The Administration Series (230 page)

"There's something I'd like to ask you, if I may?"

Warrick's 'serious conversation' voice normally gave Toreth a reflexive urge to leave the building as quickly as possible. The urge was dampened, in this case, by the fact that he was naked, and that Warrick had spent the last half hour massaging him into a boneless heap of pure relaxation. Maybe that had been the point.

"What?" Toreth asked.

"I was just wondering . . . " Nothing, apparently, because the sentence trailed off — a rare occurrence with Warrick.

"Mm," Toreth said, and closed his eyes. Silence was fine by him. It had worked very well so far this morning.

After a minute, Warrick said, "It seems a long time since the revolt, don't you think?"

Where the fuck was this going, Toreth wondered? Then Warrick ran his palms down on each side of Toreth's spine, and talking didn't seem too high a price to pay to keep him doing it. Massage was fairly boring, after all, for the masseur. Now what the hell had Warrick asked? Something about the revolt, about —

"Well, yeah, it is a long time," Toreth said, his voice muffled by his arm. "Couple of months anyway."

"Yes. Nine weeks since it started. Five since Carnac left I&I. And you've been here for almost a fortnight."

So that was it. He'd been expecting this, because he'd known that there was only so long Warrick would be able to bear the invasion of his previously spotless flat. "You want me to go back to my place."

"That's not quite what I — "

"It's not a problem. I still haven't got round to sorting things out there, that's all, because . . . " Because he had pushed it so far down his priority list that it had dropped off the bottom. "I'll get Sara onto it."

"No, you misunderstand." Warrick paused to trickle more oil over Toreth's lower back. "I'm not complaining. Far from it. If I wanted you to leave, I would say so."

True enough. However, now the topic had come up, the ignore-it-and-hope-no-one-notices strategy was fucked. "I'll sort it out."

"Of course." Warrick sounded oddly tense, although his hands didn't give up the pressure as he rubbed his thumbs in circles at the top of Toreth's thighs. "If that's what you want to do."

What else would he . . . ? And then Toreth realised.

"Are you — " No, it was a ridiculous idea. Obviously another misunderstanding.

"Mm? Am I what?"

"Are you asking if I want to stay?"

"I didn't wish to make any assumptions." He worked his hands slowly higher, driving out the incipient tension. "I'm not expecting an instant decision one way or another. Some indication of your long-term plans would be helpful, that's all."

Toreth thought it over. Or tried to think it over. He considered telling Warrick that if he was hoping for serious mental exertion on his part he should stop, or at least move his hands somewhere else. At this moment, or probably any other, he could think about domestic arrangements or he could have his buttocks massaged, but he couldn't combine both.

Of the two, he knew which he preferred. He squirmed slightly, which was as much movement as he could summon the energy for, hoping to direct Warrick's fingers somewhere that would distract them both from the question.

Warrick seemed serious enough about not expecting an immediate response, because he obediently stroked down, pausing briefly for more oil. A finger teased him for a while, until he was wriggling again, involuntarily this time, then pushed gently into him.

"Ah . . . mmh. Yes. Nice."

"Charmingly monosyllabic," Warrick said.

If he could manage to open his eyes and look round (both of which seemed unlikely), he'd be able to see Warrick's face. But he didn't need to — he could hear the smile in his voice.

What he wanted to say was Please, God, yes, keep doing that. More and more, for as long as I can stand it, and then fuck me. Come inside me, with me, then let's fall asleep here and I'll answer your stupid bloody questions later. A lot later.

Instead he dragged himself up onto his elbows and went straight for the difficult part. "Would you want me to stay?"

"That's an interesting question." The slow, easy rhythm of Warrick's finger inside him didn't falter. "Or a complex one, at any rate. I have given it some thought."

It was probably extensive practise in the sim that meant Warrick could discuss and fuck at the same time. Toreth had always thought it was a very unfair advantage, but he wasn't about to start complaining now. That raised the awful prospect of Warrick stopping.

The continuing silence suggested Warrick expected a contribution to the conversation. Monosyllabic seemed to be working so far. "Yeah? And?"

"Occasional disagreements notwithstanding, I enjoy your company. I certainly enjoy the convenience of having you here, whenever I
want
you."

Toreth moaned as a second finger joined the first, stretching him until he deliberately relaxed to accommodate it. Much tenser than he ought to be.

"It's also, ah, significantly less disruptive than I expected," Warrick said.

"Disruptive?"

"In terms of clothes and towels on the floor, mess in the kitchen and so on. And, incidentally, I do appreciate the effort."

Toreth might have taken offense, if Warrick hadn't finished the sentence by leaning forward and trailing feather-light kisses down his neck and upper back.

"No problem," he managed once his spine had uncurled.

"Good. I realise that I'm not the easiest person to share accommodation with, even on a temporary basis."

Toreth grinned into the crisp pillowcase, fresh on the bed last night. "You're fine. For an obsessive-compulsive control freak with a clean towel fetish."

"Mm. Indeed. However, to return to the discussion, I wouldn't be opposed in principle to extending the experiment. On the other hand — " which Warrick slid down between his legs, slick with oil, stroking his balls gently, " — there are downsides to the idea. The flat is fundamentally too small for both of us, if you were . . . intending to spend a lot more of your time here."

Move in, Toreth nearly said. Just say move in. We both know what we're talking about. But, somehow, he couldn't say it. The urge to leave, or at least to end the conversation, tugged at him again. However, the difficulty of concentrating with Warrick doing
that
made it a challenge, rather than an ordeal. "So . . . mmh, yeah, again . . . so what?"

Warrick changed position, lying down beside him, propped on one elbow.

