Men of London 02 - Sight and Sinners (12 page)

“I had another reason for coming around to see you.” Draven ignored him and moved over to the couch and sat down, placing the folder on the scarred wooden table in between the chairs. “I wondered if you could help me with a case I’m working on.” He raised that sardonic eyebrow at Taylor’s sudden intake of breath.

“What? You thought I wouldn’t be able to get past my own inhibitions about what you do and see if there’s any truth in what you say you do?”

“Well, yeah, it’s a bit surprising.” Taylor shuffled forward, suddenly conscious he was in old sweatpants and a grubby tee shirt while Draven was immaculate in a green polo shirt which showed off muscled, blond-haired arms and an impressive set of pectoral muscles. His trendy black jeans looked as if they’d been poured onto him.

Way to impress a man, Taylor, looking like some of hippy guy in a coffee-stained tee.

He slumped next to Draven and ran a hand through the tangled curls of his hair. Draven’s eyes followed that movement closely and there was a sudden longing in his eyes that was hard to ignore. Then his face settled back into the blank mask again.

“I’m a businessman. I’ll use any tools I need to get what I want and finish the job.”

Taylor wasn’t sure he liked being called a “tool.” He’d been called it in other situations where it had a different meaning but somehow, this dispassionate assessment of what he did seemed worse.

“You do know I’m not something you can just pull out of a fucking cupboard and turn on, don’t you?” he said acerbically. “That’s not the way this works. I don’t even know if I can connect with anything without something emotional binding me to them.”

Draven’s grey eyes assessed him thoughtfully. “You are emotionally involved,” he said. He picked up the folder and waved it. “This is about Drew.”

Taylor’s heart stopped then stuttered to a slow start again. “Drew?” he whispered. “What about him?”

“I told you I thought someone was blackmailing him about his affairs with men and that was what drove him to kill himself. Now I know that was the case after reviewing the police file. I think he was protecting his family. And I know about protecting family and what you’ll do to make sure they survive in this world.” Draven’s voice was steely. “Now are you going to help me, or not?”

Taylor’s first question came out of his mouth without him even realising it. “What do you mean, protecting family? Are yours in danger? Is that where you were tonight?” He leaned forward in concern and hope that perhaps he’d finally get some answers about Draven’s secrecy. He laid a hand on Draven’s leg, feeling the man tense.

“I don’t think that’s anything I want to get into with someone who sees me as ‘just a bit of fun’,” Draven remarked silkily. “Let’s just focus on this, shall we?”

He opened the folder and Taylor saw various documents and photographs spill out. He was still stung by Draven’s last remark but he had a feeling this wasn’t the time to pursue it. He’d try and explain more about what he meant later, when Draven didn’t have such a bug up his arse.

“There aren’t any pictures of Drew in there are there?” he muttered. “You know, after he killed himself.” He definitely wasn’t up to seeing one of his lover’s heads blown apart at the seams. He really didn’t want to pass out again or be sick or anything else around this prickly man.

Draven nodded. “There are, but they’re in a separate envelope and you don’t need to see them. I’m not that cruel.” He indicated to a white A4 envelope splayed across the table. “The thing I really wanted to show you was this.”

He handed over a white piece of notepaper with a scrawl on it, a scrawl that Taylor was achingly familiar with.

“It’s a copy of the suicide note Drew wrote to his wife, Catherine. I wondered if you could read it, see if you can get any sort of vibe out of it, or whatever it is that you get.” Taylor hesitated, not wanting to take the paper. He was scared of what he might see and experience. Draven saw his reluctance.

“It’s all right if you don’t want to do this,” he said evenly. “I’d understand. I’ve seen what happens to you when you do your thing. I don’t want you hurt.”

Taylor drew a deep breath. “It’s fine. I can do this.” He reached out and took the paper from Draven. Almost immediately he felt a sense of suffocation, of grief and emotions that threatened to overwhelm his senses. His vision blurred, his heart sped up and his skin felt clammy. He shook his head, trying to get rid of the sensations invading his body. Through a dim haze, he heard Draven calling his name in panic.

