"You want me to find you a way around the wording? I could do that — there'll be something, if you look hard enough. What did he tell you to look for? Something against the orders to get I&I up and running? Something against the best interests of the Administration?"
Payne started to speak and Toreth cut him off. "But if you're going to do this, I need you to do it because you want to. Because you believe it's the right thing to do. I don't want you using some excuse that means I don't know if I can rely on you tomorrow."
He waited out the seconds while Payne pretended to himself that he was thinking it through. Then he nodded. "All right. Yes."
He put his hand on Payne's arm — friendly grip, nothing more. "Thanks."
"No, don't. I'm going to pretend that I haven't seen anything at all."
"I won't mention anything about it again, I promise." He stood up and leaned on the desk, studying Payne. Only ninety percent convinced, and that was an optimistic estimate. If he changed his mind and went to Carnac, everything would come crashing down in ruins. He needed a stronger hold over him.
"Do you play squash?" Toreth asked.
Payne looked up, frowning. "Do I what?"
"Play squash. I heard a rumour that the gym was open again today."
"Yes, I do. Or I used to, a bit. I'm pretty rusty, I should think."
"We can take an hour or so — get away from this damn place for a while. I'm beginning to feel like I live here."
"I don't know. I mean . . . "
"I could make it an order, if you like."
"No." Payne smiled, although he was still a touch pale. "No need. I haven't got any kit, though."
"I'll find you something."
The gym was open, as Toreth well knew. He booked a court, and a sauna for afterwards, and paid the usual little extra to make sure no one would disturb them in there. They borrowed kit for Payne, and Toreth was pleasantly surprised to discover that his own locker had survived the troubles undamaged.
If Payne was rusty, it didn't take long to flake off. He was fit, talented, and young enough for it to make a difference. Toreth's early lead slowly disappeared, and by the time he was eight points down he was breathing heavily, and more than a little irritated. He felt he had legitimate reasons for not having made time for the gym lately, but that didn't make him feel any less unfit. It was amazing how quickly the edge could wear off.
He should've made the time to go to the University gym with Warrick — and then he remembered that he hadn't seen Warrick for nearly a week, and wouldn't see him for at least another nine days. The burst of annoyance that produced won him the next seven points in a row, and then Payne called it a day, claiming a strained calf muscle. He did have a genuine-looking limp, so it probably wasn't entirely due to the prospect of losing.
They showered, with Toreth trying not to look too obviously. What he could see in casual glances made the prospect of the fuck seem less like a chore. It was, he realised, days since he'd fucked anyone at all, never mind Warrick. Far too much work and not enough play.
He'd thought Payne might balk at the sauna, but he seemed willing enough to delay going back to I&I. When they'd made themselves comfortable (respectably clad in towels, sitting on the same bench, close, but not too close), Toreth said, "I thought you said you didn't play much."
Payne looked slightly embarrassed. "Well, I haven't for a while. I was first year champion at the academy, though. Then I didn't have time for everything, so I gave it up for football."
"Jesus. No wonder I'm fucking knackered."
"You're good."
"I play a lot. I enjoy it. Personally, I'd have given up the football."
"Oh?"
"Yes. I don't get on with team sports. Too much fucking around waiting for other people to do things. Too much like work." He smiled at Payne, making it an invitation. "I much prefer one-on-one."
He waited, but subtlety was clearly not going to be enough to do the trick. "How's your leg?"
Payne stretched his leg out and bent forwards, rubbing his calf and incidentally providing a delightful view.
"It's fine, I think. Or, ouch, mostly fine. I tore the muscle once, playing football as a matter of fact, and it's been a bit off ever since."
"Should've stuck to squash. Let me have a look at it. I'm good with muscles."
If it had been Warrick, Toreth would've said, 'I'm good with pain', and watched him react, disgust and desire, infinitely exciting. As it was Payne merely hesitated, albeit for longer for than the request merited, then shrugged. "Sure. Thanks."
"Thank me later. Lie down."
Payne nodded and lay down on his front. A few seconds of awkward shifting suggested that the idea of being touched was enough to get him going all by itself. With luck, this wouldn't require too much in the way of dancing around before they got to the point.
