by Tinnean
“Ziggy Redman’s? I’m not familiar with it.”
Which was why I chose it. Ziggy’s used to be a topless joint, but it had been closed down one time too many for various violations. Now, instead of the tables the girls used to dance on, it boasted a jukebox that played blues, rock, and bluegrass; a TV usually tuned to ESPN; and a pool table in the rear—why the fuck were pool tables always in the rear?—and while it catered mostly to a blue-collar clientele, office workers would sometimes stop by for a drink after work. We wouldn’t look out of place.
The big plus was that no one in the intelligence community went there; it would be safe enough for Quinn. I gave him directions, then said, “I’ll see you at seven,” and hung up.
With a few hours to kill before I left the WBIS, I hacked into the CIA’s computer system.
I wasn’t happy with what I learned.
IF I didn’t want Quinn to know what I’d done, I’d have to do something to burn off my aggravation. You’d think after all this time, the C-fucking-I-fucking-A would know better, but no, they were sending Quinn to the Far East on a mission more suitable for someone who’d never set foot out of Langley.
I parked about a mile from Ziggy’s and began walking. About a couple of blocks out, I passed a junk shop. A cavalry saber in the window caught my eye, and I backtracked and entered. It was British and had to be at least a hundred and fifty years old.
“How much?” I asked the old man behind the counter.
“I like your face, so for you… five hundred dollars.”
“That’s a little steep.”
“The soldier who owned this fought under Wellington during the Peninsula Campaign.”
“And you know this how?”
“It comes with a letter proving its authenticity.” He seemed really proud of that fact.
I shrugged. “Still, that’s a lot of money for a sword in this condition. Look at the nicks all over the blade. And the tip looks like it’s been snapped off.”
“I tell you this is authentic 1796.” I turned to leave. “No, wait! Let me show you the letter!” He went into the back and returned with the letter in a plastic baggie. “Here! See?”
The letter was badly creased, and I had to unfold it with extreme care, but as soon as I saw the name mentioned in the second and third paragraphs and the signature at the bottom of the page, I knew I was going to give this man the price he asked for. Even if the sword was counterfeit, the letter couldn’t be.
“All right, five hundred dollars. I can’t take the saber with me right now, but I want the letter. I’ll give you a deposit and pick up the saber tomorrow.”
The transaction completed, I tucked the letter back into its bag, eased it carefully into a pocket, and shook hands with him. I went on my way, in a much better mood.
Ziggy’s wasn’t more than five minutes away, but I had to hurry or I’d be late.
I PUSHED open the door, stepped inside, and observed the occupants in the dim light. For a Wednesday evening, it was pretty crowded. The atmosphere was heavy with cigarette smoke. DC was supposed to be a smoke-free town, and yeah, rules were meant to be bent or broken, but didn’t these guys pay any attention to the surgeon general?
The jukebox was silent and the pool table abandoned. Everyone was concentrating on the television, which was airing the second game of the American League playoffs up in New York.
No one paid any attention me. It was the top of the eighth and Garret Anderson had just hit a home run, leading to cheers from Angels’ fans and groans from those backing the Yankees. I didn’t care either way.
I walked to the bar. The bartender was watching the game, but he was also keeping an eye on his patrons. He came over to where I was standing.
“What can I get you, Mac?” he asked.
“What do you have on tap?”
“Sam Adams, Michelob, Killian’s Irish Red, Bud Light.”
“Give me a Mick. And do you have Coke or Pepsi?”
“Coke.”
“Give me one of those too.”
“Got it. You want to run a tab?”
“No. I’ll pay as I go.” I didn’t expect to be in here that long. I reached for my wallet as he filled two mugs. The foam spilled over, he topped them off, and then he put them on the bar in front of me. I gave him a five and three singles. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks.”
I started toward an empty booth in a corner as the door opened, and I looked over my shoulder. A trio of young men swaggered in. They were wearing jeans, biker boots, and T-shirts that were so snug it was easy to see the definition of their abs.
