Undercover Blues...

Seven weeks, four days, and three hours. It had been that long since Van had seen Deaq and most of the time had been spent doing paperwork. He'd run endless laps at the school track nearest to the house they'd bought to work off energy. He'd swum even more in the pool of their backyard. The stifling August heat of the Valley did nothing to sap the constant thrum of loss and worry while his partner worked a federal undercover operation without him.

Van had, in short, been a menace to everyone around him for almost two months.

Now, though. Now he waited at LAX for Deaq's flight to get in. Van bounced on the balls of his feet and waited impatiently for the crowds to thin and his partner to show up. He'd been half-hard with anticipation all morning. If Deaq had missed the flight back from DC, Van might have to actually kill himself so Billie wouldn't have to, an option she'd strongly suggested the afternoon before sending him home.

Deaq finally showed up, strolling down the main area like he had all the time in the world. He looked exhausted and wired at the same time, the tightness to his face something with which Van was well acquainted. His jeans hung low and loose, showing that the black man had lost weight while working undercover; he'd probably forgotten to eat without Van around to shove food in his direction.

Deaq spotted him and smiled broadly, picking up the pace. That was good, because Van couldn't seem to make his feet move. The first thing Van said when Deaq stopped in front of him was, “You're bald.”

Deaq's grin widened further and he said, “Had to shave it off for the gig. And hello to you too.”

Van threw his arms around Deaq and held him tight. He didn't smell quite right, probably the lack of hair products, but that didn't matter. He was alive, unhurt, and home. Strong arms wrapped around Van's shoulders and held on just as tight.

“I missed you too, baby,” Deaq murmured against his ear.

Van shuddered at the low, heavy-promise in his voice and hardened the rest of the way with ridiculous ease.

“Gonna do you so hard when we get home. Gonna fuck you 'til you can't even stand up right for days, baby.”

Van shuddered again and then groaned, but not in lust or greed... in embarrassment. He'd just shot off in his pants in the middle of LAX like a teenager. Resting his forehead on Deaq's shoulder, he muttered, “Would someone please kill me?”

Deaq just laughed, the sound all-too-knowing, the bastard.


Jim had been in control of his senses for almost ten years. There wasn't a lot that got through and hadn't, for a long time. Occasionally, an unexpected medication reaction at the hospital or illegal drug blew up in his face to snap his control, but for the most part, Jim was in charge and that was how he liked it.


In this particular instance, he was blindfolded and cuffed to the bed, a leather gag filling his mouth as he waited for Blair's next move. The world was a distant second and his control completely shot. They hadn't been at it long, but his lover had requested that he lower his inhibitions, that he put Blair in control for a change and it had only taken a single conversation for Jim to accede.

They hadn't played this intensely for well over six months, work had been so busy. Blair had commandeered a week off for them both, though, and they were well away from home in a soundproofed room at a specialty B&B closer to Seattle than Cascade. He hadn't told Jim what to expect or where they were going, just that it would be safe and he trusted the owners. And if Blair trusted them, so did Jim.

“I don't think you're paying enough attention to me.” Blair's voice sounded amused, not irritated or annoyed. “You would think that with your senses half-gone, you'd be all over me with the remaining ones. Guess I'll have to consider it a challenge.”

It felt like he'd been bound for hours, but Jim's internal clock had it at only seven minutes. He was embarrassingly hard and had been for about five of those minutes, leaking all over his stomach like he had no control whatsoever.

Blair's fingers ghosted over Jim's leg, touching just enough to catch the hair but not the skin. The almost-caress shot through him, focusing all of him on the roving point of contact. All but one finger disappeared and Jim tracked its slow path up his leg, over his knee, along his thigh and hip, and then it stopped about half an inch from his cock. He heard Blair shift and then felt hot, moist breath over the tip of his shaft and lost it. Jim came so hard the world went away entirely.

When he returned to his senses, Jim felt lazy and drugged and very much in the headspace he knew Blair wanted. That he'd lost control in record time no longer embarrassed him; if Blair hadn't wanted it, he wouldn't have played Jim so very well.

