FIC: By Necessity (Ch. 5/?) (Burn Notice/Casino Royale)
Title: By Necessity
Fandom: Burn Notice/Casino Royale
Pairing: Michael Westen/James Bond
Warnings: Contains slash relationships.
Rating: Adult
Summary: Some people are friends by choice. Some people are friends by necessity.
Disclaimer: I don't own either fandom, but oh how I wish I did. Also, this is a work of fiction that contains sexual interaction between two male characters. Note the part that says fiction before having hysterics, please.
A/N: The idea of these two together breaks my brain, but in a good way. I had to go there. Thanks to strangevisitor7 for the betas!
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
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Previous Chapters: Chapter One, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4.
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I hurt. I was aware of the pain before I was aware of anything else. My face especially felt like it had been slammed into a brick wall repeatedly. I hurt so bad that it took a conscious effort not to groan aloud and to keep my eyes shut until I knew more about what was going on.
I was aware of the fact that I was lying down, in a bed, complete with sheets. From the silky way that they felt, I could deduce two things. First, someone had expensive tastes. Second, and of more immediate interest, I was naked.
I lay in silence for a moment, listening. I had no idea where I was and no idea how I'd gotten here. My memory was vague at best but the pounding in my head could explain that. The soft sound of ice tinkling in a glass told me that I wasn't alone and I opened one eye slowly.
The room was dim, but I could see expensive decor and tasteful wall hangings. Opening the other eye, I glanced around slowly, careful not to make any noise. A shade had been pulled down over the window, but I could still see sunshine around the edges and the light made me wince.
A second noise drew my attention to the foot of the bed. I could see part of an attached room through a mirrored hallway off the bathroom. As I watched, a man walked through the door. He was dressed in a suit, but his tie was gone and the shirt was unbuttoned. He carried a pair of black dress shoes in one hand, and a drink in the other.
Looking at me, Bond nodded a greeting. "You're awake."
Gingerly, and wincing, I sat up being careful to support most of my weight against the headboard of the bed. "Where am I?"
"Generally speaking, you're at the Savoy Hotel in Prague." His expression changed slightly. "More specifically, you're in my bed."
I blinked. "Why?"
He gave me an amused semi-shrug. "You'd been worked over fairly well. I figured being in a bed would be to your benefit."
I raised an eyebrow - at least I think I did. My face felt too swollen to be sure. "And why am I naked?"
He laughed and came towards me, dropping his shoes at the foot of the bed and sitting down on the edge of the bed next to me. "That," he said with a wicked smile, "was for my benefit." He pressed the glass he was carrying into my hand. "Here, drink that."
"What is it?" I asked, suspiciously.
"Water." He was still laughing at me, but he leaned back, giving me space. "If I wanted you dead, I would have killed you in that warehouse."
"Perhaps you want to have your wicked way with me first," I replied and then sipped the water tentatively. It felt amazing. I was parched and I drank again, deeper this time.
"Michael, I’d hardly need you unconscious in order to have my wicked way with you." He reached out and touched my cheek and I looked at him, startled. He looked into my eyes carefully. "You don't seem too out of it.” He nodded in satisfaction. “I suspect nothing more serious than a mild concussion, exacerbated by drugs of some sort." He paused and looked at me questioningly. "Do you know what they gave you?"
"Tranquilizer." I shrugged away from his touch and finished draining the glass of water. Sighing, I leaned back and handed him the glass. He set it on the bedside table with an amused quirk of his lips.
"Don't get used to the service," he ordered, shrugging out of his jacket. “As soon as you’re able to think straight again, you can wait on yourself.” Standing, he draped it over one of the chairs next to the bed. Turning back to me, he began unbuttoning his shirt.
"What are you doing?" I demanded.
He paused and looked me over. "I'm coming to bed. I've been up for almost 24 hours and while I could stay awake longer if I needed to, I'd rather not." He smirked at me. "And you are in my bed, if you remember."
"Not by choice," I grumbled. “This is the second time in twenty four hours someone has kidnapped me.”
"Yes," he mused, stripping out of his shirt. "About that? We’ll discuss that at greater length once we've both rested."
"Oh, will we?"
"Mmm hmmm." He undid his pants and stepped out of them, as naked now as I was. “You were a complication that was unanticipated last night and I think, by virtue of the fact that I saved you, you owe me an explanation.”