“Where’re the dancers?” the first one yelled. “We wanna see tits!”
“You ain’t gonna see ’em here, Mac.” The bartender stood there, relaxed. This must have happened more than once.
“They told us Ziggy’s is a titty bar!”
“Not anymore. It’s a sports bar now.”
“Well, shit.” Bigmouth looked at his friends, and they shrugged.
“We’re here anyway. Let’s have a beer, Al.”
“Okay, and then we’ll go looking for a titty bar.”
“Let me see your ID.”
“We’re over twenty-one!”
“Sure you are. I’m still gonna card you.”
They dug in their pockets for their driver’s licenses, and I lost interest in them.
I went to the booth and took the seat that let me keep an eye on everyone in the place, and most especially the door.
It opened, and I raised the Coke to hide my smile. The man who entered moved to the side and studied the occupants of Ziggy’s.
He was five foot ten. His brown hair was a little unruly just then—had he been running his fingers through it?—and his eyes, although I couldn’t see them from this distance, would be a hazel that could change to green when he wore the right shirt or tie. Or when I’d turned him on.
Quinton Mann, my lover.
I’d had plenty of sex partners, mostly male but some female, and I’d never considered them lovers, but there was Mann, that CIA spook, worming his way into my life, becoming my lover, and it fucking surprised me.
His gaze was cool and professional as he took in the patrons. I could see his eyebrow rise at the jerk at the bar who was still bitching about wanting to see tits.
Quinn spotted me, and the corner of his mouth curled into a grin. He crossed the floor and slid into the bench seat opposite me.
I pushed his beer toward him.
“Thanks.” He tapped his mug against mine.
I smiled and brought my mug to my mouth to take a swallow.
“So, how come you wanted to see me today?” No way was I letting him know I was aware he was going to the Far East.
“Can’t I just want to see you?”
“Listen, if you want to fool around, just tell me. I know some good games.”
“Oh, yeah?” Quinn slid down onto his spine. His foot nudged mine under the table, then ran up the side of my leg.
Shit. He was usually more reserved than that. There seemed to be a hint of desperation about that action.
“Why don’t you finish your beer, and I’ll take you home and show you?”
“I can’t stay late. I need to get home and pack. I’m flying out of National in the morning.”
“So we won’t be having dinner Friday.”
“No. I… I wanted to see you.”
My cock twitched, and I dropped my voice. “Is that a euphemism for getting laid?”
“Well, of course.” His mood had lightened, and he was laughing at me now. Not that I cared. When he looked like that, I wanted to bend him over the nearest flat surface and fuck his brains out. “Mark, don’t make me question your—”
I interrupted before he could impugn my intelligence. “How long can you stay?” Sure I knew, but I couldn’t let him know that.
“I’ll have to leave by midnight.”
I looked at my watch. “Then let’s get going. Do you want to g
rab a bite?”
“You?” It had to be one of the best days of my life when we crossed paths in the Wyman Brothers Warehouse.
Quinn drained the last of his beer, leaving a foam mustache. He saw me watching his mouth, and his eyes grew hot. He ran his tongue over his upper lip and grinned when my breathing ratcheted up. Damn spook.
“Come on, hot shot.”
We brought our empty mugs to the bar and started to walk out.
“Fags.”
The bar went silent except for a commercial on the television.
I came to a dead stop and turned around. It was the bigmouth. I took a step toward him.
Quinn put his hand on my arm. “You don’t want to start something.”
“I don’t?”
“Yeah, you don’t, cock jockey. Listen to your girlfriend.”
Quinn’s hand tightened on my arm.
“Al, leave them alone. They weren’t doing anything.” One of the young men he’d come in with tried to smooth things over. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, giving Al a poke. “He’s had too much to drink.”
