First It was the sharp, shooting pains across his chest that first woke him up. They were immediately followed by the nauseating feeling that his head was several times too big and about to explode, along with the sour contents of his stomach.
Hand clenched over his mouth, Devon struggled frantically out of the tangle of bodies on his bed and scrambled for the bathroom, just making the toilet in time to save any unpleasant floor-swabbing as he threw up, violently and painfully…
What felt like hours later he knelt back, resting his forehead against the cold, pale golden ceramic, shivering, eyes watering, grimacing against the foul taste in his mouth.
What the fuck had happened last night?!
The gentle hand on his shoulder felt like weighted wire wool, and he winced, bumping his throbbing head against the loo and groaning. Stephan knelt behind him, stroking his tangled hair tenderly.
"Oh, cheri… Can I do anything to 'elp?"
All Devon wanted was to die somewhere dark in peace… but since that wasn't likely to happen, he leaned back against the Frenchman, whimpering.
"What…?"
Stephan gently kissed the side of his neck.
"It was my fault, petit. I am sorry. Can you come back to bed? We will try to make you feel better."
Devon retched helplessly, the thought of sex sickening right now, but his stomach was empty - probably fortunately. Stephan brushed hair back from his pallid face.
"Non, mon petit - I just meant to 'ave you lie comfortably while we get some detox from the infirmary…"
"… promise…?"
Stephan chuckled quietly.
"I promise." He pulled Devon carefully into his arms and carried him back to the bed. A dishevelled grinning Cloud yanked back the covers as the Frenchman settled the whimpering TK, piling pillow behind him and covering him to the waist.
"Is better?"
Devon forced open bloodshot eyes and did his best to glower at the two hazy figures in front of him.
"Wha' 'app'n'd…?"
Stephan glanced at Cloud, then back at Devon, expression rueful.
"We were celebrating, mon cher. Do you remember? Your first ever case?"
Devon blinked at him, the memory hazy but clearing as he thought back…He'd been in second stage training for a month. And not enjoying it at all. Why did it have to be James?
Oh, the 'path was excellent, powerful, very experienced, and - Devon had to admit - a good teacher.
And he hated the TK. Devon was sure that if he'd been a 'path, his brain would have burned out by now…
"It is 'is way."
Devon cuddled disconsolately against Stephan, nuzzling the Frenchman's neck.
"He hates me."
Stephan hesitated, then sighed.
"'E does not 'ate you."
"He sure as fuck doesn't like me!"
"I know, mon cher. 'e feels threatened, I think. Nuage, she is very fond of you: sees you often, talks to you. But James is used to being the one she turns to."
"And he's taking it out on me, the bastard." Devon pulled back and gazed at Stephan: even without talent the normal could feel how tense Devon was finding the situation, could see the stress in his lover's face. "Stephan, every day I want to drop something fucking heavy on him, just to stop the snide comments, the… the… " He growled. "I can feel how much he hates me. It's fuckin' horrible… He wants me to fail. He's fuckin' sure I will fail."
Stephan eyed him worriedly.
"Do you wish to 'ave another trainer? If it is too 'ard for you, it can be arranged…"
"And give him the fucking satisfaction of being proved right? Sod that!" Devon sighed and slumped against Stephan's warmth. "No. I don't give in that easily."
Stephan kissed his hair, privately very proud of the young TK.
"I think that is good, mon cher. An' it will show the Agency that you are in earnest." He hugged the younger man tightly. "Anything I can do, to 'elp, you will ask, no?"
Devon nodded, his hair tickling the Frenchman's chin.
"Yeah, I will…" He glanced up, managing a grin. "What about now?"
Stephan chuckled and slipped a hand under the waistband of Devon's jeans, squeezing the rapidly hardening cock.
"We 'ave time?"
"Bastard's taking a long lunch. Doesn't want me back 'til three."
"Well, in that case…"*When is it to happen?*
Greg's deep voice was soft, gentle, persuasive, and Paul - relaxed and comfortable in a deep armchair, the light muted, the temperature warm - responded easily.
*Wednesday. Two days time. Late afternoon - four, five o'clock? It's meant to be a peaceful march, a protest against trade embargoes with China. But it's going to be infiltrated by members of the Guerre sans Frontières extremists, who plan to incite the protesters to… storm the Home Office… There'll be loss of life if we don't stop them…*
Greg frowned. The GsF were one of the nastier terrorist groups around, one that the Agency always handled since the regular forces simply weren't equipped to deal with the special menace they presented.
