FIC: A Million By Tuesday [15/15]
Dec. 11th, 2013 03:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
splixTitle: A Million By Tuesday
Author: Alex
Fandom: Cabin Pressure
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Martin/Douglas; Martin/Gordon Shappey
Disclaimer: Cabin Pressure is property of John Finnemore and the BBC.
Summary: From a prompt on the Cabin Pressure meme. AU: Gordon Shappey's disgruntled ex-employee, Douglas Richardson, seeks revenge by kidnapping Gordon's trophy husband, Martin.
Warnings: Domestic violence, dubious consent.
Notes: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kimberlite for the sharp-eyed beta.
Can also be read on AO3
*
As entry lines went, it wasn't his best. Then again, Douglas hadn't expected to see Martin pinned to the floor by a huge bruiser wielding a wicked-looking jack knife, so all things considered, it wasn't entirely bad. He'd even managed to sound cool and collected, and conceal the fact that he was panting for breath and that his trousers had sustained a considerable tear whilst climbing Gordon's bloody gate.
Not, admittedly, that it rectified the present crisis.
The bruiser, with astonishing speed and dexterity, leapt to his feet, dragging Martin up with him. "Who the fuck are you?" he demanded, pressing the point of the blade deeper into Martin's skin. A thin rivulet of blood trickled down Martin's neck, staining the collar of his shirt.
"I really don't think that's relevant," Douglas replied, casually brandishing the tyre jack he'd liberated from the boot of his car before vaulting the gate. "Please unhand Mr. Crieff at once."
"Or what, you stupid fucking coffin-dodger? You going to shank me with that jack?" He pulled Martin in tighter and slipped the blade under his chin. Martin made a tiny mewling noise, but held perfectly still.
Douglas took a step forward and was pleased to see the big lout move back. He surveyed the hall – dark, panelled wood, narrow, few escape options – but that made foolish desperation and unthinking action more likely as well. He wasn't afraid of Martin's assailant, but he wasn't foolhardy, either; he'd been foolhardy enough in the last week, and now Martin's life was truly at stake. Which begged the question: just what the hell was going on here? "I assume you're some sort of hired assassin."
"None of your fucking business."
"I thought as much. It would be best if you left now. You've quite a lot of loose ends, you know – car's in the drive, probably a dozen CC cameras salted about, not to mention if you kill Mr. Crieff you'll be pursued hotly – you might not realise it, but he's a high-profile kidnap victim. Best to abandon this before you have murder on what passes for your conscience."
The man blinked. "You radge cunt," he said in a soft, wondering voice. "You think I'm stupid?"
Douglas thought about answering honestly, but was saved – if that was the word, it probably wasn't – by the sudden appearance of Gordon Shappey, who stared open-mouthed at Douglas, then glanced quickly at Martin, who plucked uselessly at the arm locked round his throat.
"Richardson. What in the name of Christ are you doing?"
Good question, actually. Douglas parried. "I see you know about this. Funny, when I heard the noises I thought you were indulging in your usual spousal abuse, but then I thought: gosh, that can't be. His husband's missing. But it seems you're outsourcing nowadays."
"Oi," the bruiser snarled. "You know this twat?"
Gordon ignored the query. His cheeks turned pink. "How the fuck did you get in here?"
"Jumped the gate. Inconveniently high, but I suppose that's the point."
Gordon tightened his grasp on a roll of gaffer tape. "Why did you jump the gate?"
"Oh, that's a rather funny story too," Douglas replied, gaining a bit more confidence. The messier and more confused things were, the less likely the bruiser would be able to get away with murdering Martin. Which, given Gordon's lack of surprise at the scenario and the roll of tape, seemed the most logical answer to what was happening. He gave Martin a warm look. It's all right. It's going to be all right. "As it happens, a detective inspector from the Met police paid me a call this morning and implied – very oddly, I thought – that you'd suggested that I'd had something to do with your husband's abduction. Not cricket at all, even for you. You can imagine how distressed I was. Well, maybe you can't. At any rate, I thought I'd pop round and have a word with you about that, as well as a word about the vitriol you've been spreading to my potential employers – or would-be employers. I had no idea you were choking down such sour grapes."
"I can't fucking believe this." The big lummox shook his head, and his grip on Martin relaxed somewhat. Martin struggled, and the man tightened his grasp again. "Hold still, you."
Douglas shrugged. "As I approached the gate, I heard a scuffle, and what sounded like a cry of distress. Naturally I investigated – I thought it might have been another kidnap in progress. Imagine my surprise to find your husband here." He smiled pleasantly at the thug. "So this is the kidnapper, I take it?"
"What? No!" Gordon shouted, his face turning a deeper crimson. "It's – this is none of your god-damned business, Richardson, and if you're smart, you'll walk away now, or I'll see to it that you never work in England again. Never."
He'd already seen to that, of course, which meant there wasn't much to lose.
Except Martin's life.
"None of my business," Douglas said musingly. "About Martin, Gordon? I knew you treated him badly, but this is a bit excessive, even for you." He only wished he'd known earlier, that he'd paid closer attention sooner. But he'd be damned if he'd let these vile bastards get away with hurting Martin. He gave Martin another glance, and Martin's eyes met his, and crinkled in a brave little smile despite his obvious fear.
The trust in that smile simultaneously broke and mended Douglas' heart. He spoke with the boldest nonchalance he could muster. "I don't think there's any possibility of either of you getting away with what you've got planned here. Give up now, hand Martin over to me, and we'll forget this happened."
"Fuckin' hell," the thug breathed. "I haven't got time for this shit."
Gordon's hands curled and uncurled round the roll of gaffer tape, mangling its circular perfection. Breathing heavily, he shook his head. "You've got to take them both, Simmons," he muttered.
The bruiser – Simmons – gaped at Gordon. "What the fuck? No!"
"He's seen you, you stupid jackass," Gordon snapped. "You've got to –" He swallowed. "Do them both."
Oh. Interesting.
Martin struggled against Simmons again. "Gordon, please – don't do this."
"Shut him up," Gordon whispered.
Simmons pushed the edge of the blade against Martin's throat, and Martin cried out. More blood ran, bright red.
"Don't!" Douglas took another step forward, holding out a hand. "Stop."
"Back up, fuckwit," Simmons snarled. He glared at Gordon. "This isn't a two-for-one, Shappey. You want rid of both of them, you pay double."
"It's not my fault you're not quick enough to take care of things efficiently!" Gordon shouted. "You could have had him out ten minutes ago."
"And you could make your fucking gate secure! This isn't my problem." Simmons dragged Martin toward the kitchen. Douglas took another step forward. "Stay back, I said!"
"Please, Gordon – just let Douglas go!" Martin cried, his voice a bit strangled thanks to Simmons' meaty arm pressing against his windpipe. "He hasn't done anything wrong, he was just…erm…." Martin trailed off, his eyes darting from Gordon to Douglas. Futilely, he batted at Simmons' arm again, trying to claw free. Simmons yanked him backward, off his feet, further away from Douglas' reach.
Gordon frowned, then tilted his head to one side, studying Martin. He turned back to Douglas. "Douglas?" he echoed softly. "Douglas," he said again. "Not Captain Richardson. Douglas." He pivoted on his heel and studied Martin again.
Douglas decided it was time to act. He pulled his mobile from his pocket. "I'm only going to say this once: let Mr. Crieff go or I phone the police. They'll be here before you can even pull out of the drive."
"You do that, I'll have Simmons slit his throat," Gordon said.
"And get blood all over your lovely kitchen floor? Evidence," Douglas taunted. He glanced at Simmons and Martin and Gordon; they were in the kitchen now, and Simmons and Martin were close to the garden door. Two more steps and they'd be outside. Damn it. What now?
"What the fuck's going on here?" Gordon demanded.
Again, good question. "Did you engineer all this yourself, Gordon? I must say you've done a bad job of it."
"Why'd you call him Douglas, Martin?" Gordon inquired. "What's he to you, hm?"
"Just let him go," Martin begged. "Please."
"You tell me why you called him Douglas."
"Because that's his name," Martin said desperately. "Gordon, please --"
"Were you fucking him when my back was turned, Richardson? Is that it?" He grinned sardonically, his upper lip curling to display a row of capped white teeth. "Don't look so surprised. You think I didn't have you checked out when I first hired you? Quite a reputation you've got. The smuggling, the boozing, fast cars, fast women, fast men." He turned to Martin. "Was he fucking you, Martin? Another notch on his bedpost if you were, let me tell you."
Martin had stopped struggling. "You've got a filthy mind, Gordon." He spoke with a quiet force that made Douglas proud despite the thick tension in the air.
Gordon emitted a short, barking laugh. "Don't I just. What am I thinking – you're hardly his type. He goes for more glamorous sorts of people, don't you, Richardson?"
"Who I choose to befriend isn't a particle of your business," Douglas replied calmly. "And if you can't see Martin's worth, that certainly isn't my problem. You don't deserve him."
"Oh, what's this? Don't tell me you two found time to have it off somehow." Gordon laughed again, but it was patently false. Sweat beaded his brow and his eyes darted frantically back and forth.
"Christ, enough!" Simmons roared. "Shappey, you're paying double or I'm gone."
"I told you – he's seen you," Gordon retorted. "You're in too deep now."
"Then if I get caught, I'll take you down with me," Simmons said. "That's a promise."
Gordon's lip curled upward again. "That's fucking extortion, that is."
"No honour among thieves," Douglas commented drily. "Scarcely a novel concept to you, Gordon. Can't imagine why you're so hesitant to pay. You stand to gain quite a bit, don't you?" He glanced at Martin, who frowned in puzzlement. Sorry, Martin. One more illusion shattered, I suppose.
Martin looked from Douglas to Gordon. "Stand to gain – I don't –"
"That's right," Gordon said. "Why hide it now, eh? Sorry, pet. I was hoping you wouldn't come back – it would have saved me a lot of trouble. Insurance, you see. I've got to make it pay one way or the other. But you're right, Richardson. I'll have some dosh left over. I'll pay your price, Simmons. Do me one favour, though – make it slow for Captain Richardson here."
Douglas didn't move, but his blood suddenly felt considerably cooler.
"Come on and watch," Simmons invited.
"Thanks, I won't." Gordon proffered the tape. "You asked for this."
Simmons let out a huge sigh. "How many hands do you think I have? You fucking do it."
Watching the two men bicker, Douglas silently thumbed his phone into life.
Simmons smiled. "Nice. Nice try." He moved the blade up Martin's face until it grazed the lower lashes of his right eye. Martin stifled a gasp and went rigid. "You punch one single 9, and I take his eye out."
"If you're going to kill us both –"
"I'm going to kill you both anyway. How slowly the slippery little fuck dies is up to you. Now – hand the phone to Shappey. Carefully."
Douglas made a mental checklist of his options. One: hand the phone to Gordon. Comply with the knife-wielding madman and accept the rapid conclusion of your life. Two: attempt something physical and probably fail in the attempt as knife-wielding madman has Martin in close proximity. Using Gordon as hostage likely to backfire as Gordon is essentially knife-wielding madman's chip and PIN machine and nothing more. Three:
He didn't have a three. His options, it seemed, were distressingly limited.
There had to be a three.
"The phone," Simmons repeated, and traced the tip of the knife sideways. Martin cringed without moving.
Douglas handed the mobile to Gordon, who stuffed it in his pocket.
"Your car keys, too. Quick."
Fishing them from his pocket, Douglas tossed the keys to Gordon.
"Now what?" Sweat was freely running down Gordon's face. "Time's wasting, for God's sake."
"Now we go for a little ride," Simmons said. "You get me the other half of the cash, Shappey. You –" Simmons indicated Douglas with a jerk of his chin. "You're driving. And I'll ride in the back with Martin here just to make sure you don't do anything stupid. Shappey, give what's-his-name the tape."
Gordon frowned and handed the tape to Douglas. "I'll get the money," he muttered, and darted down the hall toward the library.
Douglas turned to Simmons. "Brave sort, isn't he?"
"Shut up. Rip off a length and tie Martin's hands up." Simmons spun Martin round neatly, keeping the blade close to his eye. "Hold still, yeah?" He smiled down at Martin.
The tape made an ugly tearing sound as Douglas ripped a long piece from the roll – an all-too-familiar sound. One way or another, I got him into this. I've got to get him out somehow.
"Hands behind your back," Simmons instructed.
Martin complied without a word. Douglas gathered Martin's wrists together and gently squeezed his hands. Martin squeezed back.
"I'll try not to hurt you," Douglas murmured.
"Thank you." Martin's voice was equally soft.
