The Administration Series (87 page)

The reversal was weirdly disorienting. Unexpectedly arousing.

He was going to let Warrick fuck him. Let him, hell — he wanted it. Not in the sim, but for the first time here in the real world. He tried to get the anticipation under some kind of control. No reason to think it would be anything that special. It wasn't as if he'd never been fucked before. Just never by Warrick.

And like this, never by anyone. He twisted his wrists, feeling the fabric give a little as the knot tightened. To his surprise, he felt his pulse pick up speed, and trusting his voice seemed like a bad idea.

They did it in the sim, or something like it — Warrick stripping his movements and senses away one by one until there was only touch left. This wasn't anything like as extreme a surrender . . . but it was real.

Once Warrick had removed all the clothes that could be removed under the circumstances, he pulled Toreth's shirt back over his shoulders, pinning his arms more effectively than the belt. Toreth focused on Warrick's face in the mirror, his lips moving as he spoke.

"Close your eyes."

It seemed a pity to lose the picture, but he did it. Playing the game.

He felt Warrick's hands on his bare shoulders, thumbs stroking. "I should bite you, don't you think?"

He cleared his throat. "Whatever you want."

Toreth felt Warrick's weight shift, then a touch of soft lips on the back of his neck. Kisses, not a bite, until he relaxed. Then he gasped as teeth sank in. Hard mouth, sucking hard, as his spine tried to curl into a ball to escape. He gasped again when it stopped.

God, was
that
one going to bruise.

Warrick was silent for a moment, surveying his handiwork — mouth work — then Toreth heard him mutter, "
That
won't wash off."

Labelling him.

His stomach tightened at the idea, with a prickle of hot and cold. Not wanting to think about that, he licked his lips and whispered, "Fuck me." Trying the words.

Behind him, Warrick went quite still.

"Fuck me." It sounded good. Tasted good. He had no idea why he wanted it so much right now, but when he added, "Please," he meant it.

The hands on his shoulders tightened. "Say that again." Warrick playing the role, and meaning it, too.

In return, Toreth decided to try the whole thing. "I want you to fuck me."

Warrick. Not Carnac. Not a hundred other nameless fucks. He wanted Warrick, right now.

Because he couldn't say any of that, he pressed back against Warrick, bound fingers finding his cock and making him gasp.

"Fuck me. I need it." I need
you
.

Warrick's fingers dug into his shoulders. "Then maybe we should go to bed."

He opened his eyes. "No." The refusal was out of character, but he didn't care. "Do it here, in front of the mirror."

"That — " Warrick stopped, coughed, started again. "That might be tricky. It would be a lot easier with your hands free."

Which was a good point, although it brought an unexpected twinge of disappointment. "Okay."

The belt pinched his skin briefly, then loosened. He quickly stripped off his shirt and, before Warrick could discard the belt, he turned round and offered his wrists again.

Warrick raised an eyebrow, surprised by the acquiescence. "You don't have to — "

"No, I don't." If Warrick wanted it, that was a good enough reason for tonight.

Without further comment, Warrick bound his wrists again, and turned him back to face the mirror. He reached out, touching his own hands in the glass.

Warrick crouched beside him, resting his cheek against his hip, and stroked his hand up the back of his thighs, making Toreth think of the first virtual fuck in the sim.

Despite the fact that he wanted this — he really did — he could feel the muscles tensing under Warrick's touch, however much he willed them to relax. The hand slid over his buttocks, down between them, and the muscles clenched again, a shiver running down his back.

Warrick paused. "Are you — "

"Oh, for fuck's sake, yes I am."

"I didn't even finish."

"I'm fine, I'm sure, I'm whatever."

"I was going to ask, are you cold?"

"Oh." He thought about it, trying to isolate the information from a nervous system occupied by other things. "Yes, a bit."

"I thought you might be. Housekeeping: temperature up four degrees in the bedroom."

Warrick ran his other hand up over Toreth's stomach, tracing the muscles. "The problem being, of course, that you lack any sort of insulation." He turned his head and kissed Toreth's hip, lips moving against him as he spoke. "Not that I'm complaining, you understand. Quite the opposite. I could sit and admire the lack for hours, despite what it would do to your already monstrously overinflated ego. Or even kneel and admire. Anyway, I usually turn the heating up before you get here, or set the system to do it if we've gone out."

