The Administration Series (86 page)

Or . . . if he was embarrassed it was for another reason. Maybe the fact that Carnac was here at all. That was a cheering idea.

He came back with blankets and a pillow. Sweet, she thought again.

"Looks like you had a good evening," he said. "Where've you been?"

This was the tricky bit.

"With Daedra. She can really put it away, you know?"

He grinned. "Probably had chemical help. Never get into a drinking competition with a pharmacist."

Too sharp for comfort. "Yeah, I should've remembered. It was just me and her — oh, 'cept we ran into Dillian. Small world, huh?"

That was an out-and-out lie, but he'd never call Dillian to check, not when asking Daedra would be so much easier. Dillian didn't like him and, if you excluded his compulsion to fuck her, the feeling was probably mutual.

Still, the name definitely caught his attention.

"Yeah? How is she?" Hesitation, which she kept quiet for. "Did she say anything about Warrick?"

"Warrick? Not really." He'd asked. Thank God, he'd asked. She let the giggle escape. "Oh, 'cept he was chatting him up."

"Who was chatting who up?"

"Carnac. Chatting Warrick up."

His eyes narrowed. "What? Where?"

"Dunno. Dillian said they had dinner. Didn't he say?"

"No . . . he didn't. When?"

He hadn't known. Better still, he wasn't questioning whether it had happened, just when. Good. "Not sure." She lay down on the sofa. "Dillian reckons he was dead keen on him, way back when. Carnac on Warrick." She blinked, trying to fake a belated realisation. "Warrick wouldn't, though. Screw Carnac." She pulled the cover over herself and curled up, yawning. "I mean, he's got you fucking him cross-eyed. Why'd he want Carnac? One-man whatsit. Man."

Toreth didn't answer. Final bit of the plan, and she was done — he could tie it all together for himself. "Anyway, they were talking about the sim, Dillian said so. That's Carnac's kind of thing, isn't it? Mind-fucking. I bet he'd go mad for it."

"Yes. Yes, I bet he would."

Soft and dangerous. Oh yes, that was what she wanted to hear — the Toreth she knew and had the odd nightmare about. She closed her eyes and let her breathing drift off. She could feel him standing by the sofa, and she counted seconds, willing him to leave.

He wouldn't go to talk to Carnac. He'd go see Warrick. He had to. Go see Warrick. Don't let me have put myself through this for nothing. Go on. Go to Warrick. Go
on
.

Eventually, he left, and she held her breath until she heard, of all things, the shower running. It went on for a long time, and every second she expected to hear Carnac's voice. Then it stopped, and a few minutes after that she heard the outer door open and close.

She gave him a good twenty minutes head start, then weaved her way unsteadily out of the flat and caught a taxi home. Tempting as it was to stay until the morning and see Carnac, it wouldn't be a good idea, because she really didn't like the thought of him connecting her to Toreth's disappearance. She could always tell Toreth she'd remembered her code after all.

She felt extraordinarily pleased with herself. It had been a pretty good plan, if she did say so herself. Toreth wouldn't say a word about what she'd told him because it would make him look jealous, and he hated that. Warrick wouldn't say he'd spoken to her, because then Toreth would know they'd been talking about him.

Shame she couldn't have told Warrick what she was planning, but it wouldn't have been fair. He'd have been left having to lie to Toreth, and that would've knackered the plan for certain. As it was, all he had to do was let Toreth in, screw him, and not ask too many questions. He must be getting good at that by now.

As he stepped out onto the street, it occurred to Toreth how very satisfying it would have been to have thrown Carnac out of the flat. Preferably through the window. But he'd been afraid that if Carnac had woken up and said anything, just one fucking word about Warrick, he would've hit him.

It had taken him ten minutes, and a long shower, even to be able to go back into the bedroom to get his clothes without giving in to the urge anyway.

