The Administration Series (262 page)

"Did you think I wouldn't
notice
the way you've been creeping about? What else do you want me to say? That what happened at Warrick's flat was your fault too? That Carnac couldn't have done it without you?" Choosing the words had an almost sexual charge, the hot pleasure of twisting the knife into someone who had been stupid enough to care. It was so easy, and it felt just like it had with Chev: his control gone fuck-knew-where, leaving him sliding towards something irresistible and dangerous. "That you betrayed me and I'll never forgive you? That I'll never trust you with anything important again? Is that it?"

She swallowed, her eyes glistening.

"Well? Did I miss anything?"

"No," she whispered, hovering so close to the edge of breaking he could taste it.

He could finish it — her — off right now, if he wanted. Another few words would do it, or just leaving her alone to think of them herself. What would she do if he walked out now, he wondered? Go home sick? Spend the afternoon crying on Kel's shoulder?

Apply for a transfer?

The thought dug in like Mike Belkin's hand on his arm. She wouldn't do it — guilt would keep her here with him. But the possibility snapped him back, leaving him sick and scrambling for words. Fortunately, training kicked in: break and rebuild to order, even without drugs or neural induction probes.

He softened his voice, reaching out to touch her shoulder. "Well, then listen to this, because you're hearing it just once. Nothing's changed."

She frowned at him, bewildered by the switch. "But — "

"Shut up." He smiled to take the sting out of the order. "Whatever you did, however badly you fucked up, I trust you exactly as much as I always did. Which means I trust you more than . . . fuck. Just more than." Oh, yeah. That level of coherence boded well for later interrogations. "Not one bit less that I did before, anyway. And if I don't tell you something it's not because I think you can't keep your mouth shut. It's because I'm worried about what you could tell Internal Investigations if they've got you strapped into a chair, because those bastards didn't give up
their
P&P yet."

The desperate relief in her eyes should have had a kick like fucking, but he was too tired to really enjoy it. "So you can stop this bollocks right now, you hear? No more moping around, and that's an order."

Sara sniffed quietly. "I'm really sorry."

He wished they'd done this somewhere he could do one of the natural follow-ups: hug her, take her out and get her pissed and flirt with her.

All he could do here was squeeze her shoulder. "Nothing to be sorry about. Just stop fucking
doing
it."

It seemed to be enough, though, because she smiled slightly. "I'll try."

"Thank fuck for that." He downed a third of the coffee and sighed. "If you want to do something useful, you can go up to level seven and tell Daedra I need something that'll wake me up and still leave me legally competent to interrogate."

"Of course." She leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. "I'll bring it down to you."

After Sara left the room, there was a low wolf-whistle from across the room. Typical of the spineless bastards to wait until she was out of earshot. Came to something when paras were more worried about pissing off your admin than they were about annoying you.

Without looking round, Toreth raised his middle finger in the general direction of Chev and Belkin, then finished his coffee. He rinsed his mug clean and left it draining by the sink, ignoring the notice which strictly forbade so doing.

Opening the door to the building, Warrick reflected that at least the new flat meant that SimTech no longer required he put up with the continual and continuously irritating presence of a guard. The one who'd accompanied him home had left in the car. He was getting used to the peace and quiet again. Although perhaps things were a little too peaceful.

It had been ten days so far, Warrick thought as he stepped into the lift up to the flat — a relatively long absence by Toreth's standards, even considering the reason he'd gone. However, the lingering memory of Carnac's last visit made it seem longer, stirring the old fear that sometime, perhaps this time, Toreth wouldn't be back.

Ten days since the house-warming. The seven working days had passed pleasantly enough. At SimTech they were still hammering out the details of the corporation's future. Now
a
decision had been made and announced, the atmosphere had begun to improve. Busy all day at SimTech, and with the relief of a quiet, empty flat to come home to. Most evenings he'd managed to persuade himself he preferred it to Toreth's occasionally overwhelming presence.

That was balanced, of course, by the nights sleeping alone, and mornings waking up still alone.

'I'll never leave you'.

He had made a commitment to Toreth and in return he had . . . nothing concrete. A brief flirtation with flat-sharing and a few weeks when he'd suspected he might even have enjoyed Toreth's undivided sexual attention. What else had he expected? Something more than Toreth was capable of, that much was clear. Annoyingly, he'd suspected that Toreth had wanted to be asked to stay, but at the same time he'd known that if he
had
asked, Toreth would have felt bound to refuse. A relationship based on not pushing was sometimes tedious and frustrating in the extreme.

There must have been a point when the idea of cohabitation had become so compelling. Warrick wondered whether it was something else he could blame on Carnac. Toreth probably did, if he thought about it that clearly.

Carnac's fault or not, the desire was there now and he saw no practical way to eradicate it. So he would tolerate it until it waned of its own accord and things returned to the way they had been. He'd feel better once Toreth finished fucking his way back to stability and returned — which, of course, he would, sooner or later.

When he opened the door, he imagined he could feel the emptiness of the flat.

Toreth had called, in any case, every other day. He claimed to be busy at work, and perhaps he was. Perhaps, given Jen's reports, it was better that they hadn't seen each other, because —

As Warrick reactivated the security system, the lights went out.

He froze in place, mind racing with stories of corporate sabotage and kidnappings, few of which ended well. Footsteps behind him, quick and confident, reached him before he could react. A hand clamped over his mouth, and a cold voice whispered in his ear, "Keep very still."

Toreth.

Warrick didn't relax, but the flavour of the tension changed. Relief, anticipation and a spicing of anger.