*How many?*
Paul's brow wrinkled slightly.
*Can't *see* for certain… Five? Six? They'll be wearing nullpsi helmets: 'paths won't be able to *pick* them up…*
But would be able to tell which they were, since the helmets stopped even the normal babble of flatscan noise.
*Anything else we should know?*
*They'll be armed. Nothing too heavy - grenades, machine-pistols, knives.*
*OK. Anything else?*
Paul's eyes blinked lazily open, and he stretched.
*Nothing I can *see*. But if I remember anything, I'll tell you straight away.*
Greg smiled and stroked the mop of light brown hair.
"Rest now. You've done well."
The precog yawned and hauled himself upright, hugging Greg before stumbling back to his own rooms. The 'path glanced at the clock and groaned - 4 a.m., and now he had to report Paul's forevision to the section heads; it was unlikely he'd get any further sleep tonight…Devon licked dry lips.
"Me? But I'm still training…"
Greg grinned.
"Consider it… a little hands-on experience. It's not a difficult case, but it will test your abilities and development, give us an idea of areas we need to focus on."
"So who'll be there? Other than me, I mean."
"That's what we're about to discuss…"Cloudie was pacing: Jeffery sighed and glowered at her.
"This isn't going to get done by itself, you know."
The TK growled at herself and crouched down beside her assistant, hands laid gently on the engine block of the battered car they were fixing.
"Sorry. It's just… Devon's first job today. I wanted to be there…"
"Why can't you be?"
She shrugged.
"They said I'd be no use."
Which was quite true. The team had consisted of Devon, Ox, Tamsin (a medium-range 'path whose talent was slight but more than sufficient for this task), Ambrose, one of the Agency's more powerful transmitting empaths, whose ability to spread joy and happiness had earned him the name of Santa early in his career, and Helen, the group's leader, an ex-cop flatscan with a keen sense of strategy.
And, although only Helen knew it, James and Stephan, the former to keep an eye on the exercise and either call for reinforcements or *take out* the terrorist leader if necessary, the latter in case a marksman's skills were needed.
In the event, neither of them were needed. They'd watched from the rooftop as Devon stood opposite the Home Office, Ox at his back, big hands on the TK's shoulders, Tamsin some distance down the road, *marking* those protesters with nullpsi and *transmitting* the information to Devon…
As the crowd charged the building, Devon focussed and *erected* a soft psi-field across their path: to those caught it felt like swimming in treacle… With Santa *spreading* peace and light to the rest of the marchers (who dropped their banners and flags and started hugging each other enthusiastically) it was an easy job for the special force officers to move in and take charge of the terrorists, disarming and cuffing them before dragging them off to 'secure accommodation' (and some deep-scanning by Agency members: although it was unlikely such drones, as their own organisation called them, knew much about the GsF, any information would be useful…)
There'd been one heart-stopping moment when a psi-resistant flatscan had pulled the pin and thrown his grenade at the building… Before anyone could react, Devon had… *enveloped* it, *wrapped* it, somehow, and it had imploded instead of exploded…
The TK stared at the space where the grenade had been, his face white and legs shaking as he realised what he'd done. Helen had eyed him warily, then grinned widely.
"Well done, young man! I'm not going to ask how you did it, because I know I wouldn't understand the explanation, but you just saved at least a couple of lives, not to mention our reputations."
Devon smirked palely.
"Dunno what I did…" He'd reacted purely on instinct, completely unaware of that facet of his talent. Ox tucked strong arms under his arms as the TK swayed.
"You OK, li'l guy?"
Helen glanced up at the big blocker.
"His first time?"
Ox nodded: the flatscan inclined her head.
"You'd better get him home - we can handle the rest. I'll report in later, OK?"
And Ox had led a shaking Devon from the scene and back to an unmarked Agency vehicle.Cloudie had been waiting for him when he got back, and flung herself into his arms - much to the ire of James, who arrived with Stephan a minute or so later. Cloudie ignored the 'path's scowl, kissing Devon delightedly.
"I *heard* all about it! You're wonderful! Tell me what you did, how it felt…"
Stephan chuckled and patted Cloudie's shoulder.
"Let le brave 'ave a bit of space, Nuage! 'E did very well - but 'e is tired." The Frenchman turned to fix James with a cold, mirthless smile. "An' 'is training is over for the day, n'est'ce pas?"
