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Life After Death 
by Lianne Burwell
March 2000
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The two men stepped through the doorway into the cool, dim 
interior of the Abalone Shell and glanced around, searching 
the faces that turned briefly to see who had arrived.

At first they didn't see the man they were looking for. 
Even though it was only late afternoon, the club was close 
to full with casually-dressed men and scantily-clad 
beautiful women. Of course, it *was* the best cat house in 
the ironically named Virgin Islands. The rich and the 
powerful from around the world who came to the tropical 
paradise on vacation inevitably ended up inside its walls, 
along with the not so rich and powerful, provided they 
could afford the prices.

As a result, most of the men refused to meet their eyes as 
they scanned the restaurant that made up the ground floor 
of the building. The few that did were mostly the beautiful 
young men who worked in the building, serving those with 
less orthodox tastes.

The women, however, had no problem staring right back. Most 
of *them* were also employees, and they primped and posed, 
hoping to attract the attention of the two handsome 
newcomers. The two were a study in contrasts: one was 
swarthy and silver-haired, very distinguished looking, 
while the other was tall and blond with all-American good 
looks. Several of the ladies were heard to comment softly 
that they wouldn't mind being sandwiched between *those* 
two.

Then a waved hand caught their attention and they both 
smiled as they headed over to join a third man seated at a 
small table along one wall. The man there already had 
company, one blonde and the other red-headed.

The silver-haired man grinned. "Gadgets, I have say, you do 
have ambition."

"What, this?" the man replied, his mustache twitching with 
his grin. "Nah, this is just starters. Sit down!"

The two men sat down at the table. The wicker chairs were 
thankfully sturdier than they looked and very, very 
comfortable. The nearby potted plants acted to shield them 
from most of the room while still letting them see anyone 
approaching. They might be on vacation, but they were still 
suspicious bastards. It was part of their job. It was how 
they stayed alive.

"Ladies, we're going to have dinner now, but if you come 
back later, I'm sure we can show a very good time," Gadgets 
said with a leer and sent the pouting women off with 
appreciative pats to their fannies.

"Aren't you supposed to be resting and recuperating?" the 
blond man asked, picking up Gadget's rum punch and taking a 
long swig.

"I'm fit as a fiddle, Ironman. See?" Hermann Shwartz, 
better known as Gadgets, lifted his hands. One hand 
twitched spasmodically, but stayed reasonably level in the 
air. It wasn't great, but it was hell of a lot better than 
a few short days earlier when that same arm had been about 
as responsive as a hunk of dead wood hanging at his side. 
"The docs say that in a week it'll be as good as new."

Carl Lyons, AKA Ironman, nodded in satisfaction. "Good to 
know. And really, an abalone festival?" he said. 

"Close enough," Rosario "The Politician" Blancanales said, 
gesturing for a server. They paused their conversation 
while the pretty young woman took their order. The hour was 
early for dinner -- for them at least -- but their plans 
for later that evening did *not* involve food. Wine, women 
and song were a different matter altogether.

"So," Gadgets said as he dug into the hearty fish stew he'd 
ordered, pausing every so often to wipe his mustache. 
"What's next? Back to working as private eyes with the Able 
Group?"

"Toni would love that," Pol said, referring to his sister 
who'd been left to run their detective agency after Bolan 
had come recruiting for Stony Farm. "You're in too of 
course, Carl," he added, since Ironman had been the only 
one *not* a part of the Able Group before Stony Farm came 
calling, although they'd worked together. Sometimes on 
opposite sides, even, back in the days when Carl had been a 
cop, and Mack Bolan had been a murderous vigilante in the 
eyes of the law.

"Oh yeah," Carl drawled, heavy on the irony. "Just what she 
wants in the agency; a Neanderthal."

Pol snorted. "It's just a term of affection. However," he 
said, turning back to Gadgets, while working his way 
through his steak -- cooked rare, of course. "It turns out 
that we still have jobs with the Farm."

"You're joking!" Gadgets said in surprise. "I thought 
everyone going rogue was a death sentence for the outfit." 
Carl winced at the reminder.

They'd been damned lucky this time. If the bullets fired at 
his partners hadn't been fake, he would have been grieving 
real deaths.

Pol shook his head. "Amazingly enough, Hal managed to come 
up with a cover story where it was all a planned operation 
for trapping the spy at the Russian side of things. 
Luckily, the President is a little busy right now, and 
since Rostoff and his organization was taken down, the 
Russian minister was more than happy to back up the story."

Carl just grunted, working on his own plates. The man had 
ordered two main courses, catching up on all the meals he'd 
missed while focused on finding the man behind his 
partners' deaths. Mack and the others had been worried that 
he was hunting for his death also, but Pol and Gadgets 
turning up alive, if somewhat battered, had stopped him 
from deliberately catching a bullet somewhere along the 
line.

