The Administration Series (102 page)

"You never know who's listening. It's bad enough that your bloody brother doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut, without you starting the same fucking thing."

"Tarin's opinionated, yes. But he — "

"He's a moron. If he's got any friends who think like him — and I don't want to know if he does — then I hope they don't tell him anything important, because he's a fucking liability. No. Anyone who can't manage not to criticise the Administration when there's a para-investigator sitting six places down the table isn't bright enough to qualify for liability."

"But you had no intention of reporting him." Brief pause. "Did you?"

No disagreement with Toreth's characterisation of Tarin, then. "Of course not. But he didn't know that. The point is that it doesn't take much to raise suspicion, whether it's you or Tarin. SimTech might not be big enough to keep you safe if someone heavy went for you."

"If I were arrested, I wouldn't have to rely on one of your despised Justice representatives." Warrick still didn't sound to be taking it seriously enough for Toreth's liking. "SimTech's lawyers would begin proceedings and then I&I would have to — "

"Political criminals have no automatic right to independent representation. And then I&I starts pulling in contacts and I end up on level C and someone asks me if I've ever heard you say such-and-such, and I have to say yes."

Warrick turned his head. "Would you?" Enquiry, not condemnation or surprise.

"Yes. Or — " It was a shock to discover that what he wanted to say was, no, I'd deny it for as long as I possibly could. He'd have to try, even though he knew the resistance would be pointless and stupid. The realisation disoriented him, putting a touch of vertigo into the panorama spread before them. Unconsciously, he tightened his grip on Warrick's shoulders.

He thought of Warrick at I&I, in a holding cell, waiting for an interrogator to send for him. The image morphed seamlessly into the memory of his own hour spent pacing the detention cell, after Marian Tanit's death, waiting for Psychoprogramming to take him away. The sharpness of the memory surprised him — the only time Toreth had seen I&I from the other side, and it had been an hour too long.

"It's not a question of what I'd want to say. If things got serious it wouldn't be one of those bloody juniors from tonight asking me. It'd be a specialist interrogator, or even Internal fucking Investigations." A stronger gust of wind curled over the parapet, and he shivered. "I'd be pumped full of drugs, I'd be . . . I know how it works. Don't even fucking joke about it."

Warrick set the cup down on the wall and turned, kissing him then brushing Toreth's mouth lightly with his finger. "I'm sorry. No levity intended. Topic closed?"

"Yes. Yeah, sure."

Warrick touched him again with his fingertip, the soft pad ran over his lower lip, smooth edge of his nail tickling slightly along the upper. Toreth flicked the tip of his tongue out quickly, and Warrick gasped at the contact, surprised.

Then Warrick laughed. "Will you stay?"

Toreth thought it over. Warrick looked interested now, and focused, as far as Toreth could tell in the dim light. He certainly sounded it. For a brief moment, Toreth considered leaving anyway, just to show that he could. He didn't bother coming up with a reason to drop the idea.

"Okay. Let's go back down, though — I'm freezing my bollocks off."

From Warrick's flat they wouldn't be able to see I&I. Toreth had had quite enough of work for one evening.

"What's wrong?" Sara asked as they took their seats in the coffee room. Then, when Toreth didn't reply, she added, "Not
still
?"

Toreth nodded, staring into his mug, wishing he'd never told her about it. Maybe if he didn't say anything she'd drop it.

The problem was that Warrick was too tired to fuck. Persistently so. It was SimTech's fault, and it had been going on for nearly two weeks.

Toreth hadn't minded, much. At first. He'd turned up to Warrick's flat on a Friday, unannounced, having spent most of the day thinking, on and off, that he wouldn't mind a fuck. In fact, by the time he'd been out for a drink with the team to celebrate Nagra's official arrival, it had turned into more than 'wouldn't mind'. He hadn't seen Warrick for a few days and Toreth had been feeling . . . edgy. Wondering, being honest with himself, what Warrick might be up to.

He'd made his excuses and left the bar early, to the accompaniment of some very unsubtle sniggering from Sara. He wondered what she'd told the others.

As soon as Warrick opened the door, looking exhausted and preoccupied, Toreth had known it was a bust. When Toreth asked what was wrong, Warrick had shrugged and said, "Work," in a tone of voice that had discouraged curiosity.

After that, Warrick had made coffee and they'd talked for a while, and then gone to bed. Toreth had tried not to make his demands
too
demanding, but he hadn't been able to pretend he'd come round for coffee. In return, to be fair — not that he felt like being anything of the kind right now — Warrick had made an effort and sucked him off before he fell asleep. At least he'd fallen asleep afterwards and not during.

Toreth didn't like sex to be 'making an effort'. He liked to think he was worth more than that. He needed to know he was.

By the time he'd woken up in the morning, Warrick had already gone off to SimTech, leaving an apologetic note and a very nice breakfast keeping warm. That only, somehow, made things worse. Toreth had spent the rest of the day wondering what he'd done with his Saturdays before he'd known Warrick. Nothing very fun, apparently.

Then, on Monday, he'd made his biggest mistake and spent ten minutes bitching to Sara about what a lousy weekend he'd had. That had been the start of her predictable but irritating interest in the situation. Since then Toreth had spent an inordinate amount of time in the gym, and done so much paperwork that he'd eventually run out, for the first time in years. And now . . . now it was Friday again, and he was at work again, fancying a fuck again. Not that he'd been living in celibate misery for the last fourteen days, but it was the difference between having what he could have (strangers in bars and a new trainee down in the Paediatric Interrogation Section) and what he couldn't.

