Sara (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scripted_sra) wrote2012-08-27 05:15 pm
scripted_sra) wrote2012-08-27 05:15 pm
Burn Notice | Between Past and Present Tense | NC-17 | Michael/Larry; Michael/Sam (Part II of VII)
Title: Between Past and Present Tense (II/VII)
Fandom: Burn Notice
Rating: NC-17 (for this part)
Pairing: Michael/Larry; Michael/Sam (in this part)
Warnings: For this part: Homophobic slurs; imagined knifeplay; sex; breathplay; marking; minor self-injury, sort of.
Summary: "But in this career path, relationships and self-identity are not prioritized. While spies are trained to be able to ingratiate themselves with others, fooling strangers is a long way from the honesty and communication that people in relationships tend to expect. Combined with an emotionally stunted bedrock, navigating these waters can be ill-advised at best and downright dangerous at worst, often with little hope of success." And yet, despite everything, Michael Westen finds himself trying anyway.
Word Count: 4,310 (for this part)
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use.
A/N: See the masterpost for the full information.
II.
“Not bad, kid,” the older guy said approvingly, grin spreading across his face. “You’ve got damn good instincts. What’s your name?”
“Michael,” he said.
“Michael,” he repeated, grinning somehow wider, showing off row after row of perfectly straight, white teeth. “Nice to meet you, Michael. The name’s Larry.”
They shook hands.
---
The motel was small and low-end, intended for people who needed to fly under the radar, which was what this particular mission called for. It was where he and Larry had to lay low for a day or two while the first phase of their plan finished falling into place.
The clerk at the check-in counter had neglected to mention the fact that there was only one bed. Maybe this had been why he’d refused to meet their eyes.
“That was fun,” Larry was saying, grinning from ear to ear. Michael definitely wasn’t smiling when Larry glanced back at him, sitting down on the bed without commenting on it. “You’re so damn serious all the time, kid,” he added. “You need to learn to lighten up. Have some fun with the job from time to time.”
They did work well together, Michael had to admit, and Larry was pretty supportive. He’d learned a lot from him already. Combine that with the fact that Larry, while older, was still very good-looking, and he also had to admit that sharing such close quarters with him was going to be interesting.
“You can take the bed,” he said, putting his bag on the chair. “I’m going to shower.”
Larry raised an eyebrow at him, giving him an amused look. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys,” he said. “Whose masculinity is threatened by just the slightest hint of anything terrifyingly ‘queer.’” He even used air quotes around the word.
“What? No.” Michael frowned. “It’s just—it’s a small bed, that’s all. Two of us on it probably won’t work so well.”
“Oh?” He looked skeptical—and still amused. “You’re sure this isn’t just because the clerk assumed you were being paid by the hour?”
“He what?”
“Powerful, overseas, repressed businessman,” he said, pointing at himself, “and male prostitute,” he continued, pointing at Michael. “It’s no secret this motel gets that kind of thing a lot. That’s practically what it was built for.” He snorted, probably at the somewhat gobsmacked expression Michael figured was on his face. “What’s the matter, Michael? Does being mistaken for a hooker ruffle your feathers?”
“No,” he said, covering his surprise. “It doesn’t bother you, being mistaken for someone who requires the services of a male prostitute?”
“Well, maybe the idea that I’d have to pay for it.” He smirked. “Can’t let assumptions get to you, kid, especially ones like that. It means they’ll probably underestimate you, and that always comes in handy.”
Michael gave Larry a curious look.
“Oh, come on, kid, think! I know you heard it in boot camp, hell, everywhere. Queers, sissies, fags, it all comes down to the same thing: thinking you’re weak. And people who do that when they shouldn’t, well.” He grinned in a very unsettling way, yet Michael couldn’t help but be drawn in. “They don’t last too long, now do they?”
It was an interesting idea. If someone didn’t see you as a threat, Michael supposed it could be easier to get them to let down their guard. It was almost poetic, the thought of using someone’s stupidity against them. He smirked.
“There’s what I like to see,” Larry said, grinning. “Some enjoyment. You have to squeeze the good moments out of life, kid. They sure as hell aren’t going to be handed to you.”
“I—”
“Did I say I wanted to hear you speak, whore?” Larry said suddenly, a little drawl to his voice—it wasn’t his own. The look in his eyes was alert, and he held up a hand, pointing toward the door.
Michael quickly noticed what Larry had—there was a distinct shadow underneath the door crack. Someone was right outside, probably eavesdropping.
“That’s what I thought. Stop trying to think for yourself and get in the shower. I’ll make myself comfortable. Then you can do what I’m paying you for.”
“Yes, sir,” Michael said, injecting a little Russian into his accent.
The person outside the door, whoever it was, slowly walked away.
“Now why was someone so curious?” Larry muttered quietly.
Michael tensed. “If we’ve been compromised—”
“We don’t know that yet. Calm down. If we panic and get pulled out, the bad guys around these parts get free rein for longer. I know you don’t want that.”
He nodded. “I’ll start the shower.”
“Good kid. I’ll distract the clerk. You get into the office.”
Michael ran the water in the bathroom. They were careful leaving the room, making sure no one saw them, and Larry put on an act for the clerk’s benefit, keeping his attention strictly on him, affording Michael the leeway to sneak past him, into the office.
He searched it quickly and thoroughly, coming up empty, at least until he noticed the dimensions of the desk drawers didn’t make sense. Sure enough, the last one had a false bottom, and he pulled out a folder—pictures, names, various older guys with younger men and women in plenty of compromising positions.
That explained it. Blackmail.
Michael put the folder back and slipped out of the office just as Larry wrapped up with the clerk. They headed back to the room, and Larry snorted when he told him what he’d found. “Cute scam,” he said. “Just one question. How are they getting the pictures?”