"And what happens if I refuse?" I asked, rather put out that he was demanding a return favor so quickly.
He walked around the bed and climbed in next to me. Then he leaned over and put one finger very gently over my lips. "Michael? Shut up and go to sleep now."
There was a warning in his blue eyes, but underneath that, there was tiredness and the strain that comes from a bad day - the kind of bad day you really only have in our job. I remembered then... I remembered the tall man that I'd left for dead in the warehouse and the shorter man that had nearly killed me before Bond finished him off. I remembered Janus, my one contact in the arm’s market, lying in his own blood. Of course, as he’d just ordered me kidnapped and murdered, I wasn’t too upset about that.
Silently, I nodded my assent and he smiled and removed his finger as he lay back. "Good boy. As beat up as you are, I'd have hated to spank you like a naughty school boy if you'd kept arguing."
I snorted in genuine amusement and lay back down. "Hated to? But you'd have done it anyway, I take it?"
"In the service of Queen and country," he replied, eyes closed.
I chuckled and closed my own eyes, praying for sleep to relieve me of the rest of my pain. "Promise?" I quipped. Next to me, I felt Bond laugh silently.
Even though it hurt like hell, I smiled.
*******************
The next time I woke up, I was aware of warmth on my left side. I also felt significantly better. Opening my eyes, I glanced over and saw Bond still sleeping. A glance at the clock told me that it was early afternoon.
I shifted slowly, not willing to waken Bond all the way just yet if I could avoid it. If I was quiet, he’d probably stay in bed and give me a few minutes to myself.
I needed to relieve myself. Then I needed some Tylenol and some breakfast. Or lunch. Or whatever meal the room service would bring me.
Sliding out from under the covers, I bit my lip to keep from hissing in pain. I felt better, but I was still a long way from running a marathon, or even a mile. Carefully, I made my way to the bathroom and made use of the facilities. Then, I turned on the cold water and splashed my face repeatedly until I felt a little more clear headed. Looking at my reflection over the sink, I grimaced.
A black eye that was swollen pretty badly, a cut on my cheek that would take a while to heal fully, a swollen and split lip - I looked like I’d come out on the wrong side of a bar fight, but at least I’d come out. My head wasn’t spinning so badly anymore and my eyes were evenly dilated and steady.
The good news was I no longer felt the drugs in my system. Torn between the shower and breakfast, I decided to compromise. First, call room service. Then shower. Then eat. Going back into the main room of the suite, I found the phone and called downstairs and made an order. Then, thoughtfully, I told them to double it and bring up lots of coffee.
A glance into the bedroom showed Bond still sleeping, although he’d rolled over and his arm was tossed where I had been. Everything looked well enough, so I went back to the shower and turned it on as hot as I could stand it. Then I climbed in, shut the glass door behind me, and stood under the hot spray and let it pound down on my head. God, this felt amazing.
I groaned and ducked my head, turning so that the water struck my shoulders and neck like tiny hammers working the knots out of my muscles. It felt so good that I didn’t even budge when the bathroom door opened and Bond came in.
I could see him through the fogged glass, but given the fact that he had neither food nor a gun pointed at me, I couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge him. He looked back at me, but the water condensing on the shower door and running down it kept me from seeing his expression. When he made no move to do anything, I finally broke the silence.
“Enjoying the view?” I grumbled.
He laughed, low, and I turned away. The breeze that struck me was the first alert I had that he’d opened the door.
“What are you doing?” I demanded, mildly, looking over my shoulder to where he was climbing into the stall with me.
“I need to wash my hands.” The retort was dry and witty and so very Bond that I nearly laughed aloud. Instead, I silently passed him the soap and turned aside so that he could stick his hands into the water.
He washed them quickly, but his eyes never left mine and it wasn’t the temperature of the water that was making me hot now. “In case you can’t tell,” I pointed out sardonically, “I’m not really fit for any kind of energetic activity at the moment.”
“I don’t recall telling you that your participation would be necessary,” he countered, stepping closer to me and under the water.
“James,” I held up a hand to ward him off, but he simply reached out and wrapped his fingers around my wrist.
“Michael, haven’t we already discussed talking too much in situations like this?” His other arm extended past me and pulled a wash cloth from the towel bar. Letting me go, he wet the small towel and lathered it up. “Turn around,” he ordered softly and I obeyed.