And now that he was interested in living again, he needed 
to fuel his large frame. Unlike his two partners, he'd 
ordered two full meals, not one, both heavy on the meat. 
He'd already finished off the roast beef with gravy and had 
now moved on to the stroganoff. The Abalone Shell might be 
best known for it's *other* services, but they also had an 
excellent kitchen staff. Hard to believe as it may be, 
there were people who came just for the food.

>>>~~~<<<

Carl pushed back his plate and took swallow of his beer. He 
was already on his second of the evening. It wasn't enough 
to give him more than a buzz, but he intended to correct 
that. He usually avoided getting drunk, but considering the 
last few days, tonight he was going to make an exception to 
that rule.

After assuring Gadgets that they all still had jobs, they 
had limited the conversation to trivialities. Farm gossip 
and the usual tall tales had filled the air until plates 
were empty and glasses were drained. Finally, Gadgets 
pushed his chair back.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I've got a few more 
appetites I want to satisfy tonight. Care to join me, 
gentlemen?"

Pol grinned. "Don't mind if I do," he said. Gadgets' former 
companions were already eagerly headed their way. The 
Abalone Shell had rooms upstairs where you could fulfill 
those appetites, guaranteed free of monitoring. As well, 
the ladies and gentlemen of the club were guaranteed free 
of disease, thanks to the rules enforcing safe sex.

Carl shook his head. "Not at the moment. Maybe later."

That got him some worried looks from his partners -- 
Ironman not interested in a roll in the sack? -- but he 
waved them off. "Get going. I'll be here when you're ready 
to head back to the hotel."

Pol and Gadgets still looked worried, but they let the 
ladies lead them off. Carl grinned. The ladies were in for 
a treat; Gadgets took sex very seriously, making sure his 
partner enjoyed it as much as he did, while Pol was a 
perfect gentleman. All of them would enjoy the evening 
immensely.

And after the last week, his partners deserved a little 
life-affirming activity.

He, on the other hand... He called for a refill of his 
glass.

"Would you care for some company?"

Carl looked up at the woman holding his fresh drink. She 
obviously wasn't one of the club's ladies. For one thing, 
she was too old, harsh though that may sound. She was 
statuesque and beautiful, but the lines around her eyes and 
the silver in her elegantly styled dark hair said that she 
was definitely on the dark side of forty. Carl recognized 
her from previous visits to the club as the owner, Marie. 
No one knew her last name, and if they did, they weren't 
talking.

"I'm not very good company tonight," he said, taking the 
glass from her with a polite nod. He might not be good 
company, but his mother had taught him to be polite.

She sank gracefully into the chair Pol had so recently 
abandoned. "Would you care to talk about it?"

"Not really."

She regarded him for a moment, then nodded. "Understood. I 
would guess that it has something to do with the bruises 
your friends wear tonight. They have the look of having 
been inflicted by an expert. You don't wear the same 
marks."

"I wasn't there," he said through clenched teeth. His hands 
tightened into fists as tried to figure out a way to get 
the woman to leave. He did *not* want to be talking about 
this to *anyone*, especially someone who most definitely 
did not have the security clearance to hear it.

"And you blame yourself. Understood. But why not forget 
about it in soft arms tonight?"

Carl ducked his head, then drained his glass and signaled 
for another refill. "Because I don't think any of your 
ladies would like to come away with bruises," he finally 
admitted. It was galling to admit that he didn't think he 
could control himself, but at the moment he didn't think he 
could, even if losing himself in sex was an appealing idea.

Marie smiled. "That can be avoided," she said. "Come."

She got to her feet and held out her hand. Carl hesitated, 
then took it and let her lead him towards the stairs to the 
upper floors. He could hear shocked whispers -- the owner 
of the Abalone Shell *never* entertained the patrons 
herself -- but all he could see were warm dark eyes that 
understood more than he would have thought. He didn't know 
what she had in mind, but he was surprised to find himself 
trusting her.

He followed her up the stairs.

>>>~~~<<<

It was well after midnight by the time Pol and Gadgets came 
down the stairs, big grins on their faces. Carl was waiting 
at the same table that they'd left him at, but he felt far 
more relaxed than before.

"Enjoy yourselves?" he asked, saluting them with his glass.

"Immensely," Gadgets said for them both. "And you?"

"I was... entertained."

Gadgets leered at him, obviously speculating on just what 
that meant, while Pol just looked pleased and maybe a 
little relieved.

"Well, then. How about we head back to the hotel?" Pol 
said. "While the slacker here might have a couple weeks 
off, *we* have to be back to work Monday, and I intend to 
spend some time on the beach before heading back to the 
grind, especially with Hal threatening to send us off to 
Hong Kong."

