by Angel

Victor Mansfield was exhausted. Not just your average run-of-the-mill exhausted, but the kind of exhaustion that made your teeth and bones and hair ache with every movement, the kind of exhaustion where you start seeing lights dance before your eyes and when you lie down, you get the nauseating sense of vertigo— like your life was spinning out of control.

He was so tired that the normally alert to the point of paranoid cop didn't register the plain manila envelope that had been slid under his door until he practically tripped over it. "What the hell?" he mumbled as he braced himself against a wall in order to lean down and pick it up. That simple act made the room turn topsy-turvy for a second and forced him to heave in great gulps of air to re-establish his equilibrium.

Damn, he was tired. Two weeks of guarding some spoiled little daughter of a foreign dignitary who had divided her time between hissing and spitting at Li Ann and Jackie and sexually harassing him and Mac to the point where the Director's advances looked like a schoolgirl flirtation. Two weeks of unmitigated hell because the Director had felt the team needed to be reminded of just who was in charge. Like the dragon lady would ever let them forget it.

It had finally gotten to the point where he and Mac had slept in shifts and with one eye open. Neither of them had wanted daddy to walk in and find his little princess in bed with a big bad Agency man. She'd tried that on both of them a couple of times, slipping away from the girls, who had been forced to play lady's maids and sleep in the same room as the little darling. Mac and Victor had even tossed around the idea of pretending to be lovers just to make her back down. Not that Vic would mind sharing a bed with his younger male partner.

Then, to top the trip to hell off, the little bitch had gotten herself kidnapped, and the team had ended up in a major shoot-out, head-bashing free-for-all brawl that was their usual style. That on top of serious sleep deprivation. They'd recovered the girl, who got a tongue-lashing and immediate return trip home from daddy. The team had been thanked profusely, and Mac, who was a little fresher than Vic due to still being on an adrenaline high, had driven Vic home while the Director herself, who'd popped out of nowhere as per usual, saw to Jackie and Li Ann.

Vic wondered at his willingness to sleep with his younger male partner all of a sudden. When had he started having feelings beyond the usual pseudo animosity-respect-grudging friendship and the healthy 'whose dick is bigger' attitude that they both normally spouted? He was too damn tired to figure it out tonight, that was all he knew. And now some idiot had nearly tripped him with an envelope.

Slapping the thing down on the counter, Vic groaned as he shrugged out of his leather jacket and hung it up, then unsnapped his shoulder holster. Picking up the envelope as an afterthought, he swayed into the bedroom, sparing moments to put the envelope down and remove his shoulder holster and the back up he had strapped to his inner calf. Kicking off his boots, he was asleep before he hit the pillow.

"Mr. Mansfield has arrived home, sir... No, sir, there hasn't been... Yes, sir, I slid it under the door myself... No, sir, he was simply dropped off, and I was unable to see who the driver was... I believe he's asleep, sir. Yes, sir, I'll keep you informed."

Vic sighed and stretched luxuriously. Glancing over at the clock radio on his night table, he checked the time. Twelve whole hours of uninterrupted sleep. Heaven. Rolling out of bed, the former cop quickly stripped out of his clothes, throwing them into the laundry hamper, and padded naked into the shower. 'Hope you enjoy the show, dragon lady,' he thought unhappily, aware that the micro cameras and bugs had probably been replaced while he was away. It was one part of the job he'd never get used to— being watched 24/7 by his employer.

Taking a long, hot shower to work out all the kinks and ease some of his bruised muscles, Victor felt almost human when he emerged from the steam to dress in a pair of soft, faded jeans and an equally soft, faded black tee-shirt. Spying the envelope from the day before, he took it with him to the kitchen where it sat, ignored, while he indulged himself with coffee, Canadian bacon, eggs and toast.

It was only after he'd finished his second cup of coffee and the dishes were done that Victor finally got around to opening the envelope. "What the fuck?!" It was a picture of a much younger Victor Mansfield. Same short hair, same muscular physique, a slightly younger face and wearing nothing but a black leather g-string with a fake police badge attached, a pair of black leather motorcycle boots, a constable's hat, and black shades.

The Rainbow
Unrevealed location
Toronto 1989

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Kings and Queens, here he is, back by popular demand. The Vice-Man." The announcer's Barry White voiceover was drowned out by the catcalls from the audience members, male and female alike.

The Rainbow was one of those alternative scene clubs where any and everything went. It didn't matter if it was straight, bi, gay or lesbian— or any combination in between. The one thing they all agreed on was that the stripper known as 'The Vice-Man' was a sculpted work of art— and could make anyone cream with one of his pelvic thrusts.

The Vice-Man appealed to everyone of every proclivity. He had the leather boys and girls salivating over his leather encased package, had the doms wanting to make him their sub, the subs wanting him to dom them, the men wanting to convert him and the women wanting to have his baby. He was the best act the Rainbow had had in a long time, and the crowds grew nightly, even with staff and customers disappearing and cops nosing around.

The lights dimmed and the catcalls faded away until there was an almost reverent hush. The stage went black, and smoke from dry ice began to drift across the platform, ghostly and silent. From all around the club the throbbing back beat of the song vibrated, pounding like a heartbeat. All eyes were riveted to the stage, and anticipation pulsed.

The sweetest perfection
To call my own
The slightest correction
Couldn't finely hone

A lithe frame stalked through the pale mist, dressed all in black. Black leather jacket, tight black tear away pants and shirt, black motorcycle boots, black constable's hat and black shades. The only break in colour was the silver belt buckle, the silver cuffs dangling from them, and the diamond stud that refracted light from his left ear.

The sweetest infection
Of body and mind
Sweetest injection
Of any kind

The jacket slipped off with a sexy hitch of a shoulder, was tossed to the back of the stage, and the Vice-man began to prowl around the stage, not so much dancing as performing. Stopping in front of a group of ogling grannies, the tee shirt was ripped off, revealing a smooth chest, washboard abs, powerful arms and a lean waist.

Moving away, he gyrated to the music, thrusting his pelvis out in front of a young woman who practically fainted and her male companion, who drooled. His hands drifted over his satiny flesh, sheened lightly with oil, down to cup the badge hidden in the front of his pants.

I stop and I stare too much
Afraid that I care too much
And I hardly dare to touch
For fear that the spell may be broken

Dropping to one knee, the man on the stage did a combat roll and came up on his hands and knees. Crawling through the smoke to the opposite side of the stage, he allowed a vapid blonde to remove his shades, revealing electric green eyes, and shove a twenty dollar bill in his tight back pocket.

Others soon followed suit, and the stripper's waistband and pocket were full of fives, tens, twenties and a few fifties. One particularly bold man leaned in and stole a passionate kiss— one the Vice-Man happily returned, after which he shoved a hundred dollar bill down the front of the stripper's pants.

When I need a drug in me
And it brings out the thug in me
Feel something tugging me
Then I want the real thing not tokens

Rocking back on his hands until he was kneeling, the Vice-man teasingly undid his belt, twirling the cuffs suggestively before surging to his feet and whipping off his tear-aways. He revealed powerful legs and a black leather-posing pouch, full to overflowing, with a police badge dangling from one hip.

The crowd went wild, screaming and calling and begging him to come to their side of the stage. Hands reached out to touch him, to run hands down his Adonis-like body.

The sweetest perfection
To call my own
The slightest correction
Couldn't finely hone
The sweetest infection
Of body and mind
Sweetest injection
Of any kind

Pulling a young lady and a handsome young man up on stage, the Vice-Man positioned himself between them and began to writhe and grind between the two, the three of them making an erotic tableau that had every member of the crowd dying and wishing it was them on stage.

Things you'd expect to be
Having effect on me
Pass undetectedly
But everyone knows what has got me

Kissing the young woman, he handed her down then continued to grind and weave with the young man for a few more moments. With a whisper and a wink the man leapt down from the stage, an incredibly foolish grin on his face, as if the Vice-man just promised him the world— or something much more profound.

Takes me completely
Touches so sweetly
Reaches so deeply
I know that nothing can stop me

Whirling away from the end of the stage, the stripper made his way to the centre pole, and the music continued to pound its seductive beat. Grasping it high above his head, the Vice-man began to use the pole like a substitute lover, writhing and grinding against it like a cat in heat.

Sweetest perfection
An offer was made
An assorted collection
But I wouldn't trade

Sliding down the pole, back to the floor, the Vice-man once more crawled through the smoke, this time circuiting the tiny dance floor completely. Every ounce of bare flesh from shoulder to firm ass was touched and caressed, and the pouch string was stuffed with bills.

The sweetest perfection
To call my own
The slightest correction
Couldn't finely hone
The sweetest infection
Of body and mind
Sweetest injection
Of any kind

The song's pulsing rhythm began to die, and with it the Vice-man drifted towards the back of the stage.

Takes me completely
Touches so sweetly
Reaches so deeply
Nothing can stop me

The lights centred on him one last time then went black, and he was gone.

The room went dead silent, then the thunder of applause and cries for more filled the void with a cacophony of sound.

