A/N: I apologize for taking so long in updating; real life, my health and the muse cannot seem to find a mutual agreement that satisfies all parties involved in the fic creative process. Thank you for your patience and for accepting and liking Bryan March so much.
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He had trolled the streets, restless. She had tossed in bed, unable to sleep. They both knew what was coming their way when the sun came up and they both feared it, yet were determined to face it.
X xxx X
Despite Bryan's warnings, Flack went into a bar. He stayed away from Ollie's, but found an unobtrusive stool at a small place called "Clover". He wasn't there to interact, but to watch and learn, and he took some silly sort of pride when he had to turn down four drinks four different men sent his way. Sticking to soda, he observed as couples interacted and the ancient art of flirting took its sweet time with the patrons. And he was hit on, plenty. He soon discovered that his blue eyes were an extremely popular feature, even more so when paired with his boyish smile. He wasn't too surprised to see that the pick up lines were the same old lame ones he'd used sometime in the last fifteen years. Everyone, it seemed, had game of one sort or another.
Collin, the bar tender, a soft spoken Irish lad, got curious about him and wanted to know his story. Flack told him that he was yet undecided about coming out of the closet or not, wondering if he was bi or gay or what. Collin examined him carefully and diagnosed a rampant case of bisexual duality and then had to laugh at Flack's blank and horrified expression. Collin then explained that, in his opinion, he was not only capable of being bisexual, but also capable of being both dominant and submissive, which was a rare quality. Duty called Collin back to tending bar, and he left with parting words of advice: "Start wearing leather… and dark eyeliner."
It was nearly three in the morning when he finally reached his home. He slept, but he didn't rest.
X xxx X
Cap called her in first thing in the morning, before she went to get more practice ("torture" she told herself) with Lady Alexa and her toy boys, and for that, she was grateful. The dominatrix had mentioned that today she'd actually have to inflict all sorts of physical pain and degradation on one of her "slaves" and Angell wasn't looking forward to that in the least, no matter how much the other woman insisted the slave got off on it.
She sat in his office and he silently slid her a leather bound album. It was her "boys" portfolio, with four photographs of each one of them: the candid, bare-chest shot, the leather-fetish lovers shot, the playful soft-core playgirl shot and the downright pornographic full-Monty photograph, and Angell wondered if her relationship with her coworkers would ever be the same after this case from hell was over.
Cap left her alone so she could privately study the photographs, not before warning her that the material was highly confidential and no one, not even the agents involved in the op, were to see those photos.
She studied Gibbons, Bartolucci and Pino first, given that she could do it with a more detached frame of mind, as no feeling other than coworker respect lay there. Gibbons had done the cowboy thing, Bartolucci was channeling Valentino and Pino had no trouble buying into the playboy role, as he posed on the hood of a Ferrari Angell smirked as she recalled having impounded the car herself during a recent drug bust. She also couldn't help but feel some devilish satisfaction at Bartolucci's naked photo; the man's Monday morning bragging of his weekend feats grated her nerves… and it was obvious from this shot that he had very little to brag about.
Next photo was Sheldon's and Angell wondered if they had rubbed him with some sort of oil to have his mahogany skin glistening like that under the open doctor's coat. She found his photo sitting, seemingly naked, on a medical stool, very artistic, and thought that, done in black and white, it would be gallery material. The long leather gauntlets, the shoulder harness and half-mask gave him a menacing look, which she found unsettling; as she wound never associate the good doctor with anything other than kindness. And she also found herself blushing when she saw his fully naked shot, when the first thought that crossed her head was that some stereotypes were so for a reason… for some very good reason, indeed!
Angell moved next to Danny's portfolio. He'd gone for the Marlon Brandon / biker bad boy look and there was no denying the man knew it looked good on him. His naked torso had been smeared here and there with bike grease and neither his glasses nor his dog tags were anywhere to be found. The lit cigarette, the bottle of beer, the classic low ride… they had thrown in every single prop they could think of and it looked good. Real good. Besides, he wasn't ashamed of showing off his body and, unlike the previous "models", he was standing "full attention" in his totally naked shot. No wonder Lindsay came humming into work the mornings after she'd spent the night with him.
