Sorry it took a while; was working on New Life. xp

WARNING: Heavy sexual content in this one.

Chapter 21: Avarice

XXX

Hart's right arm was asleep. He didn't like the numb sensation, but he wasn't in a hurry to feel the pins and needles, so he didn't move right away. His head hurt and his mouth felt very dry. He breathed in deeply and savored the scent of the man lying against him—the one largely responsible for all the discomfort he was in. He reached over with his left hand to stroke Jim's chest.

Jim shifted until he could look at Hart easily. He seemed to have been awake for some time already. "Good morning," he said.

"Morning," Hart said with something like a smile. It was more than half grimace because Jim had moved off his arm, and the pins and needles had arrived.

"I'm going to be very busy today," Jim said, lightly running his fingers over the hand on his chest. "But I'll make some time for you this afternoon. After breakfast you'll get some tests done to see just how careful we need to be."

"Okay." It would be a pain, but at least it would take up part of the morning.

Hart stretched a little and shook his right hand back and forth to banish the tingling. Then he kissed Jim's shoulder and got up to stretch properly. He grunted in pain when the skin of his chest and side stretched. He took quick inventory and found that his wounds were closed, but throbbing. He pulled back the curtain from the French windows and saw that the balcony had an excellent view.

"Put something on and go out," Jim recommended. "I think you'll enjoy it."

Hart found his discarded shorts and quickly pulled them into place. The morning air was a little chilly, but he found it exhilarating. The balcony was about six stories up and overlooked a busy port city. Shading his eyes, Hart could make out a hazy shape that had to be a separate land mass in the distance. We must be near the Channel, he concluded. He turned his eyes downward and strained to read a billboard above the street.

"Charme du cœur" was the only part he could read, but it was enough.

The other side of the Channel, then.

"What do you think?" Jim asked, emerging in a luxurious bathrobe and putting an arm around Hart's bare shoulders.

"Some people dream of owning a penthouse in France... you own the whole building."

"I can never bring myself to settle for part of anything. But yes—we are in France. Travel time to destination and position of the sun would give you that, even if there weren't anything particularly French in view. I'm careful to keep my reputation here absolutely without reproach, thereby maintaining a safe haven. England can't touch me here."

"It's beautiful."

"Indeed." Jim planted a kiss by Hart's ear and then slipped back inside.

Tease, Hart thought. He went in and closed the windows just as Jim opened the door to admit a man with a serving cart.

"Breakfast is served, sir," the man said with what Hart knew was a genuine thick French accent.

"Thank you, André. You may leave us."

"Very good. Ring if you require anything else."

"His English is very good," Hart observed when the door had closed again. "Considering his accent is so strong."

"I insist that all my help speak good English," Jim said, setting aside the lids of various dishes. "If they didn't, I would always suspect them of understanding more than they let on. That breeds mistrust and a lot of needless worry. Consider: it's simple enough for a man to prove that he speaks good English. It's impossible for him to prove that he doesn't."

"Better off with the devil you know."

"Exactly so."

Hart put on his pants and shirt before pulling Jim's desk chair over to the food cart. Jim sat in his comfortable-looking, stylish armchair. Hart thought he looked like a monarch in his Day-Off throne.

Jim poured coffee for them both. "The French like a light breakfast of mostly bread," he said conversationally. "They've recently become more health-conscious, and that's why we've also got fresh yogurt with peaches. You may put jam on your croissants, or dip them in your coffee."

"Bon appétit," Hart said with a smile. Jim seemed so pleasant this morning. He wished this would last.

But as soon as breakfast was over, the consulting criminal shooed him off to get his blood tests done with Colt and a couple of others.

All men, Hart observed. There wasn't a woman in the place. Perhaps that was more of the "devil you know" philosophy: as a man, Jim probably found men easier to read, and therefore more trustworthy.

He patiently put up with the scrub-down, and the blood drawing and the urine sample. Then he was given a new set of clothes to wear while the old ones were washed. The jeans felt good, but he wasn't sure about the gray button-down shirt. It wasn't his style. Still, he liked knowing that Jim had chosen it for him.

"That's all, sir," Colt told him formally. "Is there anything you'd like to do to pass the time?"

Remembering what Jim had told him the night before, Hart answered, "Don't think I'll do any shooting right now, but I'd like to see the range."

Colt nodded. "This way."

"May I ask you something, Colt?" Hart asked as he followed along to the elevator.

"Certainly."

"Am I Moriarty's pet?"

Colt took a moment to consider. "You'd have to ask him that."

"No, but is that what the staff thinks of me? I'm just curious. See, I know I don't outrank you because I can't give you orders, but I'm closer to your boss than you'll ever be, and you've got orders to wait on me within reason. So, what does that make me?"