"And that, all you lucky boys and girls out there, was the Vice-man!"

Vic strode to his dressing room, disgusted with himself. Fuck, how much longer would he have to parade himself on stage until he got a nibble from the perp, whoever it was? Sighing, he let himself into his dressing room. No one had ever said Vice would be easy.

On the plus side, he had a ton of extra cash and his social calendar— if you could call it that— was overflowing. Victor, the Vice-man, did not lack for bed partners, female or male. It was one of the few perks of this assignment; he had been ordered to play a bi. Like he had to play being bi when he was, Vic chuckled to himself. Not that the department knew. What he did after clocking off was his own business and his own time. Vic meant to keep it that way, knowing full well that the thin blue line wouldn't protect his ass if his co-workers found out he bent over and spread 'em for another guy.

A knock on the door had Vic throwing on a dressing robe and belting it hastily. Opening the door, he saw a chauffeur with an elegant envelope in his hand. "My employer wishes to extend an invitation to you, Mr. Mason."

Vic took the invitation, read it, and accepted. 'Got you, you fucker!' he crowed silently. The perp had made his move at last.

"Sir? He's awake, sir. I saw the curtains being drawn in the living room window not too long ago. Yes, sir, I've traced his number. It's..."

"Jesus." Flipping the picture over, Victor quickly looked for identifying marks, a note, anything. The envelope got the same thorough examination. What the hell was this? There was no way. Who could have managed to get a shot of him when he was undercover at that strip club, God, was it ten years ago now? Back when he was Vice. Fuck.

The ringing phone had him reaching for his gun automatically and cursing at the fact that he was so spooked. Until a voice he'd never heard before rasped over the phone. A male voice. "Did you like my offering, pretty? I remember you. You were like a wild animal— a jungle cat— writhing against that pole. I wanted you then. I want you even more now. How dangerous you looked last night in black leather and guns. You made my mouth water. Soon, pretty. Very soon." The phone went dead, leaving Victor listening to a dial tone.

"Son of a... what the fuck is going on here?"

Victor stormed into the briefing room, ignoring Mac and Li Ann. "I need to talk to you— alone," he demanded of the Director, more visibly agitated than any of the people in the room had ever seen him.

Quirking an elegantly shaped red eyebrow, the Director motioned to the two seated agents. "If you'll give us a moment, my angels, and keep Jackie out as well when she deigns to show up."

Mac looked like he was ready to spout some half-assed comment when a beyond lethal glare from Vic shut him up. Shit, what was going on here? He thought to himself as he allowed Li Ann to herd him outside.

"Any idea?"

"Not a one. I've never seen Vic like this— even when his cop buddies came after him again," the lanky Asian replied, worry apparent in her voice.

"Yeah, he's acting weird... even for Vic," Mac mused. They both looked at each other at the same time. "Nathan," Mac suggested.

"Not now, we don't know when they'll be done, and she'd have our hides if we disappeared. Right now Jackie's the one in the hot seat, and I'd like to bask in it for a bit before I draw attention to myself again," Li Ann replied somewhat cattily.

"And you're sure you didn't recognise the voice?"

"Never heard it before. But they were there last night when we got her high-and-mightiness back. He made a comment about..." Victor swallowed visibly, "about me being in black leather and guns. He was there..." Vic trailed off, only the slightest darkening of his eyes and the white-knuckled grip on his chair giving the true measure of his agitation away.

The Director was worried. Not that she'd say anything, but no one was supposed to have been near the takedown site. Which meant that whoever Victor's mysterious caller was, he had to have had inside information. "We'll have you put under..."

"No!"

"Victor," she ground out dangerously. "You're valuable, you're needed, and you're mine. I don't like how this feels. I don't like how this sounds, and I sure as hell..."

"He waited ten years to get another crack at me, if his phone call and this picture are to be believed. What's to stop him from waiting a few more months? The son of a bitch is patient, methodical, and he's done his homework," the ex-cop pointed out almost dispassionately. It was the only way he could function at the moment, disassociate himself from the situation, pretend it wasn't him, just a case he was investigating.

"He's waited this long— planned this long. He's not going to stop. Hell, for all we know he could have masterminded the kidnapping just to... get a shot at me. You put me in a safe house, he's just gonna wait you out. What are you gonna do? Keep me locked up in the archives for the rest of my life with Nathan?"

He had a valid point, damn him. She needed him active and in the field. Victor was the glue that kept the other three together and functioning. He was the backbone, the anchor of the team. She, no, they needed him. "What do you suggest then?"

"Let him play his games— but keep me under surveillance. Sooner or later he's gonna make a move, then you'll have him."

"Not a chance, Mr. Mansfield. You are not doing this solo."

"I'm not going to endanger anyone else."

"You'll move in with Mac temporarily."

"Not a..."

"That's final, Victor."

"Fine. But he doesn't know the background; just that I've picked up a stalker. I don't... God, he finds out I was a stripper— even as a cover for Vice, he'll never let me hear the end of it," Victor groaned.

"Fair enough," she replied, hitting the intercom on her desk. "Mr. Dobrinsky, I'd like to see Mac, please; the girls can wait a few more minutes."

"So tell me, Vic, who do you think is stalking you— one of your ex-cop buddies? Ivy? I know... the little old lady on the corner. She's always in the window staring at you with hungry eyes," Mac teased, delighting at being able to torment the older agent full time. It was the only way he could get a rise out of the older man without 'getting a rise' out of him, even though Mac desperately wanted to.

Fuck, could Vic get any more gorgeous if he tried? Nothing turned Mac on more than watching Vic get pissed off. His eyes snapped green fire, and that jaw clenched and unclenched, emphasising its perfection. And his voice... Jesus fucking Christ, his voice became dangerous, hot sex vocalised when he was pissed off. It was enough to make Mac come... almost enough.

As it was, he'd gone to bed frustrated for the past week, needing the ex-cop more and more each night. Each night he'd given in to need and jacked off to an unsatisfying orgasm. And each night, when Vic's cell phone rang at precisely 11:05, he'd felt his jaw clench in unadulterated rage. Someone was fucking with Vic's mind; someone was intruding on Mac's territory.

Mac had the overwhelming urge to stalk out there, grab the phone and tell the son of a bitch that Vic was his and if he ever dared to come near what was his, Mac would gladly carve him another orifice. He wanted to hunt the son of a bitch down and use him for a practice dummy— or just pump him full of holes until whoever this dickweed was stopped breathing and stopped tormenting his Vic. Hopefully making sure the bastard died as painfully as possible in the process.

"That's it. I've had it," Vic snarled, grabbing up his jacket and heading for the door, bringing Mac out of his dark thoughts.

Shit! Racing to the door, Mac threw himself in front of it... just in time. "Going somewhere, Ace?" he asked with a sardonic smirk.

Victor's eyes became ice, and Mac could almost see the daggers being launched at him. Maybe he'd gone a little too far this... The ex-thief never saw the fist that cold-cocked him or felt himself begin to drop. He never felt himself picked up and dropped unceremoniously on his bed. He was out cold.

Vic knocked back the fourth whiskey and branch water in less than an hour with the steely determination of a man on a drunk. His cell phone was off, but he kept looking at the clock over the bar, watching the minutes tick by and get closer and closer to 11:05. This was driving him nuts. The idea that someone was out there stalking him, for Christ's sake.

This was probably his least bright move— taking off on Mac; fuck, he'd cold-cocked the guy. Trouble was, Vic was crawling the walls, and Mac... Mac was temptation itself. Those lush lips, the bedroom eyes and long, sweet body that made his mouth water every time the younger man moved. And that ass. Oh God, that ass was a work of art to rival anything Michelangelo could have carved in marble. Victor wanted that ass; he wanted to be buried so deep inside it that he'd never find his way out.

So here he was, alone, no one knowing where he was, drinking himself into oblivion in order to avoid jumping his partner's— his male partner's— bones. Fuck. Reaching into his jacket, he flipped on the cell phone and called the Director's line. Better face the music now.

"No sense hitting send, since I'm right here. What are you doing here, Victor?"

He shouldn't have been surprised, and yet she still managed to get the drop on him. "How...? Never mind, you're the Director, you know everything," Vic sighed dispiritedly and motioned for another drink.

"Vic. Victor, talk to me. You're beginning to worry me," the older woman husked softly, motioning for the bartender to bring her the same. "This isn't like you, Vic. You're my most professional agent. You do things by the book. I depend on that. This... aberration is beginning to concern me. If it makes it easier, think of me as your mother-confessor. Not a word to anyone else. I promise." She neglected to mention the number of agency muscle she had stationed around the bar, but their silence was guaranteed. No one wanted her unhappy, and right now if it threatened her senior agent's life, it made her very unhappy.

"I got your word, you won't mention this to anyone?" Vic finally asked, quiet desperation echoing in his voice. Her silent nod and half of his fifth whisky loosened his tongue. "It's Mac. He's driving me nuts," the ex-cop confessed almost inaudibly. "I... want him so bad it hurts."