Flashes of light and dark went through his head, blurs of scenes as if they were something out a film, sped up and indistinct, fragments of events that only lasted seconds and made Taylor sick to his stomach with anguish. He heard a man sobbing, felt the warmth of tears down his face, tasted the salt in his mouth and felt cold metal in his right hand. In his vision, he saw a dark-haired woman moving over to Drew, her hands outreached toward him. She seemed familiar. Taylor was falling, falling into an abyss of despair and sorrow and as the cold metal touched the side of his head, the woman screamed.

“Drew, oh God, no. Drew!”

The world went dark.

*****

Once again Draven sat with Taylor’s jerking body in his arms, holding the man with all the care he could summon as he passed through whatever it was he saw; Draven only hoped he would come out unscathed. When he’d asked Taylor to touch the paper, he’d never been prepared for a reaction like this. Taylor had gone white, his lips pinched and bloodless, a low keening noise coming out of his mouth like a soul in torment. His eyes had darkened to an unseeing black, a travesty of their usually warm brown, and his body had shivered and trembled.

Draven had tried to pull him back but could only watch helplessly as Taylor shuddered and mumbled and his hands had fidgeted incessantly, bunching up into his tee shirt, exposing his belly and at one time he’d drawn his fingers down the skin, leaving deep scratch marks and blood in their wake. Draven had managed to pull those restless hands away before he could do any more damage and now he sat, heart pounding with fear and shame at having put Taylor through this.

There was no doubt what he was seeing was real. How the whole psychic thing happened he had no idea, but this? This wasn’t the natural order of things. This was outside of that. And Draven was both scared and awed by Taylor’s abilities.

All the ire he’d felt on Taylor’s careless comment to his friend that Draven wasn’t anything serious disappeared for the time being by watching this man in the throes of what looked like great sorrow and discomfort.

He managed to get Taylor to the couch and held him tightly, willing him to relax and murmuring soothing platitudes. It was a good fifteen minutes before Taylor’s body calmed down and he fell into a deep sleep. Draven slipped off his shoes, got up carefully, easing his aching back, taking care not to wake the sleeping man, although it looked like he was out for the count. He rummaged in Taylor’s bedroom for a blanket then came back and lay down on the opposite side of the couch. He pulled the senseless man between his legs, his back against Draven’s stomach, head resting on Draven’s chest. Draven covered them with the duvet and closed his eyes wearily.

I seem to be making a habit of this. God help me, but there is something about this man that draws me into his orbit and I am going to get burned.

He was dozing when he heard a door open noisily and he came alert instantly. Taylor was still asleep, and Draven’s arm was tingling with pins and needles. The light was switched on and he saw a tall, slim, dark-haired man staring down at him with an expression of wariness.

“Who the fuck are you?” The younger man’s voice seemed to awaken something in Taylor and he mumbled and opened his eyes. The dark-haired man in high heels and tiny shorts—Draven had to blink twice just to make sure he wasn’t in some horny fantasy dream—rushed over and knelt down beside them. He reached out a slim hand and pushed back the duvet, then glared at Draven before falling over the prostate form of Taylor.

Draven oomphed at the press of both bodies weighing him down.

Taylor grumbled and tried to sit up. “I’m okay, Leslie. Give me some space, you freak.”

Draven’s balls sprang back to life. He heaved a sigh of relief.

“Freak?” Leslie’s voice was indignant. Strangely enough, his voice was deeper than Draven would expect from someone dressed like he was. He’d expected a high-pitched girly tone. “You bastard, you’re the damn freak. What did this arsehole make you do?”

“Nothing that I didn’t want to,” mumbled Taylor as he tried to sit up and blinked the sleep out of his eyes. He frowned at Leslie’s arm across his waist. “We’re working on a case together.” He frowned. “I thought you were staying out tonight?”

Leslie’s shrugged slim shoulders. “Didn’t work out.” His eyes narrowed. “So this is Draven…the investigator guy you’re fucking?”