The bribe to keep the room free of interruptions also provided a bottle of oil, which Toreth had already spotted in its usual place under one of the benches. He fished it out, lightly coated his hands, and set to work on the calf. He didn't waste long there before he let his hands wander, further up Payne's leg, across his back and shoulders, slipping his fingers under the edge of the towel and hearing his breath catch.
Still sticking to the thin pretence that this might go no further, Toreth had plenty of time to study Payne. He wasn't at all unattractive — more muscular than he appeared when dressed in his uniform. He also smelt agreeably of hot skin and fresh sweat, but all that said, it was still a massage, and it was still boring. He could just about tolerate doing this to Warrick, but here it was nothing more than a necessary preliminary. After ten minutes, he said, "Turn over."
"Mm?" Faux-sleepiness — from the tension he could feel under his hands Payne was very much awake. But if that was what it took to get him to play along, then he wasn't about to shatter the deception.
Toreth nudged his hip. "Turn over."
Payne complied, the towel loosening as he did so. He lay with his eyes closed as Toreth started on the front of his thighs, working upwards, pushing the towel aside until it slipped away — like unwrapping a present, Toreth thought whimsically. If New Year had more presents like this, he'd hate it less.
He slid his hands up over Payne's hips, down his stomach. His breath caught slightly but he didn't protest. He repeated the manoeuvre, closer every time, until Payne's hips started twitching under his hands, and the final sweep took his thumbs up the underside of Payne's cock.
No protest, no faked shock. Good, because he wasn't in the mood for gentle persuasion. Abandoning all pretence, he moved further up the bench and concentrated his attention on his groin, easing Payne's legs apart a little, stroking and fondling, trying to judge his response from his breathing.
That part wasn't easy. He'd been hoping for a bit of acknowledgement by now, but Payne, eyes still shut, was desperately trying to keep his breathing somewhere near sleep. Jesus, it was hardly worth pretending at this point. Besides, he wasn't a bloody charity. He took his hands away, and after a few seconds, Payne's eyes opened.
"Val —"
Tell him that wasn't his fucking name, or let it go?
"Yes?"
"Don't . . . I mean . . . "
He smiled. "Don't worry, I won't. I just wanted to make sure you were enjoying it."
"Oh. Yes."
"Good."
He lowered his head slowly, keeping eye contact for as long as possible, watching Payne's eyes widen in anticipation. As he slid his mouth down around him, Payne gasped.
"Oh,
Christ
."
That was the only thing he said, which was fine with Toreth. The last thing he wanted to do with casual fucks was talk to them, or even listen to them, since talking wasn't an option. However, in this case, he'd known he might have to, given the necessity of keeping Payne sweet.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Payne's hand clenched in the towel, knuckles whitening. He slowed down, stretching things out, listening to Payne's ragged breathing.
Finally, Payne grabbed his shoulder, fingers digging in. "I'm going to — " Then he did, thrusting up hard as he came, making one, brief cry.
Toreth pulled back expertly, holding him, swallowing, then finally sat back on his heels. Warrick had told him once that he should take this up as a career. He'd chosen to consider it a compliment, despite the unspoken corollary of 'since you're doing it to half of New London anyway'. He hoped that in this case it was good enough to tie Payne to him, to keep him away from Carnac. The added dimension certainly gave more of an edge to the proceedings.
After a minute or so, Payne sat up, reaching automatically for the towel to wrap around himself.
"And?" Toreth asked. Payne didn't say anything, so he added, "I said you could thank me later."
"Oh. Yes." Payne grinned, making him look ridiculously — enviably — young. "Well, then — thanks."
"My pleasure." Let's see if he could take a hint now.
Apparently he could, because the grin faded. "What next?" Payne asked, and there was an irresistible hint of reluctance in his voice, more trepidation than unwillingness but still exciting.
Toreth smiled up at him, reassuring. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to. But you do want to, don't you?"
There was a silence. Thinking about his happy marriage, maybe. He was about to do, not be done to, and that was always a decision Toreth enjoyed watching them make.
