The Administration Series (88 page)

Sex is strange, he thought whimsically, as Toreth stepped under the spray, nudging him aside. An illustration of the difference between theory and practise, fantasy and reality — sim and reality. Endless scope for entertaining investigations and comparisons. He really needed to set up a focused research programme to explore the purely psychological limitations of the sim experience.

Warrick raised the temperature of the water, before Toreth asked him to. Toreth found something else to complain about, anyway.

"Have you seen the state of my neck?" he said, turning his back towards him.

Impressive suck marks, hints of teeth here and there. More impressive than he'd intended or remembered, but Toreth didn't sound genuinely annoyed.

"Indeed I have. I had an excellent view."

"Couldn't you have done it a bit lower down?"

"I'm afraid not." He worked the soap into a lather between his hands and smoothed it over the offending bites, then down over Toreth's back. "Although to be quite fair, I seem to have bitten your shoulders as well. Sorry."

"What the hell is Sara going to think tomorrow?"

"She's going to think — " The soap escaped, but there was enough on Toreth now that it didn't matter for the moment. Warrick pressed up against him, enjoying the view all over again. "She's going to think that I fucked you senseless."

Toreth turned round in his arms. "You should've noticed by now that I usually fall asleep afterwards. That says nothing at all about the quality of the fuck."

"I see." He bent down to find the soap, surprising Toreth on the way back up with a quick — slightly soapy — suck. More of a lick, but it made him jump. Not a good thing in a shower. Warrick steadied him, then asked, "It wasn't up to standard?"

He continued washing them both while Toreth pretended to think about it. It would've been more convincing without the smirk.

"It wasn't bad," he said eventually. "I wouldn't mind doing it again some time — without the belt, though. You?"

"Mm."

His expression must have said the rest, in highly flattering terms, because Toreth laughed. "You could have asked, you know, if you wanted it that much."

And Toreth could have said no, couldn't he? Warrick didn't want to know the answer to that, though, because kicking himself at this point would be risky. Too much soap around.

Anyway, the feel of hard muscles, also slippery with soap, was giving him ideas he'd like to follow up later. Tomorrow morning — this morning rather — which was Sunday. "Are you staying for the rest of the night? Insofar as there is any."

"If that's okay?"

"Perfectly."

"Thanks." Toreth pushed wet hair back from his face. "Actually, I don't have anywhere else to go. My bed's full of snoring spook."

Warrick stared at him, wanting so badly to have heard that wrong. All he could think was that he'd been crassly, unbelievably stupid, and that everything Toreth had said earlier, and worse, everything he'd done since, had been a lie. The moment passed, but it left Carnac's words behind.

'A measure of thoughtlessness and indeed cruelty on his part . . . '

He didn't think that, right now, he could bear to hear any more. Toreth seemed to be expecting a comment of some kind, though.

"That's why you came here?" Warrick asked.

"Yeah." Toreth smiled brightly. "I didn't want to wake him up, because if he'd opened his fucking mouth, I would've put my fist through it and out the back of his head."

"Oh." It was the only thing he could think of to follow that up. That, and assorted questions, none of which Toreth would answer. At least the unspoken message was clear — Carnac had, for whatever reasons, seriously outstayed his welcome. However he'd ended up at Toreth's flat tonight, he wouldn't be there again.

Still, the worry and doubt lingered. He couldn't ignore it, and his self-respect wouldn't let him. He stepped back, and the water washed the soap away from where their bodies had been pressed too close together for it to reach. "Just to get one thing absolutely clear, you do remember our prior conversation? You won't be seeing Carnac again?"

"Of course I'll be seeing him. He's still squatting in my office."

"That's not what I meant." Where had the unaccustomed euphemism come from?

There was a long silence, so long that he was half expecting the answer when it came. "Warrick, be reasonable. Please. I can't
not
fuck him while he's at I&I. That's what he volunteered me for. Even Tillotson realised that, and he didn't like it but he made it pretty bloody clear I had to do what I was told."

For a moment, between outrage and disbelief, he genuinely couldn't breathe, never mind speak. Then, before he said anything, the sense of the words fought its way through to his consciousness.

Did Toreth really mean that?
Could
he mean that?

"You're saying that you don't want to?" It sounded so ridiculous he expected Toreth to laugh.

Instead, Toreth reddened, obvious even through the flush of the hot water. "No, I don't. Look, if you're that interested, I didn't particularly want to fuck him in the first place, and now it's getting . . . " He shrugged. "You know me. Twice is once too many."

"Then . . . don't do it?"

He wondered if the idea had never occurred to Toreth — his initial expression suggested that might be the case. But after a few seconds, he shook his head, scattering water.

"It's not that simple. He'll shaft me in the report instead, and his opinion means a lot. I don't need that kind of thing in my file. If I piss him off, I can kiss my career goodbye."

"He won't do that. He'll write an honest report. If you've been doing your job well, then that's what he'll say."

Never mind what 'doing your job well' meant. That wasn't the issue right now.

Toreth mulled the suggestion over, his expression serious this time. "Are you sure?"

"It's what he did for me at the Data Division."

He frowned, dubious. "You told him you didn't want to fuck any more, and he just said 'okay'?"

"Yes. Precisely so. And he put a very favourable mention of my work in his report."

"Oh. Right. Then I'll tell him tomorrow." He grinned happily, a minor but irritating problem solved. "See? I told you it was no big deal."

Warrick could have hit him. "Thank you."

That was almost that. As they were drying off, Warrick remembered something. Something he ought to mention. Maybe now wasn't the time, but there wouldn't be a better time, either.

"I had dinner with him," he said. "With Carnac."