Again, he took his time, but when he spoke Colt sounded like he had been certain of the answer all along. "A mistress."

Hart smiled, appreciating the humor of it, but also the validity. "I guess I'll take that."

The shooting range was equipped with many different kinds of firearms, safety glasses, ear protectors, ammunition, targets and... gloves. Jim really didn't like getting his hands dirty.

"Mind giving me a quick demonstration?" Hart asked. "I'm sure you must be good, to be in Moriarty's employ."

"Very well." Colt secured a paper target in its clamps and sent it to the back of the range. Then he selected a semiautomatic handgun from a locked case, to which he had a key that hung with a few others on a chain around his neck.

Hart observed all of this casually, hoping the information would not come in useful. He never wanted to need access to that case. As if he hasn't got a perfectly good, loaded handgun in his jacket, he thought as Colt loaded the clip and snapped it into place.

Colt tossed a pair of ear protectors to Hart and planted himself in front of the target. Hart didn't feel that the hearing protection was necessary—many firefights had already desensitized his hearing to the point that handgun-fire bothered him only when it was right next to him. Still, he slipped the protectors in place.

Immediately, Colt raised the gun and fired six rounds. He stared straight ahead, blinking only once in the middle of his volley. When he brought the target back up, there were only three holes in the paper, one large and lopsided over the heart of the silhouette, the other two very near it.

Not one hundred-percent accurate, but certainly guaranteed lethal, Hart surmised. This man is used to gun fighting; he's no sniper. He's killed, and he's been shot at. He can handle any type of gun, but he prefers semiautomatic and automatic handguns. And I need to get out of here before I get any more turned on.

"Very impressive," Hart said. "It's easy to see why the boss keeps you around."

"Thank you." Colt was already picking up the discarded shells. He put the pistol back in the case and locked it again, giving the handle a light tug to be sure he had done so properly. "Would you like lunch now? It's just after noon."

"Good idea."

Lunch was a rich and satisfying array of meats in French sauces, steamed vegetables and raspberry petits fours for dessert.

"Anything else I can do for you?" Colt asked when he returned to the dining room to find that Hart had finished.

"I heard there's a swimming pool."

"Yes. Follow me."

In the pool's locker room, Hart found a pair of swimming trunks that fit him and headed out to the Olympic-sized pool. He found that Colt had changed into a tee shirt and shorts much more relaxed-looking than the suit he had worn before.

"You don't have to stick around," Hart said. "I'll be fine here for a while."

"Thank you, but I'll stay."

"Don't trust me not to swim my way out of here?"

"I'm your lifeguard," Colt replied flatly.

"Ah. I see. In that case, by all means, stay."

Jim certainly is careful... Hart wondered if Jim insisted on having a lifeguard whenever he swam. Probably so. He walked down the steps into the waist-deep water of the shallow end and breathed slowly, letting his battered body relax. Then he waded in further and floated on his back. The water smelled of saline rather than chlorine, and Hart winced when it stung the lacerations on his body. But then the pain eased and he closed his eyes.

A few minutes later he looked up to see Jim sitting at the edge of the pool, dressed in snug swimming shorts and dangling his legs in the water.

"Having a good time?" Jim asked. His expression was difficult to read. He looked interested; neither happy nor angry. But it could have been either.

"Yes." Hart turned over and forward-crawled over to grasp the side of the pool beside Jim. "Are you coming in?"

Jim eyed him without turning his head, the sideways glance making him look mischievous. "I could be persuaded. The boys finished processing your tests. You're clean. Which, to be quite honest, surprised me a bit."

Hart folded his arms on the pool's edge and rested his head on them. "Course I'm clean. I'm a saint."

Jim continued to stare, and though his expression didn't change, it did seem to become more amused. Then he slid into the water and put his arms around Hart from behind. "I'm glad the results were so good," he said softly.

"Oh, I am too," Hart agreed with a smile, keeping his grip on the pool's edge to keep their heads above water. He braced himself when Jim's hands touched his damaged skin.

"Do you think you could keep quiet enough for me to make you come without Colt noticing?" Jim whispered in his ear.

Hart's smile grew wider. "We can sure as hell try." He felt Jim's left hand already sliding down his side. "We should make conversation as subterfuge, though," he said, so far successfully keeping his voice steady.

Colt was sitting in a patio-style rocking chair, watching them with a rather vacant stare.

"I suppose so."

"How did things go this morning? Did you get a lot of business done?"

"I don't care to mix business and pleasure," Jim answered, fondling Hart through his swim trunks. "Tell me about Sherlock. What's he been up to, besides instructing you to spy on me?"

