Page 15

W ELL, THIS WAS EMBARRASSING .

Joel had a tendency to be overwhelmed by his feelings. He knew it, hated it, and resented that he never seemed to get better at noticing he was doing it in the moment. He overreacted, and said stupid things, or humiliated himself with tears, and then had to pick up the pieces. He’d spoiled more than one promising love affair in the past with an explosion of feelings he could have kept to himself.

And he’d just exploded on Aaron, who was probably in at least as much trouble as himself, and instead of telling him to shut up or calm down, Aaron had opened his arms and somehow Joel was now wrapped in a strong embrace, his wet face pressed against a damp but sturdy shoulder, with Aaron whispering meaningless reassurances into his hair.

He tried to pull away, albeit not very hard. Aaron just tightened his arms. “It’s all right, Joel. It’s all right.”

Joel appeared to be clinging on to him. Could he make more of a fool of himself here? “Sorry,” he mumbled into the cloth of Aaron’s jacket.

“You’ve every right to be angry. It is my fault.”

“It’s Colthorne’s fault. I’m only shouting at you because you’re here and I’m scared.”

Aaron’s hand slid up to the back of his head, into his hair. Joel wondered if he was even aware he was doing it. “If it’s not my fault, it’s my responsibility. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want, I never wanted to hurt you.”

Joel squirmed so he could look up into Aaron’s face. Those dark eyes were devastating at close range, with the warm depths of a cup of coffee, and just as liable to keep him up at night. “You didn’t. It’s not your fault. I wish it wasn’t like this.”

“So do I,” Aaron said, a whisper of a voice.

“If it wasn’t.” God, he oughtn’t say this. “If it wasn’t like it is—”

“If it wasn’t, I’d ask you to stay,” Aaron said, in a voice that sounded to be dragged out of him. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that night. I couldn’t stop thinking about you before it.”

“Christ. Aaron—”

Joel had no idea which of them moved first. Maybe it was both of them, because Aaron’s mouth was crushed to his, and they were kissing frantically, desperately, teeth colliding and lips pressed so hard they’d bruise. Joel locked his left arm round Aaron’s waist, grabbed his head, pulled them both backwards so they sprawled on the settee. Joel under, wrapping his thighs round Aaron’s hips, Aaron’s weight on him and his hands clutching Joel’s face. Kissing like starving men, or like frightened, despairing, slightly drunk ones.

After a few frantic moments Aaron pulled a little away, and rested his forehead on Joel’s. “God. You.”

“We could have half an hour,” Joel said. “Can’t we? I’ve been here long enough to fuck anyway, if anyone’s watching, and if they’re not, then—”

“To the devil with it,” Aaron rasped. “I want to taste you again.”

“Yes please. Please do.”

Aaron’s hand scrabbled at his buttons. Joel squirmed under him, giving him access, inhaling sharply as his prick sprang free. Aaron took it in hand, very lightly, almost hesitantly, and glanced up.

He had liked direction before. Joel said, “Use your tongue. Just your tongue, for now.”

Aaron’s fingers loosened. He leaned in, and ran his tongue over Joel’s prick, tentative at first, then firmer. Slow, careful licks, following veins and ridges, circling the head, pressing at the slit, until Joel was panting. “Fuck. Yes. You can use your lips.”

Aaron’s mouth curved. He leaned in, and kissed Joel’s cock, a sweet, soft kiss. It was ridiculous. Joel wanted to cry.

He didn’t have time for that. Aaron was using his mouth now—just the lips, circling, tasting, not sucking, and Joel was about to levitate off the settee with need. “Oh God. Suck me, right now.”

Aaron made a pointed questioning noise. Joel said, “ Please. Please, pretty please with bells on—fuck!”

That was Aaron plunging down on him, taking him urgently, still not using his hand, just a mouth that was wild and wet, perfectly tight and perfectly right.

“Oh, you miracle,” Joel whispered. “I love it. More.”

He meant harder but Aaron went deeper, taking Joel almost alarmingly far down. He made a tiny choking noise, pulled back, did it again, and now Joel was hanging on by his fingernails, mind going white, nothing in the world left but the sensation of DS Fowler learning how to get a man down his throat. “Oh fuck Jesus Aaron, Aaron—!”

