The Administration Series (194 page)

Eventually, Warrick pulled back, eyes opening slowly.

"Hold the edge of the desk and keep the chair still." His voice had lost some of its cool, but it was still commanding.

He reached round Warrick, depositing the jar on the desk, and as he did so, he thought about the door. It wasn't locked. Had Warrick asked Sara to make sure they weren't disturbed? Warrick wouldn't be doing this if he thought there was the slightest chance they would be caught, but at the same time he had trouble imaginging him saying . . . and then he gave up imagining anything at all as Warrick lowered himself slowly down.

The last of the idea that this might've been a sudden impulse on Warrick's part was banished at the same time. He was prepared and open enough to take Toreth all the way in. Toreth arched back against the chair, the protest from his ribs swamped by the pure physical pleasure.
God
, it felt good. Distractedly, he tried to remember how long it had been since they'd last fucked, then gave up. Too long, anyway. Far too fucking long.

"The desk," Warrick said.

"What?" He opened his eyes, and found he had his hands on Warrick's hips, pressing him down onto him. "Ah. Sorry."

A moment of stillness, Warrick's hands shifting their grip on his shoulders, before Warrick began to fuck him. A few slow thrusts to start with, then faster, hard and deep and utterly wonderful. Not a experience designed to last long, but if that was what Warrick wanted, then it was fine — more than fine — with him. He had to fight to stop himself thrusting back up, because if he did the chair would surely go flying.

The whole situation, the weird reversal, only magnified the excitement. Warrick, fucking him in his office. The door
wasn't
locked and whether Sara was there or not, someone could walk in. He imagined Carnac's expression, seeing this, and he almost laughed out loud.

He tightened his grip on the desk and braced his feet, his eyes closing as he concentrated on other senses. Warrick's mouth on his throat, teeth grazing the skin as Toreth drew in a deep breath, smelling him, still tasting the kisses.

Being fucked — being taken.

Warrick leaned against him now, breathing hard, one arm around his shoulders, the other moving between them. For once, he couldn't tell how near Warrick was to coming, couldn't tell anything at all, disoriented by the strangeness and desperately close himself.

"Warrick —"

"Yes. Don't hold back."

He'd managed to keep quiet until now, but at the end he couldn't help it. Muffled, thankfully, by Warrick's shoulder, he cried out, ecstasy mingled with delighted disbelief that this was
real
.

Just a few seconds, and Warrick's fingers dug sharply into his shoulder, and he moaned, surprisingly restrained, as he also came. Toreth let go of the desk and held Warrick in place as he relaxed against him and until, eventually, they were both breathing normally again.

Over Warrick's shoulder, Toreth caught a glimpse of the screen waiting for him. He closed his eyes and wished he could stay like this forever, or at least until someone else had sorted out the whole fucking mess for him.

Then Warrick sat up, obscuring the screen, and shook his hair back. He studied Toreth's face for a moment, and said, "Very nice."

Me or the fuck? Before he could ask, Warrick held his hand up, the gesture more an order than a request, and Toreth obediently licked it clean. Not that he minded doing it, despite the taste of the cream. When he'd done, Warrick stood up, wiped his hands on a handkerchief from his pile of clothes, and started to dress, at a more leisurely pace than he had stripped.

Toreth watched him, bemused and thoroughly enchanted. How often had he thought 'it can't ever be better than this', and been wrong? There seemed to be no upper limit on how good fucking Warrick could be. In the grip of the warm glow of well-fucked contentment, he almost wished he could think of a way of saying that to Warrick that didn't sound . . .

'Tell him that he was the best fuck in the world'.

When he had nearly finished dressing, Warrick said, "Assuming that Carnac has finished processing the applications, I shall be able to get back to the flat tonight after work. So I will see you there?"

"I — yes." His voice sounded strange. "I'll probably be late."

"I expected you would be."

Warrick pulled on his jacket and smoothed out the creases, looking as if nothing at all had happened. For a moment, Toreth had the weird sensation that nothing
had
happened, and then he licked his lips, tasting hand cream and come. Tasting Warrick . . .