“They probably don’t have the means to keep every room under constant surveillance,” Michael said. “They have to be using the prostitutes. Either cutting them in or threatening them, maybe both.”
“That means you’ll probably be approached,” Larry said, grin splitting his face. “Oh, kid, this is going to be fun.”
He gave him a skeptical look. “Fun?”
“They’re going to try to blackmail the wrong businessman,” he said, smirking. “When they recruit you, make sure you stress just how terrifying I am.” He grinned. “Then I’ll show them.” Sitting back on the bed, looking thoughtful, he added, “They won’t approach you until you’re alone—maybe if you leave the room sometime tonight, smoke break or something. For now, might as well go take your shower.”
Right, the water—it was still running. Michael nodded and headed into the bathroom—which, by then, was practically a sauna—and stripped, taking a quick shower. When he got out and toweled off, he realized he'd left his bag in the main room. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he walked out to get it.
Larry had taken off his jacket, shoes, and belt, and was lounging on the bed, reading some outdated magazine—in Russian, it looked like. He glanced up, and while his expression seemed neutral, Michael couldn’t help but feel suddenly hot.
He didn’t embarrass easily. There was something about Larry. Sometimes Michael felt like he could see right through him. On the one hand, it was kind of unsettling.
On the other hand, it was kind of exhilarating.
“Left my bag,” he muttered, picking it up off the chair.
Larry raised an eyebrow, looking amused. “And here I thought you were just getting into your part.” He snorted, and Michael was struck by the feeling that even though he’d kept his expression perfectly even, Larry could still tell he threw him off-kilter. “Forget it, kid. Though it does bring up a problem—you’re far too pretty to be a whore. The average street hustler around here looks a little worse for wear.” He eyed him critically. “Guess you’ll just have to convince them you haven’t been at it long.”
Michael faltered, visibly that time. He tried to cover with a question. “Worse for wear?”
“Yeah, you know.” Larry stood, meandering over. Michael tried not to tense. “Your face would be weathered,” he said, gesturing with a hand. “You’d probably have more scars. And you wouldn’t be this fit.” There he gestured at his chest in a downward motion, hand as close as it could get without actually touching.
Michael wondered what would happen if he took just a half a step forward, enough that Larry’s hand would brush against his abs.
Deliberately meeting Larry’s eyes, almost challenging, he did just that.
Larry smiled a small, pleased smile, tilting his head. His eyes were suddenly dark, intense. “Well, aren’t you just full of surprises?” he said, hand sliding to Michael’s hip, thumb dipping under the towel.
He was barely touching him, and still Michael felt like every inch of his skin was about to catch on fire.
“Here’s your chance to walk away, kid,” Larry told him. “Say it was an accident, I’ll step back, we’ll pretend this never happened.”
He didn’t hesitate. “It wasn’t an accident.”
He grinned. Then he moved so fast Michael barely had time to react; before he registered what happened, he was pinned up against the wall, hands above his head, and Larry was kissing him intently.
Michael felt a little like he was suffocating, Larry’s body covering his own while he kissed him with a focus and passion that left him dizzy. This was nothing like making out with Andre had been. That had been two teenagers fumbling together, slowly figuring things out—what felt good, what worked, what didn’t, sneaking in desperate groping sessions whenever they could.
Larry was neither fumbling nor desperate. He knew exactly what he was doing, and was taking his time doing it; everything felt targeted, from how roughly he was kissing him, to where he was touching him, to the firm, deliberate way he kept his arms pinned above his head.
Every move was designed to make him want.
Michael couldn’t get enough of it. He kissed back hungrily, squirming against him, desperate for more.
“Jesus,” Larry said in a breathless murmur, pulling away. “You’re eager, huh?”
Michael gasped for breath, eyes wide, meeting Larry’s gaze. It was hotter than the sun, enough to make his mouth go dry. “I—”
“Yeah?” he asked, lowering his mouth to his neck, kissing, biting there. “Where do you want me to start?”
“Anywhere.”
Larry grinned. “Just what I like to hear,” he said, pulling the towel away and letting it drop to the floor. He took a small step backward, just enough to give him a good, long onceover, his eyes raking up and down his body.
Michael briefly wondered if this might be how kindling felt, just before the match was lit.
“God, kid, look at you. Sin personified,” Larry said, voice low and dark and dangerous. He wrapped a hand around Michael’s rapidly-hardening cock and leaned in again, murmuring, “I’m going to make you scream so hard and so loud and so long it hurts to breathe and your vocal cords feel like they’re being ripped from your throat, and you’re going to love every…single…second of it so much that even when you think you’ve had enough, even when you think you can’t take any more, you’re going to beg and plead with me to do it all over again.” He bared his teeth. “How’s that sound?”
In that instant, Michael knew that Larry was a wildfire, all rage and intensity and mindless destruction, and given half a chance, he’d consume him, burn him up, reduce him to nothing more than smoke and ash and dust; in that instant, Michael couldn’t resist the flame, because he knew how alive it would make him feel.
In that instant, the only thing Michael could do was reply with a shuddery, “Yes, please,” surrendering himself to the heat and letting it swallow him whole.
---
“He found out,” Michael said, rage shaking each syllable, as he watched the building burn through a pair of binoculars.
“No.” Larry’s tone was so sharp it could cut glass. “Someone told him.”
Michael glanced at him, eyes narrowing. “You think it was our informant.”
“I don’t think it, kid,” he said. “I know it. I can feel it. And what’s more, so can you.”
Michael had to admit Larry was right. Petrov had given him a bad feeling the second they’d met, and despite all the claims that he was reliable, Michael had never fully trusted him. Evidently neither had Larry. “You didn’t trust him either.”