He shot, shuddered, collapsed. Aaron held on like grim death throughout, and this time, he swallowed.

“Hand it to you,” Joel mumbled, when he could remember English again. “Quick learner.”

Aaron sluiced his mouth with a sip of whisky, then leaned over for a kiss. “I have been rehearsing that in my head for some time.”

“It worked.”

Aaron grinned, and relaxed on top of him, except for a very insistent erection. Joel squirmed a bit, to show he’d noticed. “Aaron?”

“Mmm?”

“Tell me something. In all that thinking you’ve been doing about me. What are you doing when you come?”

Aaron made a choking noise. Joel slid his hand over his arse. “I want to know. I mean, you’ve been thinking about me with your prick in your hand, right? So what are we doing?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Aaron whispered.

“It does. If you want something, I want to give it to you.”

Aaron made a sound that was almost like a laugh. “What I want is to be naked in bed with you all night. To learn every inch of your skin. But that isn’t going to happen, is it?”

“I’ll stay if you want me.”

“I want you, but you can’t stay.” Aaron’s neck muscles corded briefly, a man swallowing tension. “Can I touch you?”

“Yes. However you want.”

Aaron pushed himself up on his knees, and tugged Joel’s open trousers and drawers down his thighs. The cloth was constricting, and he looked very big as he knelt over Joel, and Joel’s heart was thundering now. He wondered if Aaron was going to turn him over, to fuck him here on the settee, without anything but spit. He was hardening again.

“Jesus,” Aaron whispered. He ran his hands over Joel’s bared skin, belly to thighs. “Do you think you might manage a second time?”

“If you care to make me.”

Aaron’s hands closed on his prick. Joel watched his face, his intent dark eyes, his slightly parted lips. His hands were firm, one nudging between Joel’s thighs in exploration as the other worked him.

“This is very dedicated of you,” Joel managed. “In the circumstances.”

“You asked me what I thought about. I thought about the sounds you make, and how your hips move, all of it. I want to memorise how it feels to make you come because that is what I’m going to be thinking about for a very long time.”

Joel stared up at his face. Aaron gave a twisted sort of smile down. “So if you can tell me how best to get you there...”

“I need to feel you too. Wait.” Joel squirmed and turned under Aaron, muttering directions, until he was face down, Aaron’s hand under him, round his prick, Aaron’s weight on him, and his bare erection hot against Joel’s arse.

“Oh God,” Aaron whispered. “I’m not sure what I’m doing.”

“I want you all over me. Between my legs, or inside me, or rubbing like that, whichever you please, but I want to be humping your hand, and under you, and listening to you pleasing yourself. Can you do that?”

Aaron was moving gently, rubbing against Joel’s skin. “Like this?”

“Heavier. Don’t hold yourself up.”

“I don’t want to asphyxiate you.”

“I want your full weight,” Joel growled. “I want a big strong policeman on my back and between my legs. Have you got that?”

There was a tiny silence. Then a heavy hand came down on Joel’s back between his shoulderblades, pushing him into the settee.

“Fuck. That’s it. Oh Jesus, yes.”

He could feel the tension in Aaron’s muscles. He was pushing hard now, strong thighs over Joel’s, frotting against the crease of his arse, fingers gripping Joel’s prick and bony against his belly, and Joel did very much wish that they had a jar of petroleum jelly and a couple of hours, but this was perfect too.

“Joel,” Aaron whispered. “Is this what you like?”

“More.”

Aaron came down on his forearm, across Joel’s back, his full weight now. Joel attempted a wriggle just to see, and God, he really was trapped under the larger man. Aaron was pushing, driving, and they almost might be fucking, both of them rocking and grunting, hot breath and flesh and friction. Aaron kissed Joel’s neck with force and teeth, burying his face in the crook, panting anguished breaths, and Joel needed to come again, he desperately wanted to give Aaron that. “Oh Christ. Talk to me. Touch me. Tell me what you want and sodding do it.”