Simmons watched in amusement. "Do it properly or he'll lose an eye. So were you two fucking, or what?" Douglas glared at him, and he shrugged. "I'm not judging, mind you. Just curious."
"No," Martin replied. "We weren't."
"Okay. Just asking." Simmons spun Martin back around and tested his bonds. "All right – not first rate but not terrible. Once I get my money, we'll get on the road."
"Marvelous," Douglas said. "Can't wait."
Gordon re-entered the kitchen carrying, to Douglas' wry amusement, a Sainsbury's bag. Convenient to keep that sort of cash on hand. He thrust the bag at Simmons. "There. Half for both of them. The rest when I've got evidence the job is done."
"You could come along – you'd see the evidence that much quicker."
"No," Gordon said flatly.
"Gordon prefers other people to do his dirty work," Douglas said. "Take it from me."
"Go fuck yourself, Richardson."
"And he's got such imaginative conversational skills," Douglas added.
"All right, enough," Simmons snarled, snatching the bag. "You'll have to hide his car. I'll get rid of it later for a thousand extra. Sundry expenses. You," he said, pointing at Douglas. "You first. If you try to make a break for it, little Martin here gets a handspan of steel through the eyeball."
Douglas took a deep breath and nodded. "Understood." He smiled reassuringly – he hoped – at Martin, then opened the back garden door and stepped outside into the cool night air. There had to be something he could do. He wasn't bound, at least; that was an unexpected bonus. How to get Martin away from Simmons without hurting him, though?
He heard Martin's voice. "Gordon – Gordon, please don't do this. This isn't you, it's not. You wouldn't – please –" There was a brief scuffling noise, and Simmons dragged Martin outside, still holding the knife up to his face. "Simmons –"
"Quiet. One more sound and your friend here gets to watch his intestines rearranged."
Martin clamped his mouth shut, looking as if he were about to cry. He cast a pleading glance at Douglas, then hissed as Simmons twisted his arm.
"Come on. In the car."
Douglas climbed into the front seat and waited as Simmons pushed Martin into the back and clambered in alongside. "Now remember, don't fuck with me and I'll do you both the favour of killing you quick. Fuck with me, and you'll be begging me to kill you." He handed the keys to Douglas. "Start her up."
Douglas started the car and glanced over his shoulder as he backed down the drive.
Oh my God.
His heart skipped a beat as the gate slid silently open, and he braked.
"Drive, fuckwit!"
Douglas smiled at Simmons. "No."
He closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief as brilliant light flooded the car and two dozen dark-clad figures surrounded them, weapons drawn.
"Put down the knife," a hoarse voice said calmly. "Now."
Simmons wasn't as stupid as he looked. He put his hand out the window, and the knife clattered onto the surface of the drive.
*
The police had seemingly bought the story Douglas had cooked up on the fly that he'd wanted a word with Gordon about his smear tactics, and with almost no effort at that as they were more interested in Martin's reappearance. There had been some muttering about criminal trespass, but a subsequent rebuttal of extenuating circumstances had put everything to rights. In fact, Douglas was being treated as something of a hero which, had he not been a superlative actor, would have caused him to burst into uncontrollable laughter under ordinary conditions.
Well, that wasn't all, not really. The other thing was Martin's face. He looked exhausted and traumatised and seeing it, Douglas had extinguished the laughter bubbling up inside him at once. Gordon Shappey was an angry, bitter, vindictive sod, and Douglas wouldn't have put it past him to sell his own mother for a comfortable profit, but he, and certainly not Martin, wouldn't have pegged him as a murderer, even a murderer-by-proxy. Martin had received his share of unpleasant revelations over the past week, but this was by far the worst. They'd lingered at the house for a bit after Simmons and Gordon had been escorted away – Gordon protesting loudly all the while – and Douglas had heard Martin's slightly dazed answers to police questioning. The police were gentle with him, and had let him ride with Douglas in the back of a squad car as they drove to the station. They hadn't spoken, but on the way, Martin's hand had slipped into Douglas' and squeezed; Douglas had squeezed back, and Martin had smiled.
Douglas' heart had unclenched a bit at that.
Before they'd been ushered into separate rooms, Detective Inspector Roy, the DI with the nice smile who'd visited Douglas earlier, had turned to them both. "Someone will take you back to your car, Mr. Richardson – the scene should be cleaned up shortly. We'll have to keep you here for a few hours, Mr. Crieff, but we'll drive you home afterward."
"I don't want to go back to the house," Martin said faintly.
"Understandable. We can find accommodations for you if you're not feeling safe, or you're welcome to call a friend or relative if you like."
"You can stay with me if you like, Martin," Douglas said. "I'll wait for you." Was that risky? Too late now, if it was.
"Would you?" Martin gave Douglas a grateful look. "Thank you."
Had it not been for the presence of Inspector Roy, Douglas would have pulled Martin into his arms and kissed him senseless or close to it. "Not at all."
A police officer led Martin into a room and closed the door. Inspector Roy turned to Douglas. "That's very good of you. You can probably see that Mr. Crieff's traumatised and he's likely feeling gratitude toward you for contributing to his rescue. Staying with you might make him feel safe."
There were far too many ironies in all that to even bother untangling. "It's no trouble. I'm very fond of Mr. Crieff."
"Are you?" Inspector Roy regarded Douglas curiously. "You didn't say this morning."
"You didn't ask."
Inspector Roy pursed her lips and didn't speak for a moment. "Fair enough. This way, if you please, Mr. Richardson."
The police kept at him for a while, but fortunately their questions were centred round Gordon and Simmons' behaviour; Douglas' motivations and presence at the house went largely unexplored. His usual extraordinary luck notwithstanding, Douglas couldn't quite believe things were going so well. At any moment, he half-expected the mild line of Miss Marple-ish questioning to transmute into blinding lights, hectoring shouts, and steel bars slamming shut in front of his face. None of that happened, however, and after an hour or so Douglas was installed in a dreary waiting room with the sort of long, low-slung polyurethane sofas actively hostile to comfortable sitting. Douglas settled into one, trying not to think of the thousand possibly unhygienic bodies that had occupied it prior to him, picked up a few magazines from the table next to it, and began to read.
His phone buzzed with a text. He recognised Sophie's notification – it was A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square, which he'd sung to her as a baby – and opened it at once.
Meet for lunch tues 1pm l'abate? Sold amanda harlech 3 bags 10 pr shoes huge commission my treat!
He'd no idea who Amanda Harlech was, but he was delighted for Sophie. He answered quickly. Love to. See you there.
To be able to see Sophie, without worrying. Lovely. And frankly, even lunch at L'Abate was beyond his means at the moment and likely would be for a long time.
This thought, which would have caused him to blanch a few weeks ago, now made him smile, then chuckle. All those schemes and still penniless.
Penniless, but not bereft.
He smiled again.
The door opened, and in strolled Carolyn and Hercules, both clutching folders thickly stuffed with paper.
Douglas sat up but the sofa forced him into a semi-slouch again. "Carolyn – Herc. What on earth are you two doing here?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Douglas. Who do you suppose called the police?"
"I gather that's not much more than a rhetorical question," Douglas said. "But how did you know I was here?"
Carolyn turned to Herc. "I may be having second thoughts about all this."
"He's had a rough night, darling. Even I might be a bit flustered. Go easy on him," Herc replied affectionately.
"Odd as it is, I'm not quite following," Douglas said.
"Douglas," Carolyn said, enunciating each syllable slowly, "we were at Gordon's house. More precisely, we were pulling up as you were clambering over the fence which, by the way, is probably not the best idea for a man of your age, if your co-ordination was anything by which to judge."
"Let's leave my advanced years out of this, shall we?" Douglas retorted a bit frostily. "What on earth were you doing there?"
"I believe I told you that I might stop by with discreetly veiled threats."
"Oh yes, so you did," Douglas said. "And you saw me?"
"Yes. Naturally, we didn't recognise you from behind, otherwise I mightn't have phoned the police. As it happens, I'm rather glad I didn't recognise you."
"Good God, so am I," Douglas said in wonderment. "I never even asked for an explanation – I assumed they were simply staking the place out or whatever one calls it. That's absolutely extraordinary, Carolyn."
"I call it good timing," Carolyn said, seating herself on one of the sofas. "We stayed well back during the confrontation, which I admit was exciting to watch. We just finished the interview with the police and my solicitor. Is Martin still here, by the way? I thought we'd give him a lift – he looked a bit ragged from afar."
"He's still being questioned. I said I'd take him home, though – you needn't bother. It's kind of you to offer."
"I see. Very well, then. How is he, in your estimation, Douglas? I think he's less cynical than I am – I wasn't a bit surprised by what Gordon attempted to do to him. I told the police that, too."
Douglas silently blessed Carolyn. "Yes, I think it upset him quite a bit. I'm sure I'll hear the full story in due course and doubtless it's disturbing, but ultimately I think he'll be all right." Hesitant to say anything more revealing, he added, "Of course he'll have to make that determination himself."
"Mm. Yes."
Was Carolyn peering at him a bit more intently than usual? No. You're tired and paranoid, that's all. "I'm glad you were able to tell your side of things."
"Oh, yes. And believe me, the press is going to have a field day with all this, and I for one am not sorry in the least. I suspect most of Gordon's estate is going to be liquidated, but I think that I might benefit more than I had originally thought. I don't know about Martin since they are still married, but technically Gordon hadn't defrauded him in the marriage."
Douglas smiled a little. "I don't think Martin minds. He doesn't strike me as terribly materialistic."
"He's not, I think, and at heart I'm not either, but there's absolutely nothing wrong with seeing justice done," Carolyn said. "At any rate, things are going to change a bit. Perhaps more than a bit." She turned to Herc. "It's been a long evening, and I'm famished."
Herc nodded. "Japanese?"
"Not unless you take me to that place that does the lovely Wagyu strips. It's still open, I believe."
"A meat eater with expensive tastes," Herc sighed. "Tell me again why I'm madly in love with you?"
"My ineffable feminine charms, of course," Carolyn said, rising to her feet. "Good night, Douglas. You were very brave this evening. I'll be in touch."
Douglas rose as well, wondering why she would be in touch with him. "All right. Carolyn, Herc – whatever happens, I owe you both a debt of gratitude for calling the police."
"Yes, you do. Fortunately for you, I might be able to think of a way you can repay that."
That sounded ominous. "Oh?" Douglas inquired with a raised eyebrow.
"Yes, and you might actually enjoy it. All in good time, however. Good night." She and Herc sailed out of the dingy little waiting room, bickering amiably about possible restaurant destinations.
Douglas watched them go, then plunked himself back onto the unyielding sofa. Love certainly made for unusual couples. He briefly wondered about Carolyn's plan for a favour in returned and decided he'd cope with it when the time came, if indeed it ever did. He went back to the magazine, blearily looking over a dull story about mobile phone usage on American transatlantic flights.
After what seemed hours, the door opened again and Martin came in accompanied by a policewoman. He looked tired enough to fall asleep where he stood and his clothes were rumpled and dirty and bloodstained from the night's ordeal, but when he saw Douglas he smiled. "Hi."
"Hi." Douglas got to his feet. "All through?"
"Yes. They'll give us a lift to Gordon's house. Your car, I mean. If that's all right with you."
"Of course. Of course it's all right." Douglas followed Martin and the policewoman to the car park, vehicles swathed in greyish-blue early morning mist. He must have nodded off over the magazine. Christ, you've been up for nearly twenty-four hours. Small wonder you feel unsteady. And poor Martin looks as if he's been run over by a train.
They didn't speak on the short drive to Douglas' car. The policewoman handed Douglas his keys, told Martin they'd be in contact with him, bade them a pleasant day, and departed, leaving Douglas and Martin standing beside the Lexus.
Douglas looked at Martin. "Are you hungry?"
Martin shook his head. "But if you want to go somewhere, I don't mind."
"No. We'll just go home."
That had an unexpectedly nice ring to it.
Douglas managed to keep his eyes open long enough to drive home. They stumbled into the house and up the stairs. Martin made for the guest room. "Er – Martin…." Don't press him. Not yet. "Do you need anything before I collapse?"
Martin bit his lip. "No. I just need to sleep for twelve or fourteen hours. Y-you don't mind?"
"Certainly not. I'll be unconscious myself. Well - mi casa es su casa," he said lightly. "If you're up before I am, feel free to help yourself."
"All right." Martin half-turned, then pivoted to face Douglas again. "Douglas?"
"Yes?"
Martin moved close and put his arms round Douglas, then buried his face in Douglas' neck.