He slid the rag over my shoulders, his touch firm and steady. I closed my eyes and relaxed into his touch as he washed my back, his fingers kneading at the knots that the water spray hadn’t been able to loosen. I sighed in pleasure and he stepped closer, pressing his chest to my back. His arms circled my torso and pulled me back against him, his chin tucked into the place where my neck and shoulder met. His breath was hot against my cheek. For a moment, he just held me, and then he began to wash my chest with the same careful, but firm strokes he’d used on my back. Then my arms, his touch so gentle on my abraded wrists that he gave me goose bumps.
Finishing, he slid the wash cloth over my buttocks, washing, but nothing more as he bent to wash each leg. Finally, there was only one place left for him to wash and I held my breath as his hands slid up my thighs… only to expel it harshly in a curse when someone knocked on the door.
“Dammit,” I swore bitterly. “Fucking perfect timing for room service.”
Bond stood up with a laugh. “I’ll get it,” he offered, setting the soap and the rag aside. “Finish up here and come and eat. We still have much to discuss.”
“Tease,” I retorted, but the hunger in my belly really did override everything else at the moment and I stepped under the water to rinse off. Bond climbed out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist to answer the door.
The promise of food urged me to hurry and I shook my head under the water and reached to turn the faucet off. Opening the shower door, I heard Bond reach the front door of the suite and open it.
“James.” I froze halfway out of the shower. It was a woman; her voice full of smoke and sex and pain. “We have a problem.” The accent was Russian. I placed that immediately, even as I stepped the rest of the way from the shower and into the alcove that held the towels.
“And what problem is that, Elena?” I have to give him credit. He didn’t sound even a tiny bit flustered with her unexpected arrival. Of course, he’d probably seen her through the peephole before he opened the door.
“Janus.”
“He’s dead.” Bond replied, sounding bored. I scowled. Dripping and naked in an alcove was not exactly the way I’d planned to find out about Bond’s mission. Of course, the best laid plans of mice and men almost always blow up whenever Bond gets involved.
“I know.” Elena’s voice was sharp. I couldn’t see the temptress from where I stood, but I could imagine her - dark curly hair undoubtedly pulled back severely. In fact, given her tone, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d forced her barely concealed sexuality into a nun’s garb. That’s how disapproving she sounded. “But you killed his men, too - his… how do you say?”
“Second in command?” Bond still sounded bored. “They caused me problems. What concern is it of yours?”
“My cousin… he is angry about that.” Cousin? All the pieces started sliding together. Elena Taranova, the owner of Utopia. Voslov Venovich, Russian mob boss extraordinaire.
“Your cousin didn’t give me specifics, Elena. One hit and I get paid. That was our deal. He can keep the other two for free.” I didn’t have to see him to know the cruel smile that crossed his face then.
“Voslov wanted to question them.”
“Then he should have told me that before I killed them.” Bond’s voice moved away, back into the bedroom, undoubtedly to dress himself, and I could hear Elena’s heels tapping as she followed him. Quietly, I grabbed a towel and dried most of the water off my body. I didn’t want to slip and slide as I moved to the door to hear better.
“He will not pay you for such sloppy work.” Elena threatened. I couldn’t see what happened next, but Elena’s comment was much breathier, a hint of fear threading through it. “You will have to talk to him yourself about this.”
“We had a deal, Elena. You cousin wanted Janus dead. I wanted £500,000. He has what he wants. Now, I get what I want. That’s how deals work.”
Half a million pounds? For Janus? Perhaps the bastard’s paranoia had been justified - only it wasn’t an American pretty boy that had been hired to kill him. It was a British one. And half a million pounds wasn’t a number to walk away from lightly. It meant that Voslov hadn’t been playing when he’d ordered the hit.
What I didn’t know, and what I would have bet my measly paycheck that Bond didn’t know, was why Venovich gave a damn about Janus’ second in charge.
A knock at the door startled all of us and I went as quickly as I dared back to my alcove. “That’ll be room service.” Bond stated coldly. “If you don’t mind, I would like to eat my breakfast.”
“No, I don’t mind.” Elena walked past the bathroom door and opened the suite door widely, gesturing to the bell hop to put the tray on the table. “In fact, I’ll join you. Then we can go and see my cousin, together. I’m sure we can straighten this out without any problems.”