The Director said nothing, just quirked an elegant red eyebrow. Now this was a new and unforeseen development. His profile had placed Vic as definitely heterosexual with a huge case of wounded dove syndrome. However, Victor Mansfield had hidden depths that she'd yet to see; this was obviously one of those deep pools.

"I don't know when it started; I don't know why either. Li Ann should have taught me that it was a mistake to get involved with a co-worker, but dammit, I can't keep him out of my head," or my heart, the agent thought with something akin to despair.

"Vic. I want you to listen to me. I know you know this, but you've got to keep your mind on the job, Victor. Someone is stalking you, and right now Mac is the only back-up you have. He's sarcastic, annoying, and absolutely adorable, but he's there to help keep you safe. Think of him as your baby brother or Nathan or whatever it takes, Vic. Just keep your mind on the job."

"Easier said than done. You try living and working with him 24/7 when he's in your face, in your space and walking around practically naked in front of you," Vic growled softly. "Why the hell do you think I've taken to wearing my shirts outside my jeans?"

Again the sculpted brow arched. Curiouser and curiouser, the Director mused to herself. It would seem that both her male agents were trying to attract the other and missing the signals entirely. If they ever got it together, the tapes would keep her warm many a cold winter night with the heat these two prime examples of manhood would generate.

"C'mon Vic, let's get you home."

Mac was sitting on the couch, in the dark waiting when he got home. "Vic, I... I'm sorry I pushed. No more cracks, okay?" the younger man spoke gruffly, forestalling anything the ex-cop might have to say.

Sighing heavily, Vic sank down next to him. "I am too. I shouldn't have... I didn't hurt you, did I?" the older man replied quietly.

"Nah— just another day at the office. You know how it is."

"I'm really sorry, Mac."

"So am I."

"Friends again?"

"Yeah. What say we get some sleep then treat ourselves to breakfast before work?"

Vic smiled at the younger man. Just like that— forgive, forget, and move on. Damn, if only everything else could be that simple. "Sounds good. Night, Mac."

"Night, Slugger."

Mac shook Vic awake a few hours later. "I gotta go downtown; Jackie's been arrested or something, and I was the contact person for bail. Sit tight, I'll be back as soon as I can."

Vic mumbled his assent and turned over and promptly fell back asleep. Mac looked down at the older man, his features softening, and taking a chance, bent down and brushed a gentle kiss on Victor's forehead. "See you soon, Slugger," he chuckled as he let himself out the door.

Vic never woke up. The team sent to extract him managed to circumvent security, sneaked in and administered a powerful sedative, knocking him out. He was swiftly carried out of the building and shoved in a car just in time for Mac, who'd gotten halfway to the precinct house and smelled a rat, to watch from a distance. He tried to follow but lost them in the downtown core.

Clutching the steering wheel until his fingers were white, Mac was still in that position when the Director showed up with forensics. "Vic, oh God..." he moaned softly at the woman's touch and buried his head in his hands, shaking.

He didn't wake up until he was on the ground again. The view from his prison room showed sand, palms and ocean for miles around. The buildings were vaguely Mediterranean, and Vic didn't have a clue where the hell he was. This worried him.

The one thing he did know was who'd grabbed him. The sleazebag flesh peddler that he'd tried to collar all those years ago in Vice. The one that got away due to diplomatic immunity. The sonofabitch who'd had ten years to plot and plan and wait for his revenge on Vic. And now he had it. Vic was on his island and awaiting a slave auction where he'd be sold as a toy to some rich pervert and disappear off the map forever. Or so he'd been told. He'd never see Mac again.

Vic was ready to kill, which was why no one ever came in; they were too damn afraid of him. Smart people. But not smart enough. Vic would get out, and when he did, God help that asshole, because this time he didn't have to play by the rules. He wasn't a cop anymore, and diplomatic immunity meant jack shit to the Agency. This time he'd finish the job.

"He's on an island called Constantos in the capital city of Eratos. He's being sold," the Director informed her team quietly, her dark eyes alight with unholy anger. They'd managed to catch one of the assailants, and she'd handled his interrogation personally. And enjoyed it.

"Sold? What the fuck do you mean sold?" Mac ground out. He looked like hell. His eyes had rings under rings, and the once normally fastidiously and fashionably dressed agent was rumpled and gaunt. The Director was concerned about sending him, but Mac would be the only one able to blend in in Eratos, unfortunately. Dobrinsky would be going with him as his 'assistant,' and the Cleaners would be his muscle. The women would be on the mainland country nearby, waiting. It was the only way.

"Out. Everyone shoo. Everyone but Mac," the red head declared suddenly, sending Li Ann, Jackie and Dobrinsky out the door.

"So. Now I talk, and you really listen. I need you on your game, Mac. Vic is depending on you. You're the only one who can pull this off," she told the ex-thief seriously, none of her usual banter apparent.

"I don't..."

"I'm not through, Mr. Ramsey. You will listen, you will learn, and you will forget this conversation ever took place. Do I make myself clear?" The slight nod from her agent appeased her.

"When Vic was first assigned to Toronto PD, he was in Vice. This you know. What you don't know is that he made quite a name for himself before switching to Narcotics. He was a very good undercover cop. His problem was that he was a little too wild. He took too many risks and got himself into one too many dangerous situations. He was basically ordered to transfer until he mellowed out a little.

"How does this relate to now, you ask? Vic is being stalked by one of the ones that got away during his Vice career. Someone who was intimately familiar with one of his undercover personas, a stripper called the Vice-Man. Corny but true. Vic worked as a stripper in an alternative club in order to break up a white slavery ring operating here in Toronto. He was very good at it from what I hear— brought the club packed houses every night he performed. Someone in that club took pictures and sent them to Vic. That same someone started calling him and stalking him. The same someone grabbed him.

"His name is Laurent. He was a low-grade attaché to a consulate here in the city. His diplomatic immunity protected him, but his ring was broken up, and he blamed Victor. He was also obsessed with the young vice cop who destroyed his career as both a flesh peddler and a diplomat. He's waited ten years to get to Vic. Now do you understand my concern?"

Mac was speechless. At any other time he'd laugh at the stripper shtick but right now. "And this is the fucker that has him?"

"Has him and is putting him up for auction. You will report to cosmetics where you will be fitted with a new appearance and wardrobe. You, along with Dobrinsky and the Cleaners, will be flown to Constantos, where you will pose as a spoiled young brat from a rich family whose money comes from Arabian oil. You will buy Vic back; money is not a problem as the GAC had decided that this man needs to be taken care of. Li Ann, Jackie and I will be waiting on the mainland to get the three of you out of there. The Cleaners will tie up loose ends.

"Dobrinsky will be your assistant. All financial transactions will be through him, and he will be the only one Laurent will have contact with, just in case you could be recognised. There is a house already set up for your use and a sizeable sailboat. You will take your new toy out sailing after a few days after the purchase is complete. You need to wait that long so as to avoid suspicion. The boat won't come back, Laurent will be... tidied up, and the rest of us will come home. Do you understand?"

Mac nodded silently.

"Good. Now forget you heard this. The rest of the team is on a need to know basis only. What you know is privileged. Vic won't thank me for telling you, but I made a judgement call. Don't make me regret it. Shoo. Go change and send everyone else back in as you go by."

Two weeks later

"Well, my pretty, you've fetched me quite a sum of money," Laurent's detested voice hissed through the room's hidden speaker.

"What? You son of a bitch, you sold me already?" Vic bellowed, shooting to his feet and twirling, trying to find where the voice was coming from since he couldn't get to the speaker. His hands clenched in impotent rage. Sold. Jesus, the bastard had really done it, had sold him like Vic was a piece of meat or... a slave.

"Did you expect me to tell you when?" the bastard had the gall to snicker. "If I had, you would have misbehaved instead of merely prowling around sullenly. Your buyer was most impressed with your 'brooding' good looks. He's quite looking forward to claiming his new toy.

"A word of warning, though, pretty. The only thing misbehaving will get you is dead and in an unmarked grave. Such is the life of a slave— your new life." The room went silent as Laurent left Vic to absorb his situation.

In a fit of raw fury the ex-cop sprang into motion, his temper giving him the strength to completely decimate the furnishings of his room. Furniture was picked up and tossed, shattering mirrors and the windows on the other side of the door. Pictures were ripped down from walls, anything that could be broken was, and heavy wooden chairs were reduced to kindling, as was the table. Nothing was left untouched or whole.

The chaos Vic caused masked the sound of the lock being turned and a dart gun loaded. What Vic didn't fail to miss was the sensation of the tranquillizer dart penetrating his thigh.

Ripping the offending object out, Vic spun and stalked towards the person responsible, giving an almost inhuman growl that reverberated through the room. The tiny, weasel-faced man holding the gun squeaked in terror as he back peddled away frantically while calling for the guards. Neither the weasel nor Laurent had considered that 190 pounds of enraged Agency man wouldn't just fall over and pass out cold.