“No, I did not,” he said. “And when I saw you had the same instinct, I knew it even more.”
“You saw that?”
“Of course I saw that. I know you, I know how you carry yourself. Just as I know that you are pissed off this bastard helped our target get off scot-free. You want to do something about it just as much as I do.”
It did piss him off. He could feel the anger bubbling inside him, making his fingers itch. He tried to shove it away—emotions like this were dangerous in the field. “What can we do now?”
“Don’t do that, kid,” Larry said, taking him by the shoulder and looking him directly in the eyes. “Don’t bury that anger, that passion. That’s what keeps you going. Use it. Let it energize you. Never bury it. You need it.”
“It doesn’t help,” he replied.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said. “That’s where all the idiots who act like they know everything are wrong. Maybe every once in a while, you’ll find someone who really doesn’t let anything get to him, but that’s not someone I’d want on my team. I want someone I know has something driving him, something furious and unquenchable. You’ve got that, kid, and you shouldn’t hide it. It’s the best asset you have.”
He took a deep breath and thought about that, and about the weeks of planning, careful preparation, manipulation, all down the drain because some idiot was too cowardly or greedy to keep his mouth shut. The anger bubbled higher, threatening to spill out.
“That’s it, kid,” Larry said, grip tightening on his shoulder. His thumb dug into a deliciously sore spot Larry knew damn well was there. Michael had begged himself hoarse the night he’d left it.
A familiar warmth spread through his body, and his every muscle felt taut. He met Larry’s eyes, which were swimming with a dark, intense fury. “You’re right,” he said at last. “We have to do something.”
Larry smiled like a shark. “Excellent.”
---
“You’ve worked with Sam Axe, haven’t you?” Michael asked Larry as they assembled the (small) bomb they’d be planting.
Larry glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. “We’ve crossed paths.”
“I worked with him in Poland a month ago,” he said. “He’s good. We got along pretty well.”
“That’s good,” Larry said slowly, and Michael watched him. “I’ll be honest with you, kid—we clashed some, in the past. He always struck me as kind of a boy scout, you know the type.”
“I didn’t get that feeling,” Michael said with a shrug. He noticed Larry’s shoulders tighten. “He said he always thought you were a little out of control.” Those hadn’t been Sam’s exact words. The man is a psychopath, Mikey. Mention my name to him. See what happens.
Larry grinned. It was both terrifying and irresistible. “Shows how well he knows me, huh, kid?”
Michael smirked. That was true enough—Larry might run on pure passion and have a wild streak a mile wide, but he always, always seemed in control. It was one of the most exhilarating things about him. “Yeah, good point.”
He clapped him on the shoulder. “Now on to more important things—I think we’re done here. Time to make this empire burn.”
---
Maddeningly, Larry stilled his hips, and the hand on his cock slowed. Michael let out a plaintive noise, his eyes snapping open, and writhed as best he could with his hands bound behind his back.
Larry’s free hand rubbed over a mark low on his throat. “I didn’t give you that,” he said, sounding impossibly casual given the circumstances.
Michael flushed, defenses too far gone. “Yeah,” he gasped, writhing some more. “That was—”
“Sam Axe.” Larry said the name like he was taking a bite out of something.
“Yeah.”
The look in Larry’s eyes suggested he wanted to devour him whole. It went straight to his cock.
“Disappointing work,” he said, pressing hard against the mark with his thumb. “I’ll have to fix that.”
Michael struggled to take a breath. Larry pressed harder, hips moving again, fucking him steadily, forcefully. With the pressure on his throat, it was hard to breathe, and his eyes snapped shut, fireworks exploding behind his eyelids. He drew in another ragged half-breath as Larry pounded into him, feeling dizzy and high, and he knew he couldn’t last, not like this; moments later, a strangled gasp tore from his throat, and he came, eyes squeezing closed so tightly he saw tiny bursts of light.
The pressure on his throat lessened, and Larry held him in place as he continued fucking him; Michael took a deep breath, the sting of the air filling his lungs only enhancing the waves of pleasure coursing through his body. It wasn’t much longer until Larry came, biting over that spot on his throat as he did.
He slowly pulled out, taking off the condom and throwing it in the trash.
“That’s better,” he said, baring his teeth, and rubbed the spot with his thumb yet again. “Don’t you think so, kid?”
“Yeah,” he breathed. “Christ. Yeah.”
Larry smirked.
---
They were dead.
They were dead, and he’d let it happen.
He was pretty sure, had he objected, that Larry would have listened, but he hadn’t. They saw us, kid, Larry had said, giving him that expectant look. You know the danger. What if they find just the right person to blab to? What if someone finds them? It’s easier this way. Not as messy. You know it.
These people hadn’t done anything, aside from be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It wasn’t about what they had done, but what they could do, who they could talk to, what they could say, what they could destroy, whether they meant to or not. The wrong word to the wrong person could put them both in the ground, and that was unacceptable.
So he’d nodded, said, Make it quick. He’d let Larry kill them, and now he was helping him cover it up.
“You’re awfully quiet over there, kid,” Larry said, breaking him out of his reverie.
“Just thinking,” he said.
“Yeah?” Larry stilled beside him. “Don’t think too hard about this. It had to be done.” He gave him a sidelong look. “Don’t tell me you’re feeling guilty?”
“No,” Michael said, because that was just it: he didn’t feel guilty. He wasn’t sure he felt anything. “I’m wondering if maybe I should, though.”
“Hey, kid—that’s life. It’s not pretty,” Larry said, sending him a pointed look. “Some people live, some people die. Waste your time worrying about the particulars and you’ll never accomplish anything.”