“Hmm. Good, I hope we can.” Bond didn’t sound bored any longer. I wasn’t sure if it was the promise of action, or the knowledge that I was going to kill him later for letting Elena have my breakfast, but he sounded anything but bored now.
*******************
It took them the better part of an hour to finish eating my breakfast, during which time I stood, wrapped in a towel, hiding in a linen alcove. I think I’d thought of the ninth most interesting way I could kill Bond for this when they finally stood up. “I’ll call for my car.” Bond offered, but Elena refused him.
“No. I will drive. It’ll be faster that way.”
“As you wish.” Bond acquiesced. “Just give me a moment to finish dressing.” I resisted the urge to snort. He’d have to hide an Uzi somewhere under his jacket before he’d be safe with that viper. Her conversation during breakfast had been as honeyed and twice as dangerous as a beehive. Venovich might have been angry about the assassination of Janus and how it had played out, but Elena was vibrating repressed fury. When Bond remerged from the bedroom, he stepped into the bathroom far enough to grab a comb - and to let me see what he was wearing.
Good boy. I thought. He was carrying the same jacket he’d worn to meet me at the Hotel Riverside bar. The same jacket that had been thrown carelessly aside on my hotel floor later that night. The same jacket in which I’d carefully hidden a tracer in the seam just two hours afterward.
As soon as the door closed all the way, I was moving. Pausing just long enough to make sure the inside latch had caught, I hurried to the bedroom. Then I came back into the main room and picked up a yogurt and a spoon. Then I rushed back to the bedroom and began to search for clothes. Mine were unsuitable. They were covered in blood and God knows what else from the warehouse. Bond was shorter, and slightly stockier than I was, but his clothes were going to have to do. As I eased the expensive fabric over my hips, I smiled.
It could definitely be worse.
Then I ransacked his suitcases, moving on to go through the drawers and into the wardrobe, before finding what I wanted in the minifridge. Pulling out a small case, I opened it and found two 9 mm handguns, packed carefully into it. I ditched the second gun, but took the clip, and the spare clips I found under his dirty laundry.
My shoes would have to suffice, but luckily they weren’t so stained as to be really noticeable. Finally, I sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed the phone. Dialing by memory, I listened for a familiar voice.
“This is Martin Webber. I need the boss.”
“Hold please.” The sound of static filled the line and I waited patiently, counting backward from thirty until…
“I’m sorry, sir. He’s not in the office. May I take a message?”
I smiled. “I know the line isn’t clear. MI5 is almost certainly listening in. Put Dan on the phone.”
“There is no one by that name working here, sir. I believe you have the wrong number.” She was good, whoever she was. She sounded slightly puzzled and a little exasperated.
“Tell him that I have a problem. Actually, tell him that the east coast has a problem and see if that gets his attention.”
“I’m sorry sir, but…”
“God damn it, Michael!” Dan’s bark chewed through the phone line, cutting off the screener. “This had better be good. This line is NOT clean.”
“Yeah, I know. But I figured that Bond’s bosses would want to hear this, too.” There was a second of silence before a clipped female voice joined us on the line.
“Who is this?”
“I’m a friend,” I replied congenially. “Call me Michael. Or not, I don’t really care. But, we’re all friends here - by necessity, if need be, and friends help each other out. So listen up, boys and girls - someone has a bomb - a big one. Only, and this is the fun part, no one knows who - not me, not Bond, not the guy who had it, because he’s dead, not that guy’s second in command, because he’s dead, and from the sound of things - not the Russian mobster who hired a pretty, but overly enthusiastic hit man to assassinate the guy who had the bomb.”
There was silence on the phone now. “Where is Bond now?” The woman asked me. I didn’t know if she believed me or not.
“He’s with the bad guy. Or rather, the bad girl.” There was a distinctly unfeminine snort that made me grin. I was guessing she believed me now. “Luckily for him, I can find him. Dan, I need that trace from a few days ago reactivated.”
Dan made a sheepish noise. “We never actually turned it off. I can send you the coordinates in a minute.”
“No good.” I cut him off. “My phone is no longer in working order.” I had discovered the remnants of it in my pants pocket from the night before. It explained the peculiar bruise I had on my hip, too.
“Fine.” I could hear Dan ordering someone to do something in the background. “Pick up a replacement at the concierge in your hotel. It’ll be waiting for you in twenty minutes, along with the directions you need.”
“Great. Now, if I can ask our new friends a favor,” I lifted Bond’s keys and dangled them from my fingers. “What kind of car does Bond drive?”
