Everything in Time

Автор: Ravenschild

“Sure. West Coast bars mainly use it, but it means you’re looking for a heavy SM top.”

“Oh great, it makes me a target for all the weirdos.”

“Hey, most people who enjoy BDSM are not as weird as you might think.”

“Like you, for instance?”

“I tried it a couple of times as a top; really wasn’t for me, but there are a couple of people on staff who are heavily into it. And, no, I won’t tell you who they are.” Peter smiled.

“Oh.”

Without thinking, Peter stood up and dropped a kiss on the top of Connor’s head and reddened when he realized what he had done.

“What was that for?” Connor asked quietly.

“Luck. Now, you’re being dropped off a block away from the bar and will walk the rest of the way. I’ll arrive on the bike and park at the side; it’s right near an exit door. Your tracer is in the back of your watch, has a toggle switch, and a pick up of 5 metres. The guys in the van will filter all background noise. Since I’ve got a fair idea of where you will be sitting, I’ve got audio and video feed going to the van, which is parked 2 blocks back.”

“And backup in the bar?”

“I’ll be the only one you’ll recognize; but we have four agents on the inside, eight out, and another dozen ready to move on the place within ninety seconds. I’ve got a safe drop, so if something goes wrong I can get you out, but you will need to play the cover. Think you can do it?” Peter peered intently at the man he thought he knew so well.

“Do my best.” Connor smiled.

“You’ll be fine. Remember, pull the pin; I don’t care if you don’t get them to make a buy or take the hook, I want you out, alive and well.” Peter tapped him on the nose and stepped away.

“Peter?” Connor called before he had a chance to disappear out of the room.

“Yeah?”

“In case I forget, thanks.”

“Not thick on the ground with friends either, Connor. I won’t put you at risk.”

***

Professor Connor Doyle, multiple Ph.D.’s, Case Manager for the OSIR, ex-navy, thought he’d seen it all in his thirty-six years but walking the last block to the bar gave him a moment’s pause.

He was scared; scotch that, he was terrified. His hands shook, his top lip was beaded with sweat, and he couldn’t bear the feeling of being so far out of control. But with it came all the other fears. It had been nearly sixteen years since he’d been in a gay bar, and he’d never been into a leather bar. He’d heard stories; and nothing, not even Peter’s gentle words or meticulous planning, gave him the courage to continue. He paused and drew another deep breath, fishing in his pocket for the cigarettes he thought he’d ditched years ago. Now, well tonight anyway, it was a way to keep his hands busy without fidgeting like a frightened convent schoolgirl.

Nothing out of the ordinary; if he were in his old power suit, or if he had his team behind him, or… Connor shook his head, could be any number of ifs he realized, all of them as useless as the first. He was still afraid as he pushed his way past the bouncer on the door and into a dim, smoke-filled interior.

To the left, and central to the club, was a large, brushed steel bar with several barmen working overtime. The dance floor was crowded and writhed in an endless mass of leather and denim; the stench of sex and the musk of sweat hung on the air like an eternal orgasm filled with stale ozone. Connor twitched as a hand caressed his ass and continued forward to the bar, ordered the requisite mineral water, and found the table where he was supposed to sit. He waited several moments before walking over, casually observing the inhabitants and kept his eyes down, careful to look no one in the eye too soon.

Here, he was the prey, the one they came to hunt; and, without him, they were useless and empty shells. He wasn’t a commodity; he was needed, desired, wanted. All the feeling swelling around him in time with the music as he perched on the seat and drew out another cigarette.

Men came and went from the toilets at the back of the bar, some headed for the upstairs freestanding lounge and yet more began to crowd into the mosh pit in front of the speaker stack. Incongruously, in the farthest corner were pool tables, with men playing in friendly and somewhat intimate games. Connor smiled slightly to himself and whispered, “You getting all of this?” There was a low chuckle from the tiny invisible earphone.

“Yeah, and may I say how sweet you look,” Ray teased and Connor felt himself relax visibly.

“Oh, thank you,” Connor said softly and felt a hand on his back caress all the way down to his backside, fingers wandering as he looked over his shoulder and didn’t recognize the man from the photos; it wasn’t Denisoff or his fake ID.

“Move it or lose it.” Connor’s voice was a soft, seductive whisper.

“Taken?” the man asked, a butch leather queen complete with full body harness and leather cap.

“More or less,” Connor answered.

“Pity. If he stands you up -” The man never got to finish as a hand descended on his shoulder and propelled him away.

“I don’t stand anyone up, especially someone like this.” Densioff was more than Connor had anticipated.

Возврат к списку