“Don’t you fucking apologize for anything I do! These two are queer as green beer, and they don’t belong in a bar like this. Even the little guy knows it! He’s trying to get out without getting hurt.”
Quinn, little? I choked back a laugh.
“Let me handle this,” he whispered; then he raised his voice. “You misunderstood.” He smiled, and I watched in admiration. He might have been CIA, but damn, he was good. “I’m trying to protect you. This man is a cleaner.”
“Yeah, so he’s a janitor. So what?”
I thought of my persona as Dwayne J. Lester, and this time the laugh escaped.
“Jesus, Al, that’s a professional killer! Don’t you watch those movies?”
Quinn opened his jacket, revealing the gun under his arm, took out the leather case that held his ID, flipped it open and then closed it so fast Al Homophobe wasn’t able to make out anything more than that it was official, and put it back into the inner pocket. He closed his suit jacket and arched an eyebrow. “Do you really want him to start something?”
“No. Uh… no.”
“Ah, come on, boss. I haven’t killed anyone in two days.”
“So it’s going to be three days. You know the big man doesn’t want to explain another body.”
“Well, I’m getting tired of his rules.” I looked the jerk up and down and then opened my jacket as if to scratch my ribs, revealing the gun I carried. I grinned as the color drained from his face, and he backed up a step.
“Let’s go, killer.” Quinn walked out without looking back. He didn’t have to. I was there.
“Nice work, Quinn.”
“Yes?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Well, I didn’t want to have to explain all the blood that you’d have spilled.”
“You think I’d have shot him? I’m cut to the quick!”
“Oh? You had no intention of taking him apart?”
“No. Well, as long as he didn’t call me a pickle chugger.”
Quinn came to a dead stop. “What… where do you pick up these terms?”
“A misspent childhood, babe. C’mon. I’ve got plans for you.”
II
QUINN’S car was parked off-street a block away.
“This isn’t your Lexus.”
“No. It’s in the shop again. This is a loaner. Where’s your car parked?”
I told him and waited for him to ask what it was doing there. He didn’t; he just said “Get in” and drove me to it. “I’ll follow you to your place.”
Traffic had eased off, so it wasn’t too long before I parked my Dodge at the curb in front of the house where I lived. Quinn found a spot a couple of doors down and walked back to join me.
I knew the house was empty. The ladies who occupied the first two floors were away for a couple of weeks, Matheson was out of town on an assignment, and the rent boy he lived with was visiting family in Tarpon Springs.
As soon as the street door closed behind us, I swung him around, shoved him against the door, and braced my arms on either side of his head. Quinn’s eyes were heavy-lidded, his lips were parted, and the tip of his tongue came out and touched his upper lip. I leaned into him.
Quinn was hard. So was I. He slid a leg between mine and raised it, and I rocked back and forth on it.
“You like that, do you?” He wound his fingers in my hair, tipped my head to the side, and ran his teeth over the tendon in my neck.
“Fuck, baby. Don’t mark me.” But I angled my head, offering him more of my neck. I liked the feel of his teeth against it.
He licked the spot, then loosened my tie and began unbuttoning my shirt. “One day I want to take you away for a week.”
“Oh, yeah?” I… liked that idea. I’d never gone on vacation with anyone, and I was distracted by thoughts of what that might be like with Quinn. And because I wasn’t paying attention, I suddenly found myself up against the door.
“Oh, yeah.” He nipped my throat. “I’ll mark you every single day, but where no one could see it. Only I would know you were mine.”
“Think you’re so alpha?”
He kissed the hinge of my jaw, then drew back and ran the fingertips of his right hand along the curve of my ear. “I’m willing to take turns.”
“I thought that was my line. C’mon. I want you in bed before it’s time for you to leave.” I grabbed his hand.
“Good idea.” His fingers tightened around mine, and we began pounding up the stairs.
Anyone around to watch would have been amused by our scramble. Hell, I’d have been amused if I wasn’t so desperate to get into him.