“You,” Aaron gasped in his ear. “I want you, and I want—”

Joel yelped. That was because Aaron had straddled him, hoisted his hips, and thrust between his thighs. Oxford style, but with his legs caught like this it felt so tight and hot and hard. “Christ, yes, fuck me like this,” he gasped, and Aaron growled, “I’ll give it to you as long as you want it,” and that was it for Joel. Coming a second time, bucking in Aaron’s unbreakable, painful, glorious grip, begging, “Yes, Jesus, please,” as Aaron drove him into the settee and sobbed into his ear.

They lay together. Joel couldn’t have moved at gunpoint. His bones were liquid, his thighs sticky, Aaron a dead weight on his back, and he quite wanted to cry again.

“That was bloody lovely,” he managed.

Aaron didn’t respond. He might be actually dead, and Joel couldn’t blame him. He lay with his face in upholstery, wondering if they could just lock the door and stay in here forever.

At last Aaron shifted. “Joel.”

“Mmm.”

“Joel.” He didn’t seem to have anything more to offer. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Don’t move.”

“I meant—”

“It was exactly what I wanted. You were perfect. I’ve spunked all over your settee and you should clean it up or the stain will be a bugger to get out.”

“Housekeeping tips too.”

“I’m a man of many talents.” He took as deep a breath as he could manage in the circumstances. “And I would like to stay here as long as you’d have me, but...”

“But,” Aaron said. “I know.”

“What do we do?”

“The best thing for us both would be to get you well out of the way. If you can’t be used against me, that would be extremely helpful. Go somewhere, use an assumed name, keep your head down. Somewhere outside London, preferably a longish way. Do you have any friends you could visit?”

Joel’s entire acquaintance lived in London these days. “No, but I’ll go somewhere. For how long?”

“I don’t know. It could be some time.”

Some time , when he was already four quid in the hole and wouldn’t be able to earn without advertising. Out of the way , when Aaron was right here with his lonely eyes, and desperate, passionate handwriting, and a mouth that looked luscious with Joel’s cock in it. It wasn’t fair.

“If you say so,” he managed, like a sensible grown-up. “If that’s best. Can I contact you? How will I know when I can come back?”

Aaron hesitated. “That’s a good question. It depends on how vindictive Colthorne might be, and on—well, what happens here.”

Something clicked in Joel’s head. “Happens here? To you?”

“About all this.”

“And what will that be?” Joel enquired. “Does DDI Colthorne give up being mean to you if he can’t put the thumbscrews on me?”

“I doubt that.”

“Then what will my going achieve? Just that he’ll need to find a different way to sack or frame or murder you? Is that what you have in mind? Aaron Fowler, are you being a martyr?”

“I’m not—”

“Yes you are . Get off me.” Aaron half lifted; Joel squirmed furiously round. “You’re sending me off so you can sacrifice yourself, aren’t you?”

“For God’s sake, Joel, why should you be caught up in this?”

“Why should you be? We haven’t done anything wrong! Except, you know—” He waved vaguely. “Why aren’t you fighting this? Firebrand Fowler might have been a martyr at home, but I never heard he turned down a scrap!”

“Because I don’t have anything to fight with! Do you not think I’ve tried?”

“No, I don’t! You haven’t talked to me till now, and you haven’t talked to anyone who might listen. Have you?”

“Who’s going to listen, still less help? The Commissioner won’t want to know, and Colthorne’s been setting me up as untrustworthy or unreliable for God knows how long. I can’t think of anyone I could safely talk to, in case they go back to him. There’s nobody I can trust. Christ, I’m a fool.” The words sounded like they hurt. “I’ve spent six years of my life in the Met. Six years, my father, so much lost time, and all for what?”

“For justice,” Joel said. “To stop bad people. That was what you joined for, that was what you wanted to do and good for you, so why don’t we do it now?”

“We?”

“You asked who’d help you. There’s me.”

“That is—something,” Aaron said carefully. “It means a very great deal, as an offer. But I don’t know what you can do.”

“Let’s sodding find out, shall we?” Joel was fizzing with something—rage, hope, a good fuck, who knew. “What do we have to lose? You’re fucked, and what am I supposed to do if I run away? Sit around wondering if your murderous boss has murdered you yet, and if he’ll come after me next? Change my name and find something completely new to do with my life, for the however-manyth time it is? I’ve started again so many times—after prison, after my hand, after being kicked out—and I’m bloody tired of it!”