Oh, Martin. Douglas held Martin close, stroked his hair, and rubbed gentle circles on his back. He was too tired to do more, and some emotions were a bit too close to the surface to think clearly. After a while, he steered Martin to the guest bed, helped him out of his shirt and trousers, and pulled up the bedclothes, stopping short of kissing him on the forehead.
Martin was asleep almost before his head touched the pillow, and though Douglas was close to collapsing himself, he watched Martin for a few moments, observing the peace that finally stole over that oddly handsome and utterly lovable face.
He leant close, brushed the lank curls from Martin's forehead, and then changed his mind and kissed Martin on the lips.
"Sleep well," Douglas whispered.
*
The clock read half past two when he headed down to the kitchen, blinking in the bright daylight, his circadian rhythms off-kilter. Martin's door had still been closed and Douglas hadn't wanted to disturb him, so he moved around quietly, making coffee and fetching the newspaper. He was slightly startled to see Martin's photograph on the front page with the headline DRAMATIC RESCUE and the sub-header Millionaire Charged With Attempted Murder In Bizarre Twist. He hadn't recalled any reporters at the scene nor later at the station, but he might have been more tired than he'd thought.
Douglas sat at the kitchen table and perused the story, slowly sipping his coffee and feeling his body establishing itself as fully conscious once more. The article's tone was nothing short of thrilled at the peculiar shifts in the kidnap case, glossing over Martin's abrupt return in favour of lurid description of the second attempted kidnap/murder and Gordon's involvement in it. Douglas' own part in the fiasco was treated with a fair degree of accuracy, omitting, of course, the real reason he'd turned up. There was some unsurprising speculation that Gordon had engineered the initial abduction, but as it didn't line up correctly with Martin's release, the writer admitted to some loose ends. The police representative interviewed – unnamed, but Douglas suspected Inspector Roy – stated that the hunt for Martin's abductors wasn't over, and thanks to Martin's information they had steadier ground on which to search. Douglas hoped – selfishly, he admitted – that Martin's information had been the simple story they'd agreed on.
He was finishing his second cup of coffee and third reading of the article when he heard a soft tread on the stairs. Martin came down fully dressed though his shirttail hung out of his jeans, yawning and rubbing sleep from his eyes, his bright hair in a hundred corkscrewed curls. "Hi."
Douglas rose. "Hello there. Want some coffee?"
"Oh, that'd be lovely, thank you. I'll get it, though." Martin retrieved a mug from the cupboard and poured, then took the chair opposite Douglas. "Sorry about this," he said, tugging at his dirty, bloodstained shirt. "The only one I had."
"You can borrow something of mine if you like."
"That's all right. Thanks all the same." Martin stared down at the tabletop, tracing his fingertip along a whorl in the wood.
"Are you up to reading about yourself?" Douglas inquired, sliding the paper along the table.
Wide-eyed, Martin picked the paper up and began to read. After a few moments he looked up at Douglas. "I didn't tell them anything much, you know. About…before."
"I didn't think you had," Douglas said, relieved despite the faint shame that nudged at him. "I expect you'll be deluged with requests for interviews in a day or two."
Vague alarm flowered on Martin's face. "Oh, gosh. I-I don't think I want to do that."
"You needn't do anything you don't want to do, Martin." Douglas hesitated. "You could stay here a while, if you like. They didn't say where you went after speaking to the police. Perhaps in a week or so the furor will have died down."
"Yeah, says here 'a friend' took me home." Martin glanced up and gave Douglas a shy smile.
Would it be inappropriate to sweep Martin up into a kiss? Yes, probably. Douglas scraped his chair backwards and stood. "Are you hungry? I'm running a bit short of delicacies but I can probably manage pasta primavera."
"Anything," Martin said. "I'm starving."
"Excellent. Why don't you go have a shower and I'll get it going. Borrow something from my clothes. They'll be big on you, but it's better than that shirt." Glad for something to do, Douglas bustled round the kitchen, whipping up a quick primavera and singing along to the kitchen radio, a channel that played a maximum of music and a minimum of news. By the time Martin came back to the kitchen dressed in Douglas' grey dressing gown, his hair wet and combed down, Douglas was ladling generous portions onto plates. "Perfect timing."
They ate hungrily, with little conversation. Douglas chased the last few bites of rotini with his fork. "So. You'll have quite a lot to sort out in the next few weeks, I think. Carolyn was at the police station last night –"
Martin chuckled. "I know. She was the one who called the police, they said. Thought you were a burglar."
"Yes." Douglas bridled a little thinking of Carolyn's uncomplimentary remark about his age. He wasn't that old. "She seemed to think – with the assistance of her solicitor – that Gordon had defrauded her in the post-divorce agreement. I suspect she's one in a rather long line."
"You're probably right." Martin drew a deep breath and set down his fork. "I'm not looking forward to any of this. I just want to be free of him."
"I agree, but my advice, if you're keen on hearing it from someone completely skint, is to not make any hasty moves until you've got all the information you can possibly get your hands on. You have legal rights, you know."
"It won't amount to much," Martin said. "I'm hoping to get enough to buy a secondhand van, though."
"A van? What on earth for?"
"My job," Martin said simply. "Remember I told you that before I married Gordon I had a removal van?"
"Yes, that's right." Douglas blinked. "You'd go back to removals?"
Martin stuck out his chin. "I'm not ashamed of it or anything."
"No, no, that's not what I meant. I just meant…it's quite a change after…living in the lap of luxury, that's all."
A rueful grin spread over Martin's face. "Maybe. But – I don't know. Do you want to hear something funny?"
"I'm all ears."
"I didn't really like that whole…." Martin's hand spiraled toward the ceiling. "Lifestyle. All that formality, all the – the stuff."
"Oh, I don't know. I think I could get used to stuff," Douglas said.
"You'd get bored," Martin said earnestly. "Be honest, Douglas. Wouldn't you rather fly than spend all your time fussing over the perfect sculpture to put in the drawing room that you don't even like, but you know your friends would be impressed – or getting the right seats at the Ivy and pitching a fit if your favourite table wasn't available at short notice, or making certain that your car was the newest, most expensive one on the market? I don't know, maybe it's nice for some people, but with Gordon, it was always a competition. I don't think he ever actually enjoyed his money. It certainly never seemed that way."
"Maybe," Douglas said, "it was because he didn't earn it honestly."
A blush spread over Martin's cheeks. "Well –"
"Crime doesn't pay."
Martin stared at the tabletop, tracing his finger once more over a whorl. "No," he muttered. "I don't think it does."
"Actually," Douglas said, "I think it does. Sometimes, that is. And in unexpected ways."
"What –" Martin peered at Douglas in consternation, his brow and nose wrinkling. "What do you – oh." The pink in his cheeks deepened to crimson. "Oh." He looked down again, but an abashed smile teased at the corners of his mouth. His next words were uttered in a near whisper. "You really think so?"
"I know so," Douglas replied. A lovely conviction of truth blossomed in his heart.
Martin got up and moved to Douglas' side. He bent and kissed Douglas softly on the corner of his mouth. "I love you, you know. I-is that really daft?"
"A little folie à deux never killed anyone. Well, not us, at any rate." Douglas got up and touched the side of Martin's face. "No-one would ever believe this, though."
"Stockholm Syndrome."
"And Lima Syndrome." Douglas shrugged. "Even clichés have to originate with the truth."
"I-I told myself that once I left Gordon, I'd come to visit you, if you were still around, and see if you – if you were interested in, erm, dating or something. I didn't want to presume."
"I'm interested."
"I told myself we didn't have to move fast."
Douglas smiled. "We don't."
"But, erm…." Martin's face was still red. "I wouldn't mind." He untied the belt to the dressing gown and stepped close to Douglas.
Well, hello there. "I wouldn't mind either," Douglas said, and reached between Martin's legs.
"Oh!" Martin took a shaky breath, then wound his arms round Douglas' neck and kissed him.
Douglas allowed himself to be kissed for a moment, then pulled back. "You really want to do this in the kitchen? Not that I mind – I consider myself a modern, experimental sort of fellow – but maybe the first time we could be a bit more comfortable. I like beds, myself."
"All right." Martin slipped his hand down into the waistband of Douglas' trousers and brushed it against Douglas' cock, a tentative caress that was instantly arousing, electrifying.
Douglas gasped and stood perfectly still, letting the sudden tide of sensation overwhelm him. Had he gone without sex for so long that the barest touch made his cock leap to attention? He didn't think so. He hastily undid his trousers and yanked down the front of his boxers. Then he cupped Martin's arse with one hand, drew him closer, and rubbed against Martin, kissing his mouth, pressing their cocks together, up and down, an exquisite friction that made his knees tremble. He pulled back and stared at Martin's swollen mouth. "On the other hand," he rasped, "who needs a bed?" He kissed Martin's mouth again and, feeling Martin trying to kiss back, withdrew a little. "Hold on. Let me." He dove in again and suckled Martin's tongue, caressing his arse, fondling and squeezing gently, and rubbing himself against Martin at the same time until Martin was clutching at him and making small incoherent noises. They moved backward in clumsy tandem until Martin bumped against the fridge and groaned.
"Douglas –"
"I've usually got a bit more savoir faire than this."
"I don't care." Martin rubbed desperately, undulating against Douglas' stiff prick. "I want it, I want it, oh, God, please –"
"Wait," Douglas said in a hoarse voice. He pulled back and leant against the fridge, breathing hard. "We're going to do this properly. We're neither of us adolescents. Besides, I've got lubricant and condoms upstairs, but I don't make a habit of keeping them in my kitchen cupboards. Though maybe I will in future."
Martin frowned. "But don't you just want to –" He shook his head. "Erm, shag?"
"Martin, look down. Does it appear that I want anything else?" Martin smiled, and Douglas touched his flushed cheek. "Despite what's just happened, I've never felt sex was something to get over with in a hurry. Do you understand?"
"Yes, it's just th-that I've never…erm, I've never really done it any other way."
"You weren't a virgin when you met Gordon, surely?" Douglas asked, belatedly realising the question was rude and prying. "Not," he amended, "that there's anything wrong with that."
"No, no, I wasn't a virgin. But there have only been two other people, and neither of them were exactly…you know, skyrockets and moving earth and all that."
"Ah." Douglas considered a moment, then couldn't prevent a lascivious grin. "I think, then, you're in for a treat, even if I do say so myself. Come upstairs." He re-fastened his trousers, then took Martin by the hand and led him up to his bedroom. Slowly, methodically, he closed the door, drew the curtains, and turned the bed down.
Martin stood in the centre of the room, biting his lip and looking a little uncertain. "I feel sort of weird doing this."
"Why?"
"It just seems so…deliberate, I suppose."
"Not Gordon's style, I take it?"
"No." Martin stuck his hands in the pockets of the too-large dressing gown. "Gordon's style was more like shoving me up against whatever surface happened to be nearest and going at it as if the house was burning down round his ears."
"And did you enjoy that?" Douglas drew Martin to the bed and urged him to sit.
"No, not really," Martin said. "Not at all, actually."
"Isn't it fortunate, then, that our methods differ?" Douglas took Martin's face in his hands and kissed him again, a gentle kiss that explored and tasted lingeringly, feather-light touches that grew deeper in tiny increments until his tongue plundered Martin's mouth slowly. Then he pulled away again. "Tell me what you want."
"Whatever you want."
"Well, that won't do. Tell me." Douglas slid the dressing gown off Martin's shoulder and caressed his bare hip.
"I don't know," Martin whispered. "I-I'm sorry, I feel really stupid."
"Then we'll move at a snail's pace." Douglas stood and pulled his shirt over his head, then pushed down his trousers and underwear and kicked them away. "Until you decide what you want." He brushed the back of his hand over Martin's vertebrae and kissed his shoulder, nibbling at a constellation of freckles on the pale skin. "Lovely."
Martin shuddered a little and reached for Douglas. "Should I –"
"Let's take turns, shall we?" Douglas captured Martin's hands and gently pinned them in his lap. "Do you mind?"
"N-no."
"Excellent." Douglas gently urged Martin downward until he lay on his back, staring up at Douglas with bright eyes. He touched Martin's cheek again, his fingertips rasping lightly over Martin's unshaven face, and trailed down his neck to the hollow of his throat. He let his hands glide down Martin's chest, tracing round his nipples and then over them, back and forth until they were stiff and Martin was breathing heavily, his cock stirring. "Do you like that?"
Martin nodded. "Oh…oh yes." He smiled shyly. "It's very nice."
Douglas bent and touched the tip of his tongue to Martin's nipple. "That?"
"Mm." Martin shivered. "Yes."
"Good." Douglas moved his hand to Martin's belly and traced his fingertip round Martin's navel.
Martin twitched. "Ticklish."