Vic had his hands wrapped around the weasel's throat and was squeezing tighter and tighter when the guards finally appeared. Squeaks had turned into breathless croaks as the little man's face began to turn an interesting shade of red. Luckily for him, the drugs finally kicked in, and their effects, combined with the guards forcibly restraining the ex-cop, finally felled the infuriated man.

"Bastards... kill you all," Vic managed to spit out before once more slipping into forced unconsciousness.

For the second time in a month Victor woke up groggy, aching and royally pissed. The only difference was that this time he was firmly restrained, strapped down to what seemed to be a doctor's examining table, and completely naked.

"What the fuck is going on here?" he bellowed, not quite sure if he'd get an answer or not. Looking down his body, he couldn't help but notice the anomaly in the hollow where his hip and pelvis joined. "A tattoo?! You bastards gave me a fucking tattoo???"

"Pretty, isn't it?" Laurent smugly commented as he strolled into the room to observe Vic with eyes that glittered hotly. "Your new owner was very specific about what your ownership mark was to be. Oh, that's right, you can't see the design from your position; you can only see the ink. Shall I describe it to you?"

"How 'bout you just let me loose so I can see it for myself... after I strangle you, you asshole!" Vic snarled, struggling against his bonds.

"Such an uncouth word from such a very pretty man," Laurent sighed, almost regretfully, as he trailed a hand up Vic's restrained leg to run a finger around the edge of the tattoo. He let his hand drift right until he was gently petting Vic's painfully soft cock. "Oh, the things I'd like to do to you, my pretty little stripper," the ex-diplomat sighed. "But unfortunately for me, your buyer is waiting."

"Bastard, get your fucking hands off me! You're dead, Laurent. I don't care how long it takes; I'll find a way to make it happen. Even if it means making my 'purchaser,'" Vic spat the word out, "so blissfully happy that he can't say no to me, I'll do it just so I can fucking dance on your grave." Vic's eyes had gone glacial in their fury, and there was no doubt of his intent. Laurent was a marked man.

"Tsk, tsk. An attitude like that will only get you in trouble," the former diplomat grinned, fully believing in his safety.

"Come, pretty, time to meet the man who loves roses." Vic saw the needle and struggled but to no avail. The world went black once more.

Laurent watched the sleek black limousine pull away with a sigh. If he'd only had another hour, he could have had the taste of Victor Mansfield that he'd been craving for the past ten years. But business was business. Picking up the phone, he dialled the number of Victor's new purchaser.

"Mr. El Saeyd? Your purchase is on its way. Yes, your assistant picked it up. The money has been wired to my account as per our agreement, thank you. I hope you have many happy years use of said purchase. Good day, sir."

Hanging up the phone, Laurent walked over to a locked door and slid the key card through the electronic lock Behind the door was row after row of television monitors, all showing a variety people in various situations. The one that interested him most, however, was of a young middle eastern man in the process of hanging up a phone and calling for his servants.

The first things that registered were soft sheets. The second was the lack of restraint. Opening his eyes, Vic saw that he had yet another new 'home'. The home of the man who'd bought him. Well, if bending over and playing bitch let him get out of here, kill that fucker Laurent and get home to Mac, it may just be worth it... depending on if he could live with what he saw.

First, though, he needed to do a little reconnaissance. Vic needed to get an idea of what his environment was, the space he had to move in, possible weapons and escape routes. Sitting up, he groaned as his hip caught fire and reminded him of the mark. Fuck. "The tattoo. Well, may as well see what this fucker marked me with."

Padding naked into the bathroom, his clothing completely gone— compliments of Laurent and/or his purchaser no doubt— Vic stood before the full length mirror— and gasped in shock even as a kernel of hope bloomed in his chest.

"I had to think of something. The bastard insisted that you needed a permanent mark," came a quiet, recognised and much trusted voice from the doorway.

Tearing his eyes off the entwined red and white rosebuds on his hip, Vic looked up and met the eyes of his partner in the mirror. A subtle shake of Mac's dark head and a slight drift of his eyes to the left let Vic know that he was still under surveillance, that they both were.

"So why roses?" Vic managed to force out, fighting to stay still and not go over and haul the younger man into a firm embrace.

"They have a special meaning for me. I am Ahrmakhi El Saeyd. You may call me Mac. I apologise for your lack of clothing, but Monsieur Laurent was most insistent that you have nothing that could be traced back to him for his own security."

Vic waited where he was, staring at the younger man, looking for a sign of what to do, what to say, anything.

"There is a robe laid out for you. You will bathe and join me for dinner. If you dawdle, my assistant, Mr. Dobrins, will assist you. Believe me, Victor, you do not wish for that to happen. Dinner will be in the garden." With that Mac was gone.

Vic silently followed Dobrinsky down the cobblestone pathway to a tent set up in the centre of the garden. There was a table set with fine linens, crystal and china with a simple yet spectacular centrepiece of dozens of peacock feathers in an oversized crystal vase. Debussy played on a portable stereo, masking what Vic recognised to be a well-concealed white noise generator. Was security that much in question?

Mac was already seated, resplendent in full Arab garb, complete with the beard and moustache that Vic could almost feel against his skin. Fuck, the man was sex incarnate, no two ways about it.

Once Vic was within the perimeter of the tent, Dobrinsky let the damask side panels fall closed, ensconcing him and Mac in an elegant cocoon and hiding them from the prying eyes of the rest of the world.

Mac was out of the chair and around the table in a heartbeat, hugging the older man fiercely. "Vic, God, I... I mean we weren't sure if we'd ever see you again."

Vic heard the stutter and felt a fine tremor wrack the younger man. He also heard the dry desperation in the tone of Mac's voice. Hands automatically came up to hold the ex-thief as Vic whispered soothing nothings softly. "Shh, I'm here, Mac, right here. It's okay; you got me back in one piece. Just another day at the office, right?" the ex-cop joked lamely.

"I... had to. God, look at me. I'm falling apart. Some secret agency operative, hunh?" Mac laughed derisively, pulling away and returning to his seat in order to try and distance himself emotionally and physically from his partner, the man who had come to mean more than life to him.

"You've lost weight. Didn't the bastard feed you?"

"Yeah," Vic replied slowly, sitting down across from his partner. He didn't like the way Mac looked or was acting. Something was... off, but Vic couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"But the food made me feel just a little too complacent, so I ate the bare minimum and drank lots of water." The older man's eyes widened in shock as he watched his partner's jaw clench in rage and his eyes turn black. "Hey, Mac, I'm okay! Besides, I needed to lose a few pounds anyway; the Director was beginning to call me 'husky'," Vic tried to tease.

"Eat," Mac growled softly. "I'll talk."

Vic was about to protest, but Mac's silent glare warned him that the younger man was on edge and not about to take any crap. Looking down at the china, Vic was surprised to see an incredibly elegant dinner. Went with the role Mac was playing, he guessed. There was salad, consommé, lobster with clarified butter and fiddle head greens and, on the side board, what looked like a chocolate truffle cake for dessert.

Very rich, very posh and very likely to make him sick considering his meals of the past month. But Mac was watching so... Picking up a dinner roll, Vic broke into it and popped a morsel into his mouth. Chewing, he gave his partner a tiny grin and quirked an eyebrow in invitation.

Mac, on the other hand, was trying to delay the inevitable. He was too fucking emotionally involved in this not to have the end result hurt. The end result being Vic's unequivocal rejection of him. And with the Director and the girls suddenly having to hightail it back to Canada, he was gonna have to face the music, 'cause they were on their own for a while. Which meant...

"So here's the situation. We were supposed to be off this cesspool island by now. Dobie and I were supposed to get you here, the Cleaners were supposed to take care of the loose ends, and a boat should have been docked with the girls on it to get us the hell out of here. That was what was going to happen. Plans have changed." Mac winced as he thought of what he had to tell his partner next, not looking forward to Vic's reaction at all.

Vic swallowed the morsel of lobster he'd been chewing on and digested his partner's words. "I hear a major 'but' in that sentence, Mac. Just spit it out, will ya? Nothing can be as bad as what I just went through."

"The girls got recalled to Canada. We're on our own. The house and grounds are completely monitored by Laurent, and I bought you to be a sex toy," Mac rushed out, his words almost running together in his haste to get it all out and over with.

"'Scuse me?"

"I. Bought you. To be my sex toy," Mac enunciated very clearly, his hands clenching the arms of the chair until they turned white as he waited for his partner to lunge at him and try to throttle the life out of him, which Mac thought he deserved. First he had Vic tattooed, and now he told his almost obsessively straight partner that Vic would have to bend over and take it for the sake of the cameras.

"That's what I thought you said," Vic replied much too calmly for Mac's peace of mind.

"Just wanted to make sure." Picking up the discarded roll, Vic waited for Mac's reaction to his placid acceptance.

"What?! That's it?!" Mac all but bellowed in the older man's face, wondering inanely if there really was such a thing as body snatchers or if Vic had been brainwashed.

"That didn't take too long at all," Vic chuckled at his partner.