“This doesn’t faze you?”
“The ends justify the means. Isn’t that what they always say?” He snorted. “It’s the system, kid. Don’t claim its faults as your own. You, me—we have to play by its rules if we want to survive. You know that’s true.”
“Yeah,” he said after a moment. Part of him agreed with Larry wholeheartedly, saying, it was them or you, you did what you had to do. That part had taken over more than once, the part that wanted everyone to pay for the things they did, wanted to reign down fiery vengeance on anyone who deserved it, no matter what that entailed. Larry always told him not to hide it.
There was another part, though, a part that felt more like him when he was around others, Sam in particular, that said there was a line, and you don’t cross that line, no matter what.
The first part was firm and sure of itself, Michael had to admit. With Larry, things were clear: what had to be done got done, end of discussion.
The second part didn’t offer that kind of certainty, but it’d never made him feel like this—this nothing.
“Earth to Michael,” cut in Larry’s voice suddenly, like a hot knife through butter. “You still with me, kid?”
“Yeah,” he said again. “Let’s get this done.”
“Attaboy.”
In the morning, he contacted his handler, and asked if he could work with someone else, just for a little bit.
---
When Michael heard rumors through the grapevine about some of the things Larry allegedly did afterward, he wondered—perhaps traitorously—if he hadn’t made the right decision.
The news of his death still hit him like a sock to the gut.
ii.
“You haven’t finished with that yet?” By Larry’s calculation, he injected just the right amount of mild surprise into that question to make Sam grit his teeth in frustration.
Sure enough, Sam’s jaw tightened, just barely. Larry hid a smirk. “If you think you could do it better…”
Larry merely held up his hands. “Take as long as you want. It’s not like we’re working with a strict timetable.” He paused. “Hmm, wait.”
Sam only glared before pointedly focusing back on his work. Larry didn’t allow himself to be dismissed; he kept watching. After a few minutes, Sam glanced back up, obviously annoyed. “Isn’t there a puppy somewhere that needs kicking, or maybe a goat that needs sacrificing? You should see to that.”
“Actually, I’m all set, but thanks for the concern.” Larry grinned. It always pissed Sam off when he grinned.
“This isn’t going to get done any faster with you lurking nearby, watching over my shoulder.” He straightened, glancing around. “Where’s Mikey?”
That godawful nickname made his teeth ache. “Michael,” the use of his full name was, of course, deliberate, “is doing his part. He’s scouting our location.”
“Still?” Something in Sam’s demeanor shifted. “He should’ve been back by now.”
“You know Michael,” Larry said. “He loves to be…thorough.” There might have been just the slightest emphasis on the word, enough to make Sam’s eyes cloud over.
“I don’t like it,” he said finally. “It feels off.”
“Always the mother hen, huh, Sam?”
“Dammit, didn’t you hear me? Mike could be in trouble.”
“Michael knows how to handle himself.”
Sam’s look was pure disgust. “You don’t give a damn about him, do you? It’s all just some sick, hilarious game to you.”
Larry was sure his own look more than matched it. “I know Michael. I know how he thinks, I know what he needs, and I know he sure as hell can handle this crappy militia with one hand tied behind his back.” He rolled his eyes. “But if you’d like to play the white knight, let’s do our own scouting. Maybe we’ll get there in time to help him slit a few dozen throats.”
That did sound like fun. His fingers twitched, itching to grab his switchblade.
“I will never understand what the hell Mike sees in you,” Sam said at last, derision lacing his tone.
Larry merely grinned again, pulling his switchblade out of his pocket. He flipped it open, examining the blade. “I guess we do have something in common.”
Sam stood, glaring as he did. “Let’s go make sure he’s all right.”
“Mama Bear,” said Larry, faux-admiring.
“What would you know?” Sam asked. “You’d probably eat your young.”
Larry pressed the blade into his thumb, drawing blood. He imagined it was Sam’s throat.
The thought cheered him up.
“Where—” He stopped when he heard a noise, faint but there, the distinct sound of someone approaching. Sam obviously heard it too, his stance shifting.
“Guys?” asked Michael, coming into the clearing.
“Told you.” Larry smirked his I’m smarter than you smirk, enjoying the way Sam tried not to bristle. “You were thorough, kid?”
“Of course.”
“Good, good.” He draped an arm around Michael’s shoulder, noting with interest where his thumb left a small bloodstain on his shirt. He liked that, a little mark that said, ‘Property of Larry—hands off.’ He also liked the idea of Michael and blood, maybe a pretty little line welling up along his inner thigh. Michael would let him. Hell, Michael would beg for more, and he did beg so nicely. “I knew it,” he added. “Mother hen over here was worried about you. Like you couldn’t handle those guys in your sleep.”
Michael grinned, obviously pleased. Sam made a disgusted noise, deep in his throat. Once again, Larry imagined slitting it.
“Mikey, think you could help me out with this?” he asked. “It’ll go faster, and we’ve got a timetable to keep to. Larry can take over your perimeter sweep—he was waiting for something to do.”
“Sure,” Michael agreed. “That okay with you, Larry?”
“It sounds fine, kid,” Larry said, squeezing his shoulder while giving Sam a pointed look. “He needs the help.” He grinned to make it seem like lighthearted teasing. The look in Sam’s eyes suggested he wasn’t fooled, but that was all for the best. Insults were never as satisfying when the person you insulted didn’t notice. “I’ll be back in twenty.”
“See ya,” said Sam, so thoroughly a dismissal that Larry had to forcibly stop himself from lunging at him. If he killed Sam, he told himself, Michael would stop trusting him. That trade-off wasn’t worth it.