"It would seem logical to move somewhere larger," he continued. "One reason I raise the question now is that, in view of the recent upsets, SimTech has reappraised my security assessment. They've asked me to consider moving somewhere with fundamentally greater protection. Actually, the head of security is being rather insistent about it. I need to know what kind of place I should look for."

"I suppose so." Toreth shifted on the bed. "Can you — a bit. Deeper . . . ah, yes. Fuck, that's good."

Warrick laughed softly. "Nice to be appreciated. Anyway, that brings up a second point. I own this flat — or to be accurate, SimTech owns it. The same would be true of a new flat. Would you have a problem with that?"

"Why the fuck would I care?"

"Honestly? Because I've made mistakes in the past and bought things for you, or arranged things to do, which were too expensive, and you disliked it. I'm sure I'd feel exactly the same if our financial positions were reversed."

True enough. He considered it carefully, or as carefully as he could manage. "It'd be different."

"Are you sure? Why?"

"I could always apply for another flat if I didn't like it. I wouldn't have to stay there. But . . . "

"But?"

"I'd have to register the change of address. And my status in the new accommodation."

"Ah. I'd forgotten all about that. Is
that
a problem?"

Ridiculously, yes. "No. Does it matter what the hell it says in some file at the Department of Population?"

"Not at all, as far as I'm concerned. I'm sure we can find a suitable box to select."

There was silence for a few minutes, except for murmurs of appreciation and encouragement. Toreth began to hope that the conversation had run its course and they could get down to —

"There are other things. Such as — " Warrick stopped and, more annoyingly, his hand stopped as well.

Toreth nudged up with his hips, to no effect. "What?"

"Do you ever take people back to your flat?"

"Do I — ? Oh, you mean fucks."

"Yes. Fucks." He started stroking again. "Because that is something I couldn't tolerate. What you do away from here is your own business and I accept that, but — "

"I wouldn't do it. I wouldn't want to. I never take anyone home now. Only you." He paused. "That's something else."

"What?"

"We keep most of the gear at my place. If we," lived together, "didn't have somewhere else, it would all have to be here. Or wherever. For people to see if they started nosing around. Dillian, for example."

He bit back a moan of disappointment as Warrick took his hand away and knelt up again, sitting back on his heels. "She wouldn't."

Tempting to agree, just to make him come back. "Jesus, you're joking. Of course she would. What would she think about the drawerful of stuff that was looted from my place?"

Warrick hesitated, then said, "She'd be upset."

"Upset? She'd throw a fucking fit, and then she'd have me arrested and you committed. I know how she feels about it. She thinks I beat you up, to start with. And that's before she gets on to what I
do
do to you. Remember what she was like about the cabinet?"

"
I
remember — how the hell do you know?" Curiosity, with irritation keeping it company.

Oh, fuck. There was such a thing as being too relaxed. Warrick hated the idea of their sex life being a topic of outside discussion.

Putting the blame on Dillian was a risky strategy, but in this case it was true. "She had 'a little word' with me about it. She said you'd shown it to her." It wasn't necessary to add 'which you never told me'.

"Well . . . yes, I did. She noticed the bruises, so I had to say something. And what did she say?"

He shrugged. "I don't remember. It was a long time ago."

"Toreth, what did she say?" A non-negotiable tone of voice.

"The usual. I don't like you, I'm keeping my eye on you. Be careful with him. If you hurt him, I'll etcetera."

"Etcetera?"

"Call Justice, I expect — I've usually stopped listening by that point." Dillian would be happy with this, anyway, spoiling a so-far lovely morning without even being here.

"It's none of her business, as I have made abundantly clear in the past. I'll remind her the next time I see her."

Better and better. "Don't bother. There's no point — it won't do anybody any good. You won't change her mind, and she doesn't need extra reasons to be fucked off with me."

"I . . . very well." A further hesitation and then — finally — the combined massage and fingerfuck resumed.

It took five minutes for Toreth to get back to the same state of happy relaxation, during which there were no further comments from Warrick. However, his next words made clear what he had been thinking about.

"I have tried to explain it to her."

Toreth sighed and hunted for a suitable discourager. "It doesn't matter. Listen — what Dillian thinks about me is so far down the list of things I give a shit about that you'd pass housework before you got to it."

That drew a small laugh. "So little? But I didn't want you to imagine that I let her think things like that and didn't say anything. I could try — "

"Warrick, leave it. Don't give her ammunition. She's going to be bad enough as it is about me sharing a flat with you."

It took him a few seconds to realise that he'd said it, quite accidentally. 'She's going to be'. That sounded dangerously like a decision.

Silence. Then Warrick said, "Turn over."

Too much effort. "Why?"

"Because I want to fuck you. And I want to see your face while I do it." Warrick leaned down and gently bit the nape of his neck. "And, assuming the timing works out, I want to watch your eyes as you come. Then I plan to come also, and very probably fall asleep soon afterwards. After that I'm going to wing it. There may be a shower, and then coffee and some lunch and — "

"For God's sake. All
right
." Finally, he managed to roll over. "The fuck will do fine; I don't need your bloody schedule for the day."

He shifted across the bed, allowing Warrick to move above him, and brought his legs up smoothly, resting his calves on Warrick's shoulders. As usual, Warrick paused and looked down.

"God. That is so . . . I can't explain how much of a turn-on that is."

"Enjoy it while you can."

"Oh?"

Toreth turned his feet inward, running his toes through Warrick's hair. "Yeah. Because I'm not going to be able to manage it forever. It's not as easy as it used to be."

"Mm." Warrick kissed his ankle, then bit it gently. "Better make sure we get to the gym today, then. Shall we stop?"

"If you stop now, I'll probably kill you."

"In that case — " Warrick leaned down, stretching his legs, and Toreth curled up to meet him for a kiss.

Finally, Toreth thought, conversation over.