"What, you want me to get upset? Sorry to disappoint you, Ramsey, but compared to what could have happened to me, this is a walk in the park. Besides," Vic paused to take a sip of a very good glass of wine, "You're easy on the eyes, sexy as hell, and I've been thinking about jumping you ever since the little princess made us seriously consider playing lovers to protect our respective virtues."

"You've been think..." Mac snagged his glass of wine and belted it back, then poured himself another and downed that. "Jesus!"

Vic watched the younger man try to cope with his revelation, a patient smile on his face. 'Gotcha, Macky boy,' he thought to himself as he calmly sipped his wine. These next few moments would tell him if there was even a chance that they could actually make this work. And Vic found himself desperately wanting to make it work. He'd had weeks to think about Mac and him— and it felt right. Now if only Mac was willing to play.

"You want me..." Mac managed to get out after long moments of silence. A smile began at the corners of his mouth and slowly turned into a full-fledged grin that seemed to light him from within. "You want me? Really? You mean it's not just me wanting to jump your bones so badly that I'm dreaming? Hot damn!"

"Yeah, I want you, have for a while now. No accounting for taste, but there it is," Vic smirked at the younger man, getting a dinner roll thrown at him for his efforts. "Hey! No abusing the P.O.W.!"

"But you're not a P.O.W., Vic-tor. You're a sex toy... my sex toy," Mac replied softly, his eyes taking on a predatory gleam. "Which means I get to have you... with that bastard watching," Mac trailed off, suddenly remembering the implications of their little act. "Vic, man... I can play paranoid and insist the house be swept for listening devices, or we can try and make it to the airport and get the hell out of..."

"We stay and play it out until the Director gets back, Mac. We've got other people to think about, Murphy, Camier and Dobrinsky. We can't risk them just because... and you know, I want him to watch! Perverse, I know, but I really wanna rub it in his face since he wanted to do the same to me— would've if you hadn't insisted I be delivered ASAP. The asshole even touched me..."

Mac's snarl reverberated around the tent. "Son of a bitch, I'm gonna kill him with my bare fucking hands!" Lunging to his feet, Mac headed towards one of the panels, only to be snagged by Vic and pulled into the older man's lap as he passed.

"Screw him, Mac. Better yet— screw me hard while he watches and pants and jacks himself raw knowing he can never touch me again," Vic demanded hotly, yanking Mac's head down for a passionate kiss full of testosterone and fire.

Mac threw himself into the kiss, devouring the older man almost desperately. "Vic, fuck, oh God, Vic. I thought I'd never see you again," the ex-thief almost sobbed as he came up for air at last.

"You're gonna get your chance to see a whole helluva a lot more of me, baby," Vic purred softly, lifting Mac up onto the table, sending china, crystal, food and drink crashing to the carpet laid out for the spoiled young Arab and his new plaything.

Catching the dish of clarified butter as it tottered on the edge of the table, Vic grinned down at Mac. "Can't let that go to waste now... I'm gonna need it in a minute."

Mac moaned, his breath catching in his throat as he watched Vic turn from his mild-mannered kinda dorky partner into this... god. "Vic, Jesus, you mean you kept this hidden from me all along? Christ," the ex-thief breathed in appreciation. His hands tore at the loose silk robe that Vic wore in deference to decency and had it open in seconds. Long, elegant fingers glided along a perfect chest and down to rock hard abs. Mac bit back another moan— this one of primal need. Fuck, Vic was... "You're beautiful," the younger man breathed out loud. "And mine."

"All yours, baby," Vic promised softly. "After all— you paid for me, right?" His lips tilted in a sensual smirk as he found the clasps to undo Mac's robe then grinned at the tank top and jersey shorts underneath it. "Interesting choice of clothing, lover," he chuckled as he yanked the shorts down and the shirt up.

"Hey, you try wearing this damn thing. It's a fucking sauna under it. Besides, I'm a spoiled brat who pretends to be Western but still buys himself sex slaves with daddy's money," Mac gasped and moaned as Vic bent to lick and suckle at the tiny nubbin of flesh that peeked out from beneath his dark curls. "Oh God..."

Vic chuckled around the flesh filling his mouth as he heard the soft utterance. 'If you think this is worthy of prayer, Ramsey, you ain't even begun to pray,' Vic thought to himself. His partner was about to find out just how 'alternative' Vic could be.

Working his way from nipple down the delineation between Mac's abdominal muscles, Vic dipped into his lover's navel for a few moments, enjoying the squirming body underneath him and the breathless laughter that escaped him. Smiling, he left off and worked farther down, nuzzling his nose through the dark curls that surrounded Mac's elegant erection, breathing in the heady musk that was his partner. Finally, his mouth watering for a taste, Vic raised his head and lapped at the weeping tip of Mac's cock, closing his eyes to better savour the younger man.

Mac's desperate moan made Vic open his eyes and look down the long length of the ex-thief with possessive need. "All mine," he husked appreciatively, squeezing Mac's hand with one of his own before he returned to mapping his lover's erection with his tongue and mouth.

"Jesus, fuck, Vic. Where did you learn to..." Mac trailed off, his head thrown back as the older man played his body like a savant played a Stradivarius. The younger man couldn't remember the last time he'd been taken so far, so fast. Feeling Vic's mouth work his desperate shaft was too much for the ex-thief.

He'd wanted for so long, had been worried and had needed Vic, and now his cock was jammed down the older man's throat as— Jesus fuck— as Vic began to deep throat him. Carding his fingers through Vic's dark hair, Mac held on for dear life as his heart was sucked out through his cock by way of a brain destroying orgasm.

All too soon for Vic's liking, Mac whined and bucked upwards, flooding his mouth with the bitter salt taste he'd missed so much over the past years. Drinking it down ecstatically, Vic finally released the now soft flesh with a final, loving lick and looked up at the wasted mess that was his lover. "Enjoyed that, did you, baby?" he chuckled as he pulled Mac up to a sitting position for a long, languid kiss.

While Vic gently gorged on Mac's mouth, his hands were busily dipping into the butter he'd rescued. Mac might be satisfied, but he sure as hell was still aching. Spreading Mac's legs wider, Vic gently worked an oily finger into the lush crevice of Mac's ass. The digit teased the tight ring of muscle there for long moments before sliding inside; the only acknowledgment from Mac was an increasing hunger to his kiss.

Another finger joined and scissored the sweet portal open, stretching Mac for Vic's thick erection. It was too much for Vic; he'd been too needy for too long. Slathering his cock with more of the butter, Vic positioned the flared head of his penis and gently pushed inside.

Mac groaned and bit down on the older man's lip hard enough to draw a bead of blood. "Christ, so full. You're inside me, Vic. You're really," a tiny gasp of breath of air and Mac was latching on to the first piece of flesh he could reach— Vic's shoulder— and stuffing his mouth with the firm flesh as he was stuffed with Vic.

"That's it, baby, take me in. Take me all in," Vic coached as he pushed steadily inward, finally seating himself entirely in the snug, warm channel that felt like home. "Mac," he groaned, fire dancing behind closed eyes as he waited for the younger man to adjust to his presence.

"Vic, shuddup and fuck me, will ya?" Mac growled softly, biting down hard on the shoulder above him. Dammit, if he'd wanted gentle, he'd have said so; what he wanted was a good hard reaming, Mansfield style.

"You asked for it, Ramsey," Vic snarled softly, as he stopped trying to be a considerate lover and gave the younger man what he wanted. Drawing back until he was just barely held within Mac's tight ass, Vic slammed back in hard, drawing a high-pitched whine from the younger man. His fingers dug into Mac's hips, holding him still on the edge of the table as he powered in and out of the younger man's sweet body.

"Like this, baby?" he panted as he worked himself in and out of the clinging channel, revelling in the whines and soft begging noises the other man was making beneath him. "Is this how you want me to fuck you, Mac?" Vic persisted, biting down on the younger man's sensitive earlobe as he continued to slam into the ex-thief, sweat pouring off of both of them as they continued their erotic dance.

Mac couldn't form a coherent thought in order to respond, even if he tried. He was beyond thought of any form, having reverted to primal grunts and yowls of need. If he could think, he'd have known he'd never been this thoroughly fucked in his life, had never known this sort of bone deep pleasure. It cut him to the core; it shattered him and remade him into a new person. He was completely wrecked for anyone else ever again; he was Vic's now.

Although he'd been spent just a few moments before, Mac felt his erection slap against his stomach, already leaking precum as his body tightened each time the blunt tip of Vic's cock stabbed his prostate. The idiot who said that men couldn't be multi-orgasmic had obviously never been fucked by Vic Mansfield. And the sorry son of a bitch never would now 'cause Mac wasn't letting him get away.

Too much, Jesus, Vic was taking him harder, slamming into him hard enough to make the table shudder with each stroke. Mac's teeth clamped down harder and harder on the flesh beneath them, not even registering the coppery flavour that exploded on his taste buds, so lost was he in his passion. Releasing Vic's shoulder suddenly, Mac's head shot back, and he howled as ropes of pearlescent semen splattered both his and Vic's stomach with liquid heat.