“It’s a mess out there,” Michael said. The be careful was in his eyes. This kid. He was getting to be a master of manipulation, but Larry could still read him like a book.
The thought made him smile. He started humming softly to himself as he left.
Part I | Masterpost | Part III
Fandom: Burn Notice
Rating: NC-17 (for this part)
Pairing: Michael/Larry; Michael/Sam (in this part)
Warnings: For this part: Homophobic slurs; imagined knifeplay; sex; breathplay; marking; minor self-injury, sort of.
Summary: "But in this career path, relationships and self-identity are not prioritized. While spies are trained to be able to ingratiate themselves with others, fooling strangers is a long way from the honesty and communication that people in relationships tend to expect. Combined with an emotionally stunted bedrock, navigating these waters can be ill-advised at best and downright dangerous at worst, often with little hope of success." And yet, despite everything, Michael Westen finds himself trying anyway.
Word Count: 4,310 (for this part)
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use.
A/N: See the masterpost for the full information.
“Not bad, kid,” the older guy said approvingly, grin spreading across his face. “You’ve got damn good instincts. What’s your name?”
“Michael,” he said.
“Michael,” he repeated, grinning somehow wider, showing off row after row of perfectly straight, white teeth. “Nice to meet you, Michael. The name’s Larry.”
They shook hands.
The motel was small and low-end, intended for people who needed to fly under the radar, which was what this particular mission called for. It was where he and Larry had to lay low for a day or two while the first phase of their plan finished falling into place.
The clerk at the check-in counter had neglected to mention the fact that there was only one bed. Maybe this had been why he’d refused to meet their eyes.
“That was fun,” Larry was saying, grinning from ear to ear. Michael definitely wasn’t smiling when Larry glanced back at him, sitting down on the bed without commenting on it. “You’re so damn serious all the time, kid,” he added. “You need to learn to lighten up. Have some fun with the job from time to time.”
They did work well together, Michael had to admit, and Larry was pretty supportive. He’d learned a lot from him already. Combine that with the fact that Larry, while older, was still very good-looking, and he also had to admit that sharing such close quarters with him was going to be interesting.
“You can take the bed,” he said, putting his bag on the chair. “I’m going to shower.”
Larry raised an eyebrow at him, giving him an amused look. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys,” he said. “Whose masculinity is threatened by just the slightest hint of anything terrifyingly ‘queer.’” He even used air quotes around the word.
“What? No.” Michael frowned. “It’s just—it’s a small bed, that’s all. Two of us on it probably won’t work so well.”
“Oh?” He looked skeptical—and still amused. “You’re sure this isn’t just because the clerk assumed you were being paid by the hour?”
“He what?”
“Powerful, overseas, repressed businessman,” he said, pointing at himself, “and male prostitute,” he continued, pointing at Michael. “It’s no secret this motel gets that kind of thing a lot. That’s practically what it was built for.” He snorted, probably at the somewhat gobsmacked expression Michael figured was on his face. “What’s the matter, Michael? Does being mistaken for a hooker ruffle your feathers?”
“No,” he said, covering his surprise. “It doesn’t bother you, being mistaken for someone who requires the services of a male prostitute?”
“Well, maybe the idea that I’d have to pay for it.” He smirked. “Can’t let assumptions get to you, kid, especially ones like that. It means they’ll probably underestimate you, and that always comes in handy.”
Michael gave Larry a curious look.
“Oh, come on, kid, think! I know you heard it in boot camp, hell, everywhere. Queers, sissies, fags, it all comes down to the same thing: thinking you’re weak. And people who do that when they shouldn’t, well.” He grinned in a very unsettling way, yet Michael couldn’t help but be drawn in. “They don’t last too long, now do they?”
It was an interesting idea. If someone didn’t see you as a threat, Michael supposed it could be easier to get them to let down their guard. It was almost poetic, the thought of using someone’s stupidity against them. He smirked.
“There’s what I like to see,” Larry said, grinning. “Some enjoyment. You have to squeeze the good moments out of life, kid. They sure as hell aren’t going to be handed to you.”
“I—”
“Did I say I wanted to hear you speak, whore?” Larry said suddenly, a little drawl to his voice—it wasn’t his own. The look in his eyes was alert, and he held up a hand, pointing toward the door.
Michael quickly noticed what Larry had—there was a distinct shadow underneath the door crack. Someone was right outside, probably eavesdropping.
“That’s what I thought. Stop trying to think for yourself and get in the shower. I’ll make myself comfortable. Then you can do what I’m paying you for.”
“Yes, sir,” Michael said, injecting a little Russian into his accent.
The person outside the door, whoever it was, slowly walked away.
“Now why was someone so curious?” Larry muttered quietly.
Michael tensed. “If we’ve been compromised—”
“We don’t know that yet. Calm down. If we panic and get pulled out, the bad guys around these parts get free rein for longer. I know you don’t want that.”
He nodded. “I’ll start the shower.”
“Good kid. I’ll distract the clerk. You get into the office.”
Michael ran the water in the bathroom. They were careful leaving the room, making sure no one saw them, and Larry put on an act for the clerk’s benefit, keeping his attention strictly on him, affording Michael the leeway to sneak past him, into the office.
He searched it quickly and thoroughly, coming up empty, at least until he noticed the dimensions of the desk drawers didn’t make sense. Sure enough, the last one had a false bottom, and he pulled out a folder—pictures, names, various older guys with younger men and women in plenty of compromising positions.
That explained it. Blackmail.
Michael put the folder back and slipped out of the office just as Larry wrapped up with the clerk. They headed back to the room, and Larry snorted when he told him what he’d found. “Cute scam,” he said. “Just one question. How are they getting the pictures?”