Fandom: Burn Notice/Casino Royale
Pairing: Michael Westen/James Bond
Warnings: Contains slash relationships.
Rating: Adult
Summary: Some people are friends by choice. Some people are friends by necessity.
Disclaimer: I don't own either fandom, but oh how I wish I did. Also, this is a work of fiction that contains sexual interaction between two male characters. Note the part that says fiction before having hysterics, please.
A/N: The idea of these two together breaks my brain, but in a good way. I had to go there. Thanks to strangevisitor7 for the betas!
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
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Previous Chapters: Chapter One, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4.
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I hurt. I was aware of the pain before I was aware of anything else. My face especially felt like it had been slammed into a brick wall repeatedly. I hurt so bad that it took a conscious effort not to groan aloud and to keep my eyes shut until I knew more about what was going on.
I was aware of the fact that I was lying down, in a bed, complete with sheets. From the silky way that they felt, I could deduce two things. First, someone had expensive tastes. Second, and of more immediate interest, I was naked.
I lay in silence for a moment, listening. I had no idea where I was and no idea how I'd gotten here. My memory was vague at best but the pounding in my head could explain that. The soft sound of ice tinkling in a glass told me that I wasn't alone and I opened one eye slowly.
The room was dim, but I could see expensive decor and tasteful wall hangings. Opening the other eye, I glanced around slowly, careful not to make any noise. A shade had been pulled down over the window, but I could still see sunshine around the edges and the light made me wince.
A second noise drew my attention to the foot of the bed. I could see part of an attached room through a mirrored hallway off the bathroom. As I watched, a man walked through the door. He was dressed in a suit, but his tie was gone and the shirt was unbuttoned. He carried a pair of black dress shoes in one hand, and a drink in the other.
Looking at me, Bond nodded a greeting. "You're awake."
Gingerly, and wincing, I sat up being careful to support most of my weight against the headboard of the bed. "Where am I?"
"Generally speaking, you're at the Savoy Hotel in Prague." His expression changed slightly. "More specifically, you're in my bed."
I blinked. "Why?"
He gave me an amused semi-shrug. "You'd been worked over fairly well. I figured being in a bed would be to your benefit."
I raised an eyebrow - at least I think I did. My face felt too swollen to be sure. "And why am I naked?"
He laughed and came towards me, dropping his shoes at the foot of the bed and sitting down on the edge of the bed next to me. "That," he said with a wicked smile, "was for my benefit." He pressed the glass he was carrying into my hand. "Here, drink that."
"What is it?" I asked, suspiciously.
"Water." He was still laughing at me, but he leaned back, giving me space. "If I wanted you dead, I would have killed you in that warehouse."
"Perhaps you want to have your wicked way with me first," I replied and then sipped the water tentatively. It felt amazing. I was parched and I drank again, deeper this time.
"Michael, I’d hardly need you unconscious in order to have my wicked way with you." He reached out and touched my cheek and I looked at him, startled. He looked into my eyes carefully. "You don't seem too out of it.” He nodded in satisfaction. “I suspect nothing more serious than a mild concussion, exacerbated by drugs of some sort." He paused and looked at me questioningly. "Do you know what they gave you?"
"Tranquilizer." I shrugged away from his touch and finished draining the glass of water. Sighing, I leaned back and handed him the glass. He set it on the bedside table with an amused quirk of his lips.
"Don't get used to the service," he ordered, shrugging out of his jacket. “As soon as you’re able to think straight again, you can wait on yourself.” Standing, he draped it over one of the chairs next to the bed. Turning back to me, he began unbuttoning his shirt.
"What are you doing?" I demanded.
He paused and looked me over. "I'm coming to bed. I've been up for almost 24 hours and while I could stay awake longer if I needed to, I'd rather not." He smirked at me. "And you are in my bed, if you remember."
"Not by choice," I grumbled. “This is the second time in twenty four hours someone has kidnapped me.”
"Yes," he mused, stripping out of his shirt. "About that? We’ll discuss that at greater length once we've both rested."
"Oh, will we?"
"Mmm hmmm." He undid his pants and stepped out of them, as naked now as I was. “You were a complication that was unanticipated last night and I think, by virtue of the fact that I saved you, you owe me an explanation.”
"And what happens if I refuse?" I asked, rather put out that he was demanding a return favor so quickly.