Feeling Mac's teeth sink into him as well as the tight ring of muscle seize up in passion and bite down hard on his erection made Vic wild. That, combined with the sight of Mac and the feral scent of their lovemaking, drove him mad. Bucking harder and harder into his lover, Vic came with an animalistic snarl of release, inundating the younger man with his seed before slumping back down to his chair, dragging the still impaled Mac with him.

"Christ," he moaned softly. "Mac..." trailing off helplessly, Vic looked up at the younger man, not quite sure what to say next.

Mac, on the other hand, had no problems with words. "You do that with anyone else, Mansfield, and I make you a gelding. You got it?" the younger man snarled possessively, diving in to claim the sensuous lips of his lover. "You're mine now— all mine."

"Yes, sir, Master Ramsey, sir," Vic chuckled tiredly. Wincing slightly as the endorphins wore off, Vic bit back a curse as sweat and pressure caused fire to lick at the still fresh wound on his groin.

Mac saw the wince and immediately pulled off with a slight wince of his own. He felt ridden hard and put away wet. Fuck, what a great feeling. "C'mon, babe, let's put on our game faces and go back to the house. I can take care of that tattoo for you, and we can get some sleep," the younger man suggested quietly.

"Can we bring the cake?" Vic teased. "I have this overwhelming urge to smear it over you and lick it off."

"Jesus, Vic..."

Vic stepped under the hot spray of the shower and began to wash the exertions of dinner off of himself. He'd made himself pace his room for at least an hour, jumping at every noise, trying locks on doors and windows, examining the room for ways out. He had to make his audience think he was still fighting fate, so to speak. It was all part of the plan that he and Mac had come up with to make it look like Vic was willing and yet not. A simple illusion to fool Laurent through the eyes of the cameras and ears of the mikes.

Even as he showered, Mac was preparing him a glass of cognac into which he would slip a sugar pill. An hour earlier he'd sent Dobrinsky out with orders to purchase some Rohypnol tablets, which he'd done. The actual pills were stashed safely away, substituted with sugar pills on the drive back, but no one but Mac, Vic and Dobrinsky knew that.

So to all intents and purposes, it would look like the spoiled young man was doping his new toy up for a night of mind numbing sex. Vic could hardly wait.

After showering and shaving so that his face was once more smooth, Vic stepped out of the bathroom clad in yet another robe only to find his 'owner ' waiting for him. "What do you want now?" he asked sullenly. "You think I 'm going to play nice just because you've almost treated me like a human being?"

"Victor, oh my handsome Victor, did I ever say I wanted you to play 'nice'?" the young man chuckled softly. He watched as his new toy tensed, and he smiled. The hunt was on. "Relax, Victor. I'm sure that you're going to need some adjustment time to get used to your new life. All I want is for you to join me in a drink. Is that so hard? A simple glass of cognac," Mac held up the glass from where he sat in an overstuffed chair. "A drink and a little conversation. Please?"

Vic studied the man in front of him then shrugged. What harm could one drink do him? Walking over, he took the glass from the other man and sat in the chair opposite him. "So— I have my drink; what do you want to talk about?"

"Something mundane so as not to get either of us angry. Shall we talk about the weather?"

Vic had to laugh at that, though he tried hard not to. "Umm— I think I'll pass, thanks."

"Decisions, decisions," Mac mused softly as he watched Vic drink with a predatory glint in his eye. Very soon indeed he would have a willing and eager bed toy. He could have chosen a more addictive drug, one that would make his new acquisition dependent upon him, always craving his next hit, but those sorts of drugs wasted the body as well as the will. It would have been such a shame to ruin this one.

No, this drug would allow him to 'break' Victor in by increments. First a full dosage— for a month or so, but not every night, then a half dose so the memories would appear to be dreams. Then Victor would be his. He'd explained all of this to Dobrinsky, his friend and confidante. Inwardly both Mac and Dobrinsky were disgusted by the 'spoiled' young man's callous attitude towards his new acquisition, but then again the same young man was a piece of work to begin with— buying a man to be a sex slave... It maintained the illusion, however, and Laurent was none the wiser.

"Shall I tell you of my house, then? We won't be staying here longer than the ten days Laurent requires. Once they are up, we will be going home, to my house in the desert. It is a beautiful place, Victor, with palm trees and a walled courtyard full of fountains and exotic plants. Father said it used to belong to a Sheik who kept his eight wives there. Eight women, can you imagine? It was no wonder he didn't live there, that Sheik. The noise alone would deafen," Mac chuckled.

The young man continued to describe his house, his voice weaving a hypnotic web until he saw at last the other man's head droop and his eyes fall shut. At last the drug was taking effect. "Victor, can you hear me?" he husked softly.

For Victor's part, it was easy to pretend to fall under the sway of the so-called drug; it had been a month since he'd had anything alcoholic, and he was slightly undernourished and dehydrated. Those factors added to the glass of wine at dinner made him more than a little tipsy— allowing him to lose any inhibitions he may have had regardless of how badly he did in fact want Mac.

Victor struggled to lift his head up in order to look at the younger man, his eyes unfocused and dazed. He stared at Mac for long moments, blinking owlishly as he pretended to try and get his brain to work. "So pretty," he mumbled, watching Mac even as his hand strayed to his burgeoning cock. "You're so pretty. I'm hot," Vic licked his lips, eyes gone cloudy with desire, "and horny." He giggled slightly, an inebriated sound.

"Am I pretty? Well I think you're beautiful, Victor. I'm horny too; watching you has made me very horny indeed. I wish to fuck you, Victor," Ahrmakhi purred softly. "Go lie on the bed, but take the robe off first. Spread your legs for me, pretty Victor."

Victor's lower lip came out petulantly. "Don't wanna move," he pouted as one hand scrabbled to free the tie on his robe, and the other moved to cup and stroke his straining erection. Mac was going to be in him soon; how could he not get hard at the thought?

Mac watched through hooded eyes as Vic continued to play with his cock. He wanted to taste it. Badly. He could see the tip glisten in the soft light, precum dotting its surface. However, crawling along the floor to give his partner the blowjob of his life just wasn't acceptable in the role he'd chosen to adopt, not with Laurent most likely glued to wherever it was he watched these things from

Surging out of his chair, Ahrmakhi stalked towards his toy and dragged him to his feet. "You are my play toy, pretty Victor, and if I want you on the bed, legs splayed like the whore you are, you'll do as you're told," the young man growled as he roughly moved Vic backwards to the bed, tearing the robe from the older man's body as he did so.

Shoving Vic down, Mac was on him in an instant, suddenly totally into his role. Rolling Vic onto his stomach, Mac yanked him backwards so that Vic's ass was canted high in the air, just level with Mac's cock. "This is how I want you. This is where you belong now— under me, servicing me. Do you understand, Victor?"

At the older man's attempt at protest, Mac's hand cracked down hard on Vic's ass, causing him to yelp in pain. "Mine, Victor, you're mine," he growled, fully meaning it.

Vic tried to surge off the bed, pretending slowed reflexes, and Mac was ready for him. Using the sash from Vic's robe, he easily captured a hand as Vic tried to swing at him then grabbed the other. With quick movements he had Vic's wrists bound together and crowded the older man forward, using his body to lever Vic back down to the bed.

With what would appear to be a vicious yank to any spectators, Mac secured Vic to the wrought iron headboard of the bed. Continuing to use his weight and position to keep Vic pinned to the bed, Mac grabbed the bottle of lubricant on the bedside table and poured some down the crack of Vic's ass.

Vic yelped at the coldness, but not even that detracted from his arousal. He was so fucking hard he couldn't stand it. Vic would never have imagined that Mac could be such a dom, and he was adoring it. It was so good to have someone demand control, to wrest it away and assert his will over the normally dominant agent. And it was Mac.

Mac's free hand quickly worked his own trousers open, and more gel was slicked onto Mac's cock. Not even bothering to prepare or stretch Victor, Mac knifed inside the older man, causing him to cry out with sharply spiked arousal. "So tight, like a virginal woman," Mac gasped out, frantically clinging to his role in order to prevent any show of tenderness that he wanted so desperately to give. That would have to wait until later. But it didn't stop him from feeling as if he was raping the man he loved.

Vic bucked backwards, impaling himself more fully on the long spike of Mac's cock, looking for all intents and purposes as if he was struggling to pull himself off the younger man, when in fact he was trying to get Mac deeper. He cried out, a guttural sound that could be interpreted as protest but was in fact passion. So good, so fucking good, he moaned to himself, wanting the burning pleasure to go on forever. When Mac pulled out and slammed back in, he had to bite down on his arm to prevent himself from yowling like a cat in heat.

To Laurent it would look like rape. To Mac it was passion long denied, and from the feel of Vic's hard erection, that he now stroked in tandem to the thrusts of his hips, it was reciprocated. All too soon he felt himself lose what shredded remains of control he had left. Thrusting rapidly into Vic, his hand goading the older man to join him, Mac came hard, pumping Vic full of semen. The soft splash of hot come on his hand let him know that Vic had joined him in release.