James would have objected, but a *growled* warning from Greg stopped him. He smiled tightly. It was, after all, operational procedure to allow a 'newly-blooded' - a misnomer if ever there was one, given the Agency's objectives! - agent a forty-eight hour break. Most of them needed it, to recover from the shock of seeing action for the first time.
"Of course. Enjoy your time off, boy. Report to me Saturday morning. On time."
Stephan snarled under his breath, and Cloudie scowled at her old friend.
"Don't be so mean, Nigel. Devon did good!"
"Hn." It was noncommittal, and Cloudie sighed irritably. Then grinned: James could be such a grump at times.
"Want to stay, to celebrate?"
"I have a report to make. But perhaps you and I could meet up for dinner, later…"
Cloudie glanced from Devon's delicate, pale, expressionless face to James' broad strong frame, hesitating, then shook her head.
"Not tonight, my friend. Maybe tomorrow?"
James fought down his jealous annoyance.
"I have other plans."
Cloudie inclined her head.
"Oh… Oh well, some other time then…"
She kissed him deeply, hands cupping his buttocks, and for a moment he was tempted to stay, just to be in her bright presence - but Devon was here… Well of course he was, these were his quarters… He kissed her back, taking her breath away for a long moment, feeling her nipples harden against his chest.
*Sure about dinner?*
She pulled back, a little reluctantly, and sighed.
*I wish you'd try to like Devon.*
*That wasn't what I asked.*
She pouted. He kissed her bottom lip, and she smiled up at him.
*Yes, I'm sure about dinner. I'm staying here.*
James stepped back, cursing himself for moving so abruptly as he took in the quickly masked hurt expression on Cloudie's face.
*Enjoy yourselves. I'll see you later.*
And he turned and was gone…"Nuage? Something is wrong?"
She shook her curls, blinking rapidly, then smiled a little forcedly at Stephan.
"Just James being a pillock. Nothing to worry about. So," she rubbed her hands together, smirking, "shall I order us dictator-sized pizza with everything?"Devon rubbed shaking hands over his eyes. It was all, slowly, coming back…
They'd shared the pizza, and the garlic bread, and the cheesecake, and Stephan had tempted Devon into trying just one glass of a rich, heady Burgundy… And Devon, body still trembling from a mixture of adrenaline, nerves, excitement and shock, had drained the glass and asked for another…
And at some point, a little later, Stephan had brought out the two bottles of Calvados.
Devon, his stomach churning unpleasantly, vaguely remembered emptying one of them. He remembered jumping on a giggling Cloud, fucking her enthusiastically as she writhed under him, nails biting into his buttocks. He remembered being on his hands and knees, Stephan's mouth and tongue teasing him mercilessly, then the Frenchman's cock ramming into him, making him squirm, gasping for more. He remembered Stephan lying back, pulling Devon with him, deeply buried in the TK's arse, rubbing against Devon's prostate with every slightest movement. He remembered his arms reaching behind himself, grabbing Stephan's buttocks and kneading firmly. He remembered Stephan's arms reaching over his own as the Frenchman wrapped one hand around his straining cock, the other gently fondling his tight balls, keeping him moaning and twitching as Cloud… as Cloud…
He froze, his eyes wide, and stared down at his chest.
Aw fuck.
No wonder it hurt.
He sighed and rubbed at his aching head. Well, at least she'd got them even.
He remembered Cloud straddling his hips, holding herself perched high enough that Stephan could still move, then producing the sterile needle.
He remembered the pain… sort of… Stephan had redoubled his attack on Devon's body as Cloud eased the needle through his nipples, keeping the TK thoroughly distracted until she'd tightened the sparkling gems on the end of the barbels and sat back to admire her handiwork. Much as she was doing now. She touched a finger very gently to his face.
"Gorgeous! Told you you'd look good."
Devon raised his eyes to her face, then frowned.
"You had this fucking planned all along, didn't you? Both of you!"
Stephan smirked, then inclined his head, making for the exit at some speed.
"I must go get that detox for you, cheri…"
Cloudie scowled at the closing door, then eyed Devon, biting her lip.
"Don't you like them?"
He swallowed.
"Would have liked to have the choice of saying I didn't fucking want them!"
She looked contrite.
"I'm sorry, sweetie. You didn't say anything at the time…"
"I was fuckin' drunk…" he winced and pressed a hand to his head, continuing in a much quieter voice, "Cloud, I don't drink. 'm not used to alcohol. I feel fuckin' awful and you've… you've…"
She was crestfallen.