Jim opened his eyes, no longer blindfolded, and smiled and Blair lying beside him. He stared into the deep, blue eyes and murmured, “Thank you.”

Blair smiled back and kissed him gently. “You're welcome.”

Ah, youth...

Buck had a lot of experience. He'd been with men and women of all races, fucking and being fucked in so many different positions that he'd long, long since lost track. Money had crossed hands sometimes, when he'd been in truly dire straights, but for the most part he just really loved sex. He didn't have a best-loved gender, but loved different types of both: soft, rounded women who laughed through the whole thing and hard, strong men that didn't were particular favorites. Sex was fun and easy for Buck and he was generous with whom he shared it.

The one thing he didn't have a lot of experience with was love. There'd only been a handful of men and women who'd made it deep enough into Buck's heart to make him give up his wandering ways at the time. The last had been near on five years ago and he'd been short, too-young, with floppy brown hair and earnest brown eyes. JD Dunne had wormed his way into Buck's heart with his stupid hat and naivete and honesty.

As soon as he'd met the kid, Buck had known that he was a goner, but had done his level best to steer himself away and JD towards a normal life. He'd all but shoved him at every eligible and sweet young girl in town and even some passing through, but JD would have none of them aside from courting a few halfheartedly and ineptly here and there, like Casey.

It had taken JD over a year pf serious and very persistent ambushes to make Buck realize that the kid didn't want normal, he wanted a life with Buck. They'd made out plenty, getting all het up for each other in every hidden crevice of Four Corners possible. Some days, Buck was so frustrated that he felt about ready to just press the kid up against the nearest wall and fuck the stuffing out of him. He didn't though, because JD deserved more than that for his first time.

So they'd waited until a job took him and JD out of Four Corners to deliver a criminal to Judge Travis on his rounds. The hanging judge had already been to the town and wasn't due back for another six months; Chris hadn't wanted a killer to wait in their jail that long and sent Buck and JD off to get rid of him.

Now they were holed up together at a proper hotel with thick walls and a bed and soft sheets. Buck looked his fill of JD's firm, slender body stretched out naked under him and couldn't stop the damn fool grin at finally being able to have his way with JD. He leaned in to kiss JD and the younger man pressed up against him, kissing hungrily and thrusting his tongue into Buck's mouth.

Buck returned the favor and settled between JD's legs, pressing their dicks together. He leaned on an arm to get more leverage and planted his knees into the mattress better.

“Buck, oh God, Buck that feels so good,” JD groaned. “Oh God, that's... shit, that's so good! God, I love you so damn much!”

Buck's heart stuttered at the words JD had never said over the last year; the words Buck had felt for almost five years, but tried to deny. His heart stuttered and then he came, thrusting against JD too-hard as he spurted seed all over the kid's belly with a groan. And then he groaned again, mortified that all of his experience had been undone by so little and rolled to the side. He threw an arm over his face and waited for the mockery.

JD didn't move for a few seconds, still breathing hard. Then he rolled over too, throwing a leg over Buck's hip and rubbing a still-hard cock against Buck's skin as he said, “That was the most... incredible thing I've ever seen. Can you do it again? How soon? I want to see you come a buncha times tonight.”

Buck lowered his arm and frowned at JD. “You do?”

“Hell yeah!” JD exclaimed, grinning widely. “You don't think we're gonna have walls this thick back home, do you?”

Buck saw no irritation or anger or anything but love and eagerness on JD's face and smiled back. He probably wouldn't be able to give the kid as many orgasms as he seemed to think possible, he wasn't exactly a spring chicken anymore. But then, there was a lot of other things he could do to see just how many he could drag out of JD. He grinned wickedly and said, “Oh yeah. We're just gettin' started, partner.”

JD's eyes widened in alarm and he said, “Uh, Buck? Don't go gettin' too many of them exotic-type ideas about...”

Buck pounced.


John had long since learned how to ignore the world around him when needed. Bombs going off and bullets flying in war zones had been a great teacher, but he'd first learned it when his parents had screamed at each other and he'd needed to study for school. And then Harry had reinforced the lesson by screaming at both parents while he'd needed to study for school. After that had been drunk and loud uni roommates while he'd needed to study for school. War had really just been the final lesson in a long string of classes in focus and concentration.