Who was already leaving. "See you," he said from the doorway, and was gone.

He gave him twenty seconds to get away, refastening his own clothes as he waited, then tapped the comm.

"Sara. In here."

She opened the door, grinning. "Yes?"

He'd hoped to manage at least an unconvincing pretence of a reprimand, but his smile must have been wider than hers. "I told you not to let anyone in."

"I'm sorry." She managed to fight her expression down to a smirk as she came over to the desk. "He can be terribly convincing."

"What did he
say
?"

"He asked me if you still had the hand cream in your drawer."

Toreth blinked, then started to laugh. "Fucking hell. So you said yes?"

"I said I thought you might. And I must've been right."

"Why?"

"Because it's on the desk. But also because you've got it all over your shoulders, some in your hair, and a blob on your cheek."

"Shit." He wiped his face and discovered she was absolutely right. Warrick hadn't had a spot on him, the bastard.

"I'll find you something to get it off with, shall I?" She left the room, still grinning.

After the door closed behind her, he leaned back in the borrowed chair, which had suddenly acquired a set of very fond memories, and briefly thought about being annoyed with Warrick for leaving him like this and not saying a word. He could've walked out into the office and been seen by
anyone
.

Except, of course, that Sara would've stopped him, and Warrick knew that she would. When Warrick planned, he planned carefully and comprehensively. So instead, he put the top back on the hand cream, dropped it into the drawer, and settled back again to wait for Sara to return. His fingers ached from holding onto the desk and he rubbed them absently, working in the cream that had somehow ended up there too.

In the middle of all the stress, and mess, and impossible problems, he was suddenly having an extremely good day.

Sara left I&I early — she still didn't have a pass of her own, so the choice was to go before curfew started, or wait until Toreth was ready to go, and she was too tired to do that.

To her surprise, Warrick was already at the flat when she arrived, sat in the kitchen with a SimTech guard she didn't recognise. They were discussing something with serious expressions, but when she came in, Warrick looked round and stood up, smiling. As it couldn't possibly be her presence that generated something so brilliant, she knew there had to be good news of some kind.

"What is it?" Even as she asked, she guessed, because there were only two people she'd ever seen him smile like that over.

"I heard from Dilly — about an hour ago."

"Really?" She hadn't even realised that she'd been worrying about Dillian, but she felt the load lift from her mind. Without thinking she threw her arms round him and squeezed him tight. "Oh, God, that's fantastic!"

He tensed, then returned the embrace briefly before he stepped back. "Yes. Yes, it is."

"Is she hurt? What about Mars? What did she say?"

"Not much. The connection lasted for about twenty seconds. But she's fine and she's trying to get a shuttle back as soon as she can. She didn't say anything about the base."

"But they must be okay, if she's alive and there are shuttles." She grinned. "We should celebrate."

"Why not?" He smiled again, seeming amused by her enthusiasm. "I'll see what I can find. Do you want something to eat?"

"Please. I don't know how long Toreth's going to be, though."

She left him to it and went for a long, hot shower. The smell of I&I, which she'd never noticed before, seemed to stick to her hair and skin these days. It reminded her of a hospital, something she'd always found depressing. Perhaps it was still the imaginary residue of the four days' imprisonment.

When she returned to the kitchen, the scene was much the same, although the cast had changed. This time Rob McLean stood up as she entered, looking gratifyingly pleased to see her. The food was beginning to smell delicious, and there was an open bottle of wine on the table. Rob poured her a glass, and the three of them toasted Dillian's (hopefully) safe return.

Then she joined Rob at the table, and listened to Warrick and him discussing security at the AERC. The situation in the city still seemed to be improving, which was something. After the difficult day at I&I it was nice to hear good news.

Toreth came in earlier than she'd expected him. When she'd left, he looked to be settling in for the night. In fact, it was only nine when she heard the door open. He whistled his way down the hall and into the kitchen, and out of the corner of her eye she noticed Rob wince. Obviously a music lover.

For a moment, as he came through the door and saw Warrick, Toreth had exactly the same smile he'd worn in the office, only without the hand cream. Then it modulated into something less obviously sex-induced.