Toreth looked up. "I . . . You didn't tell me." His voice held a hint of accusation.

"I'm telling you now. It was a few days ago. He told me — "

"Forget it," Toreth said sharply, then shrugged. "Who gives a fuck about him, anyway?"

Carnac arrived at the I&I offices early on Monday. Waking up yesterday to find Toreth gone had been a slight surprise. He didn't have many of those in his life, so he was keen to discover the explanation. He had a good idea of where he had gone, since Toreth's personal comm had refused his calls all yesterday, and so had Warrick's. His hard work was undone and Warrick had once again resumed his position as the central massif of Toreth's barren emotional landscape.

Yet he was perfectly confident that it was impossible for Warrick to have called Toreth, or vice versa, as things had stood when he'd fallen asleep on Saturday night. Something unexpected had, most irritatingly, interfered with his plans.

Toreth arrived exactly on time and came straight over to sit on the edge of Carnac's desk. He picked up a piece of paper and started folding it. "You had dinner with Warrick," he said.

It was most definitely a statement, not a question. Carnac realised at once that he'd made a very serious mistake in not following through all the possible consequences of his impromptu acceptance of Keir's invitation. He should have told Toreth about it before. Honesty was the key to gaining his trust.

"Yes, I did," he said.

Toreth nodded. "Did you fuck him?" he asked in the same measured tones.

"No."

"Did you try to?"

With his plan ruined anyway there was no real point in deception, but with Toreth in such close proximity it seemed wise. "No."

Toreth glanced up from the paper, finger stilling on a folded edge. "For a socioanalyst, you're a fucking awful liar."

Nevertheless, Toreth seemed to like the answer. Of course — it demonstrated that Carnac was afraid of him, which he was, to a certain extent. He was also curious as to how and when Toreth had found out about the dinner, since that confidence hadn't come from a guess. Had this triggered the new turn of events?

"Lying isn't an official part of our training," Carnac said evenly. "As regards the other matter, I asked him, and he said no."

"Piece of free advice: don't ask him again. He's not available."

Possessiveness rang in every syllable — potentially dangerous possessiveness, if Carnac was any judge. "I don't waste my time chasing reluctant partners when I have a willing one."

Toreth smiled pleasantly. "Not any more you haven't. Find yourself another liaison."

"Oh?" That was another surprise; he'd thought Toreth's ambition would keep him in line for the duration.

"Yes." Toreth set a completed paper bird down on the desk, not badly made. "I'm bored with it, and besides, it's long past time someone told you that you're a lousy fuck. I have better sex on my own."

That hurt. Pathetically mundane as the insult had been, and primitive and irrational as the feeling was, it still hurt. Enough that he spoke without thinking.

"You're not bored — you're frightened."

A moment of absolute silence and stillness followed, long enough for Carnac to begin to wonder how quickly he could make it to the door. Almost certainly not quickly enough.

Then Toreth spoke, slowly and coldly. "You don't know the
first
fucking
thing
about me."

He could have said so much. Toreth was so vulnerable to his own unexamined emotions, so deeply in denial of his needs and motivations, that it would be trivially easy to come up with a response that would devastate him. An interconnected cascade of pain to demonstrate how very wrong he was.

I know that your parents resented your existence, and never gave you a second's love or approval that didn't carry with it a reminder of your failure to live up to their impossible demands.

I know that you trust exactly two people in your life, and that the only way you are capable of understanding that feeling is by trying to own them.

I know that you want Keir, more than you have wanted anything in your adult life, and that that uncontrollable need makes you sick with fear.

I know that, in the end, the pathetically little you have to offer him will no longer be enough, and he will leave you. And I know that there will be nothing you will be able to do to make him stay.

On the other hand, having his testicles torn off and stuffed down his throat didn't appeal half as much as, say, not. Destroying Toreth's future with Warrick wasn't worth major surgery.

Carnac stood up. "Of course not. I apologise. Consider your assignment concluded. And don't worry — I'll write a glowing report for your file."

He wasn't expecting a reciprocal apology, and he didn't get one.

"Shut the door on your way out," Toreth said.

Then Toreth sat down at his own desk and ignored him. As Carnac gathered his belongings, he watched Toreth surreptitiously. He could see the tension draining out of him. This experience wouldn't last long for Toreth. By the time Carnac's report was finished, he would be background noise again in Toreth's life. Something that had come and gone and perhaps been mildly unpleasant, but had barely touched the important parts.

So. He could, he supposed, call it a technical victory on points, but there was no point cheating at solitaire. Chalk this one up as a failure.

After a brief hesitation, he took the paper bird and added it to the top of the pile. Memento. As he left, he paused in the doorway to look back. Toreth didn't look up.

On his way past her desk, he smiled at Sara. She smiled back, faux sympathetically. He judged her to be pleased by his departure, but unsurprised. So that was where the information regarding his dinner with Warrick had originated. It must have been very cleverly phrased to get the reaction it had. The woman was clearly capable of more subtlety than he had anticipated — careless of him to discount her.

Really, he hadn't been on form. Perhaps the toxic atmosphere of I&I had unsettled him more than he'd realised.

"Do you need any help with that?" Sara asked, her courteous admin manner perfectly in place.

"No, thank you. And thank you for all your time."

She smiled again. "Try Senior Para Chevril, if you're looking for a new personal liaison."

Since the senior para's profile had indicated that he was as straight as a die, Carnac took her suggestion in the spirit it was offered, and went to inform I&I upper echelons that he'd finished his study and was returning to Socioanalysis. He could write the report as well there as anywhere, and, quite frankly, fuck his bosses if they wanted him to serve out his full time here.