Hart fixed his vision on the tiled floor. "Well, he's been trying to figure out who kidnapped the chancellor, of course." He knew this was a dangerous subject to open, but if Jim found out he had withheld information from him, it could ruin everything.

"Oh? Has he had any luck?"

"Not a bit. But then, nothing's down to luck with Sherlock. He has got a short list of people he believes are involved. But it's unlikely they'll lead him to the holding location."

"I see. But surely he's got other resources he can use." Jim untied the drawstring and slowly worked his fingers in over Hart's pelvis.

"Yeah. He's also started putting together a list of possible locations. But he's short on time, so he may just have to take an educated guess soon."

"Hm. I take it negotiations are due to take place soon?"

"Mhm." Hart blinked rapidly as Jim's fingers began sliding along his shaft, coaxing him to erection. He could hardly concentrate on the conversation, but he knew he had to be very careful how much he said. How long had it been since Sherlock mentioned when negotiations would happen? Was that tonight? "Very soon, I think."

Jim moved his right hand up across Hart's chest to get a better grip on his left shoulder. Hart hissed in pain. "Easy," Jim said. He kissed Hart's wet shoulder at the base of his neck.

"How about the video you took?" Hart asked, his tone a bit forced now. "Did you get a chance to work on that?"

"Yes; it's all ready. I think you're really going to enjoy it. I'll have a copy sent to each of my little havens. That way we can watch it anytime we like."

"Great." It was difficult for Hart to keep his eyes open now. He gave up on the cover conversation and focused instead on breathing steadily.

Jim massaged Hart's balls now and then before going back to his firm stroking. "Are you close?"

"Yes," Hart answered, struggling not to pant.

"Good." Jim closed his fist and ran his thumb over the tip of Hart's penis. "How's this?"

"Very... very good."

Jim kissed the back of his neck and moved his thumb more quickly.

Hart couldn't help the panting now. His heart was pounding and his groin was tingling with a much more pleasant pins-and-needles sensation than the one he'd experienced that morning. He gasped and shuddered as his release finally came. His hold on the poolside weakened and he felt Jim supporting him.

"Hm... I think he noticed," Jim mused.

Hart stole a glance at Colt. Too his credit, their lifeguard showed no signs of discomfort, but he was definitely avoiding looking directly at them. "Blast."

"Oh, well. It was a very good try." Jim pulled Hart out into the water and kissed his mouth.

Hart kissed him back enthusiastically. Then he studied Jim's face. A few water droplets clung to the criminal's cheek, but his hair had stayed dry so far. His unreadable wall was gone, and he again seemed like a relaxed, cheerful person. Hart pulled himself closer again and licked the salty-tasting water off Jim's face, earning an adorable smile.

My god... Hart stared in wonder.

"What is it?"

"Nothing. I just..." Hart hesitated, wondering if stating his thoughts would be seen as insubordination. Maybe it wasn't his place to say this. Besides, if there were any chance left that he could escape hellfire, this would damn him for sure.

"No secrets, John. Tell me."

Knowing it was now unavoidable, Hart caressed Jim's face and did his best to assume a very sincere expression. "It's just that I love you. And I hadn't realized it."

Somehow Jim did it again, only in reverse: his expression seemed to stay the same, but his eyes became cold. "Be careful, Captain. Sentiment like that could spoil our relationship."

Hart nodded slowly. "I won't let it."

"Good." Jim tugged Hart back toward the steps until they could stand easily with their heads out of the water. Then he held him tightly. "You're allowed to love me, as long as it doesn't get in the way. And as long as you don't expect the same in return."

"I understand." Hart rested his head on Jim's shoulder and closed his eyes. He felt another kiss on his neck and smiled contentedly.

"John?"

"Hm?"

"I want you."

"Yeah?"

"Let's go upstairs."

"Okay."

"Colt," Jim called, "the Captain and I will be going upstairs. I'll summon you when I need you again."

"Yes, sir." Colt stood and waited until Hart and Jim were out of the pool and away from the edge before he left the room.

"He's good," Hart commented, quickly running a towel over his body.

"He is. One of my best. It would be annoying to have to replace him. Still, it's about time for rotation."

"Rotation?"

"Yes. I don't keep the same second-in-command for more than a few months. I'll give Colt a nice honorarium and turn him loose for a while. He can go on vacation or take a commission from another employer if he likes."

"You're a bloody nice boss."

"I try, I try." Jim put on another expensive-looking dressing gown and slippers rather than the suit he had left hanging in the locker room. He took Hart back to the elevator and they rode up to the top floor in silence.

