The Administration Series (110 page)

"Yes, she looks real to me." Warrick shook his head. "What a very peculiar job."

"You can talk. Don't you have fuckable animals in the sim yet?"

"Not as such. Not that were made specifically for that, but it would only need the behaviour programming in and I don't keep too close a restriction on what the programmers get up to — it stifles innovation. There's obviously a demand. But market research isn't my job."

Taking that as a request, Toreth changed channels until he found something with less fur and more leather. Warrick lay down on the sofa next to him and put his head in his lap.

To begin with, it felt deeply strange. Only Sara did that and never, of course, when he was naked (and only occasionally when he was hard, if she hadn't noticed). After the first minute or two it stopped being strange and started to be interesting. More interesting than whatever was happening on the screen, anyway. Warrick shifted position and his still-damp hair moved, soft and tickling.

"You'll get your hair sticky," Toreth said.

Warrick turned his head, rubbing his cheek along the length of his cock, then said, "I like a problem with an easy solution." Then he rolled over onto his stomach and replaced his cheek with his tongue — long, slow licks from the base upwards, then sucking gently at the tip.

Toreth leaned his head against the back of the sofa, a fraction of his attention still on the screen, luxuriating in being able to sit and take it, without having to plan what to do next. Not that he normally minded, but it made a very pleasant change. As Warrick's mouth slid down around him he moaned softly, echoing the muted sounds from the screen. That triggered a random thought, something he felt curious enough about to ask.

"Do you mind?"

"Mmh?"

"Doing that while I'm watching — " And he had to look across to check. " — women fucking each other with, um, champagne bottles?"

Warrick lifted his head and glanced at the screen. "Not really." He leaned on his elbow and looked up. "Why should I? After all, I have no idea what you're thinking about while I'm doing it at any other time."

"Well, I'm — " Always thinking about you. Except when I'm thinking about fucking your sister at the same time. Or occasionally you and Sara, and God knows where
that
one comes from. "No, I suppose not. But I can tell you it's never champagne bottles."

For a few seconds he considered asking Warrick if he ever thought about other people when they were fucking. The pleasure of a no wasn't worth the potential pain of a yes, though. Besides, how could he believe it anyway?

"Did you want me to carry on?" Warrick asked.

"What? Oh, yes. Please."

Warrick smiled, and carried on, slowly and very thoroughly. By the time Toreth came he'd had his eyes closed for a quarter of an hour and he'd forgotten the screen was even on. He only remembered when the sound cut out as Warrick switched it off a minute later.

"We should go to bed," Warrick said.

"In a bit." Meaning never.

Warrick stood up, dragged Toreth to his feet, and prodded him back into the bedroom. It seemed like miles, but it had been the right idea because the bed felt wonderful.

About fifteen seconds later he was on the verge of falling asleep, when Warrick spoke.

"Toreth?"

"Uh?"

"Was that all true?"

It took him a few seconds to get the context, then he nodded drowsily. "Yeah, 'course it was."

"Everything?"

"Uh huh. All of it." Well, everything except that he hadn't deleted their number — he still had that safe. "She looked like Dillian. I didn't fuck her."

"Why?"

What a time for bloody questions, especially ones to which he didn't know the answer. "'Cause I was coming round here today, I suppose. Didn't want to waste my energy fucking strangers when I knew I'd need it for fucking you."

"That doesn't usually stop you."

They hadn't had one of these conversations for months (because he'd managed to keep his mouth shut about things for most of that time) and he didn't want one now. Then again, he'd started it, so he ought to make some kind of an effort to smooth things over.

"No. But . . . this was special."

"Yes. Yes, it was. Thank you."

Sounded very formal. "For what?"

"For buying the cabinet. For fucking me and making it so good that I almost hoped I'd die when it finished. For not . . . well, just thank you."

No argument after all, thank God. "Pleasure," he mumbled. "Any time."

Warrick moved up against him and laid his arm over his hip. Toreth was too nearly asleep to protest, even if he'd remembered that he ought to.

"I'll remember you said that," Warrick said.

The bruises had turned out worse than they'd looked last night. They weren't wide, but they were very black and very obviously from manacles.

Pleading delayed jet lag, Warrick took the day off work. There were advantages to being the boss, but he would have to go in tomorrow. To sit through meetings, talk to people, and possibly meet sponsors in the afternoon. A long-sleeved pullover would cover things, as long as he remembered not to tug the sleeves back. Someone would see them, even so, and the story would fly round the building.

Before he started breakfast, he spread his hands flat on the kitchen table and looked at them. The bruises bound his wrists, enchanting reminders of the night before, and he found himself hypnotised by them, losing time. After a while he could nearly feel the manacles against his skin.

By the time he tore his attention away, the toast was cold and he didn't feel hungry anyway.

Going through to the bedroom, he stood and looked at the cabinet. It had been left open and the chains hung free, unlocked. He could do it now, just for a little while. Toreth had said he'd been able to close the manacle against the side. Of course, Toreth was taller than he was, but he could stand on something.

It was a stupid idea. He needed Toreth there, to make it work. He needed his voice, his hands, and his pure presence. If he did it on his own it would simply hurt like hell and make the bruises worse. So he closed and locked the cabinet and put the key safely away, in a box on the bedside table where he kept small things he didn't want to lose. Then he sat on the bed and looked at his wrists until he couldn't bear it any longer.

He undressed slowly, making it last for as long as he reasonably could, then went over to the cabinet. He reached up, stretching, and touched his fingertips to the silky wood, breathing in the scent of the restorer's polish. That was going to add a new dimension to antique shop visits.