"All right, all right. Next time I'll call."

"Better all round. Not that it takes long to kick in."

It didn't. Or possibly the excuse wasn't needed any more, because Warrick hadn't stopped touching him, and while he wasn't paying attention the tension had quietly slipped away.

Now Warrick looked round, then checked his dressing gown pockets and produced a tube.

"That's not where you usually keep it."

"No, I — " Warrick laughed. "I picked it up off the side when I heard the comm. Reflex, I suppose. I knew it was you — who the hell else would it be at this time?"

He felt safe enough to risk teasing. "So I can expect to walk in here and find you ready for me?"

"Apparently, yes, you can."

"Well, then, in future I'll — oh!" Cool gel, firmly applied. He started, forgetting his hands were tied. He'd been watching Warrick's face, not his hands.

"Serves you right," Warrick said.

"That wasn't nice."

"Sorry." Even less convincing than his own apology earlier. "How about that?"

Warrick's finger slipped easily inside him, and Toreth let his shoulders roll back. "Mmm. Yes."

Looking between Warrick beside him and their reflection in the mirror was excitingly strange. He had nothing to do except watch — being done to, not doing. Warrick watched him in return, intent on his reactions.

It wasn't really the optimum position for relaxed, thorough foreplay, but the bed would have felt too claustrophobic, too . . . submissive. Although that was a pretty stupid thing to think, when he was standing here with his hands tied up and his head bowed, aching for more than just fingers inside him.

He was thinking about this far too much. So don't, he told himself. Just enjoy.

Warrick was incredibly good at this. He wondered where he learned it. With whom. It couldn't be Carnac, of course. That thought triggered another, the memory of the fuck in the office. He'd said Carnac's name as he came. He knew he had. What if, for some stupid reason, he did it again? Warrick would throw a fit, or maybe even throw him out again. Toreth felt himself tensing up again. He was —

Thinking again.

Warrick moved around to kneel in front of him, giving a thoroughly appreciated view of his back and arse, from mid-thigh upwards. He couldn't see, in the mirror, what Warrick was doing, but he didn't need to, because he felt a hand on his cock and then a brief, hot breath before Warrick's mouth closed round his cock. Tonguing him, light and shallow. Not enough to push him too far, but enough to distract him from whatever the hell he'd been thinking about.

Don't think. Just enjoy it going on.

On and on, until he'd forgotten where it was leading, or even that his wrists were tied. Toreth's eyes drifted closed without his noticing. His hands rested lightly on Warrick's head, stroking absently through his thick, soft hair.

Then Warrick's fingers and mouth were gone, leaving him cold again. Someone was breathing loudly, very close by. He was trying to frame a protest, when he realised that Warrick had said something.

He looked down, meeting Warrick's hot gaze.

"What?" Toreth asked.

"I said, ready?"

Oh, God, yes. He nodded, then, bracing his hands against the glass, he closed his eyes again. Not because he was expecting it to hurt, but because he wanted to remember the feeling.

Warrick stood up, moved round behind him and put an arm round his waist. Slight height adjustment. Then . . . nothing.

"You have to ask for it," Warrick said after a moment.

Of course. He managed to gather enough breath to speak.

"Fuck me."

"Again."

"I want you — " and a pause before he remembered to add, " — to fuck me."

He could feel Warrick's cock against him, so tormentingly close to where he needed it. He could see why Warrick got such a kick out of this part of the game — the anticipation was killing him.

"Now?"

"Yes,
now
. Please."

Pressure, stretching him, starting to fill him. Warrick's hands on his hip and shoulder. He clenched his fists against the glass, biting back a moan, not wanting to give away how very, very much he wanted this.

Warrick stopped, halfway, and he could feel the effort it took. Did Warrick think he hadn't done this before? Take a breath. "Go on. I'm okay."

