Anna S. (eliade) wrote,
Anna S.
eliade

J/V #12



XII.

So. That didn't go as planned, Vaughn noticed, coming out of his orgasm haze. He surfaced through fluttering lashes to meet Jack's cold eyes. Gut-punched by the look, he realized that Jack was angry. More than angry, maybe. Possibly even disgusted with him. He put a hand over his own eyes. He'd meant to get Jack worked up, not come like a fifteen-year-old all over the guy's hand.

"You wanted to get into my good graces, I think." Jack's voice was a low thrum with an edge of venom. "Now would be a good time to return the favor."

"If you don't want me to--" Vaughn tried to say.

"If I don't *want* you to?" It wasn't Jack's usual pleasant sarcasm, but something much uglier. "You'll graciously curb your enthusiasm if I don't *want* you to service me? How kind of you, Adam."

Vaughn closed his eyes again for a moment, then opened them. "What do you want me to do?" He couldn't look Jack in the eyes any more, and lay waiting for a reply as the silence stretched. When it reached an improbable length, he finally made himself look at Jack again, and saw the very moment when Jack's face went from indecisive to pitying. Pitying wasn't a nice look on him. If there was anything worse than being the object of Jack's angry disgust, it was falling below his dismissive contempt.

"I think you should get showered off, first." Jack's voice had turned bored. "I'll join you in a minute." He was already moving off to one side of the bed.

"No. Wait." Vaughn caught at him, not bothering for finesse, kissing a shoulder blade and rubbing his cheek across the skin. "It hurts more when I make you angry."

Jack stiffened, pausing, then resettled himself on the bed, lying back with his head on his pillow. "It takes some people years to figure that out. Congratulations."

"You know, I'm not advancing quickly in the agency," Vaughn said, running a hand along Jack's body without any clue what he was doing. "I'm not where my father was at my age. The money isn't that good. The hours suck. There are no--" He pressed his lips to Jack's chest. "--perks."

"Your poor career choices don't interest me."

"Maybe they should. You said you wanted your own CIA agent." He leaned in to brush his lips against Jack's neck. "What if you could have one...in the agency?"

Face bland, Jack said, "You'll have to do a lot better than that if you want to convince me of your...goodwill."

Prick, Vaughn thought. It was hard to sustain a feeling of guilt about any of this when Jack was so fucking Jack.

"Anything," he said, and managed to render Jack speechless for about five seconds. That had to be a record. In the interval, Vaughn straddled him and got another flicker of astonishment. For a second he thought Jack might toss him onto the floor, but he gripped Vaughn by the hips instead. Vaughn adjusted his hips accordingly and enjoyed how Jack's face grew taut with effort. "You're a scary motherfucker, you know that?"

"Yes." Jack sounded distracted.

"Do you like this?" He moved his hips. Jack snapped to attention and glared at him.

"Yes." Jack's voice was dangerously mild. "You can keep doing that."

Vaughn took a deep breath, reassured himself that if he looked like a schmuck he wasn't the only one, blocked all thoughts of surveillance from his mind, and smiled, and did.

One thing they taught you early on in the agency--one of the most basic rules--was that if you made a choice, you should follow it through. If you got caught by Chilean intelligence holding microdata, and your cover was a vacationing dental student from Northwestern, you stuck to that story, even if they tortured you. The worst thing you could do was lose your nerve during a cover. If you made a misstep you bluffed with greater boldness, threw yourself into the act completely. Half-hearted agents, agents who doubted themselves, agents who hesitated at curveballs--they didn't last long.

At this point there was no looking back and no looking forward. It was sex, and maybe it was pointless sex, but it wouldn't be the first pointless sex he'd ever had.

He leaned forward, palms on either side of Jack's head, and inched the sheet down with his knees, which wasn't very effective, but wasn't meant to be. He was repaying Jack for the whole grinding thing. Jack raised his brows as if to say *get on with it* and Vaughn worked his way downward, chest to Jack's chest, mouth to Jack's chest. Jack's hands slid into his hair. Just go with it, Vaughn told himself. Just go with it. A good inner chant could chase distracting thoughts away. Focus.

Focusing was good. Just Mediterranean breezes and salty skin and a lot of forgiving moonlight, and he was doing a good job. He was good. If it was life and death, he'd have to be, and since it might be life and death...yeah. He licked his way around and it wasn't bad, it wasn't tragic or traumatic, just sort of disconcerting if he stopped to think about it, so he didn't. But he would have appreciated more energy from Jack, a little heavy breathing. Because he was good at this, damn it. People had said so. He just needed some proof here.

He was getting dispirited when Jack suddenly stilled and then shuddered. Vaughn tried to analyze exactly what he'd done so that he could repeat it. Biting. That was it. He bit down again and Jack arched his body a fraction of an inch. His fingers were tightening against the sides of Vaughn's head, locking him in place. A surge of heat went through Vaughn and that was it, he didn't need to try anymore. His hips rode the sheets between Jack's legs and he groaned and stopped holding back, mouthing everything he could reach in a frantic rush. Jack gasped and as soon as the sound hit Vaughn he gave his own harsh cry. His skin rippled with sheet lightning and circuits in his brain normally dedicated to good sense shorted out.

A handful of crazy impressions flashed through him--skin and wild need--and then he got his mouth around Jack's cock and went down on him, too excited to go slow. He let Jack grip and move his head and heard himself making helpless sounds of lust as flesh sawed through his mouth. He was coming a second time against the silk sheets before Jack finished in his mouth.

Jaw sore and flushed with heat, Vaughn drew off and rested his head against Jack's hip, trying to catch his breath. Jack seemed to need just as much time to catch his.

"That's...uh. Wow." Vaughn wondered if that was in character, than decided he didn't care. He pushed himself up to look at Jack's face. Jack's eyes were slitted, lips parted around each careful breath. "How'd I do?"

"I think..." Jack paused, drew in another deep steadying breath. "I think I'll let you live."
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