He walked around the bed and climbed in next to me. Then he leaned over and put one finger very gently over my lips. "Michael? Shut up and go to sleep now."
There was a warning in his blue eyes, but underneath that, there was tiredness and the strain that comes from a bad day - the kind of bad day you really only have in our job. I remembered then... I remembered the tall man that I'd left for dead in the warehouse and the shorter man that had nearly killed me before Bond finished him off. I remembered Janus, my one contact in the arm’s market, lying in his own blood. Of course, as he’d just ordered me kidnapped and murdered, I wasn’t too upset about that.
Silently, I nodded my assent and he smiled and removed his finger as he lay back. "Good boy. As beat up as you are, I'd have hated to spank you like a naughty school boy if you'd kept arguing."
I snorted in genuine amusement and lay back down. "Hated to? But you'd have done it anyway, I take it?"
"In the service of Queen and country," he replied, eyes closed.
I chuckled and closed my own eyes, praying for sleep to relieve me of the rest of my pain. "Promise?" I quipped. Next to me, I felt Bond laugh silently.
Even though it hurt like hell, I smiled.
*******************
The next time I woke up, I was aware of warmth on my left side. I also felt significantly better. Opening my eyes, I glanced over and saw Bond still sleeping. A glance at the clock told me that it was early afternoon.
I shifted slowly, not willing to waken Bond all the way just yet if I could avoid it. If I was quiet, he’d probably stay in bed and give me a few minutes to myself.
I needed to relieve myself. Then I needed some Tylenol and some breakfast. Or lunch. Or whatever meal the room service would bring me.
Sliding out from under the covers, I bit my lip to keep from hissing in pain. I felt better, but I was still a long way from running a marathon, or even a mile. Carefully, I made my way to the bathroom and made use of the facilities. Then, I turned on the cold water and splashed my face repeatedly until I felt a little more clear headed. Looking at my reflection over the sink, I grimaced.
A black eye that was swollen pretty badly, a cut on my cheek that would take a while to heal fully, a swollen and split lip - I looked like I’d come out on the wrong side of a bar fight, but at least I’d come out. My head wasn’t spinning so badly anymore and my eyes were evenly dilated and steady.
The good news was I no longer felt the drugs in my system. Torn between the shower and breakfast, I decided to compromise. First, call room service. Then shower. Then eat. Going back into the main room of the suite, I found the phone and called downstairs and made an order. Then, thoughtfully, I told them to double it and bring up lots of coffee.
A glance into the bedroom showed Bond still sleeping, although he’d rolled over and his arm was tossed where I had been. Everything looked well enough, so I went back to the shower and turned it on as hot as I could stand it. Then I climbed in, shut the glass door behind me, and stood under the hot spray and let it pound down on my head. God, this felt amazing.
I groaned and ducked my head, turning so that the water struck my shoulders and neck like tiny hammers working the knots out of my muscles. It felt so good that I didn’t even budge when the bathroom door opened and Bond came in.
I could see him through the fogged glass, but given the fact that he had neither food nor a gun pointed at me, I couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge him. He looked back at me, but the water condensing on the shower door and running down it kept me from seeing his expression. When he made no move to do anything, I finally broke the silence.
“Enjoying the view?” I grumbled.
He laughed, low, and I turned away. The breeze that struck me was the first alert I had that he’d opened the door.
“What are you doing?” I demanded, mildly, looking over my shoulder to where he was climbing into the stall with me.
“I need to wash my hands.” The retort was dry and witty and so very Bond that I nearly laughed aloud. Instead, I silently passed him the soap and turned aside so that he could stick his hands into the water.
He washed them quickly, but his eyes never left mine and it wasn’t the temperature of the water that was making me hot now. “In case you can’t tell,” I pointed out sardonically, “I’m not really fit for any kind of energetic activity at the moment.”
“I don’t recall telling you that your participation would be necessary,” he countered, stepping closer to me and under the water.
“James,” I held up a hand to ward him off, but he simply reached out and wrapped his fingers around my wrist.
“Michael, haven’t we already discussed talking too much in situations like this?” His other arm extended past me and pulled a wash cloth from the towel bar. Letting me go, he wet the small towel and lathered it up. “Turn around,” he ordered softly and I obeyed.
