Tidings of Comfort and Joyjuice

by Dr. Ruthless

Fandom: Once A Thief

Category/Rated: PG13, Not slash. Eep!

Year/Length: ~4985 words

Pairing: Vic/Mac

Disclaimer: Victor made me do it; when he decides he wants something, I am as putty in his hands. The characters are all owned by Alliance, and I didnt make a single cent on this extravaganza.

Author's Notes: Merry Christmas, Pic

Beta: Beta by Kindli, for which much thanks.

Happiness is something that one rarely fully experiences. We go through life seeking it, but somehow we never quite grab onto it, or if we do, it slips away like mist before we know it. The best we can hope for is contentment, a state of being that is by no means the same thing.

For Victor Mansfield, trapped by circumstances way beyond his control, neither circumstance looked likely to come his way any time soon. He hated Christmas parties, and would far rather have been spending the evening in his local blues club, and yet, here he was, dancing attendance on the Director under the pretext of trying to discover what fiendish arch-villain had been spiking the members' drinks at a very exclusive country club.

Lounging against the wall of the bar, awaiting his mistress's voice, the world seemed to him to have no luster. Whole lives had screeched by him, leaving him standing forlorn in their dust. Now, here he was, pawn of fate, and, to add insult to injury, he was wearing a goddam tux!

Used to the pristine armor of the much-washed denim that normally fitted him like a second skin, Victor felt uneasily defenseless in the starched white shirt and fine wool of the tux. The bow tie constricted his neck and made him feel as though he were strangling, and as for the cummerbund it was as if he were wearing a corset. All in all, he'd had better evenings in fact he'd had better evenings in prison, he thought to himself sourly. At least there he hadn't been expected to run around waiting hand and foot on a bitch that he was beginning to think was not a woman at all, but rather a spawn of Satan.

Sighing, he watched the slender, willowy figure making the circuit of the room. As usual, she was dressed in black, and the skintight silk of her formal gown left her white shoulders bare, exposing the creamy swell of her breasts. With her hair piled on top of her head, she looked delicate and graceful, like a marigold. Who would ever think that the fragile looking woman was a vicious and domineering Messalina?

A movement of her black-gloved hand caught his eye, and he stood up straight, moved over to stand at her shoulder, awaiting her command.

"Victor, my precious, could you fetch me some champagne?" She smiled at him winningly, and only the sharp little daggers in her gaze reminded him that she was more than she appeared.

"Of course, my sweet," he responded, huskily, while lowering his lashes so that she couldn't quite see the flare of madness that he knew glowed in his eyes. Moving smoothly through the press, he ignored the admiring glances and tentative approaches that were being sent out to him from all sides. As he finally reached the bar, Victor caught the eye of the large, muscular looking bartender.

"Gimme a glass of the Contessa's personal champagne, please, buddy?" He leant on the bar as the man went to find the requested champagne and returned to pour it.

"There you go, stud." The man pushed the glass over towards Vic. "You drinking this too?"

"Are you kidding? I wouldn't touch that shit if you paid me. Besides, I have to keep a clear head for the Contessa. She expects it." Vic grinned, temporarily forgetting the morose thoughts of a few minutes before. "Got to earn that Mercedes, you know? Gimme an orange juice or something. Make it look like a real drink, if you will."

Nodding, the man behind the bar turned to busy himself with shaved ice and a cocktail shaker, moving deftly as he concocted a suitable ‘mocktail' for Victor.

"Thanks, bud." Vic raised the finished glass in salute. Festooned with pieces of fruit and gaudily colored, the drink was a work of art, and he surveyed it moodily, his eyes flicking from his glass to the festooned tinsel and baubles with which the room was strung. "Looks like the fucking Mona Lisa," he announced, and sipped it.

The bartender laughed and moved away to begin washing some of the glasses, but from the glances that he kept darting at Vic it was apparent that he was interested in the tall, well-made man that was dancing attendance on the slender, arrogant woman. Vic nodded to himself in sour satisfaction. It was beginning. With a bit of luck he would be out of this monkey suit very shortly. He felt a sudden, unaccountable lightening of his mood, and gave the bartender a friendly wave as he moved off to take his ‘mistress' her drink, passing Mac Ramsey, white jacketed and bearing a tray of canapés as he went.