"Good idea," Carl said, getting up. He wavered slightly on 
his feet from a combination of alcohol, fatigue and a 
partial release of tension. While Marie had helped, she 
couldn't completely deal with all the anger and pain that 
had been bottled up inside him. Time would have to take 
care of that.

"Easy, Ironman," Pol said, grabbing his shoulder.

"I'm fine. Let's go."

The trip to Gadgets' hotel was slow. None of them was too 
steady on their feet, although if someone were stupid 
enough to attack them, they would have been able to defend 
themselves with their usual deadly efficiency.

Probably.

Once there, they headed up to Gadgets' room. Actually, they 
all had rooms, but they weren't ready to head their 
separate ways yet. They'd been through a near-death 
experience together and it was nice to have constant 
confirmation that they were all still alive. That was why 
they often spent their post-mission down-time together.

"Man, you should have seen what Melanie could do with her 
tongue, Ironman," Gadgets was gloating as he flopped onto 
his bed, his grin so wide that it almost split his face in 
half. "And that was just the beginning."

Carl just shook his head. Since the day they'd met, there 
were only a few things that Gadgets took seriously. His 
electronic toys, his war with the bad guys, his loyalty to 
Mack Bolan and the Stony Farm.

And sex, of course. They all played as hard as they fought, 
but Gadgets had raised bed games to an art.

"So, what did you do while we were off with Melanie and 
Janice?" Pol asked, kicking off his shoes and dropping into 
a chair -- made of wicker, like three quarters of the 
furniture on the island, it seemed.

"Yeah, Ironman. Tell all!" Gadgets said, pushing up on his 
elbows.

"Not much to say," Carl said with a shrug.

Pol turned to Gadgets. "You hear that? I think our 
illustrious leader is holding out on us. What do you think 
we should do about that?"

Gadgets grinned. "We're highly trained operatives. I'm sure 
we can think of something."

They turned identical evil looks on Carl who backed up, 
snickering. "Maybe I should just go back to my room," he 
said as his partners moved to bracket him.

"Oh, I don't think so," Pol said, cutting him off from the 
door.

"Definitely not," Gadgets said, getting between him and the 
balcony doors.

Then, working in perfect unison, they tackled Carl to the 
ground.

He could have fought them off, but he trusted them. This 
was horseplay, not serious fighting. So instead he went 
down, only half-seriously trying to fend them off.

"Let's see what sort of marks she left," Gadgets said, 
going to work on the buttons of Carl's light long-sleeved 
shirt. Grunting in agreement, Pol held his legs immobile.

Gadgets' efforts took care of the shirt, although a few of 
the buttons went flying off to hide under the bed and in 
corners. Then he got a good look at Carl's chest and 
whistled. "My, my, my. She had long fingernails, that's for 
sure."

Carl blushed a little. Despite her age, Marie had been wild 
once she got him into her bed. Then his shirt was 
completely stripped off and eyebrows went up. "And into 
interesting games too."

That comment was because of the state of Carl's wrists. 
They weren't damaged, but they were red and chaffed. By 
morning, he might even have a few bruises to remind him of 
his night.

He'd been worried about hurting any of the ladies but Marie 
had said that could be avoided. Her method of avoiding 
bruises had been to tie him down with carefully padded 
cuffs. With him immobile, she'd been free to do with him as 
she pleased, which explained the scratches on his chest. 
She'd teased him until he'd been desperate, then mounted 
him and rode him until he couldn't hold back any more. He'd 
never done anything like that before. It had been 
incredible.

Gadgets sat back and Carl groaned. The brief adrenaline 
rush of the mock fight had left him half-aroused despite 
the alcohol and early activities, and Gadgets' ass rubbing 
against his groin wasn't exactly helping matters.

His partners exchanged glances. "Looks like someone didn't 
get enough," Pol commented.

"Maybe we should do something about that."

"I think we should."

Suddenly the pressure was gone and Carl resisted the urge 
to protest. He knew what his partners had in mind and 
wasn't going to rush them. This was a game they played 
often after missions. And, truth be told, this was what he 
really wanted, not the lovely ladies of the Abalone Shell.

Hands pulled him to his feet and immediately tossed him 
towards the bed. As he bounced, hands were already 
stripping the rest of his clothes off of him. He was naked 
before he came fully to rest. Then he propped himself up on 
his elbows to watch while the other two stripped quickly 
and efficiently, like they did everything.

Gadgets climbed on top of him and Carl finally moved to 
restrain him. "Are you sure you're up to this?" he asked 
worriedly. After all, the man was still recovering from 
being tortured. Both of the men were.

Hands grabbed his wrists and held them down. "Don't worry 
about us, Ironman," Gadgets said with a leer. "Worry about 
yourself."