"I've been waiting," Toreth continued. "I have something for you." Metal traced a line down his cheek, then Toreth loosened the hand over his mouth. "Do you know what that is?"

Fear thrilled through him, whipping up the adrenaline left by the shock of the darkness. "A knife?"

"Yes — very good. That's why you're going to do exactly what you're told to do. Because I'd hate to cut you . . . by accident. Now, hold still."

Something touched his face — a blindfold, bound securely around his eyes. Then Toreth moved away a little, probably for the lights, and Warrick turned and went for the door, or at least for his best guess as to where it was.

He made barely three steps before Toreth caught hold of him with expert ease, spinning him back against a wall and pinning him there.

"Now that was stupid. Luckily, I have a cure for that."

Musical ring of a chain being lifted, and then a collar fastened around his throat. Not
the
collar, of course — that had been looted from Toreth's flat. Only 'a' collar, and he was surprised to find it made a difference. He wondered what it looked like and lifted his hands to touch it. Toreth allowed it, briefly, then a pull on the chain drew Warrick down the hall.

At his old flat, or Toreth's, he could navigate in the dark. Here everything was unfamiliar. Dangerous. The stairs left his mouth dry and his stomach fluttering at the feeling of space and danger, and something else. Exposure, uncertainty: a flavour of the Shop, perhaps, the only other place he'd navigated stairs in the dark with Toreth so close.

Reaching the landing was almost a disappointment. A door opened — the room Toreth had originally chosen as his own, or so Warrick thought.

Toreth guided him across the room, then stopped him. The knife stroked his cheek once more and he held himself still against a flinch. Probably not sharp, a distant part of his mind told him. But he didn't listen too closely to that.

"Strip."

He hesitated, until Toreth took him by the hair, pulling his head back.

"Do it."

Cold metal whispered against his throat and clinked gently against the collar, and he obeyed.

Once naked, he stood waiting, shivering although the room was pleasantly warm. He heard Toreth's breathing, imagined him looking. Defenseless against him.

"Good. Now, there's a bed in front of you. Lie down on it. On your back."

He felt for the bed, did as he was instructed. A soft, steely click sounded as the chain from the collar locked into place.

"Spread out your legs."

Another cold touch against his ankles — unlined metal cuffs. They'd never had those before, not for the bed, and the idea of Toreth buying them, looking for them especially for him, made his stomach twist. Toreth in the Shop, sorting through heaps of chains. Perhaps trying them on and —

"Give me your hand."

Not the instruction he'd been expecting, so it took him a moment to obey. A hand touched his, pressed a small bottle into his fingers.

The flat of the blade slid up his throat, then the knife angled and the edge pressed lightly under his chin.

"Now, listen to me. Are you listening?"

Warrick nodded very slightly.

"When I've finished doing everything I want to do to you, I'm going to have you. I'm going to fuck you." Dark, cold voice, spiralling down his spine. "So, before we get started, you're going to get ready for me. You're going to do it yourself."

Warrick managed to draw enough breath to make a whisper. "No."

"And if you don't — "

"
No
."

The knife stroked across his throat, ending up with the point pressing beneath his chin.

Christ, it
felt
sharp enough. He froze in the chains.

He'll be careful, the voice said. Even if it is sharp, he'll be careful. Warrick shut the reassurance away, imagining what the pain would be like, sharp as the knife itself. Something he'd never felt, and he shivered.

"Wrong answer," Toreth said calmly. "Try again."

He struggled not to let himself nod. "All right. Yes."

The knife lifted away. With his hands trembling, it took three tries to open the bottle. Oil spilled over his fingers, cold against his belly, and he gasped. Toreth laughed softly and took back the bottle.

"Go on. Do it. Fuck yourself for me."

Even though there was some slack in the chains, it wasn't easy to reach. Warrick choked himself on the collar once or twice before he finally found the right angle.

Strained as the position was, the touch of his own fingers inside him lifted the arousal to a new level. More oil trickled over him, cooling his burning cock, and his hips lifted. Without conscious guidance, his free hand slid up his thigh, and he whimpered as he touched himself, fingers curling round —

The blow across his face caught him by surprise, sending a shock through him like a jolt of electricity and leaving his cheek stinging.

"No!" Toreth said.

Fingers dug into both his wrists, pulling them to his sides and pinning them down onto the bed. He lay back, panting, wondering if Toreth had enjoyed watching.

"I didn't tell you to do that."

Yes, judging by the roughness of his voice.

His wrists were released, and a moment later Toreth's fingers pushed into him, not gentle, making him arch his back, hands tightening on the sheets. God, yes,
please
, more of that. He groaned with disappointment when they withdrew.

"Good enough. Now — " A tap of steel against his shoulder for emphasis. "Put your hands above your head."

Metal closed around his wrists as his arms were stretched into position and the chains locked in place. Toreth moved away, leaving him alone for a moment. A space for him to become used to this, to refocus, the world shrinking down around him to this isolated, separate place. Their game.

So long since the last time. And this time, novel and so more exciting, with the added danger of the knife. Even if Toreth couldn't do anything more than threaten, imagination could make it real enough to —

The bed shifted, and he felt Toreth kneel beside him. A brush of bare skin again his side told him that Toreth had stripped too. Then he felt the light touch of the edge of the knife again, sliding across his stomach, and the fear tightened.

He won't do it. Not that.

Please.

Please yes, or please no?

"Comfortable?" Toreth asked.

The tip of the knife pricked against his sternum. The pressure increased, and then the knife moved and
cut
. Only a short distance, but the sudden pain shocked him out of stillness, made him jerk against the chains hard enough to bruise his wrists.