"Assaulted you. I'm so sorry, Devon. It just seemed like such a good idea at the time. And they do look beautiful." She offered a small, apologetic smile. "If you hate them, we can take them out and get something from the infirmary to heal up the holes… And if you want to report me for assault…" she swallowed, "… I won't object…"
He glowered, as best he could with his head pounding.
"Don't be fucking stupid…"
She gazed at him in the silence that followed, then said tentatively,
"So… do you want to take them out? Because if you do, we should do it now…"
He gazed down at himself again, considering. The stinging, aching pain in his nipples was worse now he knew what was causing it - and yet… He loved Cloud's tit rings, loved playing with them, and they obviously gave her a lot of pleasure… And the barbels were kind of pretty, when you looked properly at them…
Perhaps he should give them a chance.
"No. Leave them in - for now."
She sighed, her shoulders slumping with relief.
"Thanks… Can I get you anything? Glass of water? Be good if you could drink something, you're dehydrated… I could make some peppermint tea, that's great for hangovers…"
The thought made him gag - but he was desperately thirsty, he realised suddenly.
"Just water…"
She hastened to the kitchenette, pouring a large beaker of cold spring water and hurrying back. Devon took the glass and pressed it to his forehead, eyes closing as the chill glass cooled his hot skin and seemed to make the pounding recede.
"Ta…"
He took a small, experimental sip, then waited for a moment, pleased when his stomach didn't object too badly, and took another, larger sip. It felt good, freshening his mouth and throat. He held the glass in both hands and frowned at Cloud.
"Where'd you learn to do that, anyway?"
She gave a lop-sided smile.
"Um, well, I did my own, you see…" She cupped a hand over her left breast. "One of them, anyway…"
He shook his head, carefully.
"S'pose I should be glad the infirmary's got everything, here. At least I won't get a fucking infection."
She pouted.
"You wouldn't anyway. Sweetie, I wouldn't risk your - anyone's - health."
"Very glad to hear it." He yawned, then frowned at the door. "Stephan's taking long enough…"
On cue the Frenchman waltzed back into the mini-apartment, a small plastic cup in each hand. He grinned and offered them both to Devon.
"The pink ones," he pointed, "are the detox. The other ones," he pointed to three uncomfortably large pale green tablets, "are to 'eal your… 'wounds'…" He pointed to a swollen, weeping and slightly crusted nipple. "The doctor, she said they work quickly."
"Oh gee thanks…" Devon tried for sarcasm but didn't quite make it. Stephan carefully kissed his hair.
"Take one green one an' both pink ones, and get a little sleep. When you waken, I will steal you away for a long, 'ot bath. Then per'aps a little food - some soup and toast, nothing too 'ard for your estomac, no?"
The thought of food was nauseating - although, Devon realised, he wasn't sure if that was because of the alcohol or because he hadn't really eaten anything since yesterday morning: he'd been too nervous to eat lunch, and had just lost his dinner… His stomach was growling, and it might very well be hunger…
But not yet. He wanted to feel a little more human before risking putting anything into his stomach. He eyed the pills nervously.
"Uh, won't I just throw them up?"
Stephan shook his head firmly.
"The detox, they 'ave an anti-emetic in them."
"Oh. Good…" Devon apprehensively placed one of the tablets on his tongue, took a large sip of water and swallowed… the other pills quickly followed, and Cloudie stroked his arm.
"That should help, sweetie. Now you need to get some rest." She glanced at Stephan, who nodded. "Stephan is going to keep an eye on you. I'll come 'round later, when you've woken up, if that's OK."
Devon nodded, eyes half-closing. He was knackered: last night's alcoholic stupor had resembled nothing remotely like proper restful sleep. Cloudie smiled softly and kissed his forehead.
"Sleep well, sweetie. I'm sorry… You'll feel better soon though…"
He smirked sleepily as she stood and headed for the door, feeling the bed dip as Stephan sat on the edge, sliding an arm carefully behind his shoulders and lifting slightly as he removed a couple of pillow and settled the TK a little more comfortably.
"I shall be 'ere, mon cher." He gestured towards the office space. "I need to do some work - you don't mind?"
Devon sighed and shook his head very slightly, relieved when it didn't hurt.
"'course not."
The Frenchman smiled tenderly. Devon was quite adorable when he was sleepy, soft and yielding, big eyes gleaming and dreamy. Stephan kissed his cheek.
"Sleep, mon petit. I am 'ere if you need me…"
© 2003 June 28th Joules
© 2003 WordWrights
Darkside