"Not in a good way?"
"No, a bit too much."
"All right." Douglas was almost fully hard again, but he'd wait; age (he muttered inwardly at an invisible Carolyn) had its benefits. He avoided Martin's stiffening cock and slipped his hand down to the inside of Martin's thigh, stroking softly. "That?"
"It's lovely. Would you kiss me again?"
"It would be my pleasure," Douglas replied gravely, and bent to kiss Martin's mouth once more. He kissed in the same rhythm he used to stroke Martin's inner thigh – first slow, languorous, with small swipes of his tongue against Martin's until he felt Martin's breathing quicken and felt arms round his neck. Then he kissed deeper, steadily, his hand moving up again to caress Martin's cock and cup his balls, moving his thumb across sensitive skin.
"Oh, God."
"Bad?"
"No, not bad, not bad – I mean it's really good, not just not bad, you – don't stop, I mean. Please?"
"Wouldn't dream of it." Douglas kissed Martin again, supporting the back of Martin's head with his free hand. When he pulled back, he saw that Martin's eyes were blazing with some indeterminate emotion and his lips were parted and wet – voluptuous, nearly sinful when combined with his quickening breath. Douglas yearned to simply take Martin, but he wouldn't, he wouldn't get it over with; he'd go mad with his own suppressed longing first.
I never gave him more than a second glance. And now I can't tear my eyes away. Christ, he's lovely.
"I'm not sure I c-can last much longer," Martin whispered.
"Just a little longer," Douglas said, and curled his hand round Martin's cock.
"Oh –" Martin thrust his hips forward. "Oh, God, please –" He closed his hand over Douglas', forcing his grip to strengthen, urging Douglas' hand into motion. "Douglas –"
"Slow," Douglas whispered against Martin's ear. "Slow."
"I can't."
"But it'll feel wonderful." Douglas removed his hand and rummaged in the drawer of the bedside table, locating a condom and some lubricant. “Shove over a bit, Martin." He lay down next to Martin and gently tugged his arm. "Up. Get on top of me."
"You…erm, how?" Martin was panting, red in the face. His hair, still damp from the shower, had sprung into wildly curling life from its prison of combed-down severity.
"Over my legs," Douglas said, indicating exactly where he wanted Martin to straddle him. "Come on."
"Okay." Martin swung one leg over Douglas' body. The tip of his cock gleamed wetly. "Like this?"
"Don't be afraid to put your weight on me." Douglas grasped Martin's hips and guided him down. "Like that. Now take my cock in your hand."
Martin complied timorously and with such anxiety in his expression that Douglas had to school his features into neutrality lest his astonishment betray him. God, he's really hasn't…bloody Gordon, that bastard. Never bothered to teach him a thing.
"Good. Very good." Douglas sucked in a quick breath. "Oh, really good. Now –" He handed Martin the condom. "Do you want this, or should I have it?"
The anxiety in Martin's eyes increased exponentially. "I don't – that is, if you don't mind, I'd rather not. Right now. If that's okay."
Never let Martin fuck him, either. His bloody loss. "It's okay. Will you put it on me?"
"It's been a while since –"
"I'll help you," Douglas assured him. "Don't worry."
With trembling fingers, Martin ripped the condom open and managed to get it onto the tip of Douglas' cock.
"That's it. Now just unroll it…there you are, slide it down –" Douglas took another shuddering breath. "That's it, Martin. Now the lube, please."
Martin was more confident with the lube, squeezing some onto his palm and closing his hand until it warmed, then sliding his hand round Douglas' cock and stroking gently.
"That's it. There. Oh, clever…clever hands, lovely." Douglas reached out and rubbed his hand against Martin's slippery one, then enclosed Martin's cock again. Just enough to make things a bit more interesting. "Raise up a bit and move forward."
"Okay." Martin moved up until his thighs and knees gripped Douglas' chest. He leant down and kissed Douglas. "Now, please, now."
"Right." Douglas took his cock in his own hand and put his other hand on Martin's bare hip. "Back up, that's it – and down. A bit to the left – no, your left – ah, God. That's it." He felt Martin's body tightening round his prick, a delicious pressure that brought beads of sweat to his upper lip. He wrapped his hand over Martin's cock once more and began to stroke. "Move a bit for me. Just a bit."
"You're bigger," Martin gasped, "bigger –"
"Does it hurt?"
"No, no, it's aghh -- oh, God, no, it's fantastic." Martin's face was crimson and he arched his back a bit, thrusting his pelvis toward Douglas' hand. "Don't stop, don't stop, please don't stop…." His knees tightened against Douglas' waist. "Harder, oh, God."
"Keep moving," Douglas gasped, greedy and ready to let go. "Go on, go on."
"Oh, God – oh!" Martin threw his head back and let out a guttural, abandoned cry as he came, his semen spilling over Douglas' closed fist. "Finish, hurry –"
Douglas gripped Martin by the hips and held him still, stabbing upward, plunging deep and hard, fucking Martin's arse until he climaxed with a shout, his fingers digging into Martin's flesh. He closed his eyes, gasping for breath, wave after wave of ecstasy washing over him and leaving him spent.
Martin's chest and belly glistened with sweat. Cautiously, he disentangled himself and collapsed next to Douglas, fitting himself against Douglas' body. He didn't speak; his breath rasped in and out, and he shivered as if he were cold.
Douglas, still a bit breathless himself, reached down and snagged the sheets and light duvet, bringing them up to cover them both. He held Martin close, revelling in the tang of fresh sweat mingled with the clean fragrance of Martin's damp curls. Impulsively, he kissed Martin's ear. "Now that," he whispered, "was spectacular."
"Oh, yeah," Martin said. "Wait, was it?"
"Yes." Douglas pulled Martin in for another kiss. "It was."
"Gordon never went in for anything like that. He wasn't very – erm, very patient."
"I'm not Gordon."
"No, you're ruddy well not," Martin said.
Douglas chuckled, then pulled off the condom and deposited it in the little bin by the bed. He kissed Martin's ear. "Don't you think it's better for waiting a bit?"
"I'm just not used to it," Martin said, and tentatively reached out to push a lock of hair away from Douglas' brow. "It's lovely, I just – I expect it'll take some getting used to."
"I've got time," Douglas said. "What about you?"
Martin nodded. "I want to. Yes. I'm going to get my own place –"
"You can stay here," Douglas said.
"Oh, that's – that's really kind, Douglas, but I need…I need to be alone a bit. Just to prove I can be. I know it sounds silly, but I have to do it. I'm going to sell my watch, my cuff links –"
"I'd like to have you here, though," Douglas said. "Don't be proud, Martin. I'm not Gordon."
"I know," Martin replied, his eyes shining. He raised himself up on his elbows. "That's why I'm not afraid to say it to you. I'm going to get my own place, and make my own way in the world and work out some way to get my licence, and –" He paused for breath, and smiled. "I've had a husband, but I've never had a partner."
"Partner," Douglas said thoughtfully. "I admit it has a rather pleasant ring to it."
"I don't want to push. I…it's going to take a bit of getting used to, not being with Gordon, and I don't want to rush in to anything and have it all…." The blush was back on his cheeks. "I married him impulsively, and that was a mistake. I don't want to ruin it. I love you, and I don't care how it happened, but still –" He gripped Douglas' hand. "You're not angry?"
Douglas shook his head. "Not in the least. It's very prudent of you. And rather romantic, in its way." He sighed. "But there's a snag."
Martin's brow clouded. "What's that?"
"I'm penniless," Douglas said. "Haven't got a farthing to my name, Martin. And I don't know that Gordon's disgrace will necessarily improve my situation."
"You can always join Icarus Removals," Martin said.
"Ah." It wasn't a tempting prospect. Still, he had to keep his options open. His choices were rather limited. "I was thinking perhaps we might attempt to rob a bank instead."
Martin's mouth dropped open. "Oh, Douglas --"
"Joking. I'm joking, Martin." Douglas pulled Martin in for a long, luxurious kiss. "I'll think about it. Meanwhile, the housemate offer stands."
"I'll think about it," Martin promised, and wrapped his arms round Douglas. "You smell so good."
Always poised, Douglas suddenly found himself perilously close to tears. And for the first time in a very long time, he felt humble. He pulled Martin close and buried his face in the unruly heap of ginger curls. "Partners," he whispered.
"Partners," Martin said, and kissed Douglas' throat.
The phone shrilled. "Oh, Lord – nobody calls this line anymore. Not a reporter, I hope." Douglas heaved a sigh and picked up the phone. "Hello?"
"Is that Douglas?"
"Carolyn?" Douglas frowned. "Yes, it's –"
"I was going to wait until Wednesday to call, but I can't contain myself," Carolyn said, sounding a bit breathless. "It's early days, but my solicitor and I are completely confident that everything will work out to my satisfaction. I couldn't be more pleased."
"Hold on. Would you care to back up just a bit?" Douglas glanced at Martin, who, pressed close, had heard every word and was frowning intently.
"I have a proposition for you."
Douglas listened to Carolyn's very intriguing proposition and watched Martin's face.
By the time he made his counter-proposition, Martin was beaming joyfully, and Douglas couldn't help a grin of his own. "Very well. You'll keep in touch? Right, until then. 'Bye now." He hung up carefully and turned back to Martin.
"Douglas." Martin's eyes were like night stars. "You're brilliant."
Douglas smiled modestly. "Do you know, I think the Richardson luck might have returned."
*
Douglas leant against the flimsy wall of the Portakabin, watching Martin fuss with the curls peeking out from under his cap. "Might I suggest a cap with a little less…ah, dictator-esque braiding next time? It would be so much lighter."
"Fine time to tell me!" Martin pushed the curls back under the band of the cap.
"I did tell you, if you recall. You failed to listen."
"Well, you're not always right." Martin looked into the little mirror on the Portakabin wall and sighed. "Oh, all right. This time, anyhow."
"You look marvelous. Stop fretting. Your passenger's a fifty-nine year old lizard who owns a modelling agency. He only has eyes for Ukranian adolescents."
Martin stepped away from the mirror. "Oh God. I feel sick." He pushed his cap back and wiped sweat from his brow.
"You've been working toward this for years."
"I know, that's why!" Martin began pacing the floor. "What if it was all a terrible mistake?"
"Then you'll have wasted years and thousands and thousands of pounds, and you'll have to go back to removals," Douglas replied with lordly assurance.
"You're no help."
The Portakabin door popped open, and Arthur, dressed in his steward's uniform, dashed in. "We're ready, chaps. Wow, Skip! What a great hat!"
Martin straightened a bit. "You like it?"
"Yeah, it's brilliant! I've never seen one so sparkly!"
Douglas stifled a smile.
"Mum says come on," Arthur continued. "Time to go. Oh, hey – do you want coffee or tea? I'll start sorting it out now so you can have it once we take off."
"Oh, dear," Douglas muttered. "Coffee, I suppose. I'd say 'how hard is it to screw up a coffee?' but I fear retribution from the gods."
"You just said it, Douglas," Arthur pointed out helpfully. "You, Skip?"
"Erm – coffee, please, Arthur. Thank you."
"Right. See you in a bit!" Arthur banged out of the Portakabin.
Douglas smiled at Martin. "Well?"
"He called me Skip," Martin said softly. He looked piercingly at Douglas. "You – you're sure you don't mind? Being first officer and all that?"
"Well, as I'm getting paid and you're not, I can't say as I mind too much," Douglas said. "You could have negotiated for something, you know. It's been quite a while since we made that agreement."
Martin nodded. "I know. But I feel a bit bad for Carolyn – MJN isn't doing all that well, and since I sold the Norfolk house, we've got enough to get by for a long time if we're careful. And anyhow, things are more manageable now that we're living together."
"Took you long enough," Douglas grumbled.
Taking a step forward, Martin touched a finger to Douglas' mouth. "You're rather adorable when you're cross."
"Me, adorable? Perish the thought," Douglas replied with enormous dignity. He settled his own cap. "Well – mustn't keep GERTI waiting. Time to go, Captain Crieff."
Martin's face shone. "Captain Crieff," he said. "Captain." He took a deep breath and grasped Douglas' hand. "Right. Ready?"
Douglas smiled at Martin, former victim, accidental love, devoted partner, and the most brilliant mistake of his entire life.
"Let's fly."
End.
Author: Alex
Fandom: Cabin Pressure
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Martin/Douglas; Martin/Gordon Shappey
Disclaimer: Cabin Pressure is property of John Finnemore and the BBC.
Summary: From a prompt on the Cabin Pressure meme. AU: Gordon Shappey's disgruntled ex-employee, Douglas Richardson, seeks revenge by kidnapping Gordon's trophy husband, Martin.