We were no sooner in my apartment with the door locked behind us than Quinn shucked his suit jacket, unzipped his fly and shoved his trousers and shorts down his legs, and bent over the back of my couch.
I did the same, rolled on a condom, and prepared him, taking my time. We’d been lovers long enough that he didn’t need much, but it was something we both enjoyed. I stroked a finger across his hole and dipped in, pulled out, dipped in deeper.
“Vincent!”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Jesus, you’re driving me crazy! Fuck me, already!”
“All you had to do was ask.”
“Bastard.”
“But I’m your bastard.”
“Mark!”
I lubed the condom, lined the head of my cock with his hole, and began a slow, steady push.
I’d fucked other men, but it had never been anything like this. The sounds he made….
Having my cock in Quinton Mann’s ass was the most unbelievable feeling. Hot, snug, the rippling of his inner muscles caressing my cock—I wondered, for the first time, what having him without a condom between us would feel like. The heat wouldn’t be muted by the latex of the condom, I’d feel his prostate, and when we came, I’d coat his insides with thick ropes of semen.
I wanted him naked. Very carefully, I pulled out of him. A glance at the wall clock told me we had time.
“Mark, what….” He straightened and looked at me, his eyes glazed with lust.
“Bed. Now.”
We stripped off our clothes. Well, I stripped off my clothes. Quinn leaned against the couch, wrestling with his tie. It was getting him frustrated, so I got him undressed, down the short hallway, and onto my bed. And I wanted him so much the condom stayed in place the entire time.
This time I had Quinn on his back, his arms above his head, our fingers entwined. My cock was buried in him, surrounded by his heat, and I held myself still, getting so much pleasure out of being inside my lover.
“Move, dammit!” His legs were sprawled wide, cradling mine, and he braced his feet and rocked up, taking me deeper into him. “Please!”
I manacled his wrists with one hand and used the other to toy with his nipples, his sensitive nipples, then dipped my head to lick and nip them.
Quinn writhed and bucked under me
, driven wild with passion. I began to move. He wrapped his legs around my hips and arched into my thrusts. And again, those sounds….
Beads of sweat caught on his eyebrows, clung to his cheekbones. I leaned down and licked them off.
“Mark.” His eyes glittered.
“I’m here, babe.”
He shuddered and gasped, and I chased the sound into his mouth with my tongue. He sucked on it voraciously. His legs tightened around me, and come splashed onto my torso, warm, wet streaks of it.
“Mark!”
“Not… not yet.”
“Yes!” His inner muscles clamped down on me, and I groaned and came. Quinn held me and stroked the long muscles of my back, and finally I caught my breath.
“Hey. Don’t fall asleep.” He pinched my hip. “I have to leave.”
“Fuck. Okay.” I eased out of him and removed the condom. “Do you have time for a shower?”
“No. If I get in the shower, you’d come in after me. Not that I have any objections, but then we’d have to take a nap, I’d wind up oversleeping, and I’d miss my flight.”
I could have told him that was what alarm clocks were for, but I didn’t want to come across as an inconsiderate kind of lover, so I just went along with him. “Okay, I’ll get a washcloth and clean you up.”
Quinn was lying on the bed with his eyes closed when I got back. He hummed as I wiped the cooling semen off his body.
“Will you be okay to drive? I can drive you to Alexandria and then call a cab to get home.”
“I’m fine. I have to get dressed.”
I left the washcloth on the nightstand, took a pair of shorts from a drawer and pulled them on before following him out of the bedroom.
“Can I get you something before you leave?” I picked up my clothes, handing him socks and shorts that had gotten mixed with mine.
“You’ve given me what I want.” Quinn kissed me and went back to dressing. When he finished, he slid his arms first into his shoulder holster and then into his suit jacket and walked to the door. I unlocked it for him, but he stood there. “I was thinking…. I’ve got some time off coming to me. After the embassy ball, how would you feel about getting away for a week?”