Despite all the considerable focus he could bring to bear on any particular situation, there was one he had as yet to defeat: Sherlock's mouth.

At first, John had just stared in fascination because he could hardly believe the words coming out of Sherlock's mouth. The words never really grew commonplace as such, but they did become a kind of routine that was never quite routine enough for John to relax. Once that happened, though, John stared for a completely different and utterly inappropriate reason. He fantasized about having that mouth on him, everywhere. He imagined what Sherlock would look like on his knees while sucking John off. He obsessed, in his own head at least, with the image of Sherlock's tongue sliding around, over, and into every part of John's body.

Then they'd become lovers. Sherlock had turned out to be startlingly passionate and inventive given his reputation as frigid and/or possibly a virgin, even at his age. When John had the brain matter to actually think about it, he wasn't truly surprised by the turn of events. Sherlock was nothing, if not thorough; of course he would learn or figure out how to bring someone to their knees with a few, simple touches.

Or maybe it was just John.

As long as Sherlock didn't involve his mouth for much other than kissing, they could go for a couple of hours at a time. John was thrilled with their sex life. They fit hand-in-glove, the compatibility astounding and yet expected, given how in synch they were with everything else. Really, John's only complaint was how quick off the mark he was when Sherlock decided to suck him off or torture John's nipples with teeth and tongue. Then again, 'complaint' was such a strong word.

John moaned and writhed under Sherlock, the other man going down on him with a ferocious intensity. Sherlock sucked on the way up and then went down all the way again, John's cock breaching the back of his throat. That was it. John cried out and came, thrusting without any force thanks to Sherlock's arms imitating iron bars across his hips.

By the time he came back to his surroundings, John blinked fuzzily at Sherlock who was nuzzling at his dick as though wishing it would harden again right away. He laughed weakly and rasped, “Going to have to give me some time to recover, Sherlock.”

Sherlock smirked a bit and slowly pushed two slick fingers inside John. “Perhaps less than you might expect.”

John groaned and sagged back against the pillow. He waved a hand at Sherlock and said, “Go on, do what you like. I'll just lie here and recover.”

Sherlock hissed and the bed moved unexpectedly. John frowned curiously and looked down again to find Sherlock panting silently, resting his forehead on John's hip. He'd obviously come. A grin slid over his face as he realized that he wasn't the only one who could be quick off the mark.

Sherlock looked up at him and scowled. “Oh, do shut up, John.”

John laughed and pulled him up for a kiss.


Charles knew himself very well; he had to, as a point of fact, because if he didn't know himself then he couldn't control himself. And an uncontrolled telepath was a menace to the world at large, a very real danger. He had no illusions about himself or his morals or his dubious grip on the higher ground. He knew that he tended towards lazy, if no one else was effected; that he liked sex with men and women on a frequent basis; and that he would kill anyone who hurt his sister, including himself.

The thing was, though... the human mind was capable of surprising even someone as self-aware as Charles. At the moment, Charles was harder than he could ever remember being and all Erik had done was shove him onto the bed and then hold him there by kneeling on his chest and staring down at him. Charles stared right back, mouth open as he panted and struggled to control himself.

“You're going to do as I say, aren't you, Charles?” Erik murmured. He was a heavy weight, knees digging in hard enough to bruise. Each breath was an effort.

Charles nodded vehemently.

Erik's smile was soft, but short. “Good, very good, Charles. Put your arms over your head and grip the headboard. Don't move, or I'll be very disappointed in you.”

Charles' eyes widened at the shock of pleasure the words evoked throughout his body, and didn't move except to take hold of the headboard.

Erik climbed off him and then the metal shrieked it unwound itself only to wrap around Charles' wrists, holding him trapped in place. The metal was round, so it wasn't painful, but it most certainly was not going anywhere until Erik released him. The fact that he could make Erik do so with his powers was not lost on either of them, he was sure.

“For the duration of this road trip and beyond, you're going to stop sleeping with every woman we meet who happens to be free for the night. And no more fucking men in the alley, either,” Erik said, voice hard. “You're mine now, Charles, and I don't share. You sleep in my bed and take only my cock, however I see fit to give it to you, understood?”