I really am like a mistress, Hart thought. I'm much too familiar with him to be an employee, or even a paid companion, and he gives me gifts. But I'm not special enough to him to be a partner. He enjoys me, but he keeps me at a distance. Maybe he could love me, but he doesn't want to. It would complicate things too much.

Back at the master bedroom, Jim opened a cabinet on the wall opposite the bed to reveal a large flat-screen television. "Ready for the show?"

"Nearly." Hart quickly unfastened the buttons of his shirt and tugged it off one sleeve at a time. Bloody nuisance, these button-down shirts. Then he shed the rest of his clothes and set them on the desk.

Jim tossed his robe on his handsome armchair and took up a large remote control. "Let's get started."

His earlier solemnity seemed to have completely disappeared, and Hart was glad. He definitely preferred Jim's fun-loving side. And what an editing job he had done on that footage... at every point in the twenty-two minutes, one of the cameras had captured the best possible angle.

Hart could feel the heat rising before Jim even touched him. He lay on his stomach and watched the screen while Jim began to prepare him. One camera showed a perfect view of Sherlock's backside, and it was clear from the amount of footage from that angle that Jim enjoyed that view very much. As Jim's latex-covered fingers stretched him out, Hart felt his penis pressing against the bed. He knew he shouldn't be enjoying this so much, considering what he had put Sherlock through, but he consoled himself that watching the video now wouldn't hurt the detective. Surely playing it back was better than repeating the offense in person.

"I'll admit, I didn't expect you to get him to come within the thirty minutes," Jim said softly. "It was a beautiful accomplishment."

"Thank you," Hart said, grasping at the bedclothes. "I was a little surprised, too."

"You'd rather have been inside him, wouldn't you." Jim pressed his fingers in again, this time three inside the condom.

Hart grunted in a mixture of pain and pleasure. "Yeah... but I was trying not to lose all his trust at once." When Sherlock shivered on the screen, Hart felt a shudder run through him at the same time. God, he's so hot. The next shot was a closeup of Sherlock's face—eyes closed, lips parted, clearly concentrating. Hart squirmed a little, chafing his penis against the bed and leaning back into Jim's fingers. He moaned softly.

"Are you ready?" Jim asked, his voice heavy with lust.

"I'm ready. Take me, Jim."

"Say please."

Hart saw himself sucking Sherlock's nipple and felt nearly blinded with need. "Please, Jim." He felt the slick member press inside and again had a hard time keeping his eyes open. But he didn't want to miss any of the scene in front of him. When he moved his hand to Sherlock's buttock that perfectly angled camera caught it beautifully. "Oh, god," he breathed as Jim pushed in deeper. He heard Sherlock gasp and teetered on the edge, barely managing to hold back.

Jim was holding Hart's hip tightly; his other hand slid up and under to pinch Hart's sore nipple.

"Jim," Hart gasped, "I'm very close."

"Okay. Easy." Jim reduced his pace a little, moving deep inside and sliding back out slowly.

Hart lost track of what exactly he was saying. He wanted Jim to touch him, to take him roughly, to finish him quickly. But Jim didn't give in until Sherlock was panting hard and moaning Hart's name. Then at last he gripped Hart's erection firmly and thrust harder and harder. Hart looked blearily at the screen where Sherlock's semen was erupting over them and his climax finally came. Jim continued to ride him hard, but his mind could hardly comprehend it. His eyes watered and he was lost in pleasure.

When he came to himself, he felt utterly exhausted. Jim was lying half on top of him and looking at him with a devilish smile. He wanted to kiss him, but didn't quite feel up to it.

"That was even better than I hoped," Jim said, the devilish smile becoming a smug devilish smile. "This will help when you're not with me."

Hart smiled and gathered the energy to get that kiss. "When do I have to go back?" he asked softly.

"Tonight, I think. I'll be busy anyway, and I wouldn't want Sherlock to worry himself sick, poor boy. I'm so greedy to keep you to myself."

"I find your avarice alluring."

"Charmer," Jim said in a scolding tone, but he looked pleased. "I'll send you back on the helicopter as soon as you're ready. Do your best to regain as much trust from Sherlock as you can."

"That, I can promise."

Jim rolled onto his back and stroked Hart's side absentmindedly. "By the way, I was wondering..."

"Yeah?"

"Was that your name Sherlock said at the end there?"

"Yes; he said 'John.'"

"I know what he said. I just wondered if it was you he was talking to."

It took Hart a minute to realize what Jim was talking about. Then it came to him suddenly. Of course he wasn't the only John in Sherlock's life.

Don't forget to leave me a comment! If you don't, you can't complain about what I do next. xD Have you figured out where Hart's true loyalty lies? I've known all along, of course, but I hope I'm keeping you guessing.