“They probably don’t have the means to keep every room under constant surveillance,” Michael said. “They have to be using the prostitutes. Either cutting them in or threatening them, maybe both.”
“That means you’ll probably be approached,” Larry said, grin splitting his face. “Oh, kid, this is going to be fun.”
He gave him a skeptical look. “Fun?”
“They’re going to try to blackmail the wrong businessman,” he said, smirking. “When they recruit you, make sure you stress just how terrifying I am.” He grinned. “Then I’ll show them.” Sitting back on the bed, looking thoughtful, he added, “They won’t approach you until you’re alone—maybe if you leave the room sometime tonight, smoke break or something. For now, might as well go take your shower.”
Right, the water—it was still running. Michael nodded and headed into the bathroom—which, by then, was practically a sauna—and stripped, taking a quick shower. When he got out and toweled off, he realized he'd left his bag in the main room. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he walked out to get it.
Larry had taken off his jacket, shoes, and belt, and was lounging on the bed, reading some outdated magazine—in Russian, it looked like. He glanced up, and while his expression seemed neutral, Michael couldn’t help but feel suddenly hot.
He didn’t embarrass easily. There was something about Larry. Sometimes Michael felt like he could see right through him. On the one hand, it was kind of unsettling.
On the other hand, it was kind of exhilarating.
“Left my bag,” he muttered, picking it up off the chair.
Larry raised an eyebrow, looking amused. “And here I thought you were just getting into your part.” He snorted, and Michael was struck by the feeling that even though he’d kept his expression perfectly even, Larry could still tell he threw him off-kilter. “Forget it, kid. Though it does bring up a problem—you’re far too pretty to be a whore. The average street hustler around here looks a little worse for wear.” He eyed him critically. “Guess you’ll just have to convince them you haven’t been at it long.”
Michael faltered, visibly that time. He tried to cover with a question. “Worse for wear?”
“Yeah, you know.” Larry stood, meandering over. Michael tried not to tense. “Your face would be weathered,” he said, gesturing with a hand. “You’d probably have more scars. And you wouldn’t be this fit.” There he gestured at his chest in a downward motion, hand as close as it could get without actually touching.
Michael wondered what would happen if he took just a half a step forward, enough that Larry’s hand would brush against his abs.
Deliberately meeting Larry’s eyes, almost challenging, he did just that.
Larry smiled a small, pleased smile, tilting his head. His eyes were suddenly dark, intense. “Well, aren’t you just full of surprises?” he said, hand sliding to Michael’s hip, thumb dipping under the towel.
He was barely touching him, and still Michael felt like every inch of his skin was about to catch on fire.
“Here’s your chance to walk away, kid,” Larry told him. “Say it was an accident, I’ll step back, we’ll pretend this never happened.”
He didn’t hesitate. “It wasn’t an accident.”
He grinned. Then he moved so fast Michael barely had time to react; before he registered what happened, he was pinned up against the wall, hands above his head, and Larry was kissing him intently.
Michael felt a little like he was suffocating, Larry’s body covering his own while he kissed him with a focus and passion that left him dizzy. This was nothing like making out with Andre had been. That had been two teenagers fumbling together, slowly figuring things out—what felt good, what worked, what didn’t, sneaking in desperate groping sessions whenever they could.
Larry was neither fumbling nor desperate. He knew exactly what he was doing, and was taking his time doing it; everything felt targeted, from how roughly he was kissing him, to where he was touching him, to the firm, deliberate way he kept his arms pinned above his head.
Every move was designed to make him want.
Michael couldn’t get enough of it. He kissed back hungrily, squirming against him, desperate for more.
“Jesus,” Larry said in a breathless murmur, pulling away. “You’re eager, huh?”
Michael gasped for breath, eyes wide, meeting Larry’s gaze. It was hotter than the sun, enough to make his mouth go dry. “I—”
“Yeah?” he asked, lowering his mouth to his neck, kissing, biting there. “Where do you want me to start?”
“Anywhere.”
Larry grinned. “Just what I like to hear,” he said, pulling the towel away and letting it drop to the floor. He took a small step backward, just enough to give him a good, long onceover, his eyes raking up and down his body.
Michael briefly wondered if this might be how kindling felt, just before the match was lit.
“God, kid, look at you. Sin personified,” Larry said, voice low and dark and dangerous. He wrapped a hand around Michael’s rapidly-hardening cock and leaned in again, murmuring, “I’m going to make you scream so hard and so loud and so long it hurts to breathe and your vocal cords feel like they’re being ripped from your throat, and you’re going to love every…single…second of it so much that even when you think you’ve had enough, even when you think you can’t take any more, you’re going to beg and plead with me to do it all over again.” He bared his teeth. “How’s that sound?”
In that instant, Michael knew that Larry was a wildfire, all rage and intensity and mindless destruction, and given half a chance, he’d consume him, burn him up, reduce him to nothing more than smoke and ash and dust; in that instant, Michael couldn’t resist the flame, because he knew how alive it would make him feel.
In that instant, the only thing Michael could do was reply with a shuddery, “Yes, please,” surrendering himself to the heat and letting it swallow him whole.
“He found out,” Michael said, rage shaking each syllable, as he watched the building burn through a pair of binoculars.
“No.” Larry’s tone was so sharp it could cut glass. “Someone told him.”
Michael glanced at him, eyes narrowing. “You think it was our informant.”
“I don’t think it, kid,” he said. “I know it. I can feel it. And what’s more, so can you.”
Michael had to admit Larry was right. Petrov had given him a bad feeling the second they’d met, and despite all the claims that he was reliable, Michael had never fully trusted him. Evidently neither had Larry. “You didn’t trust him either.”
“No, I did not,” he said. “And when I saw you had the same instinct, I knew it even more.”