Warnings: Domestic violence, dubious consent.
Notes: Thanks to
kimberlite for the sharp-eyed beta. Can also be read on AO3
*
As entry lines went, it wasn't his best. Then again, Douglas hadn't expected to see Martin pinned to the floor by a huge bruiser wielding a wicked-looking jack knife, so all things considered, it wasn't entirely bad. He'd even managed to sound cool and collected, and conceal the fact that he was panting for breath and that his trousers had sustained a considerable tear whilst climbing Gordon's bloody gate.
Not, admittedly, that it rectified the present crisis.
The bruiser, with astonishing speed and dexterity, leapt to his feet, dragging Martin up with him. "Who the fuck are you?" he demanded, pressing the point of the blade deeper into Martin's skin. A thin rivulet of blood trickled down Martin's neck, staining the collar of his shirt.
"I really don't think that's relevant," Douglas replied, casually brandishing the tyre jack he'd liberated from the boot of his car before vaulting the gate. "Please unhand Mr. Crieff at once."
"Or what, you stupid fucking coffin-dodger? You going to shank me with that jack?" He pulled Martin in tighter and slipped the blade under his chin. Martin made a tiny mewling noise, but held perfectly still.
Douglas took a step forward and was pleased to see the big lout move back. He surveyed the hall – dark, panelled wood, narrow, few escape options – but that made foolish desperation and unthinking action more likely as well. He wasn't afraid of Martin's assailant, but he wasn't foolhardy, either; he'd been foolhardy enough in the last week, and now Martin's life was truly at stake. Which begged the question: just what the hell was going on here? "I assume you're some sort of hired assassin."
"None of your fucking business."
"I thought as much. It would be best if you left now. You've quite a lot of loose ends, you know – car's in the drive, probably a dozen CC cameras salted about, not to mention if you kill Mr. Crieff you'll be pursued hotly – you might not realise it, but he's a high-profile kidnap victim. Best to abandon this before you have murder on what passes for your conscience."
The man blinked. "You radge cunt," he said in a soft, wondering voice. "You think I'm stupid?"
Douglas thought about answering honestly, but was saved – if that was the word, it probably wasn't – by the sudden appearance of Gordon Shappey, who stared open-mouthed at Douglas, then glanced quickly at Martin, who plucked uselessly at the arm locked round his throat.
"Richardson. What in the name of Christ are you doing?"
Good question, actually. Douglas parried. "I see you know about this. Funny, when I heard the noises I thought you were indulging in your usual spousal abuse, but then I thought: gosh, that can't be. His husband's missing. But it seems you're outsourcing nowadays."
"Oi," the bruiser snarled. "You know this twat?"
Gordon ignored the query. His cheeks turned pink. "How the fuck did you get in here?"
"Jumped the gate. Inconveniently high, but I suppose that's the point."
Gordon tightened his grasp on a roll of gaffer tape. "Why did you jump the gate?"
"Oh, that's a rather funny story too," Douglas replied, gaining a bit more confidence. The messier and more confused things were, the less likely the bruiser would be able to get away with murdering Martin. Which, given Gordon's lack of surprise at the scenario and the roll of tape, seemed the most logical answer to what was happening. He gave Martin a warm look. It's all right. It's going to be all right. "As it happens, a detective inspector from the Met police paid me a call this morning and implied – very oddly, I thought – that you'd suggested that I'd had something to do with your husband's abduction. Not cricket at all, even for you. You can imagine how distressed I was. Well, maybe you can't. At any rate, I thought I'd pop round and have a word with you about that, as well as a word about the vitriol you've been spreading to my potential employers – or would-be employers. I had no idea you were choking down such sour grapes."
"I can't fucking believe this." The big lummox shook his head, and his grip on Martin relaxed somewhat. Martin struggled, and the man tightened his grasp again. "Hold still, you."
Douglas shrugged. "As I approached the gate, I heard a scuffle, and what sounded like a cry of distress. Naturally I investigated – I thought it might have been another kidnap in progress. Imagine my surprise to find your husband here." He smiled pleasantly at the thug. "So this is the kidnapper, I take it?"
"What? No!" Gordon shouted, his face turning a deeper crimson. "It's – this is none of your god-damned business, Richardson, and if you're smart, you'll walk away now, or I'll see to it that you never work in England again. Never."
He'd already seen to that, of course, which meant there wasn't much to lose.
Except Martin's life.
"None of my business," Douglas said musingly. "About Martin, Gordon? I knew you treated him badly, but this is a bit excessive, even for you." He only wished he'd known earlier, that he'd paid closer attention sooner. But he'd be damned if he'd let these vile bastards get away with hurting Martin. He gave Martin another glance, and Martin's eyes met his, and crinkled in a brave little smile despite his obvious fear.
The trust in that smile simultaneously broke and mended Douglas' heart. He spoke with the boldest nonchalance he could muster. "I don't think there's any possibility of either of you getting away with what you've got planned here. Give up now, hand Martin over to me, and we'll forget this happened."
"Fuckin' hell," the thug breathed. "I haven't got time for this shit."
Gordon's hands curled and uncurled round the roll of gaffer tape, mangling its circular perfection. Breathing heavily, he shook his head. "You've got to take them both, Simmons," he muttered.
The bruiser – Simmons – gaped at Gordon. "What the fuck? No!"
"He's seen you, you stupid jackass," Gordon snapped. "You've got to –" He swallowed. "Do them both."
Oh. Interesting.
Martin struggled against Simmons again. "Gordon, please – don't do this."
"Shut him up," Gordon whispered.
Simmons pushed the edge of the blade against Martin's throat, and Martin cried out. More blood ran, bright red.
"Don't!" Douglas took another step forward, holding out a hand. "Stop."
"Back up, fuckwit," Simmons snarled. He glared at Gordon. "This isn't a two-for-one, Shappey. You want rid of both of them, you pay double."
"It's not my fault you're not quick enough to take care of things efficiently!" Gordon shouted. "You could have had him out ten minutes ago."
"And you could make your fucking gate secure! This isn't my problem." Simmons dragged Martin toward the kitchen. Douglas took another step forward. "Stay back, I said!"
"Please, Gordon – just let Douglas go!" Martin cried, his voice a bit strangled thanks to Simmons' meaty arm pressing against his windpipe. "He hasn't done anything wrong, he was just…erm…." Martin trailed off, his eyes darting from Gordon to Douglas. Futilely, he batted at Simmons' arm again, trying to claw free. Simmons yanked him backward, off his feet, further away from Douglas' reach.
Gordon frowned, then tilted his head to one side, studying Martin. He turned back to Douglas. "Douglas?" he echoed softly. "Douglas," he said again. "Not Captain Richardson. Douglas." He pivoted on his heel and studied Martin again.
Douglas decided it was time to act. He pulled his mobile from his pocket. "I'm only going to say this once: let Mr. Crieff go or I phone the police. They'll be here before you can even pull out of the drive."
"You do that, I'll have Simmons slit his throat," Gordon said.
"And get blood all over your lovely kitchen floor? Evidence," Douglas taunted. He glanced at Simmons and Martin and Gordon; they were in the kitchen now, and Simmons and Martin were close to the garden door. Two more steps and they'd be outside. Damn it. What now?
"What the fuck's going on here?" Gordon demanded.
Again, good question. "Did you engineer all this yourself, Gordon? I must say you've done a bad job of it."
"Why'd you call him Douglas, Martin?" Gordon inquired. "What's he to you, hm?"
"Just let him go," Martin begged. "Please."
"You tell me why you called him Douglas."
"Because that's his name," Martin said desperately. "Gordon, please --"
"Were you fucking him when my back was turned, Richardson? Is that it?" He grinned sardonically, his upper lip curling to display a row of capped white teeth. "Don't look so surprised. You think I didn't have you checked out when I first hired you? Quite a reputation you've got. The smuggling, the boozing, fast cars, fast women, fast men." He turned to Martin. "Was he fucking you, Martin? Another notch on his bedpost if you were, let me tell you."
Martin had stopped struggling. "You've got a filthy mind, Gordon." He spoke with a quiet force that made Douglas proud despite the thick tension in the air.
Gordon emitted a short, barking laugh. "Don't I just. What am I thinking – you're hardly his type. He goes for more glamorous sorts of people, don't you, Richardson?"
"Who I choose to befriend isn't a particle of your business," Douglas replied calmly. "And if you can't see Martin's worth, that certainly isn't my problem. You don't deserve him."
"Oh, what's this? Don't tell me you two found time to have it off somehow." Gordon laughed again, but it was patently false. Sweat beaded his brow and his eyes darted frantically back and forth.
"Christ, enough!" Simmons roared. "Shappey, you're paying double or I'm gone."
"I told you – he's seen you," Gordon retorted. "You're in too deep now."
"Then if I get caught, I'll take you down with me," Simmons said. "That's a promise."
Gordon's lip curled upward again. "That's fucking extortion, that is."
"No honour among thieves," Douglas commented drily. "Scarcely a novel concept to you, Gordon. Can't imagine why you're so hesitant to pay. You stand to gain quite a bit, don't you?" He glanced at Martin, who frowned in puzzlement. Sorry, Martin. One more illusion shattered, I suppose.
Martin looked from Douglas to Gordon. "Stand to gain – I don't –"
"That's right," Gordon said. "Why hide it now, eh? Sorry, pet. I was hoping you wouldn't come back – it would have saved me a lot of trouble. Insurance, you see. I've got to make it pay one way or the other. But you're right, Richardson. I'll have some dosh left over. I'll pay your price, Simmons. Do me one favour, though – make it slow for Captain Richardson here."
Douglas didn't move, but his blood suddenly felt considerably cooler.
"Come on and watch," Simmons invited.
"Thanks, I won't." Gordon proffered the tape. "You asked for this."
Simmons let out a huge sigh. "How many hands do you think I have? You fucking do it."
Watching the two men bicker, Douglas silently thumbed his phone into life.
Simmons smiled. "Nice. Nice try." He moved the blade up Martin's face until it grazed the lower lashes of his right eye. Martin stifled a gasp and went rigid. "You punch one single 9, and I take his eye out."
"If you're going to kill us both –"
"I'm going to kill you both anyway. How slowly the slippery little fuck dies is up to you. Now – hand the phone to Shappey. Carefully."
Douglas made a mental checklist of his options. One: hand the phone to Gordon. Comply with the knife-wielding madman and accept the rapid conclusion of your life. Two: attempt something physical and probably fail in the attempt as knife-wielding madman has Martin in close proximity. Using Gordon as hostage likely to backfire as Gordon is essentially knife-wielding madman's chip and PIN machine and nothing more. Three:
He didn't have a three. His options, it seemed, were distressingly limited.
There had to be a three.
"The phone," Simmons repeated, and traced the tip of the knife sideways. Martin cringed without moving.
Douglas handed the mobile to Gordon, who stuffed it in his pocket.
"Your car keys, too. Quick."
Fishing them from his pocket, Douglas tossed the keys to Gordon.
"Now what?" Sweat was freely running down Gordon's face. "Time's wasting, for God's sake."
"Now we go for a little ride," Simmons said. "You get me the other half of the cash, Shappey. You –" Simmons indicated Douglas with a jerk of his chin. "You're driving. And I'll ride in the back with Martin here just to make sure you don't do anything stupid. Shappey, give what's-his-name the tape."
Gordon frowned and handed the tape to Douglas. "I'll get the money," he muttered, and darted down the hall toward the library.
Douglas turned to Simmons. "Brave sort, isn't he?"
"Shut up. Rip off a length and tie Martin's hands up." Simmons spun Martin round neatly, keeping the blade close to his eye. "Hold still, yeah?" He smiled down at Martin.
The tape made an ugly tearing sound as Douglas ripped a long piece from the roll – an all-too-familiar sound. One way or another, I got him into this. I've got to get him out somehow.
"Hands behind your back," Simmons instructed.
Martin complied without a word. Douglas gathered Martin's wrists together and gently squeezed his hands. Martin squeezed back.
"I'll try not to hurt you," Douglas murmured.
"Thank you." Martin's voice was equally soft.
Simmons watched in amusement. "Do it properly or he'll lose an eye. So were you two fucking, or what?" Douglas glared at him, and he shrugged. "I'm not judging, mind you. Just curious."
"No," Martin replied. "We weren't."
"Okay. Just asking." Simmons spun Martin back around and tested his bonds. "All right – not first rate but not terrible. Once I get my money, we'll get on the road."
"Marvelous," Douglas said. "Can't wait."