"Yes," he said finally. "Yes, I do."
"All right then, what?"
Payne stared at him.
"Come on, what do you want to do? Your choice. I can fuck you, you can suck me, or whatever else you want." Might as well make the bribe a good one and he didn't care which.
"I don't know," Payne said, and licked his lips.
Toreth laughed. "Liar. Go on, tell me."
"I'd like to . . . " He nodded towards Toreth's lap. "With my mouth."
Toreth shed his towel and sat down on the bench, leaning back against the wall, not saying anything. Waiting for Payne to take the last step and come to him.
Afterwards, Toreth stayed leaning against the wall, eyes closed, enjoying the endorphins. It had been far too long since the last time. For a complete beginner, Payne hadn't been bad. At least he'd been eager to please and willing to take directions, which went a long way to make up for a lack of technique. It hadn't been good enough that Toreth would normally bother to fuck him again, not when he'd given up so completely this time. After a long chase, the kill was often a disappointment. But, like scratching an annoying itch, the encounter filled a need.
Tiresome, though, if he had to do it too much over the next week. Still, as sacrifices went, it wasn't the worst he could imagine.
He opened his eyes to find Payne back on the bench, watching him. After a moment, Payne looked away, down at the floor between his feet.
"I wasn't going to tell Carnac, you know. You didn't have to do that."
It took Toreth a moment to frame a reply, before he sat up and moved along the bench, up beside Payne, touching thigh to thigh. "You think that was . . . what? A bribe? Jay?"
Payne wouldn't look at him. "It's a bit of a coincidence."
"Coincidence? This is the first time we've been out of I&I together. I was hardly going to fuck you in my office, was I?"
Payne glanced round, then looked away again, but the tension in his shoulders eased a little. "Well, no, I suppose not. But — "
"Jay, to be perfectly honest, I wanted you from the first day you walked in. But I didn't think you were interested — in fact you said you weren't — so I didn't push. If this is a way of saying you want that to be it — " He shrugged. " — then I'll accept that. I won't be happy about it, but I'll accept it. Is that what you want?"
"No!" Payne flushed. "That is, it would be great to do it again. If you don't mind."
He laughed. "Don't be such a bloody idiot." He turned Payne's face towards him, looking into his eyes — a lighter brown than Warrick's, with guilt in them, but also wanting more. Toreth gave him a moment to pull away, then kissed him. Payne's lips were still slightly sticky. "Of course I don't mind."
Payne smiled slightly, accepting the reassurance as Toreth had known he would, because he wanted it to be true. "Sorry. You're right, that was idiotic."
Toreth kissed him again, then released him. "It doesn't matter in the least. Come on, let's have another shower and get back to work."
They'd finally decided on Thursday as the best day to tell the senior paras. It was the latest day Toreth would accept, and the earliest Bevan would even consider. Bevan wanted to leave it until Monday, but that was within Toreth's estimate of the window for the inspection. In the end Bevan had agreed to Thursday, with very bad grace.
Toreth was beginning to see Carnac's point about Bevan. Captain Clueless might have been more cooperative.
As Toreth waited at the front of the seminar room for the latecomers to straggle in, he couldn't remember a time when he'd felt more nervous. Speaking in public didn't bother him, and never had. It was the consequences of screwing this up that set off the butterflies in his stomach. There was always the possibility that, if he wasn't persuasive enough, they would simply say no. Everything he'd done would be for nothing, and he'd have to start running. It was probably already too late for that.
He looked round, assessing the mood. Cautious was an optimistic way of putting it — suspicious might be more accurate. At least everyone they'd approached had agreed to come. He nodded to Doyle, seated near the front, and the Political Crimes junior nodded back, relaxed and apparently comfortable despite the splints still on a couple of his broken fingers.
Doyle was one of the ones they had argued over. Toreth had forced his inclusion, even though neither Bevan nor Chev had listed him. Doyle might only be a junior, but he was respected — popular, even, for a Political Crimes para — and if the division survived Toreth wouldn't be surprised to see him get an early promotion to senior. To pull this off, they needed people with a stake in I&I's continued existence.