Was Warrick finally growing bored of the regular fucking? Toreth searched his memory, going back over their recent encounters — or not so recent, now. The last time had been after the cattle market. They'd had a bad start, and Warrick had put that down to work, too. After the trip up to the roof Warrick had shaken off whatever it was and it had been great. Or it had seemed great at the time. Had Warrick wanted it as much as before?

Toreth realised he had his teeth clenched hard enough to make his jaw ache. He forced himself to relax. Why the hell was he so wound up? Warrick had been busy with SimTech before. This was no different.

Except that it was. Girardin made it different. Could he be cause or effect?

Toreth tapped the edge of his mug, watching the ripples run into the centre.
Was
that it? A couple of years of kink, and now a retreat back to the corporate world. Greener grass, he thought sourly. No more I&I, and a safe, social peer. If not Girardin, then someone like him. Carnac, maybe — he'd make a prestigious partner for an up-and-coming corporate. Dillian would be so fucking happy.

No, Toreth told himself. It was work. SimTech temporarily demanding more of Warrick's time, nothing more sinister than that. It had to be.

Forcing the thoughts away, he dragged his attention back to the present, only to find Sara regaling him with details of her latest boyfriend, which was frankly taking things too far. Especially since it was early stages and the new acquisition was still a paragon of incredibly annoying virtue.

"I don't know why you're bothering," he said when she paused for breath. "He sounds just like the last one. And the one before that. Why the fuck is Tim — "

"Jim."

"Fine. Whatever the hell he's called, he's still not going to be any different. If you're lucky, you'll get another ring out of it before you ditch him or he ditches you. Jesus, spot a fucking pattern, Sara. Why don't you just do what Belkin does with his admins and call them all 'hey, you'?"

Her lips tightened, and then she asked, "Why don't you call him?"

"There's no point. He's called me." Which meant Warrick couldn't be bored, didn't it?

"So you have spoken to him?"

"Not really. After the first couple of times I set the comm to take messages."

"And?"

"And he always says the same thing — he's very sorry, but he's still too fucking busy to see me. Work."

"If it was me, I'd call him. Let him know you're still alive. If you're not saying anything he probably thinks you don't mind." She stood up. "Not that you ought to take
my
advice, considering the state of
my
love life."

Toreth watched as she rinsed her mug and flounced out of the coffee room, head high. Oh, Christ. Flowers on Monday, if he wanted any coffee in his office over the next few weeks.

Back at his desk, he gave in and called Warrick's personal comm. The answering "Yes?" was sharp, so he limited himself to asking if Warrick would be available tonight. Trying not to sound desperate, or bitter, or anything else humiliating.

Whether he succeeded or not, it had no effect on Warrick. "I'm sorry, but I can't say yes or no. I'm in a meeting right now — I ought to be able to let you know once it finishes."

Toreth cut off the comm without answering, and buried himself in work for the rest of the day. At first he hoped that Warrick would call. As the day wore on, though, the feeling of hanging round, of being ready (and eager) to accept whatever scraps of attention Warrick might be willing to throw to him, finally became too much.

As he returned to his office from afternoon coffee without Sara, he made his mind up. If Warrick couldn't be bothered to make the time, then he couldn't either. Warrick could play with his precious bloody corporation and welcome. Even if he
did
call back wanting to fuck tonight, he could fucking whistle for it.

Infuriatingly, about half an hour after this satisfying resolution, the comm chimed.

"I'm sorry I didn't call earlier," Warrick began. "But I've been in the same damn meeting since nine o'clock."

"And?" Why the hell do you think I care?

"Could you make it over to SimTech this evening?"

Opening his mouth to refuse, Toreth heard himself say, "Sure, what time?"

When the conversation finished, Toreth found that his black mood had lifted, which annoyed him all over again. It was a strange feeling — happy and irritated at the same time.

It had better be a
bloody
good fuck.

Arriving at SimTech, twenty minutes late, he found Warrick already in the sim. He lay absolutely still in the couch, his face hidden by the visor. If Toreth hadn't recognised his clothes, it could have been any man of Warrick's build.

Ignoring the sim technician busy preparing the next couch, he crouched beside Warrick, close enough to catch his scent and so be quite sure. And his hands, of course — he knew those. He touched Warrick's right wrist lightly, fingers automatically sliding round to find the pulse. It tapped slow and even against his fingertips, chipping away the last of the anger.

First contact in two weeks. Toreth ran his hand slowly along Warrick's arm, over the restraining strap, knowing Warrick wouldn't be able to feel it. That, for once, he couldn't disapprove of Toreth touching in public — in front of the employees, no less.

The technician coughed.

"What?"

"Doctor Warrick wanted you to join him right away."

Feeling oddly reluctant, Toreth settled into the couch beside Warrick, watching him until he had to turn his head away for the technician to fit the visor.

When the small, white entry room appeared around him, he found Warrick sitting at the table, reading a book, his feet resting comfortably in mid-air on nothing visible. He didn't look tired now, but then he wouldn't — he never did in the sim.

Warrick closed the book, which vanished. "Glad you could make it."

Being late had seemed like a good idea at work. Now, with Warrick so clearly unfazed, Toreth regretted it.

"Stuff came up, sorry."

"No problem at all. Actually, I appreciated a little time just to sit and relax. Shall we get started?"

Without waiting for an answer, Warrick touched the controls and a very familiar room appeared around them. Heavy furniture, dark wood, a fire in the grate, and the warm, buttery light of the candles that filled the air with the sweet scent of beeswax. When he turned round, he saw the ridiculously oversized four-poster bed.

He'd already registered the squeak of wood and the quick, heavy breathing, so he wasn't surprised to see bodies on the bed. He was surprised to see who.

Warrick, kneeling astride another man, leaning forwards over him, and being enthusiastically fucked from below. His partner's hands gripped Warrick's hips, pulling down and pushing up.