Gordon re-entered the kitchen carrying, to Douglas' wry amusement, a Sainsbury's bag. Convenient to keep that sort of cash on hand. He thrust the bag at Simmons. "There. Half for both of them. The rest when I've got evidence the job is done."
"You could come along – you'd see the evidence that much quicker."
"No," Gordon said flatly.
"Gordon prefers other people to do his dirty work," Douglas said. "Take it from me."
"Go fuck yourself, Richardson."
"And he's got such imaginative conversational skills," Douglas added.
"All right, enough," Simmons snarled, snatching the bag. "You'll have to hide his car. I'll get rid of it later for a thousand extra. Sundry expenses. You," he said, pointing at Douglas. "You first. If you try to make a break for it, little Martin here gets a handspan of steel through the eyeball."
Douglas took a deep breath and nodded. "Understood." He smiled reassuringly – he hoped – at Martin, then opened the back garden door and stepped outside into the cool night air. There had to be something he could do. He wasn't bound, at least; that was an unexpected bonus. How to get Martin away from Simmons without hurting him, though?
He heard Martin's voice. "Gordon – Gordon, please don't do this. This isn't you, it's not. You wouldn't – please –" There was a brief scuffling noise, and Simmons dragged Martin outside, still holding the knife up to his face. "Simmons –"
"Quiet. One more sound and your friend here gets to watch his intestines rearranged."
Martin clamped his mouth shut, looking as if he were about to cry. He cast a pleading glance at Douglas, then hissed as Simmons twisted his arm.
"Come on. In the car."
Douglas climbed into the front seat and waited as Simmons pushed Martin into the back and clambered in alongside. "Now remember, don't fuck with me and I'll do you both the favour of killing you quick. Fuck with me, and you'll be begging me to kill you." He handed the keys to Douglas. "Start her up."
Douglas started the car and glanced over his shoulder as he backed down the drive.
Oh my God.
His heart skipped a beat as the gate slid silently open, and he braked.
"Drive, fuckwit!"
Douglas smiled at Simmons. "No."
He closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief as brilliant light flooded the car and two dozen dark-clad figures surrounded them, weapons drawn.
"Put down the knife," a hoarse voice said calmly. "Now."
Simmons wasn't as stupid as he looked. He put his hand out the window, and the knife clattered onto the surface of the drive.
*
The police had seemingly bought the story Douglas had cooked up on the fly that he'd wanted a word with Gordon about his smear tactics, and with almost no effort at that as they were more interested in Martin's reappearance. There had been some muttering about criminal trespass, but a subsequent rebuttal of extenuating circumstances had put everything to rights. In fact, Douglas was being treated as something of a hero which, had he not been a superlative actor, would have caused him to burst into uncontrollable laughter under ordinary conditions.
Well, that wasn't all, not really. The other thing was Martin's face. He looked exhausted and traumatised and seeing it, Douglas had extinguished the laughter bubbling up inside him at once. Gordon Shappey was an angry, bitter, vindictive sod, and Douglas wouldn't have put it past him to sell his own mother for a comfortable profit, but he, and certainly not Martin, wouldn't have pegged him as a murderer, even a murderer-by-proxy. Martin had received his share of unpleasant revelations over the past week, but this was by far the worst. They'd lingered at the house for a bit after Simmons and Gordon had been escorted away – Gordon protesting loudly all the while – and Douglas had heard Martin's slightly dazed answers to police questioning. The police were gentle with him, and had let him ride with Douglas in the back of a squad car as they drove to the station. They hadn't spoken, but on the way, Martin's hand had slipped into Douglas' and squeezed; Douglas had squeezed back, and Martin had smiled.
Douglas' heart had unclenched a bit at that.
Before they'd been ushered into separate rooms, Detective Inspector Roy, the DI with the nice smile who'd visited Douglas earlier, had turned to them both. "Someone will take you back to your car, Mr. Richardson – the scene should be cleaned up shortly. We'll have to keep you here for a few hours, Mr. Crieff, but we'll drive you home afterward."
"I don't want to go back to the house," Martin said faintly.
"Understandable. We can find accommodations for you if you're not feeling safe, or you're welcome to call a friend or relative if you like."
"You can stay with me if you like, Martin," Douglas said. "I'll wait for you." Was that risky? Too late now, if it was.
"Would you?" Martin gave Douglas a grateful look. "Thank you."
Had it not been for the presence of Inspector Roy, Douglas would have pulled Martin into his arms and kissed him senseless or close to it. "Not at all."
A police officer led Martin into a room and closed the door. Inspector Roy turned to Douglas. "That's very good of you. You can probably see that Mr. Crieff's traumatised and he's likely feeling gratitude toward you for contributing to his rescue. Staying with you might make him feel safe."
There were far too many ironies in all that to even bother untangling. "It's no trouble. I'm very fond of Mr. Crieff."
"Are you?" Inspector Roy regarded Douglas curiously. "You didn't say this morning."
"You didn't ask."
Inspector Roy pursed her lips and didn't speak for a moment. "Fair enough. This way, if you please, Mr. Richardson."
The police kept at him for a while, but fortunately their questions were centred round Gordon and Simmons' behaviour; Douglas' motivations and presence at the house went largely unexplored. His usual extraordinary luck notwithstanding, Douglas couldn't quite believe things were going so well. At any moment, he half-expected the mild line of Miss Marple-ish questioning to transmute into blinding lights, hectoring shouts, and steel bars slamming shut in front of his face. None of that happened, however, and after an hour or so Douglas was installed in a dreary waiting room with the sort of long, low-slung polyurethane sofas actively hostile to comfortable sitting. Douglas settled into one, trying not to think of the thousand possibly unhygienic bodies that had occupied it prior to him, picked up a few magazines from the table next to it, and began to read.
His phone buzzed with a text. He recognised Sophie's notification – it was A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square, which he'd sung to her as a baby – and opened it at once.
Meet for lunch tues 1pm l'abate? Sold amanda harlech 3 bags 10 pr shoes huge commission my treat!
He'd no idea who Amanda Harlech was, but he was delighted for Sophie. He answered quickly. Love to. See you there.
To be able to see Sophie, without worrying. Lovely. And frankly, even lunch at L'Abate was beyond his means at the moment and likely would be for a long time.
This thought, which would have caused him to blanch a few weeks ago, now made him smile, then chuckle. All those schemes and still penniless.
Penniless, but not bereft.
He smiled again.
The door opened, and in strolled Carolyn and Hercules, both clutching folders thickly stuffed with paper.
Douglas sat up but the sofa forced him into a semi-slouch again. "Carolyn – Herc. What on earth are you two doing here?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Douglas. Who do you suppose called the police?"
"I gather that's not much more than a rhetorical question," Douglas said. "But how did you know I was here?"
Carolyn turned to Herc. "I may be having second thoughts about all this."
"He's had a rough night, darling. Even I might be a bit flustered. Go easy on him," Herc replied affectionately.
"Odd as it is, I'm not quite following," Douglas said.
"Douglas," Carolyn said, enunciating each syllable slowly, "we were at Gordon's house. More precisely, we were pulling up as you were clambering over the fence which, by the way, is probably not the best idea for a man of your age, if your co-ordination was anything by which to judge."
"Let's leave my advanced years out of this, shall we?" Douglas retorted a bit frostily. "What on earth were you doing there?"
"I believe I told you that I might stop by with discreetly veiled threats."
"Oh yes, so you did," Douglas said. "And you saw me?"
"Yes. Naturally, we didn't recognise you from behind, otherwise I mightn't have phoned the police. As it happens, I'm rather glad I didn't recognise you."
"Good God, so am I," Douglas said in wonderment. "I never even asked for an explanation – I assumed they were simply staking the place out or whatever one calls it. That's absolutely extraordinary, Carolyn."
"I call it good timing," Carolyn said, seating herself on one of the sofas. "We stayed well back during the confrontation, which I admit was exciting to watch. We just finished the interview with the police and my solicitor. Is Martin still here, by the way? I thought we'd give him a lift – he looked a bit ragged from afar."
"He's still being questioned. I said I'd take him home, though – you needn't bother. It's kind of you to offer."
"I see. Very well, then. How is he, in your estimation, Douglas? I think he's less cynical than I am – I wasn't a bit surprised by what Gordon attempted to do to him. I told the police that, too."
Douglas silently blessed Carolyn. "Yes, I think it upset him quite a bit. I'm sure I'll hear the full story in due course and doubtless it's disturbing, but ultimately I think he'll be all right." Hesitant to say anything more revealing, he added, "Of course he'll have to make that determination himself."
"Mm. Yes."
Was Carolyn peering at him a bit more intently than usual? No. You're tired and paranoid, that's all. "I'm glad you were able to tell your side of things."
"Oh, yes. And believe me, the press is going to have a field day with all this, and I for one am not sorry in the least. I suspect most of Gordon's estate is going to be liquidated, but I think that I might benefit more than I had originally thought. I don't know about Martin since they are still married, but technically Gordon hadn't defrauded him in the marriage."
Douglas smiled a little. "I don't think Martin minds. He doesn't strike me as terribly materialistic."
"He's not, I think, and at heart I'm not either, but there's absolutely nothing wrong with seeing justice done," Carolyn said. "At any rate, things are going to change a bit. Perhaps more than a bit." She turned to Herc. "It's been a long evening, and I'm famished."
Herc nodded. "Japanese?"
"Not unless you take me to that place that does the lovely Wagyu strips. It's still open, I believe."
"A meat eater with expensive tastes," Herc sighed. "Tell me again why I'm madly in love with you?"
"My ineffable feminine charms, of course," Carolyn said, rising to her feet. "Good night, Douglas. You were very brave this evening. I'll be in touch."
Douglas rose as well, wondering why she would be in touch with him. "All right. Carolyn, Herc – whatever happens, I owe you both a debt of gratitude for calling the police."
"Yes, you do. Fortunately for you, I might be able to think of a way you can repay that."
That sounded ominous. "Oh?" Douglas inquired with a raised eyebrow.
"Yes, and you might actually enjoy it. All in good time, however. Good night." She and Herc sailed out of the dingy little waiting room, bickering amiably about possible restaurant destinations.
Douglas watched them go, then plunked himself back onto the unyielding sofa. Love certainly made for unusual couples. He briefly wondered about Carolyn's plan for a favour in returned and decided he'd cope with it when the time came, if indeed it ever did. He went back to the magazine, blearily looking over a dull story about mobile phone usage on American transatlantic flights.
After what seemed hours, the door opened again and Martin came in accompanied by a policewoman. He looked tired enough to fall asleep where he stood and his clothes were rumpled and dirty and bloodstained from the night's ordeal, but when he saw Douglas he smiled. "Hi."
"Hi." Douglas got to his feet. "All through?"
"Yes. They'll give us a lift to Gordon's house. Your car, I mean. If that's all right with you."
"Of course. Of course it's all right." Douglas followed Martin and the policewoman to the car park, vehicles swathed in greyish-blue early morning mist. He must have nodded off over the magazine. Christ, you've been up for nearly twenty-four hours. Small wonder you feel unsteady. And poor Martin looks as if he's been run over by a train.
They didn't speak on the short drive to Douglas' car. The policewoman handed Douglas his keys, told Martin they'd be in contact with him, bade them a pleasant day, and departed, leaving Douglas and Martin standing beside the Lexus.
Douglas looked at Martin. "Are you hungry?"
Martin shook his head. "But if you want to go somewhere, I don't mind."
"No. We'll just go home."
That had an unexpectedly nice ring to it.
Douglas managed to keep his eyes open long enough to drive home. They stumbled into the house and up the stairs. Martin made for the guest room. "Er – Martin…." Don't press him. Not yet. "Do you need anything before I collapse?"
Martin bit his lip. "No. I just need to sleep for twelve or fourteen hours. Y-you don't mind?"
"Certainly not. I'll be unconscious myself. Well - mi casa es su casa," he said lightly. "If you're up before I am, feel free to help yourself."
"All right." Martin half-turned, then pivoted to face Douglas again. "Douglas?"
"Yes?"
Martin moved close and put his arms round Douglas, then buried his face in Douglas' neck.
Oh, Martin. Douglas held Martin close, stroked his hair, and rubbed gentle circles on his back. He was too tired to do more, and some emotions were a bit too close to the surface to think clearly. After a while, he steered Martin to the guest bed, helped him out of his shirt and trousers, and pulled up the bedclothes, stopping short of kissing him on the forehead.
Martin was asleep almost before his head touched the pillow, and though Douglas was close to collapsing himself, he watched Martin for a few moments, observing the peace that finally stole over that oddly handsome and utterly lovable face.
He leant close, brushed the lank curls from Martin's forehead, and then changed his mind and kissed Martin on the lips.