“You saw that?”
“Of course I saw that. I know you, I know how you carry yourself. Just as I know that you are pissed off this bastard helped our target get off scot-free. You want to do something about it just as much as I do.”
It did piss him off. He could feel the anger bubbling inside him, making his fingers itch. He tried to shove it away—emotions like this were dangerous in the field. “What can we do now?”
“Don’t do that, kid,” Larry said, taking him by the shoulder and looking him directly in the eyes. “Don’t bury that anger, that passion. That’s what keeps you going. Use it. Let it energize you. Never bury it. You need it.”
“It doesn’t help,” he replied.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said. “That’s where all the idiots who act like they know everything are wrong. Maybe every once in a while, you’ll find someone who really doesn’t let anything get to him, but that’s not someone I’d want on my team. I want someone I know has something driving him, something furious and unquenchable. You’ve got that, kid, and you shouldn’t hide it. It’s the best asset you have.”
He took a deep breath and thought about that, and about the weeks of planning, careful preparation, manipulation, all down the drain because some idiot was too cowardly or greedy to keep his mouth shut. The anger bubbled higher, threatening to spill out.
“That’s it, kid,” Larry said, grip tightening on his shoulder. His thumb dug into a deliciously sore spot Larry knew damn well was there. Michael had begged himself hoarse the night he’d left it.
A familiar warmth spread through his body, and his every muscle felt taut. He met Larry’s eyes, which were swimming with a dark, intense fury. “You’re right,” he said at last. “We have to do something.”
Larry smiled like a shark. “Excellent.”
“You’ve worked with Sam Axe, haven’t you?” Michael asked Larry as they assembled the (small) bomb they’d be planting.
Larry glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. “We’ve crossed paths.”
“I worked with him in Poland a month ago,” he said. “He’s good. We got along pretty well.”
“That’s good,” Larry said slowly, and Michael watched him. “I’ll be honest with you, kid—we clashed some, in the past. He always struck me as kind of a boy scout, you know the type.”
“I didn’t get that feeling,” Michael said with a shrug. He noticed Larry’s shoulders tighten. “He said he always thought you were a little out of control.” Those hadn’t been Sam’s exact words. The man is a psychopath, Mikey. Mention my name to him. See what happens.
Larry grinned. It was both terrifying and irresistible. “Shows how well he knows me, huh, kid?”
Michael smirked. That was true enough—Larry might run on pure passion and have a wild streak a mile wide, but he always, always seemed in control. It was one of the most exhilarating things about him. “Yeah, good point.”
He clapped him on the shoulder. “Now on to more important things—I think we’re done here. Time to make this empire burn.”
Maddeningly, Larry stilled his hips, and the hand on his cock slowed. Michael let out a plaintive noise, his eyes snapping open, and writhed as best he could with his hands bound behind his back.
Larry’s free hand rubbed over a mark low on his throat. “I didn’t give you that,” he said, sounding impossibly casual given the circumstances.
Michael flushed, defenses too far gone. “Yeah,” he gasped, writhing some more. “That was—”
“Sam Axe.” Larry said the name like he was taking a bite out of something.
“Yeah.”
The look in Larry’s eyes suggested he wanted to devour him whole. It went straight to his cock.
“Disappointing work,” he said, pressing hard against the mark with his thumb. “I’ll have to fix that.”
Michael struggled to take a breath. Larry pressed harder, hips moving again, fucking him steadily, forcefully. With the pressure on his throat, it was hard to breathe, and his eyes snapped shut, fireworks exploding behind his eyelids. He drew in another ragged half-breath as Larry pounded into him, feeling dizzy and high, and he knew he couldn’t last, not like this; moments later, a strangled gasp tore from his throat, and he came, eyes squeezing closed so tightly he saw tiny bursts of light.
The pressure on his throat lessened, and Larry held him in place as he continued fucking him; Michael took a deep breath, the sting of the air filling his lungs only enhancing the waves of pleasure coursing through his body. It wasn’t much longer until Larry came, biting over that spot on his throat as he did.
He slowly pulled out, taking off the condom and throwing it in the trash.
“That’s better,” he said, baring his teeth, and rubbed the spot with his thumb yet again. “Don’t you think so, kid?”
“Yeah,” he breathed. “Christ. Yeah.”
Larry smirked.
They were dead.
They were dead, and he’d let it happen.
He was pretty sure, had he objected, that Larry would have listened, but he hadn’t. They saw us, kid, Larry had said, giving him that expectant look. You know the danger. What if they find just the right person to blab to? What if someone finds them? It’s easier this way. Not as messy. You know it.
These people hadn’t done anything, aside from be in the wrong place at the wrong time. It wasn’t about what they had done, but what they could do, who they could talk to, what they could say, what they could destroy, whether they meant to or not. The wrong word to the wrong person could put them both in the ground, and that was unacceptable.
So he’d nodded, said, Make it quick. He’d let Larry kill them, and now he was helping him cover it up.
“You’re awfully quiet over there, kid,” Larry said, breaking him out of his reverie.
“Just thinking,” he said.
“Yeah?” Larry stilled beside him. “Don’t think too hard about this. It had to be done.” He gave him a sidelong look. “Don’t tell me you’re feeling guilty?”
“No,” Michael said, because that was just it: he didn’t feel guilty. He wasn’t sure he felt anything. “I’m wondering if maybe I should, though.”
“Hey, kid—that’s life. It’s not pretty,” Larry said, sending him a pointed look. “Some people live, some people die. Waste your time worrying about the particulars and you’ll never accomplish anything.”
“This doesn’t faze you?”
