “Shh,” Ignacio purred, pumping his length with a ruthlessly tight grip. He let Will rest his head on his shoulder for few long beats before rolling him into position.

  Will went, flattening his palms to the mattress as Ignacio peeled off the rest of his clothes, leaving him bare and exposed, meekly bent over like an offering. The thought fizzled like champagne bubbles when Ignacio ran a questing fingertip between his cheeks.

  He wasn’t gentle. Will breathed a sigh of relief when the pressure against his hole became a sharp burn. He rested his head against the bed sheets, shoulders tensing in anticipation. He didn’t want it dry. He trusted Ignacio to know that. But he didn’t want coddling, either.

  It had to hurt a little to be good.

  “Do you have—?”

  “Top drawer,” Will bit out, on the cusp of a moan.

  “Good boy.”

  A shift, the mattress denting as Ignacio stretched to procure much-needed lubricant and condoms. Then he was back and mercilessly entering Will with two fingers crooked at a sharp angle, knowing precisely what he was aiming for.

  Will’s hips nearly shot off the bed. He flexed his hands into the top sheet, choking back a groan.

  Ignacio chuckled. “There? I don’t think I heard you.”

  “Show off— Oh!”

  He did it again, bearing down on Will’s prostate with a deft touch and wrenching another stuttering moan. Will’s cock twitched helplessly against his belly, leaking pre-cum.

  If he could’ve strung two words together, Will might have felt compelled to beg. Instead, he rested his forehead on his trembling hands and focused on weathering the sharp zing of sensation that subsumed all thought, all reason.

  Ignacio stroked his back as he unraveled his resistance by steady increments, eventually curling a hand around the back of his neck. “This is where you belong, isn’t it? I can tell. You’re begging for it.” He leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of Will’s ear. “I always could tell, meu coração.”

  Will was no stranger to humiliation—he even sought it out when he was in the mood to be dragged through the mud—but Ignacio had always made it sound like a reward.

  Beg if you want. Give up if you dare.

  Trembling, Will bit his fist and listened for the telltale sound of Ignacio unzipping his trousers. The slow slide of metal teeth, followed by the rustle of fabric, skittered like a phantom caress down his spine.

  He jerked forward when Ignacio settled his hard cock into his cleft. It felt thicker than Will remembered, perception misaligning with touch-memory, and he shuddered in anticipation.

  “Condom?” Ignacio murmured.

  “Please.” In retrospect, Will knew he should’ve asked for a condom when Ignacio got him off with his mouth, too, but he’d forgotten. He’d been otherwise engaged.

  Ignacio delivered a tender swat to his hip. “You don’t need to beg for that.”

  The echo of foil wrapping being torn open seemed to come from very far away. Will struggled to brace himself when Ignacio took hold of his hips, but he still went lurching forward with the first, definite thrust.

  It had been a while. More than a year, maybe even as much as a couple. He’d gone to clubs looking for a quick fix when he was younger, but these days he was too paranoid to trust anonymous lovers to get him off. One-night stands had never done it for him like Ignacio could.

  He didn’t realize, at first, that the broken cries that hung in the air between them were coming from his own lips. When he tried to quench them, they became volatile, throaty groans interspersed with the slick sound of skin on skin.

  The burn of the stretch, a forceful press of fingers into flesh—this was everything he’d been missing. This was what he needed to feel the ground settle beneath his feet.

  Will curled his toes in the sheets and pressed his cheek to the mattress. His vision clouded, but he could still see flashes of Ignacio over his shoulder, a shock of inky hair in his eyes as he picked up the pace.

  Ignacio fisted a hand around his shoulder and dug fingers into his sweat-slick hip with the other, tugging him back hard. He went in deep, ramming into Will without a hint of mercy. It was everything Will wanted.

  He twisted on the downstroke, eager to meet his gaze as Ignacio’s plundering rhythm began to fall apart.

  They weren’t young men anymore. That didn’t have to be a bad thing.

  Ignacio lost momentum long before he buckled onto Will’s back. His body seized when he came, jagged thrusts burying his cock deep. Will had always thought he couldn’t feel it when a man climaxed inside him, that whatever nerve endings made sex pleasurable were overwhelmed in the moment. But he felt it then, as Ignacio twitched and pulsed like a second heartbeat inside his body.

  He felt Ignacio ride his orgasm like a man used to driving any and all obstacles into submission. Pleasure-wracked, he gritted his teeth and gingerly pulled out before collapsing to the mattress next to Will.

  They were still for such a long, protracted moment that Will wondered if this was it. He tried not to be disappointed, but the cadenced stroke of Ignacio’s hand through his hair did little to shift the burden of longing.

  It might have been an hour or a minute of planning and second-guessing before Ignacio slid a knuckle along his Adam’s apple and forced Will to look up. His gaze scanned over Will’s face, eyes crinkled in concentration as though he were trying to puzzle out a complex equa
tion.

  He didn’t ask permission before pulling Will into his arms and sliding a hand up his thigh to grasp his erection.

  “Keep your eyes on me,” Ignacio instructed, though orgasm had leached his voice of its icy control.

  He wanted this. Will could see it in his eyes when he dragged his gaze up and anchored it to Ignacio’s.

  It didn’t take more than a few swift strokes to bring him off. He tipped over the edge while white-knuckling the wrinkled bed sheets. His shout reverberated around the barren bedroom walls like a gunshot.

  Ignacio caressed him until the aftershocks died down, heedless of the slickness on his fingers or Will’s exhausted whimpers.

  Will held his gaze as long as he could before tipping forward and slamming their lips together in a sloppy, grateful kiss. So much for self-control. He was rewarded with the stroke of Ignacio’s fingers down the back of his neck, gentling him through the aftershocks.

  “All right?” Ignacio murmured.

  “A little dizzy.” All the blood had rushed to his erection. “Haven’t done that in a while.”

  He felt more than saw Ignacio’s grin. “I could hardly tell. You were very good.”

  By way of retribution, Will pretended to bite the inked lines on his shoulder. He didn’t have the strength for more.

  “What happens now?” Ignacio breathed.

  Will pinned an elbow to the mattress and propped himself up slowly, hissing through his teeth as his sensitive cock brushed Ignacio’s belly. “What…what do you mean?”

  “Is this a goodbye fuck?”

  Good question.

  “We earned a new lease on life, thanks to Ruben… So I suppose I’m sticking around.” For now. There was no permanence in his line of business, but Jennings did say to use any means necessary to persuade Ignacio of their devotion to a mutually beneficial working relationship.

  Clearly he believed as Karim once did—that Will had some hold on Ignacio.

  That he was willing to make sacrifices no one else would.

  Ignacio brought his knuckles to his lips, eyes fluttering shut. “Good. That’s…good.”

  I could fall in love with you.

  Will bit his tongue. At his weakest, he suspected he already had.