Adam's photographs put a smile in her face. He looked… he looked… well, for lack of a better term, she'd have to say he looked utterly "adorkable". He was sporting a mix between preppy school boy and computer geek look, and it suited him to perfection. The baggy jeans, the opened shirt, the backpack slung over one shoulder, the unshaven face… everything in him screamed "adopt me, I'm cuddly". The leather codpiece and choker gave him a lost puppy dog look, once more of the adopt me variety, more inspiring of tenderness than meanness. His casually naked pic was also quite funky and funny: him laying on a bench, headphones on, only covered by a portable Cd-player. The full frontal nude photo was startling in its simplicity: just him standing against a white wall, eyes closed, legs crossed at the ankles, hands placed behind his back. Vulnerability was almost palpable. If Kendall ever did hurt him, Angell would personally seek her and demonstrate everything she'd learned the past two days in excruciating detail. That much had Adam made her feel for him.
She could give ten plausible different reasons off the top of her head as to why she'd left Flack for last, and not one of them would be close to the truth. She was basically hoping that now that she'd seen the other guys in different states of undress and seductive posing she'd be shell-shocked enough as to be able to see his photos with a decent amount of professional objectivity. Oh, she had seen her share of Flack flesh; she'd been on the rotating babysitting team after the bombing, having been one of the few who had actually changed his dressing or given him a sponge bath, but it would have been too wrong to ogle him in his moment of greatest pain.
The Flack she was about to see was a totally different ball game; it was the Flack she'd see if they ever went out on a date, if he ever put his "non-existent" moves on her… the Flack she would find hard to resist if he ever set out to seduce her.
His first photo was a throwback to the spy case he had been in less than a year ago, when he had been dating the socialite. There he stood, wearing his tux without the shirt, bow tie hanging undone around the neck, hands in his pockets, shoulder leaning against a doorframe, half smirk and five o'clock shadow running over his jaw-line… there was no way in hell this man didn't know just how gorgeous he was!
With trembling fingers she had not known trembled, Angell moved on to the next page… and her breath caught in her throat. The image had to be digitally altered, there was no other explanation… no one could have eyes that blue and certainly not Flack… she wouldn't be able to work, let alone think, if he looked at her with those eyes! He was wearing leather pants and cuffs and a leather hood where all you could see where his eyes… and the contrast was striking to say the least. Bright baby blues shining fiercely against the stark darkness of the hood, it was impossible to tear your eyes away from them.
It was with great effort that she managed to move to the next page where she was greeted by a Flack so casual that he wasn't even looking at the camera. With just a towel wrapped around his hips, he was rummaging around his locker, an "aww-shucks" expression gracing his face, making him look years younger and a bit of a goof-ball. You might even say he looked happy, just fooling around. Impossible not to fall for a guy like that…
She finally moved to his naked shot, and time stood still. The photograph was taken while he showered and it was stunning in its artistic nature: the head thrown back, the hands on his hair, the water streaming down his torso, cascading over his strong and lean legs… inasmuch as she wanted not to stare, it was impossible to avert her gaze from his half-erect displayed masculinity. Angell closed the book before she became too obsessed with the details of what was, in her opinion, a perfect physique, despite of the evident scarring here and there.
The book might have been closed, but the image was imprinted in her mind and soul, searing her.
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They were taken to spend the day at Lady Alexa's "House of Pain" so they could watch and learn and then practice a bit. None of the seven men were too eager to get to the last part of the day's schedule, and the levels of comfort with the first two varied from the "all-for-it" to the "are-you-out-of-your-mind?" and everything in between, but they kept it to themselves as much as they could, although their expressions betrayed them every now and then.
Gaston led them through a darkened corridor, stopping every few feet to watch through a one-way mirror into a different room while the gay conductor described what scenario was taking place before then, under what circumstances would they have to face such scenario, and what would be expected from them in each case. The information was received with grim faces and tight-lipped nods; the situation turning more and more real each passing minute: in less than 36 hours one of them was going to actually have to perform one of the acts they have seen so far in order to keep a cover that might bring a prostitution ring down and keep them and detective Angell alive long enough for reinforcements to arrive.
They were watching a flogging scene, each one of them grimacing when the whip landed square on the male's more tender parts, when Flack thought he heard something familiar. He turned his head towards the darkened corridor, all his senses on maximum alert, trying to place why the sound seemed so familiar. He looked at Gaston and the others, seemingly engrossed in the scene before them. He silently slid away until he reached the next window and looked inside.
The room was dimly lit, but the light was enough to be able to see what was going on.
A slave was kneeling in front of his mistress, a whirlwind of leather and dark chocolate hair, servicing her. A whip cracked. Stiletto heels pushed away. Flogging and orders followed. The slave, reduced to almost a non-entity wearing a hood with only an open mouth hole, in submissive obedience, complied. He laid, face down, on a padded contraption, and his mistress quickly proceeded to strap him in by the wrists and ankles, another leather belt running around his waist, making it impossible for him to move.
