"I think I'm kinky," Vaughn said contemplatively, running a hand lazily over his belly and dick.
Jack turned his head on the pillow and gave him a dry "No, really?" look, then got out of bed. He moved as a man just who'd gotten spectacularly laid, like nothing else was important any longer and he might wander off naked into traffic, if there'd been traffic to wander into. He opened his suitcase and fiddled with something inside while Vaughn stretched.
After a minute Jack said, "There's no surveillance in the cabin."
Vaughn's eyes opened and he stared the ceiling and thought about that. "Sweet," he said at last, and closed his eyes again.
"Odd," Jack corrected. Vaughn could hear the frown in his voice.
"You know, I could advise you about surveillance, Mr. Boros," Vaughn said, sitting up and sliding to the edge of the bed. He made sure his tone was serious. Jack turned and they spoke to each other with their eyes, mutually agreeing on caution.
"At the moment, I only need a pet, but thank you for the gesture."
"No problem." Vaughn stared at Jack's ass, wondering if his own would hold up so well when he was the other man's age. "I'm here to serve," he said absently.
"Hmm. Your agency's psychological profile never suggested that you might be a sociopath, by any chance?"
"*Me*?" Vaughn shot back in outrage, then checked himself and realized what Jack was getting at. "What, just because I'm opportunistic and potentially amoral? Okay, yeah, that looks bad. I love my country, you know. I'm just..." He hesitated.
"Disillusioned?" Jack suggested.
"Maybe I am." As he said it he half meant it, and it sent a brief shiver down his spine.
There wasn't any pressing reason to sustain cover conversation, so they took turns showering--the yacht's amenities were compact--and grooming.
"My jeans are trashed," Vaughn said, rubbing at the stain with a washcloth. As a horrible possibility hit him, he hastily said, "Please don't make me go naked."
Jack gave a smirky flirt with his eyebrows, but tossed Vaughn a pair of silky black pajama bottoms that hanging on his slimmer body would probably be either absurd or just this side of indecent, and a white shirt. It was definitely an upgrade and he was grateful, so he kissed Jack before they left the cabin, far longer than gratitude demanded, actually. "Oh man," he said when their lips broke apart. He was half-hard again.
"Is this...normal for you?" Jack asked, gazing down at him with a disturbing level of fascination, as if Vaughn were a medical oddity.
He flushed. "I like sex."
"I'm not complaining."
Relieved, Vaughn grinned. By the time they reached the upper deck, the remaining ache of his hard-on was less conspicuous, but he felt like sex on legs and kept up a rubbing closeness to Jack, secure in the knowledge that the cover supported it. In a loose pose at Jack's feet, the breeze ruffling his hair to be smoothed down again by Jack's hand, it was hard to remember why this was strange. Jack fed him crabmeat. Sydney and Weiss looked at them both funny throughout the evening. The table chit-chat was about the gradual upscaling of designer drugs. Vaughn sucked buttery, flaky crab off Jack's fingers. Weiss choked on his martini and had to have a coughing fit smacked to rest by Sydney.
Mere moments after they were back in their cabin, a knock came on the door, and Sydney and Weiss shoved inside past Jack with hard, no-nonsense expressions.
"The cabins aren't bugged," Sydney said. She folded her arms and looked at Jack, and then Vaughn, and then Jack again. "What's going on?"
Jack showed no signs of being impressed by the impromptu interrogation. "What do you mean?"
"What the fuck do you think she means?" Weiss said in a low voice that wouldn't carry outside the cabin walls. He looked at Vaughn. "Are you okay?"
"Am I *okay*?" As much as he appreciated the concern, it also pissed him off. "Why wouldn't I be okay?"
"Why? Why? Because you're acting like a hustler in a cheesy porn movie, that's why, and it's starting to seriously creep me out."
Anger flared higher. "Oh, and you're not? You two have been plastered all over each other like Siamese twins for this whole mission."
"We have not," Sydney protested, her dander up. She folded her arms tighter in a defensive posture, betraying herself with a faceful of guilt and concern. "That's just crazy. And Eric's right--this whole thing--the kissing--the, the--" She loosened one hand and waved it, at a loss. "Vamping."
"Vamping?" Vaughn repeated. "I can't believe you just said that. What the hell does that even mean?"
"To practice seductive wiles," she said. She was a walking dictionary.
Vaughn turned away, dragging a hand over his mouth to keep from saying anything too damaging to their relationship. She had a point, after all. He was starting to feel hot-necked and embarrassed again, and turned back to face them because of it, in the hope it would be less obvious, or be mistaken for the anger he was also feeling.
"I think you're both overreacting," Jack said calmly. "And I don't think we should be having this conversation here."
"I said from the very beginning this mission was a bad idea," Sydney began in a rush of frustration.
Jack put a finger up, cutting her off, a taut edge to his jaw. "Don't. Go there," he enunciated with care. "We're in the middle of the Mediterranean. Stick to the job."
Sydney and Weiss looked slightly more abashed, but not much. Almost as one, they stared at Vaughn again. Sydney's face couldn't have been more worried if he were a wounded puppy.
"Vaughn," she said. "If you want to talk--*alone*--"
"I'm *fine*," he said, louder and more forcefully than was really prudent. "Just go. Please." They went, Jack locking the door behind them. "Am I crazy, or was Sydney just talking to me like I was a domestic abuse victim?"
"She's sensitive. She picks up on emotional cues, however misleading."
"And I appreciate that concern. I do. Sydney's an incredible person. I just...would rather not go through a scene like that again."
"Yes." Jack cut his eyes away and blinked a few times. "Quite." Then he looked back at Vaughn. "You and Sydney--"
"Do you really want to finish that sentence?"
Jack didn't finish it. And as they got ready for bed, it occurred to Vaughn that, intimidated and respectful, he'd never been able to interrupt Jack before now without feeling like he might be taking his life in his own hands. No wonder Jack had never really respected him.
And now I'm sleeping with the guy, Vaughn thought. That was seriously fucked up.