Then he lay on the bed, closed his eyes, and began to work through the previous evening in as much detail as he could recall. He didn't touch himself anywhere to start with, because if he did this wouldn't last long. Thinking about it, that was all. That was enough. He lingered so long over 'stand in the fucking frame' that he was already breathing heavily by the time Toreth locked the chains around his ankles.

He soaked himself in the memory of the first moments, when it was finally complete. Pain. Pain in his wrists. Muscles constricted around his chest, making each breath distinct and precious. Better than any of that, the feeling of total surrender, exactly as he'd imagined it in the shop. Toreth behind him, possessing him without even touching him.

Stretched and helpless and absolutely vulnerable. Losing himself almost before it started, long before Toreth fucked him.

Toreth, fucking him.

His mind jumped track to the end, forgetting his resolve to take his time. Putting his hands flat on his hip bones, he pressed down, holding himself still. But he wanted it
now
, and Toreth wasn't there to make him wait. Slowly, he slid his hands across, brushing his cock. A gentle touch to start with, which wouldn't last long.

Discipline. He backtracked to the place at which he'd left the narrative. What were the words?

'There is nothing you can do. No way out.'

After a few minutes, when he had almost reached the point of imagining the bite of the strap across his shoulders, he quite suddenly thought about calling Toreth, and telling him what he was doing. Why he was doing it.

I couldn't stop myself. I needed it. This is what you do to me.

Toreth would love to hear it. Automatically, he dismissed the impulse, as he had when the idea had occurred before. Then he thought, why the hell not? Toreth always said that I&I didn't monitor personal comms, and all past evidence had borne that out. They'd risked far more serious things than a little dirty talk.

Finding the comm earpiece, he rearranged himself on the bed and called through, not giving himself time for second thoughts. Before Toreth answered, he suddenly thought, 'What if he's — ' and then the call connected.

"Val Toreth."

What if he's in an interrogation? "It's me. Are you too busy to talk?"

"Not at all." Toreth must still be in an extremely good mood if he didn't sound wary at the word 'talk'. "I'm just having a coffee in my office, in fact."

He took a deep breath, feeling suddenly self-conscious. Ridiculous, when he thought of all the explicit conversations he'd had in the sim. Still, if he could've thought of a halfway plausible excuse for calling, he might have used it, but his mind went blank. He settled for "Guess what I'm doing," hearing his voice catch on the last word.

There was a pause, and Toreth said, "Are you really?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"On the bed. Looking at the cabinet and thinking about last night. About you fucking me." He closed his eyes, and for some reason that made it less peculiar. "About how much I wanted you. How much I needed it. How much I want it again."

"Okay, then, how much?"

He smiled, because even as he'd been speaking he'd guessed Toreth would ask that. He never seemed to get tired of hearing about it. "Enough that I called you so I can hear your voice while I fuck my own hand and pretend it's yours."

There was a brief pause, and he wondered if he'd actually managed to surprise Toreth. In fact, he seemed to have been checking his schedule because eventually he said, "I can't get away. I'm really sorry." For once, he sounded as though he meant it. "Not even for lunch. I've got things all day that I can't cancel."

"I don't want you to come round." That wasn't true, but it sounded good. The tiny hint of independence laced into the conversation would sting Toreth. "I just wanted you to know . . . that I couldn't stop myself. Thinking about last night — "

"No. Don't think about last night. Think about tonight."

Less than a dozen words, and the idea of doing it again, the idea that they
would
do it again, over and over, that the cabinet would be there forever and —

He somehow managed to stop himself moving and lay gasping for breath, waiting to get himself under control because insofar as he'd
had
a plan, he'd wanted to drag it out a little longer than this. Now that he'd actually made the call.

"Not tonight," Warrick said when he could speak. "My wrists — "

"Don't worry about that. You can come round to my flat." Toreth's voice changed, sliding subtly into something hard-edged but seductive. "I don't need chains to make you do what I want. I don't need anything. I can take whatever I want from you, however I want it, and you can't stop me. Are you listening?"

"Mmh. Yes." One hand on his cock, one holding the bedpost — not really what he wanted, but at least he could tense his arm against it, pain flaring down from his wrist. "Don't stop."

"Or I can chain you to the bed, by your neck, so you don't have to worry about your precious wrists, and fuck you. Not like last night. Slowly. Slow and hard, until you don't know what you're saying, and then until you
can't
say anything."

Toreth speaking right against his ear was always exquisite and here, when it was all the contact he had, it was nearly unbearable. He desperately wanted to hear it right to the end, but he couldn't hold back, thrusting up into his fist, tighter and faster.

"I'm going to come deep inside you and leave you there, aching for more. You won't be able to lay a single finger on yourself then, however much you want it, because I'll be watching you to make sure you don't. And eventually, when I'm ready — "

Then he lost the words as the orgasm ripped through him — nothing like last night, of course, but still good. Far better than it would have been without Toreth's voice.

He came considerably more quietly on his own than he did in company, although he never heard himself when Toreth had really worked him over. This was somewhere in between and so for once he was aware of how loud it was. He didn't have a hand spare to put over his mouth, so he bit his lip instead and the small, sharp pain made it worse.

When he'd subsided back to panting, he heard Toreth laugh quietly. "See you later," he said, and cut the call off before Warrick could reply.

He opened his eyes and let his muscles relax. Mm. Well. That had been novel. On reflection, he should have tried it before. A pity he hadn't heard what came after 'when I'm ready', but he would find out tonight.