Flack's nostrils flared when Angell came into the light; cat-suit and strap-on and unreadable expression in her face as she first forced the slave to fellate her, then moved around so she could sodomize him. All the while, her riding crop worked the man's back and thighs and her face never gave away a single emotion. He was about to move back to rejoin the group when he felt Messer standing next to him.
"Shit! Is that…?"
"Shhhhh!"
"Oh, fuck…"
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"Do you think she'd do it?"
Flack and Messer were standing outside the bathroom door, waiting for Bartolucci to come out.
"I mean, if she had to, would she made us do… that?"
"She'll do what she has to do Danno, just like everybody else would. Nothing personal about it. It's not a matter of wanting or liking to do it…"
"But still…"
Retching noises from the inside had them opening the door and checking in on their coworker, who couldn't seem to stop throwing up. Not that either one of them blamed the poor man. Gaston had spent the last two hours training them on the fine art of fellatio, and none of them would ever feel the same way about a blowjob again. The starting point wasn't that bad, unless you felt a lifelong aversion against bananas.
The rest, however, had been sheer torture, as Gaston produced real-life looking dildos, bulging veins and scrotums included, and demanded they sucked on them. Most of them had done poorly, but Bartolucci… poor Bart had just given it a couple of tries and had vaulted to the bathroom, retching and gagging.
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Training had ended. Lady Alexa was very pleased with the way things had gone with Angell, expressing high hopes for her into actually following a career in the business, whereas Gaston sincerely hoped nothing harder than dressing in leather and sitting when told was requested from his pupils or else they'd be dead.
Angell had been inside Capt's office for over an hour now, going over the last minute details of the operation, having arranged a time and place for the meeting. Wishing her good luck, Capt sent her her way, keeping his fingers crossed, wondering, not for the first time, if he had done the right thing by agreeing to help Vice in this crazy scheme.
Angell went down to the garage to pike up her motorbike. It had been submitted to one final test before her meeting with the pimp and now it sat there, waiting for her. And it wasn't waiting alone.
"Everything okay?"
"Couldn't be better"
"Two can play the game, you know…"
"You feel like playing?"
"Actually… no"
"So watcha feel like doing?"
Loaded question, even more so as he kept his blue eyes guarded and away from her.
"Is going to sleep and waking up when the case is over an option?"
"Afraid not"
"Then I guess what I feel like doing and what I'm going to do are nowhere near the same."
She walked past him, slid the photo album in the saddle bag and climbed into the motorbike.
"I suggest you go to bed and try to get some sleep Flack… if you get the winning number in this lotto from hell you're going to need it…"
"Jenn…"
Her name in his lips was enough to give her pause. She looked back to him and watched as he approached the bike and quickly straddled it, facing her, his legs resting atop hers, his hands on her hips.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
Another test. But this time around she was ready. She leaned forwards, grabbing the handles, forcing him to lie down on his back and she gunned the bike to life. She rested her chest on his for a moment or two and carefully watched his every reaction, from the way he wetted his seemingly dry lips, to the way he swallowed hard, to how he closed his eyes momentarily before staring back into hers…
"Even if I weren't, Donnie, I wouldn't tell you."
He pushed himself to a sitting position, pulling her with him, painfully aware of the way her leather clad body molded to his, of the way her muscle legs moved underneath his, of how his own body reacted to her rhythm…
"Would you tell me about your fantasies if I asked you to do so?"
Hands sliding form hips to knees and back, voice dangerously low, eyes playfully dancing on the edge of her cleavage.
"Only if you're very, VERY good, Donnie…"
Words murmured in his ear, promises hinted at, heat forming and reaching boiling point.
"I can be very good when I want to…"
"Oh? Really?"
"Really…"
"Then start by getting off my bike, you moron! I'm running late!"
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Two hours had gone by and Flack was still pacing about in his apartment. Angell had promised she'd call him as soon as she was done with the so-called interviewed, and he had promised himself he wouldn't go into full panic mode until after three hours and a half; then all bets would be off. He'd go running into the place, guns blazing, Vice case be damned.
Shortly before midnight he heard a knock on his front door and opened before his visitor had a chance to knock twice. There, standing in the corridor, still covered in leather, stood Angell, and she wasn't looking happy.
"He wants you. Oh god, Flack, he wants to fuck you!"
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A/N: Muse demanded a cliffhanger, you guys got a cliffhanger. Did you really think I'd be mean enough as to send poor Adam into the lion's den?