Slumping over Vic, his weight forced the other man to collapse into the bed with a soft whimper. Mac was still embedded deep in the older man's ass. "Mine," he purred once more, sealing the promise with a bite strong enough to leave reddened impressions of his teeth in the creamy golden skin.

"Yours," came the practically silent whisper of agreement, so soft that no mike would have been able to pick it up as Vic relaxed underneath him. Mac hid his face in Vic's back in order to hide the full-fledged grin of happiness. Damn, he couldn't remember ever feeling this good.

Laurent raged. He hurled. A chair went into the bank of monitors that had shown him Victor's claiming. Victor was his pretty, and no one else's. It should have been he that had sweated and groaned and taken the Canadian like the hot young animal he was, not that whelp.

He had thought watching Victor be taken would have cured him of his obsession, his need. It would have burned the desire away. All it did was make him burn with rage. Victor should be his. Would be his!

Storming out of the monitoring room, the slave trader summoned his 'extraction' team. "I want him back. NOW!"

Mac untied Vic's wrists, running a finger across the marks with tender concern. A slight shake of Vic's head and a quickly hidden smile had him breathing in relief. Vic really wasn't upset with him. Oh man, he wanted to talk to Vic so badly, to tell the older man that he loved him, to assure himself that Vic really was okay, but Vic was supposed to be drugged to the gills. Dammit!

Then an idea sprang to mind. The bathroom. A shower— natural white noise and the frosted glass would keep the cameras out... now all he had to do was figure out how to make it dark enough that movement couldn't be discerned, and he could actually hold Vic and be held like he so wanted to.

Pulling off and out of Vic, Mac got to his feet and all but yanked Vic off the bed. They needed to be there now, right now.

Vic made an unintelligible sound of protest as he let Mac haul him to his feet and into the bathroom. He was sore, but pleasantly so. The ache in his ass would be a constant reminder of just how well he'd been claimed by his lover. Mac was his lover; God, there were no words that could come close to describing the thrilling rush that thought gave him. And Mac, Jesus, he'd have to get the younger man to do that again when they were safely back in Canada and he really could cut loose and be the total slutty bottom he so desperately wanted to be for his partner.

Leading Vic into the bathroom, Mac propped the older man on the bidet as he got the water running in the shower. The shower cubicle itself was mike and camera free, so the noise of the water and the frosted glass should give them a modicum of privacy. Now, how to go about making it harder to see...

He turned and lit a myriad of tiny candles scattered around the room then shut off the lights, throwing the area into shadow. They'd be able to see the light through the glass, but the camera wouldn't be able to pick up on them. Perfect.

"Come, sweet little putain, can't have you stinking in my bed," Mac husked softly, pulling the ex-cop up and into the shower. Once the glass door was closed, he drew Vic in for a heated kiss. "Are you okay? I didn't hurt you?"

"Baby, the only thing that's gonna hurt is if you tell me you'll never do it again," Vic purred softly, rubbing against Mac's lean frame. "You were so hot I thought you were gonna burn me alive. I loved it. I love you."

Mac sagged against Vic in relief. "God, I was so scared... and turned on at the same time. Sick, hunh? Part of me felt like I really was raping you, and dammit, I kept getting harder."

"We were role playing, baby; the sex shrinks always say those kind of fantasies are common. I, on the other hand, didn't think of it like that at all. I loved you dominant, loved bottoming for you— but only you, Mac. No one else could ever make me feel like that. Make me feel safe and loved and totally helpless and turned on. But next time— we use fur lined handcuffs, okay?" Vic teased, trying to shock the younger man out of his mood.

"Vic," Mac managed to get out in a strangled whisper. His staid and stoic partner was a closet bondage slut! Not that Mac minded but... "Only if you play with me the same way. I want us to share everything from now on, Vic," the younger man breathed, watching Vic carefully, hoping he wasn't pushing too far, too fast, but fuck, he'd nearly lost Vic forever. Mac wasn't about to wait around on the off chance it happened again. He wanted this settled now.

"I don't know about everything, Mac," Vic began, only to see the younger man's face fall. "I mean I wouldn't want you to share my pain for anything, or my family, God, wouldn't even want the Director to share them. But share my life, definitely," the ex-cop swore passionately, taking Mac's succulent mouth in a soul searing kiss.

Finally the need for oxygen forced the two men to unseal their lips. Mac looked into verdant green eyes, gauging the truth of Vic's words. Seeing what he so desperately sought, the younger man smiled then dropped to his knees, surprising the hell out of Vic.

"I love you too, want to do the life thing with you, but right now... Right now I wanna do what I couldn't do earlier." With a cocky wink and a lascivious lick of his lips, Mac dove onto the thick girth of cock and began to swallow it down.

Vic's fingers threaded through Mac's hair, and a strangled gasp fought its way from a throat constricted by need. "Jesus, Mac!" he managed to moan as the younger man relaxed his throat muscles and took Vic in deeper, taking him to the root.

Laurent's men moved quietly and efficiently. The rich kid's security was almost airtight. Almost. It would take them a little longer than normal to bypass the protocols, but the boss wanted the cop back, and no one pissed off the boss willingly. So they were gonna get the cop back.

Misters Murphy and Camier were running through the dialogue of their next little private production when the alarm grid began to beep.

"It would appear that our brief sojourn is over, Mr. Murphy."

"Indeed, Mr. Camier. Company has decided to invite itself in. How very rude of them. But somewhat expected when one takes into account the vulgar lout that employs them."

"Too true, Mr. Murphy, and I must confess I was feeling a bit constrained by this current situation. It shall be rather nice to shed this insincere act and revert to our true form."

"Indeed. Let us inform Mr. Dobrinsky and then engage in the hunt."

Vic's breath was coming in gasping sobs as Mac played him like a... a... whatever that damn violin was. So close, he was so fucking close. Mac's nose was buried in his curls, the younger man's throat massaging his screaming flesh and his tongue whipping him so gently it hurt. And then Mac slid a finger in his ass and brushed his prostate.

Vic came apart at the seams. Literally. Biting down on his lip hard to keep the high pitched whine from escaping, Vic shot stream after stream of semen into the younger man's throat, more than he thought his overly tired, thirty-something body could have produced in round number three. Damn. No getting around it, Mac was a natural born cocksucker.

Sagging against the wet tile, Vic slid down it until he was sitting on the floor. Pulling Mac forward, he took those self-satisfied lips fast and hard, swiping a tongue around the interior of Mac's mouth in order to taste himself mingled with his lover's taste. "God damn, Mac."

"Liked that, hunh?"

"Hell yes!"

"Well, it would seem that we have a leak inside the Government Advisory Council. This disturbs me," the Director informed her two female agents as they waited tensely for the yacht to make land.

"Like, you think they got Vic okay?"

"Trust me, Jackie, Mac wasn't about to let Laurent keep our Victor. They'll all be waiting for us. Li Ann, be a dear and impress upon the captain that I want to be there now."

Dobrinsky snapped the cell phone shut. First the Cleaners had called to inform him of the security breach, and then the Director phoned to say that they were in sight of land. Bets were that either Mac and Vic's little show sent Laurent over the deep end or else their cover was blown. Either way it was time for the lovebirds to stop playing hide the sausage and get dressed and armed.

Pounding on the bathroom door, Dobie yelled. "Play time's over boys. We need to move!" Muffled curses made him smile and the door was thrown open after a few minutes, both men glaring daggers at him and clutching towels they had hastily wrapped around them.

"She's close, and security's been breached. Get dressed for 'play', and grab your favourite party toys. Let's go. Murphy and Camier are already taking care of business."

"Who?" Vic snapped out, eyes icing over as his mind did the mental leaps to get him in the mindset he needed to be in after a month of enforced retirement.

"Don't know who yet. My money's on Laurent. Bet your little show sent him loony tunes, and now he wants you back. Murphy and Camier are investigating, and we should know soon enough. Then we take 'em out— quick, clean and by the numbers. No mess, no witnesses. She wants no reminders left behind— but she does want Laurent. He's pissed her off."

"Fine, get outta here; we gotta dress. Meet you downstairs for our accessories."

"Oh no, Ace. You and the kid are to head to the docks; you only discharge if fired upon. It's you he's after, so it's you we gotta get out of the line of fire. Deal with it and hustle."

Dobrinsky threw off one of those damnably annoying grins and left, heading out to meet up with the Cleaners and buy the boys time to get to the boat.

"God dammit! I want a piece of those sons of bitches out there! They may be the assholes who grabbed me!" Vic growled as Mac calmly walked over to a closet containing their 'work clothes' and tossed the older man his black Agency fatigues.

"And basically walk right back into Laurent's little slave camp? Unh-unh, lover, we're getting the hell out of here. Let Dobie and the Cleaners be fucking heroes for once. I prefer my love slave breathing and with me," Mac retorted sarcastically as he slithered into his own black outfit. "However, I'll be happy to help dress you, babe," he continued with a waggle of his eyebrows.