"You . . . you might be. But I'm not." Warrick drew his breath in sharply as Toreth pushed back towards him. "God, don't. I need a minute. Or this will be the highest ratio of foreplay to fuck on record. I haven't . . . done this for a while." He took another breath, let it out slowly. "And it really
isn't
like the sim. So strange, because there's no reason why it should be different. The modelling is relatively simple and very accurate." He eased deeper and sighed. "No. Not at all the same."

Toreth smiled, watching himself, and Warrick behind him, face hidden as he breathed raggedly into his shoulder. That felt better, somehow, knowing that Warrick wanted it so badly. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I should think not, after dragging me out of bed." Warrick pushed forwards, all the way, and his hands tightened on him. "Mmh. Dragging me out of bed, demanding sex, and — "

"Warrick."

"Mm?"

"Shut up." Too many conversational fucks with Carnac he didn't want to remember, and thinking about Carnac was dangerous. "Shut up and fuck me."

Saying the words gave him the same weird thrill, and from the way Warrick pressed against him, shuddering, he wasn't getting bored of hearing them yet.

"Toreth, if you keep . . . saying that . . . "

"Fuck me." Himself in the mirror, and Warrick behind him. "Fuck me. I want to feel it. Do it. Now. Fuck me. I want — "

Whatever self-control Warrick had managed to gather wasn't up to that, and he pulled back, thrust in hard. Then again, a little clumsy — out of practise as he'd said, or nearly out of control. Toreth shifted his feet, angled his hips to meet each stroke until — yes — that was it. Oh, yes. Every movement building the pleasure. He moaned out loud, not caring now because Warrick was already making more than enough noise to cover it.

"Yes, oh God yes, so good . . . " Warrick's voice muffled against him, showing precisely how close he was. Even though they'd never fucked quite like this before, Toreth could read him as easily as ever. It wouldn't last long, but it didn't matter because whatever had been wrong before, everything was all right.

He wasn't so close, yet, but he was desperate to be touched, needing it
now
. If he'd been able to get a hand free, he would have done it himself, but the knots had tightened hopelessly and he couldn't slip a hand through.

"Warrick."

Warrick didn't hear him — probably couldn't even hear himself by now, words blurring into harsh sobs.

He struggled for a moment, panting, almost panicking if he hadn't been so aroused. He couldn't bear the idea that Warrick might come without him, leaving him like this. From now on he was tying, not being tied. He raised his voice. "Please. Warrick, please."

Nothing so coherent as a reply, but he got a response, which was much better. A hand sliding down to take hold of his cock, just exactly, perfectly how he needed it. How he liked it. Bracing himself against the mirror, he pushed back hard.

He forgot about the belt around his wrists. Everything he wanted was elsewhere: Warrick against him, skin on skin, inside him, his arms round him, hand stroking him faster, hot breath against his neck, all wonderful, all making a lie out of the idea that it was nothing special.

He gave himself up completely to the overwhelming sensations, gasping Warrick's name without having to think about it at all.

Toreth awoke to the sharp burn of pins and needles in his hands and a pillow wedged uncomfortably under one shoulder. Then he realised that Warrick still had his arms around him and that his face was pressed into Warrick's chest, hair tickling as he breathed. He could taste salted skin again.

As well as his hands, his calves were aching and he could feel the bites on his neck, both the first one and some more he didn't remember getting. He was sticky, and slightly, pleasantly, sore. Just enough to know that he'd been having fun.

At least they had made it as far as the bed before they fell asleep. It felt good, lying there. It felt better than the fuck itself. Almost.

He gave it a minute, a long minute (probably nearer five, but who was counting?), then shrugged his way free and sat up. Warrick opened his eyes and looked up enquiringly.

"Get this stupid belt off me," Toreth said.

Warrick laughed. "Do you ever wake up in a
good
mood?"

He had been in the shower for about thirty seconds when Toreth joined him. It was a little disconcerting, because Warrick had more than half expected to get back to the bedroom to find Toreth gone. That would have been a pity, but he wouldn't have minded a little time alone to sort out his thoughts.

Still, he wasn't complaining. Not after that. It had been more than worth waiting for, and the belt had been an unexpected bonus, although in the end he'd actually enjoyed that part of it a lot less that he'd expected, and he wondered how it would have been in the sim.