He slid the rag over my shoulders, his touch firm and steady. I closed my eyes and relaxed into his touch as he washed my back, his fingers kneading at the knots that the water spray hadn’t been able to loosen. I sighed in pleasure and he stepped closer, pressing his chest to my back. His arms circled my torso and pulled me back against him, his chin tucked into the place where my neck and shoulder met. His breath was hot against my cheek. For a moment, he just held me, and then he began to wash my chest with the same careful, but firm strokes he’d used on my back. Then my arms, his touch so gentle on my abraded wrists that he gave me goose bumps.
Finishing, he slid the wash cloth over my buttocks, washing, but nothing more as he bent to wash each leg. Finally, there was only one place left for him to wash and I held my breath as his hands slid up my thighs… only to expel it harshly in a curse when someone knocked on the door.
“Dammit,” I swore bitterly. “Fucking perfect timing for room service.”
Bond stood up with a laugh. “I’ll get it,” he offered, setting the soap and the rag aside. “Finish up here and come and eat. We still have much to discuss.”
“Tease,” I retorted, but the hunger in my belly really did override everything else at the moment and I stepped under the water to rinse off. Bond climbed out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist to answer the door.
The promise of food urged me to hurry and I shook my head under the water and reached to turn the faucet off. Opening the shower door, I heard Bond reach the front door of the suite and open it.
“James.” I froze halfway out of the shower. It was a woman; her voice full of smoke and sex and pain. “We have a problem.” The accent was Russian. I placed that immediately, even as I stepped the rest of the way from the shower and into the alcove that held the towels.
“And what problem is that, Elena?” I have to give him credit. He didn’t sound even a tiny bit flustered with her unexpected arrival. Of course, he’d probably seen her through the peephole before he opened the door.
“Janus.”
“He’s dead.” Bond replied, sounding bored. I scowled. Dripping and naked in an alcove was not exactly the way I’d planned to find out about Bond’s mission. Of course, the best laid plans of mice and men almost always blow up whenever Bond gets involved.
“I know.” Elena’s voice was sharp. I couldn’t see the temptress from where I stood, but I could imagine her - dark curly hair undoubtedly pulled back severely. In fact, given her tone, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d forced her barely concealed sexuality into a nun’s garb. That’s how disapproving she sounded. “But you killed his men, too - his… how do you say?”
“Second in command?” Bond still sounded bored. “They caused me problems. What concern is it of yours?”
“My cousin… he is angry about that.” Cousin? All the pieces started sliding together. Elena Taranova, the owner of Utopia. Voslov Venovich, Russian mob boss extraordinaire.
“Your cousin didn’t give me specifics, Elena. One hit and I get paid. That was our deal. He can keep the other two for free.” I didn’t have to see him to know the cruel smile that crossed his face then.
“Voslov wanted to question them.”
“Then he should have told me that before I killed them.” Bond’s voice moved away, back into the bedroom, undoubtedly to dress himself, and I could hear Elena’s heels tapping as she followed him. Quietly, I grabbed a towel and dried most of the water off my body. I didn’t want to slip and slide as I moved to the door to hear better.
“He will not pay you for such sloppy work.” Elena threatened. I couldn’t see what happened next, but Elena’s comment was much breathier, a hint of fear threading through it. “You will have to talk to him yourself about this.”
“We had a deal, Elena. You cousin wanted Janus dead. I wanted £500,000. He has what he wants. Now, I get what I want. That’s how deals work.”
Half a million pounds? For Janus? Perhaps the bastard’s paranoia had been justified - only it wasn’t an American pretty boy that had been hired to kill him. It was a British one. And half a million pounds wasn’t a number to walk away from lightly. It meant that Voslov hadn’t been playing when he’d ordered the hit.
What I didn’t know, and what I would have bet my measly paycheck that Bond didn’t know, was why Venovich gave a damn about Janus’ second in charge.
A knock at the door startled all of us and I went as quickly as I dared back to my alcove. “That’ll be room service.” Bond stated coldly. “If you don’t mind, I would like to eat my breakfast.”
“No, I don’t mind.” Elena walked past the bathroom door and opened the suite door widely, gesturing to the bell hop to put the tray on the table. “In fact, I’ll join you. Then we can go and see my cousin, together. I’m sure we can straighten this out without any problems.”
“Hmm. Good, I hope we can.” Bond didn’t sound bored any longer. I wasn’t sure if it was the promise of action, or the knowledge that I was going to kill him later for letting Elena have my breakfast, but he sounded anything but bored now.