Deciding that his partners knew what they were and were not 
up to, Carl relaxed and waited. They all needed this, maybe 
him most of all. Pol and Gadgets had faced death, thinking 
him already dead, while he'd gone a suicide revenge 
mission, thinking that *they* were dead. They all needed a 
little life-affirmation, first separately and now together.

"Front or back?" Gadgets asked Pol over Carl's body.

"Well, since you're already at his front..." Pol said. Carl 
could hear him rummaging through the bedside table where 
Gadgets would have already laid in supplies. Glancing over 
his shoulder, Carl saw him pull out the familiar-looking 
tube, along with the inevitable condoms.

Then he groaned as a hot mouth edged by soft bristles 
sucked him deep. While he'd been distracted watching Pol, 
Gadgets had twisted around on the bed so that he was in the 
classic 69 position with Carl.

Then Carl moaned even louder as Gadgets did something 
completely unfamiliar to him -- no doubt one of the lovely 
Melanie's tricks. With the sight and smell of a half-erect 
cock in his face, Carl moved to return the favor. He slid 
Gadget's cock into his mouth, savoring the familiar flavor; 
one he'd thought he would never taste again. He closed his 
eyes and started to suck hard, almost desperately.

As he used every trick he knew on one of his partners, he 
felt the other spoon up behind him. Pol's fingers, slick 
with lubricant, were already starting to stretch him. After 
only a quick prep, he felt the nudge of Pol's cock against 
his ass and bent his leg up to give the man better access. 
His leg was quickly grabbed and tucked out of the way, 
under Gadgets' arm.

The initial entry was slow and deliberate, despite Carl's 
attempts to press back into the thrust. Two sets of hands 
were holding his hips in place, not letting him move in 
either direction. Carl moaned again around Gadgets' cock. 
He didn't *want* gentle, damnit.

Finally, he felt Pol's pelvis pressed against his ass. Then 
the man stopped.

Carl was beginning to think that he was going to go insane 
when the man pulled back, oh so slowly...

Then slammed back in, hard and fast. Strong arms wrapped 
around Carl's chest, holding him tight.

Carl groaned his approval and quickened the pace of his 
sucking. That had the result of putting Gadgets into 
overdrive.

They moved like the well-oiled team that they were, 
climbing towards that peak they all wanted to reach. Pol 
was the first to arrive, slamming into Carl one last time. 
Carl could feel the man's cock swell and pulse in his ass. 
Then Pol moved his hands to grab Carl's nipples, pinching 
hard. Carl yelped and hit his own orgasm. Playing with his 
nipples always did that to him.

Determined not to leave Gadgets behind, Carl squeezed the 
man's ass and pulled him closer until his nose was pressed 
against the man's balls. With Gadgets' entire cock 
swallowed, he started to hum. Within moments, Gadgets was 
shouting as he spurted down Carl's throat.

They all lay panting for long moments. Then Pol got up to 
turn off the light and Gadgets twisted around again so that 
his head was on the pillow. Pol climbed back into the bed 
and wrapped himself around Carl again. They should have 
washed up. They should have gone to their separate rooms. 
Staying where they were was just asking for trouble, Carl 
knew. Not to mention the fact that the bed wasn't intended 
to hold three large men.

Instead, he fell asleep to the soothing sound of his 
partners' breathing.

>>>~~~<<<

Carl woke a little disoriented. He wasn't alone in bed and 
it took him a moment to realize where he was. Then he 
smiled. He was sandwiched between his partners; a place he 
liked being.

He knew that neither of his partners was really gay. Other 
than a few situation-provoked experiences, both Pol and 
Gadgets preferred women as sexual partners, just like he 
preferred men, but slept with women from time to time. He'd 
even fallen in love with a few of them, although those 
rarely ended well. He'd had one marriage that had ended 
badly and had buried several lovers since then. His job 
made serious relationships a near-impossibility.

But what the three of them had was special, forged in 
battle and honed in play. Even if the other two retired, 
went their separate ways, married and started families, he 
knew that all he would have to do was call and they would 
be there for him.

But that was the future, and probably not a very likely 
future. In the meantime, they were in paradise and had a 
limited amount of time until he and Pol had to head home to 
the Farm, while Gadgets continued his R 'n' R alone.

Carl bounced out of bed -- not easy to do when sandwiched 
between two fairly large men -- and threw open the 
curtains, letting the already warm morning sun into the 
room. Behind him he heard groans of protests.

"Up and at 'em," he proclaimed, already hunting for his 
clothes, scattered from one end of the room to the other. 
"I want breakfast, beach, then back for some more fun in 
bed. Well, what are you waiting for?"

The pillow in his face told him what his partners thought 
of his idea and he grinned. His black mood from the night 
before was completely gone.

It was damned good to be alive.


THE END