Bastard. Planning his next fuck already. Which Toreth didn't care about — of course he didn't, why the hell would he? — except that he seemed to think it might be Warrick. Fuck that. Warrick was
his
, and no one else's. 'This SimTech director belongs to . . . ' him, not Carnac. Definitely not Carnac. That was never going to happen.

In the shower, his mind had veered towards the idea once or twice — Carnac fucking Warrick, in the sim or in the real world. Carnac telling him, "I know you like it." And then . . . then he'd wanted to strangle him.

Not a good career move.

Lately, he'd somehow ended up thinking about Carnac too much and let Warrick slip out of his mind. That was a testament to how incredibly annoying Carnac was. He ought to buy Sara another bunch of flowers for making him notice that, as well as inadvertently passing on Carnac's plans. On the other hand she mightn't remember doing either. Best to forget it, and to concentrate on sorting things out with Warrick. Toreth had to make absolutely sure that when Carnac was done at I&I he didn't find a welcome elsewhere.

Interested in the sim. Nice line, and Toreth should know.

So he stood in the street, and wondered where to go for the rest of the night. A hotel or Warrick's? The hotel was the logical choice. It was so logical that, in the end, he had to admit that he was trying to talk himself into going to Warrick's. Why else had he had the shower?

There was the small problem of what Warrick had said the last time he'd seen him. Much as he hated the idea, he'd still have to think of his career and fuck Carnac in the office, on demand, until he finally went, and then he could forget the man.

Easiest just to tell Warrick it was over — only another week and it would be true. If it wasn't finished in the technical sense, it was in the . . . whatever. No more fucking outside working hours, anyway. No more Sundays, which was what had annoyed Warrick. That would be enough. Maybe Warrick wouldn't even ask. It had been a few days, and he was bound to have got over his sulk by now.

That theory didn't mesh well with reality when he activated the comm for the flat. It took a while for Warrick to answer (not surprising, when Toreth looked at his watch) and when he did, he didn't sound delighted to see his visitor.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

No picture, just a voice. Deja vu. At least this time he wasn't going to throw up anywhere, and he could manage the words. "I just want to talk to you."

"Perhaps I didn't make myself clear before."

"That's all finished," he said, trying not to think about Carnac asleep in his flat.

A short silence followed, then Warrick said, "All right. Come up."

He wondered if Warrick would have dressed by the time he got upstairs, but he hadn't. He opened the door in his dressing gown, looking sleepy and irritable. And fuckable. God, he looked good. How could he have forgotten in just a few days how much he could want him? Especially when there was a bad temper to coax him out of.

"Do you know what
time
it is?" Warrick said.

"Half-past two."

"Oh, good. I had wondered if you bother to check before you wake me up. Well, come in, then."

Warrick closed the door behind him, but didn't reset the security.

"What do you want to talk about?"

Toreth hesitated. Now that he was here, he had no idea, since he hadn't thought beyond the conviction that Warrick would be happy to hear he was done with Carnac and . . . things would be all right. Everything would be fine and they'd fuck, or they'd fuck and everything would be fine.

Warrick sighed. "If you don't have anything to say, do you think I could get back to sleep?"

"I had a shower."

Warrick looked at him blankly for a moment, then said, "I see." Toreth thought — hoped — that he caught sight of a brief smile as Warrick turned away to reset the alarm. "And?"

"And . . . I didn't want to talk." He hooked his fingers through the belt of Warrick's dressing gown. "I'd much rather fuck."

"What a surprise." Warrick resisted the pull. "You disappear for a week — "

Unfair, for once. "The fuck I did. You threw me out."

"You disappear for a week and then you expect to walk back in here, and find me ready for you?" If he was smiling, it didn't show in his voice. "Grateful for your attention?"

Toreth blinked. What the hell else should he expect?

Warrick turned round, the belt sliding through Toreth's fingers. He kept his grip, but Warrick ignored it. He was pale with anger, which didn't help Toreth's concentration in the least. Having Warrick so close was making him achingly hard. The last fuck with Carnac seemed like a distant memory. He itched to touch Warrick, strip him, fuck him right here in the hall. He'd need another shower in a minute, a very cold one.