*******************
It took them the better part of an hour to finish eating my breakfast, during which time I stood, wrapped in a towel, hiding in a linen alcove. I think I’d thought of the ninth most interesting way I could kill Bond for this when they finally stood up. “I’ll call for my car.” Bond offered, but Elena refused him.
“No. I will drive. It’ll be faster that way.”
“As you wish.” Bond acquiesced. “Just give me a moment to finish dressing.” I resisted the urge to snort. He’d have to hide an Uzi somewhere under his jacket before he’d be safe with that viper. Her conversation during breakfast had been as honeyed and twice as dangerous as a beehive. Venovich might have been angry about the assassination of Janus and how it had played out, but Elena was vibrating repressed fury. When Bond remerged from the bedroom, he stepped into the bathroom far enough to grab a comb - and to let me see what he was wearing.
Good boy. I thought. He was carrying the same jacket he’d worn to meet me at the Hotel Riverside bar. The same jacket that had been thrown carelessly aside on my hotel floor later that night. The same jacket in which I’d carefully hidden a tracer in the seam just two hours afterward.
As soon as the door closed all the way, I was moving. Pausing just long enough to make sure the inside latch had caught, I hurried to the bedroom. Then I came back into the main room and picked up a yogurt and a spoon. Then I rushed back to the bedroom and began to search for clothes. Mine were unsuitable. They were covered in blood and God knows what else from the warehouse. Bond was shorter, and slightly stockier than I was, but his clothes were going to have to do. As I eased the expensive fabric over my hips, I smiled.
It could definitely be worse.
Then I ransacked his suitcases, moving on to go through the drawers and into the wardrobe, before finding what I wanted in the minifridge. Pulling out a small case, I opened it and found two 9 mm handguns, packed carefully into it. I ditched the second gun, but took the clip, and the spare clips I found under his dirty laundry.
My shoes would have to suffice, but luckily they weren’t so stained as to be really noticeable. Finally, I sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed the phone. Dialing by memory, I listened for a familiar voice.
“This is Martin Webber. I need the boss.”
“Hold please.” The sound of static filled the line and I waited patiently, counting backward from thirty until…
“I’m sorry, sir. He’s not in the office. May I take a message?”
I smiled. “I know the line isn’t clear. MI5 is almost certainly listening in. Put Dan on the phone.”
“There is no one by that name working here, sir. I believe you have the wrong number.” She was good, whoever she was. She sounded slightly puzzled and a little exasperated.
“Tell him that I have a problem. Actually, tell him that the east coast has a problem and see if that gets his attention.”
“I’m sorry sir, but…”
“God damn it, Michael!” Dan’s bark chewed through the phone line, cutting off the screener. “This had better be good. This line is NOT clean.”
“Yeah, I know. But I figured that Bond’s bosses would want to hear this, too.” There was a second of silence before a clipped female voice joined us on the line.
“Who is this?”
“I’m a friend,” I replied congenially. “Call me Michael. Or not, I don’t really care. But, we’re all friends here - by necessity, if need be, and friends help each other out. So listen up, boys and girls - someone has a bomb - a big one. Only, and this is the fun part, no one knows who - not me, not Bond, not the guy who had it, because he’s dead, not that guy’s second in command, because he’s dead, and from the sound of things - not the Russian mobster who hired a pretty, but overly enthusiastic hit man to assassinate the guy who had the bomb.”
There was silence on the phone now. “Where is Bond now?” The woman asked me. I didn’t know if she believed me or not.
“He’s with the bad guy. Or rather, the bad girl.” There was a distinctly unfeminine snort that made me grin. I was guessing she believed me now. “Luckily for him, I can find him. Dan, I need that trace from a few days ago reactivated.”
Dan made a sheepish noise. “We never actually turned it off. I can send you the coordinates in a minute.”
“No good.” I cut him off. “My phone is no longer in working order.” I had discovered the remnants of it in my pants pocket from the night before. It explained the peculiar bruise I had on my hip, too.
“Fine.” I could hear Dan ordering someone to do something in the background. “Pick up a replacement at the concierge in your hotel. It’ll be waiting for you in twenty minutes, along with the directions you need.”
“Great. Now, if I can ask our new friends a favor,” I lifted Bond’s keys and dangled them from my fingers. “What kind of car does Bond drive?”