“The ends justify the means. Isn’t that what they always say?” He snorted. “It’s the system, kid. Don’t claim its faults as your own. You, me—we have to play by its rules if we want to survive. You know that’s true.”
“Yeah,” he said after a moment. Part of him agreed with Larry wholeheartedly, saying, it was them or you, you did what you had to do. That part had taken over more than once, the part that wanted everyone to pay for the things they did, wanted to reign down fiery vengeance on anyone who deserved it, no matter what that entailed. Larry always told him not to hide it.
There was another part, though, a part that felt more like him when he was around others, Sam in particular, that said there was a line, and you don’t cross that line, no matter what.
The first part was firm and sure of itself, Michael had to admit. With Larry, things were clear: what had to be done got done, end of discussion.
The second part didn’t offer that kind of certainty, but it’d never made him feel like this—this nothing.
“Earth to Michael,” cut in Larry’s voice suddenly, like a hot knife through butter. “You still with me, kid?”
“Yeah,” he said again. “Let’s get this done.”
“Attaboy.”
In the morning, he contacted his handler, and asked if he could work with someone else, just for a little bit.
When Michael heard rumors through the grapevine about some of the things Larry allegedly did afterward, he wondered—perhaps traitorously—if he hadn’t made the right decision.
The news of his death still hit him like a sock to the gut.
“You haven’t finished with that yet?” By Larry’s calculation, he injected just the right amount of mild surprise into that question to make Sam grit his teeth in frustration.
Sure enough, Sam’s jaw tightened, just barely. Larry hid a smirk. “If you think you could do it better…”
Larry merely held up his hands. “Take as long as you want. It’s not like we’re working with a strict timetable.” He paused. “Hmm, wait.”
Sam only glared before pointedly focusing back on his work. Larry didn’t allow himself to be dismissed; he kept watching. After a few minutes, Sam glanced back up, obviously annoyed. “Isn’t there a puppy somewhere that needs kicking, or maybe a goat that needs sacrificing? You should see to that.”
“Actually, I’m all set, but thanks for the concern.” Larry grinned. It always pissed Sam off when he grinned.
“This isn’t going to get done any faster with you lurking nearby, watching over my shoulder.” He straightened, glancing around. “Where’s Mikey?”
That godawful nickname made his teeth ache. “Michael,” the use of his full name was, of course, deliberate, “is doing his part. He’s scouting our location.”
“Still?” Something in Sam’s demeanor shifted. “He should’ve been back by now.”
“You know Michael,” Larry said. “He loves to be…thorough.” There might have been just the slightest emphasis on the word, enough to make Sam’s eyes cloud over.
“I don’t like it,” he said finally. “It feels off.”
“Always the mother hen, huh, Sam?”
“Dammit, didn’t you hear me? Mike could be in trouble.”
“Michael knows how to handle himself.”
Sam’s look was pure disgust. “You don’t give a damn about him, do you? It’s all just some sick, hilarious game to you.”
Larry was sure his own look more than matched it. “I know Michael. I know how he thinks, I know what he needs, and I know he sure as hell can handle this crappy militia with one hand tied behind his back.” He rolled his eyes. “But if you’d like to play the white knight, let’s do our own scouting. Maybe we’ll get there in time to help him slit a few dozen throats.”
That did sound like fun. His fingers twitched, itching to grab his switchblade.
“I will never understand what the hell Mike sees in you,” Sam said at last, derision lacing his tone.
Larry merely grinned again, pulling his switchblade out of his pocket. He flipped it open, examining the blade. “I guess we do have something in common.”
Sam stood, glaring as he did. “Let’s go make sure he’s all right.”
“Mama Bear,” said Larry, faux-admiring.
“What would you know?” Sam asked. “You’d probably eat your young.”
Larry pressed the blade into his thumb, drawing blood. He imagined it was Sam’s throat.
The thought cheered him up.
“Where—” He stopped when he heard a noise, faint but there, the distinct sound of someone approaching. Sam obviously heard it too, his stance shifting.
“Guys?” asked Michael, coming into the clearing.
“Told you.” Larry smirked his I’m smarter than you smirk, enjoying the way Sam tried not to bristle. “You were thorough, kid?”
“Of course.”
“Good, good.” He draped an arm around Michael’s shoulder, noting with interest where his thumb left a small bloodstain on his shirt. He liked that, a little mark that said, ‘Property of Larry—hands off.’ He also liked the idea of Michael and blood, maybe a pretty little line welling up along his inner thigh. Michael would let him. Hell, Michael would beg for more, and he did beg so nicely. “I knew it,” he added. “Mother hen over here was worried about you. Like you couldn’t handle those guys in your sleep.”
Michael grinned, obviously pleased. Sam made a disgusted noise, deep in his throat. Once again, Larry imagined slitting it.
“Mikey, think you could help me out with this?” he asked. “It’ll go faster, and we’ve got a timetable to keep to. Larry can take over your perimeter sweep—he was waiting for something to do.”
“Sure,” Michael agreed. “That okay with you, Larry?”
“It sounds fine, kid,” Larry said, squeezing his shoulder while giving Sam a pointed look. “He needs the help.” He grinned to make it seem like lighthearted teasing. The look in Sam’s eyes suggested he wasn’t fooled, but that was all for the best. Insults were never as satisfying when the person you insulted didn’t notice. “I’ll be back in twenty.”
“See ya,” said Sam, so thoroughly a dismissal that Larry had to forcibly stop himself from lunging at him. If he killed Sam, he told himself, Michael would stop trusting him. That trade-off wasn’t worth it.
“It’s a mess out there,” Michael said. The be careful was in his eyes. This kid. He was getting to be a master of manipulation, but Larry could still read him like a book.
The thought made him smile. He started humming softly to himself as he left.