"Do you imagine that I don't have anything better to do with my life than to wait around for you to turn up unannounced at some God-forsaken hour of the night and fuck me?" Warrick asked.

Well, yes. "No, of course not."

"Very convincing."

He fell back on formula. "Warrick, I'm sorry."

Raised eyebrow. "About what, exactly?"

Bastard. "I'm sorry I woke you up, and . . . " And whatever. Whatever it was that would put it right. Why was he making it more difficult than usual?

"Mm." Warrick turned and walked off, getting free by the simple expedient of unfastening the belt so that it pulled through the loops of the gown.

Still holding the belt, he followed Warrick into the bedroom, fighting down the first stirrings of doubt. Dinner. Sara said they'd had dinner. What if Carnac had already said something to Warrick? What if they'd already . . .

Doubt edged into fear, with anger not far behind.

He caught Warrick's arm, harder than he'd meant to. Warrick stopped dead and turned, looking down at Toreth's hand until he released him. Then he walked away again, not far, and stood staring into the mirror without seeming to focus on it.

Toreth didn't try to touch him again. "Warrick, listen, I'm sorry about last weekend. But it's finished." He felt desperate enough to repeat the lie and risk drawing more attention to it. "That's what you said, wasn't it? What you wanted?"

He had deja vu again, although he couldn't imagine why; he found himself beginning to wish he'd gone to a hotel instead, or anywhere else but here. It had been stupid to come back. He should've waited and sorted it all out later, when Carnac was gone for good. Better just to leave.

At least try to get out of here with some dignity.

"If you want me to go away again, I'll go. But — " What had Warrick said, before? "Will you tell me what's wrong first?"

"If it were anyone else — " Warrick shook his head. "But you have no idea, do you?"

Not when you're being so fucking cryptic. "If you'll just fucking
tell
me, then I will."

After a long moment of silence, Warrick shook his head. "It's nothing I want to talk about at half past two in the morning. And . . . no, I have no particular wish for you to leave." He smiled slightly, reflected. "You do pick your moments, don't you?"

For what? He went over and rested his hands on Warrick's shoulders, wanting everything to be all right again. Wanting to feel safe, solid ground. "So
do
you want to fuck?" Warrick didn't say no, not yet, so he added, "Anything. Anything you want."

That got his attention. Warrick looked up, catching his eyes in the mirror. "Anything?"

"Yes." He dipped his head, lowered his voice, watching Warrick's face. "Anything at all. Just ask me, I'll do it for you."

Warrick turned round to face him. "Even . . . let me fuck you?"

"Yes, of course, if that's what you want. I said anything." He grinned with sheer relief. "Hell, you can tie me up and fuck me if you'd like to."

"I don't know." Warrick tilted his head, considering. "I might. Would you?"

"What?" The offer hadn't been meant seriously, and the reply unbalanced him all over again.

Warrick didn't ask again. He simply stood there, expression neutral, waiting for a reply.

Toreth didn't have one, not straight away. Did he want to? Did it matter what he wanted? He'd promised, so he couldn't back out. Before he could change his mind, he offered the belt to Warrick, who smiled brilliantly.

"Really?" Warrick asked.

"I said anything, didn't I?" He shook the silk slightly. "Go on."

When Warrick took the belt, Toreth held his hands out.

"No," Warrick said. "Behind your back."

Yes, of course. He stepped past Warrick, facing the mirror, and put his arms behind him, crossing his wrists.

He could see Warrick, behind him, his face and shoulders and glimpses of the rest of him as he moved, touching him. Fastening the belt round his wrists. Unfastening clothes. He watched, fascinated. When had anyone last undressed him (at least when he was conscious)? He always enjoyed fucking in front of mirrors, or windows, or anywhere else where he could see Warrick's face reflected. Never before with himself in front and Warrick behind, though.