“Yes, that would be me.” Draven drawled, trying to keep some semblance of dignity even as he was trapped beneath two warm male bodies. In another situation that would have been just the kind of setup he might have appreciated. “Perhaps you can both bloody get off me so I take a pee? My bladder is bursting.” He’d been putting it off long enough trying not to wake Taylor up.

Leslie huffed but backed off, allowing Taylor to scramble to his feet. He still looked a little shell-shocked but had more colour than when Draven had technically put him to bed.

“You stayed with me again.” His voice was soft, wondering.

Draven grimaced as his bladder threatened to blow. “Of course I did, you idiot. Now can you show me where the damn bathroom is before I wet myself?”

At a vague wave in the direction of the room on the left of the kitchen, Draven hastily made his way to the small toilet and locked the door. He gave a huge gasp of pleasure as his bladder voided itself. Five minutes later he was back in the lounge where Taylor stood, back to him, facing the window and Leslie sat perched on the table, shoes off, rubbing his feet.

Draven cleared his throat and the two men turned to look at him. Taylor’s eyes were dulled, dark circles under them but Draven thought he had never looked sexier being so vulnerable. He wanted to wrap this man in a cocoon and never let him go.

“Taylor, are you up to talking about it or should I wait for tomorrow? I know you saw something but I don’t want to push you.” The last thing in the world Draven wanted was to leave. He wanted to find out from Taylor what had happened, perhaps even get to explore his comment about this being just “fun.” It rankled still that that was perhaps how Taylor saw this whole thing.

Leslie glared at him. “Of course it can wait. The man is obviously distressed.”

“Leslie.” Taylor’s voice was firm. “Draven is staying and we’re going to my room so we can talk about what I saw. This is important and I need to remember it now while it’s still fresh.” He bent down and kissed Leslie on his red-streaked black hair. Leslie grunted but reached up and touched Taylor’s cheek as if comforting himself.

“You yell if you need me.” He cast a suspicious look at Draven. “Don’t let
him
wear you out.”

Taylor seemed to choke back a laugh. “I promise I won’t. Well, he can wear me out only in the ways that matter, anyway.” He reached out a hand to Draven as he picked up his duvet. “Come on. We can chat in my room. I have a lot to tell you.”

Draven just had time to snatch up the folder and contents before he was pulled along to the bedroom. He followed Taylor in as he closed the door and then found himself the recipient of a mind-blowing, toe-curling kiss as Taylor grabbed his shirt, ground his lips against his and proceeded to mine the inside of his mouth.

The folder dropped to the floor and Draven didn’t give a fuck. He’d never been so thoroughly excavated. As a hungry, wet tongue entwined with his and small gasps of breath escaped both of their mouths, Draven felt a sense of belonging. Of ownership and being owned. It was the strangest sensation to realise that fact as warm hands crept into his shirt and caressed skin that was set on fire. Taylor pushed him backward onto the bed, straddling him, dark curls falling down across his face, eyes shining with feverish intensity and mouth red and swollen from kisses.

“Thank you for staying with me,” he breathed against Draven’s ear as he trailed a hot tongue down skin that suddenly felt too tight for his body. Draven tingled with every sense he had. “I’m sorry this relationship seems to always end in me passing out and you having to rescue me.”

“Relationship?” Draven gasped as hands unbuckled his trousers and Taylor’s palm bore down on the erection that was about to erupt from his pants. “I thought you said this was only a bit of fun.” He uttered a deep groan as warm lips mouthed his highly sensitive cock through the black briefs he wore. His hands clenched into Taylor’s hair.

“I lied. I told you, I just want them to stop pestering me about things and thinking I can’t take care of myself. I’m a big boy. I know what I want. And fuck, I want you so badly. In me. Now. The talk can wait.”

Those words drilled directly down into Draven’s dick. His balls were tucked tight in his groin and he shuddered.

“Christ, Taylor. I am going to come right now if you keep saying things like that to me.” He lifted his hips as Taylor tugged on his trousers and shuffled back to pull them down with his briefs. He licked his lips, his eyes feasting on Draven, naked from the waist down, the biggest erection Draven thought he’d ever had begging for attention. Thick, swollen, leaking and rosy and Draven was very proud of it.