"Sleep well," Douglas whispered.
*
The clock read half past two when he headed down to the kitchen, blinking in the bright daylight, his circadian rhythms off-kilter. Martin's door had still been closed and Douglas hadn't wanted to disturb him, so he moved around quietly, making coffee and fetching the newspaper. He was slightly startled to see Martin's photograph on the front page with the headline DRAMATIC RESCUE and the sub-header Millionaire Charged With Attempted Murder In Bizarre Twist. He hadn't recalled any reporters at the scene nor later at the station, but he might have been more tired than he'd thought.
Douglas sat at the kitchen table and perused the story, slowly sipping his coffee and feeling his body establishing itself as fully conscious once more. The article's tone was nothing short of thrilled at the peculiar shifts in the kidnap case, glossing over Martin's abrupt return in favour of lurid description of the second attempted kidnap/murder and Gordon's involvement in it. Douglas' own part in the fiasco was treated with a fair degree of accuracy, omitting, of course, the real reason he'd turned up. There was some unsurprising speculation that Gordon had engineered the initial abduction, but as it didn't line up correctly with Martin's release, the writer admitted to some loose ends. The police representative interviewed – unnamed, but Douglas suspected Inspector Roy – stated that the hunt for Martin's abductors wasn't over, and thanks to Martin's information they had steadier ground on which to search. Douglas hoped – selfishly, he admitted – that Martin's information had been the simple story they'd agreed on.
He was finishing his second cup of coffee and third reading of the article when he heard a soft tread on the stairs. Martin came down fully dressed though his shirttail hung out of his jeans, yawning and rubbing sleep from his eyes, his bright hair in a hundred corkscrewed curls. "Hi."
Douglas rose. "Hello there. Want some coffee?"
"Oh, that'd be lovely, thank you. I'll get it, though." Martin retrieved a mug from the cupboard and poured, then took the chair opposite Douglas. "Sorry about this," he said, tugging at his dirty, bloodstained shirt. "The only one I had."
"You can borrow something of mine if you like."
"That's all right. Thanks all the same." Martin stared down at the tabletop, tracing his fingertip along a whorl in the wood.
"Are you up to reading about yourself?" Douglas inquired, sliding the paper along the table.
Wide-eyed, Martin picked the paper up and began to read. After a few moments he looked up at Douglas. "I didn't tell them anything much, you know. About…before."
"I didn't think you had," Douglas said, relieved despite the faint shame that nudged at him. "I expect you'll be deluged with requests for interviews in a day or two."
Vague alarm flowered on Martin's face. "Oh, gosh. I-I don't think I want to do that."
"You needn't do anything you don't want to do, Martin." Douglas hesitated. "You could stay here a while, if you like. They didn't say where you went after speaking to the police. Perhaps in a week or so the furor will have died down."
"Yeah, says here 'a friend' took me home." Martin glanced up and gave Douglas a shy smile.
Would it be inappropriate to sweep Martin up into a kiss? Yes, probably. Douglas scraped his chair backwards and stood. "Are you hungry? I'm running a bit short of delicacies but I can probably manage pasta primavera."
"Anything," Martin said. "I'm starving."
"Excellent. Why don't you go have a shower and I'll get it going. Borrow something from my clothes. They'll be big on you, but it's better than that shirt." Glad for something to do, Douglas bustled round the kitchen, whipping up a quick primavera and singing along to the kitchen radio, a channel that played a maximum of music and a minimum of news. By the time Martin came back to the kitchen dressed in Douglas' grey dressing gown, his hair wet and combed down, Douglas was ladling generous portions onto plates. "Perfect timing."
They ate hungrily, with little conversation. Douglas chased the last few bites of rotini with his fork. "So. You'll have quite a lot to sort out in the next few weeks, I think. Carolyn was at the police station last night –"
Martin chuckled. "I know. She was the one who called the police, they said. Thought you were a burglar."
"Yes." Douglas bridled a little thinking of Carolyn's uncomplimentary remark about his age. He wasn't that old. "She seemed to think – with the assistance of her solicitor – that Gordon had defrauded her in the post-divorce agreement. I suspect she's one in a rather long line."
"You're probably right." Martin drew a deep breath and set down his fork. "I'm not looking forward to any of this. I just want to be free of him."
"I agree, but my advice, if you're keen on hearing it from someone completely skint, is to not make any hasty moves until you've got all the information you can possibly get your hands on. You have legal rights, you know."
"It won't amount to much," Martin said. "I'm hoping to get enough to buy a secondhand van, though."
"A van? What on earth for?"
"My job," Martin said simply. "Remember I told you that before I married Gordon I had a removal van?"
"Yes, that's right." Douglas blinked. "You'd go back to removals?"
Martin stuck out his chin. "I'm not ashamed of it or anything."
"No, no, that's not what I meant. I just meant…it's quite a change after…living in the lap of luxury, that's all."
A rueful grin spread over Martin's face. "Maybe. But – I don't know. Do you want to hear something funny?"
"I'm all ears."
"I didn't really like that whole…." Martin's hand spiraled toward the ceiling. "Lifestyle. All that formality, all the – the stuff."
"Oh, I don't know. I think I could get used to stuff," Douglas said.
"You'd get bored," Martin said earnestly. "Be honest, Douglas. Wouldn't you rather fly than spend all your time fussing over the perfect sculpture to put in the drawing room that you don't even like, but you know your friends would be impressed – or getting the right seats at the Ivy and pitching a fit if your favourite table wasn't available at short notice, or making certain that your car was the newest, most expensive one on the market? I don't know, maybe it's nice for some people, but with Gordon, it was always a competition. I don't think he ever actually enjoyed his money. It certainly never seemed that way."
"Maybe," Douglas said, "it was because he didn't earn it honestly."
A blush spread over Martin's cheeks. "Well –"
"Crime doesn't pay."
Martin stared at the tabletop, tracing his finger once more over a whorl. "No," he muttered. "I don't think it does."
"Actually," Douglas said, "I think it does. Sometimes, that is. And in unexpected ways."
"What –" Martin peered at Douglas in consternation, his brow and nose wrinkling. "What do you – oh." The pink in his cheeks deepened to crimson. "Oh." He looked down again, but an abashed smile teased at the corners of his mouth. His next words were uttered in a near whisper. "You really think so?"
"I know so," Douglas replied. A lovely conviction of truth blossomed in his heart.
Martin got up and moved to Douglas' side. He bent and kissed Douglas softly on the corner of his mouth. "I love you, you know. I-is that really daft?"
"A little folie à deux never killed anyone. Well, not us, at any rate." Douglas got up and touched the side of Martin's face. "No-one would ever believe this, though."
"Stockholm Syndrome."
"And Lima Syndrome." Douglas shrugged. "Even clichés have to originate with the truth."
"I-I told myself that once I left Gordon, I'd come to visit you, if you were still around, and see if you – if you were interested in, erm, dating or something. I didn't want to presume."
"I'm interested."
"I told myself we didn't have to move fast."
Douglas smiled. "We don't."
"But, erm…." Martin's face was still red. "I wouldn't mind." He untied the belt to the dressing gown and stepped close to Douglas.
Well, hello there. "I wouldn't mind either," Douglas said, and reached between Martin's legs.
"Oh!" Martin took a shaky breath, then wound his arms round Douglas' neck and kissed him.
Douglas allowed himself to be kissed for a moment, then pulled back. "You really want to do this in the kitchen? Not that I mind – I consider myself a modern, experimental sort of fellow – but maybe the first time we could be a bit more comfortable. I like beds, myself."
"All right." Martin slipped his hand down into the waistband of Douglas' trousers and brushed it against Douglas' cock, a tentative caress that was instantly arousing, electrifying.
Douglas gasped and stood perfectly still, letting the sudden tide of sensation overwhelm him. Had he gone without sex for so long that the barest touch made his cock leap to attention? He didn't think so. He hastily undid his trousers and yanked down the front of his boxers. Then he cupped Martin's arse with one hand, drew him closer, and rubbed against Martin, kissing his mouth, pressing their cocks together, up and down, an exquisite friction that made his knees tremble. He pulled back and stared at Martin's swollen mouth. "On the other hand," he rasped, "who needs a bed?" He kissed Martin's mouth again and, feeling Martin trying to kiss back, withdrew a little. "Hold on. Let me." He dove in again and suckled Martin's tongue, caressing his arse, fondling and squeezing gently, and rubbing himself against Martin at the same time until Martin was clutching at him and making small incoherent noises. They moved backward in clumsy tandem until Martin bumped against the fridge and groaned.
"Douglas –"
"I've usually got a bit more savoir faire than this."
"I don't care." Martin rubbed desperately, undulating against Douglas' stiff prick. "I want it, I want it, oh, God, please –"
"Wait," Douglas said in a hoarse voice. He pulled back and leant against the fridge, breathing hard. "We're going to do this properly. We're neither of us adolescents. Besides, I've got lubricant and condoms upstairs, but I don't make a habit of keeping them in my kitchen cupboards. Though maybe I will in future."
Martin frowned. "But don't you just want to –" He shook his head. "Erm, shag?"
"Martin, look down. Does it appear that I want anything else?" Martin smiled, and Douglas touched his flushed cheek. "Despite what's just happened, I've never felt sex was something to get over with in a hurry. Do you understand?"
"Yes, it's just th-that I've never…erm, I've never really done it any other way."
"You weren't a virgin when you met Gordon, surely?" Douglas asked, belatedly realising the question was rude and prying. "Not," he amended, "that there's anything wrong with that."
"No, no, I wasn't a virgin. But there have only been two other people, and neither of them were exactly…you know, skyrockets and moving earth and all that."
"Ah." Douglas considered a moment, then couldn't prevent a lascivious grin. "I think, then, you're in for a treat, even if I do say so myself. Come upstairs." He re-fastened his trousers, then took Martin by the hand and led him up to his bedroom. Slowly, methodically, he closed the door, drew the curtains, and turned the bed down.
Martin stood in the centre of the room, biting his lip and looking a little uncertain. "I feel sort of weird doing this."
"Why?"
"It just seems so…deliberate, I suppose."
"Not Gordon's style, I take it?"
"No." Martin stuck his hands in the pockets of the too-large dressing gown. "Gordon's style was more like shoving me up against whatever surface happened to be nearest and going at it as if the house was burning down round his ears."
"And did you enjoy that?" Douglas drew Martin to the bed and urged him to sit.
"No, not really," Martin said. "Not at all, actually."
"Isn't it fortunate, then, that our methods differ?" Douglas took Martin's face in his hands and kissed him again, a gentle kiss that explored and tasted lingeringly, feather-light touches that grew deeper in tiny increments until his tongue plundered Martin's mouth slowly. Then he pulled away again. "Tell me what you want."
"Whatever you want."
"Well, that won't do. Tell me." Douglas slid the dressing gown off Martin's shoulder and caressed his bare hip.
"I don't know," Martin whispered. "I-I'm sorry, I feel really stupid."
"Then we'll move at a snail's pace." Douglas stood and pulled his shirt over his head, then pushed down his trousers and underwear and kicked them away. "Until you decide what you want." He brushed the back of his hand over Martin's vertebrae and kissed his shoulder, nibbling at a constellation of freckles on the pale skin. "Lovely."
Martin shuddered a little and reached for Douglas. "Should I –"
"Let's take turns, shall we?" Douglas captured Martin's hands and gently pinned them in his lap. "Do you mind?"
"N-no."
"Excellent." Douglas gently urged Martin downward until he lay on his back, staring up at Douglas with bright eyes. He touched Martin's cheek again, his fingertips rasping lightly over Martin's unshaven face, and trailed down his neck to the hollow of his throat. He let his hands glide down Martin's chest, tracing round his nipples and then over them, back and forth until they were stiff and Martin was breathing heavily, his cock stirring. "Do you like that?"
Martin nodded. "Oh…oh yes." He smiled shyly. "It's very nice."
Douglas bent and touched the tip of his tongue to Martin's nipple. "That?"
"Mm." Martin shivered. "Yes."
"Good." Douglas moved his hand to Martin's belly and traced his fingertip round Martin's navel.
Martin twitched. "Ticklish."
"Not in a good way?"
"No, a bit too much."
"All right." Douglas was almost fully hard again, but he'd wait; age (he muttered inwardly at an invisible Carolyn) had its benefits. He avoided Martin's stiffening cock and slipped his hand down to the inside of Martin's thigh, stroking softly. "That?"
"It's lovely. Would you kiss me again?"