Aaron winced. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t need you to be sorry, I need you to be fighting! I want— Oh, bloody hell, I’m just going to say it. All I’ve been doing for so long is living with things. Keeping on with them, putting up with them. And then I met you and now this, you and me, it doesn’t feel like ‘living with’ at all. It’s living . Actually having things that matter instead of the days just passing. I want more of that. I want all I can get, even if we can’t get much.”

Aaron’s lips had parted. Joel set his shoulders and pushed on. “I don’t know if you feel that too. Maybe you don’t, and we barely know each other really, and probably if we had longer, I’d annoy the hell out of you. But even so, I want more time with you, and if we have to fight for that, then let’s fight, all right? You’re a good copper, I’m a graphological genius, we can try.”

“And if we fail?”

“Then let’s fuck DDI Colthorne right up on the way down. Because—” He took Aaron’s hand. “Because you and I deserved a chance.”

“Joel.” Aaron’s eyes were wide.

“If that’s too much—”

“It’s not too much,” Aaron said, and grabbed his face. His lips hit Joel’s hard, and they were kissing again, as hungrily as before, awkwardly tangled on the settee in a chaos of bare flesh, inconvenient cloth, stickiness, and just for now, it was perfect. Just for now, Joel could cling to his hard biceps and feel Aaron’s desperate clutch, and neither of them was alone.

Aaron pulled away after a moment. He looked slightly stunned. “Joel. Are you serious?”

“Yes,” Joel said stubbornly, because he was aware of his nerves jangling behind the bravado. “I want you for as long as I can have you, and I want to fight this because it’s not right and I’m sick of these bastards getting away with murder and bullying and the rest. Not to mention that was four quid I won’t see again.”

“You’ve no idea what you’re getting into.”

“Bloody right I don’t. You’re the policeman, you solve the crime. I’m here for moral support, handwriting analysis, and the occasional Frenching to keep your pecker up.” He grinned at Aaron’s choke. “Look, I read that arsehole’s hand. I really do understand that we’re in a lot of trouble. But running away won’t achieve anything for me that I care to have any more. I’d rather play than fold.”

Aaron touched his face with a gentle finger, a wondering expression. “The odds are bad. And the stakes are very high.”

“I know,” Joel said. “But if the war taught me anything, it was that if you keep going, you might get through. And not to raise your hand for attention, that’s a terrible idea. And also that tea fixes most things, so get the kettle on, because we’re going to talk about this.”

***

A ARON MADE A POT. THEY sat together on the settee, Joel curled against Aaron’s broad chest, Aaron’s arm round his shoulders.

“Gerald Marks. A private detective by trade. In particular he was hired a few years ago by the Beech family after their son hanged for murder.” He recounted the case: a wealthy art dealer found beaten to death; a bloodstained poker and a pile of cash under the bed where a drunken man slept.

“Was he covered in blood?” Joel asked.

“He was not. It was argued that he had had the presence of mind to wash himself and dispose of his bloodstained shirt—one was missing—but had forgotten about the poker.”

“And where did Colthorne come into it?”

“He was investigating the case, but he had played cards with Thaddeus Knight, the victim. He stated that at the outset, making it clear they had played legally in a private house and he didn’t owe the man money. It was less than ideal but he was kept on the case due to the pressure of wartime on manpower. Beech swung. His family hired Marks to look into it, but he didn’t get anywhere. The family emigrated two years back.”

“And the case was seven years ago, so why would Colthorne care now?”

“Good question.” Aaron made a face. “Marks didn’t forget the Beech case; we know he discussed it with his landlady. He came into money in the last weeks of his life, and we can’t trace its source. And then he received a fatal wound to the back of his head, his office was searched on the night of his death by someone who had his keys, and his notebooks and all his files relating to the last few months are missing.”

“That sounds dodgy as hell.”

“Doesn’t it just. But the coroner’s report was inconclusive, there were no witnesses, and he was very drunk. It’s hard to pursue a murder case with no evidence of an actual crime and no suspect. Certainly, DDI Colthorne didn’t want me to. And when he was telling me so, he asked me if we’d found Marks’s ‘papers’. But I had only said his notebooks were missing.”