"Fuck, Ramsey, you're such a prick," Vic laughed, joining the younger man and kissing him hard. "Okay, baby, you win. We head to the boat. Last thing I want is to be separated from you again. 'Sides, someone's gotta protect that sweet ass of yours— and who better than the guy who plans to crawl inside it first chance he gets."

"We've finally bypassed the security, sir; it took longer than expected due to the complexity of the alarm system the target had."

"I don't want excuses. I want Victor. Get him for me, and we'll forget your ineptness. Fail to retrieve him and..." Laurent slammed down the phone and barked at the terrified technicians scrambling to reconnect the video feed to a secondary bank of monitors to hurry up. The first bank he'd damaged beyond repair in his anger.

"You'll have to pay for that too, pretty. And for letting that pup fuck you without more protest. You were hard for him, Victor. I saw your straining cock. You dared to get hard for that... boy when you..." Laurent snarled softly as he remembered how soft Victor had stayed when he, Laurent, had played with him.

"Oh, there are many things I'm going to make you regret, my pretty little policeman. I'm going to break you this time, Victor, and make you all mine."

"It would seem that it is indeed young Victor they wish to recover," Murphy commented almost silently to his shadowy partner.

"That will never do. I rather enjoy our poker games and have missed them this preceding month. And Victor is a rather likeable chap. For an Agent."

Down at the docks a sleek looking pleasure craft with an engine powerful enough to outrun almost anything pulled into the pier. Li Ann, Jackie and the Director were on deck, almost invisible in the shadows due to their dark clothes. The motor purred silently, and the running lights were off. Once the boys were on board, they'd hightail it out of there. Dobrinsky, Murphy and Camier all had their own escape routes to follow.

"Hurry up, boys, let's get you out of here," the Director murmured softly, sharp eyes watching shadows for any hint of movement.

"A boat? Why is there a boat? And... merde!" Swivelling in his chair, Laurent picked up his headset to contact the extraction leader. "They know you're there, idiot! They're heading for the dock; there's a boat moored and waiting!!!

"Damnation. It would seem that he's monitoring us once again. It looks as if they are moving to intercept the Agents."

"Indeed, Mr. Camier. It would seem that subtlety is no longer required. Shall we?"

"After you, Mr. Murphy, after you."

"Hey, what's up, fellas?" Dobrinsky jogged up to join the Cleaners.

"It would seem the boat has been seen. The hostiles are moving to intercept our Agents."

"Damn. Let's move."

Jogging quickly towards the rear of the estate, Mac and Vic kept up their usual at work banter to keep themselves amused. It had taken on a slightly more sensual edge though as they teased and taunted one another, eyes always moving, scanning their environment.

"So Vic, guess you were really serious about finding yourself a boyfriend in prison, hunh? And here I thought you would have been the butch instead of the bitch."

"Yeah— well I may have thought it, but damn, Ramsey— you spent a whole year in that Hong Kong

hell... Bet you made a pretty Friday night date. Had 'em lined up around the cell block, did you?"

"Fuck you, Mansfield," Mac chuckled softly.

"With pleasure, baby. Mind if we wait till we get to the boat though?

Mac stopped a moment to run a leather-gloved thumb across Vic's lips. "Can't wait, Vic. Love the way you felt inside me... like you belonged there, and I belonged to you."

"News flash, junior. You do." Vic replied softly, pulling Mac's head down for a brief taste of his lush mouth. "Let's motor, baby. We're almost home."

"Yeah, through that gate and down. There's only one berth, so that's where we head."

"I've got movement," Li Ann informed the other women from where she watched with night vision binoculars on the deck of the boat. "It's them!" the young Asian breathed a sigh of relief. This nightmare was almost over.

"Like, I've got movement too, and it s not the friendly kind," Jackie replied from her vantage point where her field glasses were trained on Laurent's extraction team.

"Come on, boys, come home to mama," the Director whispered, unsnapping the sniper case without looking and beginning to assemble the deadly weapon by touch alone. "Just keep coming to mama, and I'll take care of the bullies."

"It would appear our efforts were in vain. The assailants have reached the target first," Mr. Camier pointed out softly. They wouldn't be able to close the gap in time. Only the Agents' skill and divine intervention would help them now.

"Do not disregard their lovely counterparts on the boat, Mr. Camier," Murphy pointed out.

"Yeah, the Director ain't losing her people again. But we'd best cover the rear just in case," Dobrinsky added as he set up a rearguard position to contain the hostiles.

"Thank God. We have him. I don't even want to think of what the boss would do if we didn't bring the guy back. But we gotta secure him. Which means getting rid of the spoiled brat. All right, people, let's do some damage control."

"I can't wait to get off this fucking island. The further away from that..." Mac growled as he moved down the narrow path towards the boat. "I want hot water, beer and you. In me," he teased, shooting a look over his shoulder.

Moonlight played off a rifle barrel behind them.

"Down!" Mac yelled, pulling the older man down in a huddle. He sucked in a pained gasp as a bullet winged him. "Fuck!" Looking around for any avenue of escape, Mac realized there was only one unexpected one left open to them. "We gotta go down. Jump out as much as we can; the water is right below us."

"Mac... I love you," Vic gasped, pulling the ex-thief in for a desperate kiss. "We jump together, okay? I'm not losing you even for a second."

"You got it, dork man."

On the cliffs above a secondary sniper had moved into position, thanks to the distraction. Now all he needed was a clear shot.

"Dammit, there are two of them. Who to take out first?" the Director muttered as she sighted first one, then the second hostile.

"On the count of three," Mac murmured, breaking off the kiss and standing. "One, two, three!"

Everything seemed to slow down just like those cheesy movies that Vic detested with a passion. They pushed off from the wall and jumped wide, but as they did, Vic heard a shot and saw Mac begin to fall in a less than controlled manner. Another shot rang out, followed by a scream of agony, then another with the same result.

Water rushed up to meet him, and he was breaking the surface, frantically looking for Mac. A splash nearby and Li Ann surfaced next to him. Something brushed his leg, and he reached down to come into contact with an arm. "MAC!"

Between him and Li Ann they got Mac on board and inside. The boat powered away from the docks, and as he frantically tried to get his lover to breathe again, Li Ann tried to staunch the river of blood. But they were safe... if Vic had had the time, he would have laughed hysterically at that thought. Safe was Mac. And if he... well, then nowhere would be safe for Victor again without Mac.

Two weeks later

A private ward in a Toronto Hospital

The incessant sound of beeping finally brought Mac close enough to the surface to try and decimate his alarm. Except that his hand was so heavy he could hardly lift it, and it was caught by another hand almost immediately. Screw it, he was going back to sleep.

The next time he woke up, it wasn't to that god-awful beeping, it was to the sound of breathing just next to his left ear. Opening his eyes a crack and turning his head slightly, he saw a man lying there, looking grey and pinched and unkempt even in sleep. What the? But his eyes were so heavy— just a moment of rest and then he'd find out what the hell was going on and who that guy was.

"He's awake, Victor," a very tired and drawn looking Director informed the ex-cop as he walked into the secured hospital ward. "Victor," her hand shot out to stop him from barrelling past and into Mac's room. "Walk with me."

"But..."

"Walk with me, Victor." Her tone brooked no argument.

"He doesn't remember a thing?" Vic choked out, praying this was a nightmare or a badly rehearsed joke. "Nothing about..." the ex-cop swallowed hard, "about us?"

"The last thing he remembers is seeing Li Ann down a hallway and Dobrinsky handcuffing him to a trolley. The doctors say this sort of memory loss, though not common, is not entirely unexpected given the circumstances. They say he has a good chance of remembering, given time and space but... no, Victor, he doesn't remember you at all, let alone that you were lovers. I'm sorry."

Patting her agent's hand awkwardly, the Director stood to leave. "If you need... anything..."

"I can't go back to what we were. I can't see him day after day and not remember, not want..." Victor looked up at the Director with devastated eyes.

"I need out."

"I can grant you an immediate leave of absence."

"No. I mean out. Entirely out... out of the city, out of the province, out of the fucking country. I need to be away from everything...

"I can't look and not remember, not... he's everything, and now he doesn't remember there ever was an us. You saw the tapes, don't deny it, so you know... I gave up everything I am to him that night, but he doesn't remember. I can't deal, not on top of all the other crap I gotta go through. Not now. Get me out."

"Are you sure? He might remember, Vic."

"And he might not. If he doesn't... I can't be here for that," Vic looked up at the older woman, eyes full of anguish and more haunted than she could ever remember seeing them.

"All right, Victor. I'll see what I can do."

As the plane taxied down the runway, Vic looked at Toronto for what could very well be the last time. A tear tracked unheeded down his cheek as the plane picked up speed and hurtled itself into the air, heading to a very distant land far away from Canada.

'Forgive me, Mac; I'm just not strong enough to love you right now, not when you can't even remember me. I don't know if I'll ever be that strong. Goodbye, baby.'

When other lips and other hearts
Their tales of woe shall tell,
In language whose excess imparts
The power they feel so well,
There may, perhaps, in such a scene,
some recollection be
Of days that have as happy been,
And you'll remember me

Alfred Bunn, The Bohemian Girl

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