"It would be my pleasure," Douglas replied gravely, and bent to kiss Martin's mouth once more. He kissed in the same rhythm he used to stroke Martin's inner thigh – first slow, languorous, with small swipes of his tongue against Martin's until he felt Martin's breathing quicken and felt arms round his neck. Then he kissed deeper, steadily, his hand moving up again to caress Martin's cock and cup his balls, moving his thumb across sensitive skin.
"Oh, God."
"Bad?"
"No, not bad, not bad – I mean it's really good, not just not bad, you – don't stop, I mean. Please?"
"Wouldn't dream of it." Douglas kissed Martin again, supporting the back of Martin's head with his free hand. When he pulled back, he saw that Martin's eyes were blazing with some indeterminate emotion and his lips were parted and wet – voluptuous, nearly sinful when combined with his quickening breath. Douglas yearned to simply take Martin, but he wouldn't, he wouldn't get it over with; he'd go mad with his own suppressed longing first.
I never gave him more than a second glance. And now I can't tear my eyes away. Christ, he's lovely.
"I'm not sure I c-can last much longer," Martin whispered.
"Just a little longer," Douglas said, and curled his hand round Martin's cock.
"Oh –" Martin thrust his hips forward. "Oh, God, please –" He closed his hand over Douglas', forcing his grip to strengthen, urging Douglas' hand into motion. "Douglas –"
"Slow," Douglas whispered against Martin's ear. "Slow."
"I can't."
"But it'll feel wonderful." Douglas removed his hand and rummaged in the drawer of the bedside table, locating a condom and some lubricant. “Shove over a bit, Martin." He lay down next to Martin and gently tugged his arm. "Up. Get on top of me."
"You…erm, how?" Martin was panting, red in the face. His hair, still damp from the shower, had sprung into wildly curling life from its prison of combed-down severity.
"Over my legs," Douglas said, indicating exactly where he wanted Martin to straddle him. "Come on."
"Okay." Martin swung one leg over Douglas' body. The tip of his cock gleamed wetly. "Like this?"
"Don't be afraid to put your weight on me." Douglas grasped Martin's hips and guided him down. "Like that. Now take my cock in your hand."
Martin complied timorously and with such anxiety in his expression that Douglas had to school his features into neutrality lest his astonishment betray him. God, he's really hasn't…bloody Gordon, that bastard. Never bothered to teach him a thing.
"Good. Very good." Douglas sucked in a quick breath. "Oh, really good. Now –" He handed Martin the condom. "Do you want this, or should I have it?"
The anxiety in Martin's eyes increased exponentially. "I don't – that is, if you don't mind, I'd rather not. Right now. If that's okay."
Never let Martin fuck him, either. His bloody loss. "It's okay. Will you put it on me?"
"It's been a while since –"
"I'll help you," Douglas assured him. "Don't worry."
With trembling fingers, Martin ripped the condom open and managed to get it onto the tip of Douglas' cock.
"That's it. Now just unroll it…there you are, slide it down –" Douglas took another shuddering breath. "That's it, Martin. Now the lube, please."
Martin was more confident with the lube, squeezing some onto his palm and closing his hand until it warmed, then sliding his hand round Douglas' cock and stroking gently.
"That's it. There. Oh, clever…clever hands, lovely." Douglas reached out and rubbed his hand against Martin's slippery one, then enclosed Martin's cock again. Just enough to make things a bit more interesting. "Raise up a bit and move forward."
"Okay." Martin moved up until his thighs and knees gripped Douglas' chest. He leant down and kissed Douglas. "Now, please, now."
"Right." Douglas took his cock in his own hand and put his other hand on Martin's bare hip. "Back up, that's it – and down. A bit to the left – no, your left – ah, God. That's it." He felt Martin's body tightening round his prick, a delicious pressure that brought beads of sweat to his upper lip. He wrapped his hand over Martin's cock once more and began to stroke. "Move a bit for me. Just a bit."
"You're bigger," Martin gasped, "bigger –"
"Does it hurt?"
"No, no, it's aghh -- oh, God, no, it's fantastic." Martin's face was crimson and he arched his back a bit, thrusting his pelvis toward Douglas' hand. "Don't stop, don't stop, please don't stop…." His knees tightened against Douglas' waist. "Harder, oh, God."
"Keep moving," Douglas gasped, greedy and ready to let go. "Go on, go on."
"Oh, God – oh!" Martin threw his head back and let out a guttural, abandoned cry as he came, his semen spilling over Douglas' closed fist. "Finish, hurry –"
Douglas gripped Martin by the hips and held him still, stabbing upward, plunging deep and hard, fucking Martin's arse until he climaxed with a shout, his fingers digging into Martin's flesh. He closed his eyes, gasping for breath, wave after wave of ecstasy washing over him and leaving him spent.
Martin's chest and belly glistened with sweat. Cautiously, he disentangled himself and collapsed next to Douglas, fitting himself against Douglas' body. He didn't speak; his breath rasped in and out, and he shivered as if he were cold.
Douglas, still a bit breathless himself, reached down and snagged the sheets and light duvet, bringing them up to cover them both. He held Martin close, revelling in the tang of fresh sweat mingled with the clean fragrance of Martin's damp curls. Impulsively, he kissed Martin's ear. "Now that," he whispered, "was spectacular."
"Oh, yeah," Martin said. "Wait, was it?"
"Yes." Douglas pulled Martin in for another kiss. "It was."
"Gordon never went in for anything like that. He wasn't very – erm, very patient."
"I'm not Gordon."
"No, you're ruddy well not," Martin said.
Douglas chuckled, then pulled off the condom and deposited it in the little bin by the bed. He kissed Martin's ear. "Don't you think it's better for waiting a bit?"
"I'm just not used to it," Martin said, and tentatively reached out to push a lock of hair away from Douglas' brow. "It's lovely, I just – I expect it'll take some getting used to."
"I've got time," Douglas said. "What about you?"
Martin nodded. "I want to. Yes. I'm going to get my own place –"
"You can stay here," Douglas said.
"Oh, that's – that's really kind, Douglas, but I need…I need to be alone a bit. Just to prove I can be. I know it sounds silly, but I have to do it. I'm going to sell my watch, my cuff links –"
"I'd like to have you here, though," Douglas said. "Don't be proud, Martin. I'm not Gordon."
"I know," Martin replied, his eyes shining. He raised himself up on his elbows. "That's why I'm not afraid to say it to you. I'm going to get my own place, and make my own way in the world and work out some way to get my licence, and –" He paused for breath, and smiled. "I've had a husband, but I've never had a partner."
"Partner," Douglas said thoughtfully. "I admit it has a rather pleasant ring to it."
"I don't want to push. I…it's going to take a bit of getting used to, not being with Gordon, and I don't want to rush in to anything and have it all…." The blush was back on his cheeks. "I married him impulsively, and that was a mistake. I don't want to ruin it. I love you, and I don't care how it happened, but still –" He gripped Douglas' hand. "You're not angry?"
Douglas shook his head. "Not in the least. It's very prudent of you. And rather romantic, in its way." He sighed. "But there's a snag."
Martin's brow clouded. "What's that?"
"I'm penniless," Douglas said. "Haven't got a farthing to my name, Martin. And I don't know that Gordon's disgrace will necessarily improve my situation."
"You can always join Icarus Removals," Martin said.
"Ah." It wasn't a tempting prospect. Still, he had to keep his options open. His choices were rather limited. "I was thinking perhaps we might attempt to rob a bank instead."
Martin's mouth dropped open. "Oh, Douglas --"
"Joking. I'm joking, Martin." Douglas pulled Martin in for a long, luxurious kiss. "I'll think about it. Meanwhile, the housemate offer stands."
"I'll think about it," Martin promised, and wrapped his arms round Douglas. "You smell so good."
Always poised, Douglas suddenly found himself perilously close to tears. And for the first time in a very long time, he felt humble. He pulled Martin close and buried his face in the unruly heap of ginger curls. "Partners," he whispered.
"Partners," Martin said, and kissed Douglas' throat.
The phone shrilled. "Oh, Lord – nobody calls this line anymore. Not a reporter, I hope." Douglas heaved a sigh and picked up the phone. "Hello?"
"Is that Douglas?"
"Carolyn?" Douglas frowned. "Yes, it's –"
"I was going to wait until Wednesday to call, but I can't contain myself," Carolyn said, sounding a bit breathless. "It's early days, but my solicitor and I are completely confident that everything will work out to my satisfaction. I couldn't be more pleased."
"Hold on. Would you care to back up just a bit?" Douglas glanced at Martin, who, pressed close, had heard every word and was frowning intently.
"I have a proposition for you."
Douglas listened to Carolyn's very intriguing proposition and watched Martin's face.
By the time he made his counter-proposition, Martin was beaming joyfully, and Douglas couldn't help a grin of his own. "Very well. You'll keep in touch? Right, until then. 'Bye now." He hung up carefully and turned back to Martin.
"Douglas." Martin's eyes were like night stars. "You're brilliant."
Douglas smiled modestly. "Do you know, I think the Richardson luck might have returned."
*
Douglas leant against the flimsy wall of the Portakabin, watching Martin fuss with the curls peeking out from under his cap. "Might I suggest a cap with a little less…ah, dictator-esque braiding next time? It would be so much lighter."
"Fine time to tell me!" Martin pushed the curls back under the band of the cap.
"I did tell you, if you recall. You failed to listen."
"Well, you're not always right." Martin looked into the little mirror on the Portakabin wall and sighed. "Oh, all right. This time, anyhow."
"You look marvelous. Stop fretting. Your passenger's a fifty-nine year old lizard who owns a modelling agency. He only has eyes for Ukranian adolescents."
Martin stepped away from the mirror. "Oh God. I feel sick." He pushed his cap back and wiped sweat from his brow.
"You've been working toward this for years."
"I know, that's why!" Martin began pacing the floor. "What if it was all a terrible mistake?"
"Then you'll have wasted years and thousands and thousands of pounds, and you'll have to go back to removals," Douglas replied with lordly assurance.
"You're no help."
The Portakabin door popped open, and Arthur, dressed in his steward's uniform, dashed in. "We're ready, chaps. Wow, Skip! What a great hat!"
Martin straightened a bit. "You like it?"
"Yeah, it's brilliant! I've never seen one so sparkly!"
Douglas stifled a smile.
"Mum says come on," Arthur continued. "Time to go. Oh, hey – do you want coffee or tea? I'll start sorting it out now so you can have it once we take off."
"Oh, dear," Douglas muttered. "Coffee, I suppose. I'd say 'how hard is it to screw up a coffee?' but I fear retribution from the gods."
"You just said it, Douglas," Arthur pointed out helpfully. "You, Skip?"
"Erm – coffee, please, Arthur. Thank you."
"Right. See you in a bit!" Arthur banged out of the Portakabin.
Douglas smiled at Martin. "Well?"
"He called me Skip," Martin said softly. He looked piercingly at Douglas. "You – you're sure you don't mind? Being first officer and all that?"
"Well, as I'm getting paid and you're not, I can't say as I mind too much," Douglas said. "You could have negotiated for something, you know. It's been quite a while since we made that agreement."
Martin nodded. "I know. But I feel a bit bad for Carolyn – MJN isn't doing all that well, and since I sold the Norfolk house, we've got enough to get by for a long time if we're careful. And anyhow, things are more manageable now that we're living together."
"Took you long enough," Douglas grumbled.
Taking a step forward, Martin touched a finger to Douglas' mouth. "You're rather adorable when you're cross."
"Me, adorable? Perish the thought," Douglas replied with enormous dignity. He settled his own cap. "Well – mustn't keep GERTI waiting. Time to go, Captain Crieff."
Martin's face shone. "Captain Crieff," he said. "Captain." He took a deep breath and grasped Douglas' hand. "Right. Ready?"
Douglas smiled at Martin, former victim, accidental love, devoted partner, and the most brilliant mistake of his entire life.
"Let's fly."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Date: 2013-12-11 11:59 pm (UTC)*breathe* *breathe* The story will still be here after they go to bed.
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Date: 2013-12-12 01:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-12 01:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-12 01:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-12 04:10 am (UTC)This story was a great big romp. Thank you so much. It must have been a lot of work, and yet it reads as though it must have been a great pleasure to write.
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Date: 2013-12-13 03:43 am (UTC)I'm pleased to bits that you enjoyed it, thank you SO much for your nice feedback! It was work, sure, but the best kind, and you're right, pure pleasure. Thanks again. :)
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Date: 2013-12-12 05:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-13 03:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-17 05:01 am (UTC)This is such a satisfying ending I'm happy about leaving it here, even though I could read this a dozen more times.
Thank you so much for sharing! :)
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Date: 2013-12-17 03:23 pm (UTC)