Charles couldn't help himself. He came in his pants without any control whatsoever and shivered through the most intense orgasm he'd had in a very long time. He flushed hotly in shame.

Erik chuckled, but it was a warm sound. “I see you understand me completely. Good boy.”

When Erik cupped Charles' cheek, he also couldn't help leaning into the caress. Staring at the hard man who'd survived more than anyone should ever have to go through, Charles knew his life would never be the same.

It's always the quiet ones...

Robbie didn't kid himself that he was a 'man of the world.' He was as cynical and knowledgeable of the horrible things people did to each other as the next copper, maybe more, but he still believed in people more than he didn't. Didn't trust easy, though, not anymore. Not after Val's death. Ten years on from that life-altering event and he'd reached a kind of equilibrium. He knew that any sort of peace that he felt came from James' place in his life. The younger man blunted Robbie's sharp edges and took on Robbie's ire with an equanimity that few could manage.

On his darkest days, before they'd become partners in every sense, Robbie had railed against the world that had given him James. It had seemed the cruelest joke fate could play, tormenting him with someone he could never have. James' intelligence, dry humor, and irritatingly lovely blue eyes had been the stuff of Robbie's dreams far too long. But then, for no apparent reason Robbie could figure out, James had stepped up. There'd been no stressful incident, no happy incident; James had simply informed him in no uncertain terms that if Robbie didn't make a move, he would have to take matters into his own hands and really, Robbie wouldn't enjoy that at all. It would involve many hours spent serenading him with world music, poetry, and quotes from all the romantic boys in the band he had at his disposal.

Robbie had given in almost instantly. At his age, serenading was more likely to put him to sleep than get him in a romantic mood and world music wasn't his thing anyhow. Well, unless James was playing his guitar in person, but that was different.

In a move that didn't surprise Robbie at all, James had turned out to be as thorough and single-minded in bed as on a case. Somehow, in his lurid fantasies, Robbie had always been the aggressor, the one who laid James out on the bed and drove him mad with pleasure. Maybe because of James' aloofness in the world, that untouched air he'd always had. Maybe Robbie was just a macho git, a product of his time where the one who did the initiating was the real man in the relationship.

Robbie never had the chance to be the aggressor. After the first time James had lavished so much attention on him in bed, spending hours going over his body with hands, fingers, tongue, mouth, and teeth, Robbie didn't even care. He'd learned the hard way, no pun intended, that if he came too soon James would show no mercy. The younger man would simply continue until he'd wrung out as many orgasms as he wanted. Somewhere in that big brain of his, James likely had some kind of checklist he went through every time they made love. Robbie never got out of an encounter in less than an hour, more frequently going closer to two and, on one very memorable occasion, they'd gone to three.

Robbie had blushed like an innocent schoolgirl when he'd gone shopping for a cock ring, but after a month together, he'd needed a little help. At his age, more than two orgasms a night just wasn't good for the old ticker. When he'd mentioned it to James, the taller man had merely quirked a grin at him and said, “You're remarkably fit for a man your age, sir, I wouldn't worry.”

Of course, the prat had made an appointment with Robbie's doctor the next day and cleared the time off personally so Robbie couldn't get out of it.


Robbie blinked over at James and shook his head, coming out of his thoughts and returning to the crime scene around them. “Sorry, Hathaway, just thinking.”

James' mouth slid a bit sideways and he stepped closer. Low enough that no one else would hear, James looked at him innocently and said, “I was thinking I would ride your cock tonight for about thirty minutes. We haven't been able to get in any racquet ball and you could do with some cardio.”

“Did I hear something about cardio? Robbie, are you going back to the gym? Don't overdo. Your back, you know,” Laura admonished, walking up on them.

As if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, James met her concerned gaze and said, “I'll make sure his back is fully supported, Dr. Hobson, no worries.”

Robbie flushed and pointedly did not look at James as he scowled and thought, It's always the quiet ones.

Devious little smartarse that he could be, Robbie wouldn't give James up for anything in the world.