"Hello, all."

It was almost disturbing to see him in such a good mood after work.

"I'm starving," he said, as he went over to join Warrick by the cooker. "I had a snack earlier, but it only made me hungrier."

This time, Sara winced. That had the ring of a conversation heading rapidly downhill.

Warrick obviously thought the same thing, because all he said was, "Really," in a chilly tone.

"Uh huh. And this looks nice. Smells nice." Toreth put one hand lightly on Warrick's shoulder, and reached for the pan with the other. "But how does it taste?"

"Be careful, it's hot."

"I know that." He licked his finger. "Mm. Nice — spicy. And creamy."

Warrick's shoulder twitched. After a few moments he said, "It's non-specific curry, I'm afraid. All I could do with what I had. If I don't manage to get some fresh things in, we're down to packets for tomorrow."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll be able to find something in a drawer."

This time the twitch turned into a coughing fit. Toreth patted his back with mock-solicitude.

"Are you okay? I'll get you a drink." Humming happily, he went to fetch a glass. Sara tried desperately not to catch his eye, because she was millimetres away from developing a cough of her own.

As she looked away, she saw Rob staring fixedly at the table and clearly in professional deaf mode. She felt fleetingly sorry for him, but not enough to dispel the happiness. It was surprising how quickly Warrick's flat had started to feel like home.

Toreth's good mood lasted all the way through dinner, and he even managed to be civil to Rob. Afterwards, he declared, suddenly and improbably, that he was tired, and went to bed. For about ten minutes, Warrick managed to keep going the thin pretence that he wasn't desperate to follow him, then he muttered a carbon copy of Toreth's excuse and departed.

It should have provided a good opportunity to spend some more time with Rob but, to her annoyance, Sara discovered that she seemed to be the only one in the flat that evening who genuinely was exhausted. Leaving Rob in the kitchen, she went to the spare room. All was quiet from Warrick's room, but she would've put a large bet on that not lasting for long. She didn't care, as long as they didn't keep her awake.

They didn't. Instead she was awoken a few hours later by thirst, and the fading fragments of a dream — another nightmare, she suspected. The still-strange room disoriented her, and for a moment she couldn't find the clock.

One in the morning. No wonder she felt so tired during the day if she couldn't manage to sleep through the night.

Heading for the kitchen, she hesitated in the hallway. She didn't know what prompted her to go into the darkened living room — a movement, a noise, just a feeling — but when she switched the light on she saw Warrick, sitting with his back to the door. As she came round the end of the sofa, she saw him slipping a folded handkerchief into his dressing gown pocket. Even without that clue, it was obvious — when he looked up his eyes were red and his lashes damp.

She sat down beside him and asked the ridiculous but necessary question. "Are you okay?"

"Perfectly, thank you. You?" He checked his watch. "It's late."

"I got up for a glass of water." He'd closed the conversation, but she felt compelled to try again. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"As I said, yes. I couldn't sleep, and I thought that, rather than wake Toreth, I'd come in here."

"And sit in the dark?"

He shook his head. "Not particularly convincing, is it? Although I genuinely didn't wish to wake him up — seeing me making a fool of myself would distress him needlessly."

He was right about that. Toreth wouldn't have the faintest idea of what to do or say. Although, to be honest, neither did she. She liked Warrick a great deal — he was kind, generous, and he made Toreth happy. However, except for rare occasions, there was a distance between them that made her wary of him. She was never sure what he was thinking.

After a moment, Warrick cleared his throat and said, "I apologise, incidentally, if I embarrassed you at work today."

"Not a bit. Really. Any time you want a reminder of the contents of his desk is fine with me."

He raised his eyebrows.

"I mean, it only makes my life easier. He was as ratty as hell before you showed up, and after you'd gone I seriously thought about asking for a pay rise, he was in that good a mood. Not that he doesn't have plenty of good reasons to be ratty," she added, in case he thought she was complaining.

He smiled slightly. "I doubt it will happen again in the immediate future. Or at least, I hope not."