Joel curled his mug against himself. “So what are you thinking? Marks kept working on the Beech case, found something in the last few months that would look bad for Colthorne...blackmailed him? Is that where the money came from?”

“It’s a theory.”

“Not one that’s very flattering to Mr. Marks.”

“He was a drunk, he needed money, and his clients had left the country,” Aaron said. “Or, more charitably, perhaps he suspected that Colthorne would be able to quash any investigation, so this seemed the only retribution available.”

“And then Colthorne kills him instead. Having got him drunk first?”

“I retraced Marks’ steps to a pub. The barman recalled him buying several doubles and thinks he was sitting with someone, but he couldn’t come up with a description beyond a middle-aged man.”

Joel scowled in thought. “So would Colthorne kill Marks himself or have one of his gang friends do it?”

“I should do it myself, in his shoes.”

“Then he searches Marks’ office for any papers pertaining to himself, or Sammy Beech, or both, and...doesn’t find them? Or finds them and takes them?”

“They’re gone, so someone’s taken them.”

“But if Colthorne had them, why would he need to go to these lengths against you? Or any lengths at all, really? Surely he’d just need to burn the evidence.”

“I can only conclude he thinks I know a lot more than I do. Which is absurd, because if I had Marks’s evidence, I’d have taken it to Scotland Yard or the Home Office already.”

“But he thinks you could get it,” Joel pressed. “He must do, because he’s trying to force you out one way or another. Destroying your reputation via me, or making your life miserable. So can’t we try to find whatever Marks had? Because if you got hold of the evidence he’s murdered at least one person and framed another, I don’t think him spluttering accusations about your friend the queer graphologist would hold much water.”

Aaron reached over and kissed the top of his head. It was the kind of casually affectionate gesture anyone might make, except this was Aaron, and Joel’s whole heart hurt at it. He made himself glower anyway. “Was that an ‘aren’t-you-sweet’ kiss?”

“Perhaps a little,” Aaron said. “I entirely agree that finding Marks’s papers is vital. It’s the finding that’s the hard bit, in part because Davis, the DI, has been running me off my feet.”

“What happens if you take tomorrow off sick?” Joel asked. “Go search his office again, and his rooms.”

“I...could do that. And I might talk to Challice, the detective constable who was with me. I think I can trust her. She was the other hand you read, the Head Girl character.”

“Oh, yes, I liked her. And I’ll talk to Darby Sabini.”

“Joel—”

“I can’t avoid him: he knows where I live. Suppose I tell him you’re a complete fool for graphology?”

“Rather than for a graphologist?” Aaron asked, and there went Joel’s heart again, squeezing painfully, because Aaron flirting ineptly was so much better than the most practised seducer. “No, but what do you have in mind?”

“What if I claim you’re convinced I have mystical powers? You think you’ll be solving crimes like billy-oh with me as your secret weapon, and I’m taking your money, and that’s why we’ve been seen together. That wouldn’t be illegal for you, would it?”

“It could probably be presented as a form of misconduct,” Aaron said thoughtfully. “In fact...with the right spin, it might be enough for Sabini to believe you’ve given him something useful to pass on.”

“I’ll say that, then. You talk to your constable, if you think you can. And your cousin?”

“Oh, I will be talking to my cousin,” Aaron said, with intent. “Although not yet, if you don’t mind looking as though you’re capitulating.”

“That’s fine. Should I reply to him?”

“Hold off. Darby Sabini is enough for now. Are you sure you’re willing to do this?”

‘Willing’ might be overstating it. Joel didn’t have any great desire to cross a senior policeman or a gang boss, to risk pain or prison. Actually, he’d have preferred all of it to go away, but life didn’t work like that.

“One of the men in my ambulance division was an older chap,” he said. “Boer War injury, not fit to fight, volunteered for us instead. I said, you surely didn’t need to come out, do you enjoy wars or what? He whacked me round the head. And then he said, ‘It won’t be over till someone’s lost, so here I am, helping ’em lose.’”

“You could so easily not,” Aaron said hoarsely. “You could so easily walk away.”

“Problem is, it wouldn’t be easy.” He put his hand over Aaron’s. “Which is your fault, by the way.”

“Dear God, Joel,” Aaron said, and pulled him over again.