Strolling over to where the Director was holding court, Vic stepped in behind her, slipping one arm around her waist to pull her back against him whilst he reached with the other to hand her the champagne flute. She stiffened slightly, and then relaxed, leaning back against him and laughing up at him.

"Very well done, Victor. You're a quick study." He surveyed her from hard, calculating green eyes, and then stooped to run his tongue over her neck, from the delicately turned collarbone to the angle of her jaw. At the far corner of the room, the tall, Asian waitress dropped the tray she was carrying, and Victor's shoulder's shook slightly.

"You wanted a gigolo; you've got one. Let's go," he growled, and ran a possessive hand over her bare shoulders. "Very nice."

"Why, Victor! You seem to be starting to take your job seriously. What a pleasant surprise." The slow and sensual drawl seemed to affect him all of a sudden. He'd never before realized how amazingly sexy the Director's voice was. He shivered unaccountably, and slid his arms around her possessively, cupping her breasts as he pressed against her back.

"Cut the crap, lady. We've got a job to do, and all of this goes with the territory." Harsh, throaty, Vic's voice promised sex. His lips began to wander down from the lobe of her ear to the hollow of her collarbone, and she flushed, then melted into the caresses.

The Asian waitress passed behind him, carrying a tray with a large amount of empty glasses on it. "Victor," she hissed. "What's gotten into you? You're making a spectacle of yourself."

Vic didn't deign to respond. His mouth was full of creamy white flesh and he didn't seem to be worried about the impressions that others might get from his antics. The Director, however, laid her head back against his shoulder and said, sotto voce, "Buzz off, LiAnn. Go on now. Shoo!"

Vic's fingers were urgent against the fasteners of her dress, and shortly, even she found that she needed to withdraw from the company, so urgent were the hands on her, and so very pleasant did they feel.

Back in the hotel bedroom, they had no sooner walked in through the door when he spun her around to face him and pulled her into a harsh embrace that left her breathless and feeling decidedly out of control. As Vic began to devour her, from mouth to breast, to navel, she gradually gave up all vestiges of authority in exchange for the utter wildness of Vic's mouth, his hands, the promise of more.

"Are they still in there?" Mac Ramsey peered through the door of his room at the one opposite, and shuddered theatrically. "It's official. We'll never see him again. Black widows devour their mates after coupling."

"Oh, be quiet." LiAnn Tsei was pacing back and forth, covering the room with her athletic stride. "Victor would never…"

"We both saw last night. We saw with our own eyes. There was no room for doubt." Mac's voice was incredulous.

"I still don't believe it," snorted LiAnn. "You know what he thinks of the Director."

"I don't know what to think, LiAnn. Perhaps Vic got tired of his own right hand and decided that he'd change his luck. Even he has to want sex sometimes."

"But, Mac, the Director… Victor would never…"

"Just when you think you know someone, right?" Mac grinned. "Maybe it all proved too much for him. She's overpowered his last couple of brain cells. You know he never had many to start with."

"Mac, if you're not going to be any help, go away and let me think." LiAnn flung herself down into a chair and passed her hand in front of her face, rubbing her forehead, as she appeared to ponder the very strange events of the night before. "He was the same as he always is, and then he suddenly seemed to get… strange. Do you think that she put something in his beer?"

"He wasn't drinking beer last night." Mac frowned, trying to recall just exactly what had happened. "I didn't see him drink anything. No." There was silence as the two of them ran the events of the previous evening through their memories. Then Mac turned to LiAnn, his face beaming. "He had some weird looking cocktail with a bunch of fruit hanging out of it. You think that he has some sort of reaction to fruit?"

LiAnn gave him a withering look, and Mac subsided momentarily, then perked up again. "You think that the Director expected this to happen? It's got to be a bit of a shock to her, don't you think? I mean, Victor's always been surly but biddable before, and he practically ripped her clothes off in the middle of the party."

"If you ask me, she enjoyed every second of it," said LiAnn, sourly. The concept of either of her partners wanting anyone else but her was as unwelcome to her as a dish full of worms. Victor had given her a horrible shock the previous evening, and she hadn't yet gotten over the idea that he was even now likely to be in bed with her boss. "But I take your point. She did look a little shocked, and much as it pains me to admit it, you're right. He was drinking something yellow just before he went nuts. I remember that. Do you suppose we should go and try to rescue him from her, or would it be better to try and find the bartender and see what he thinks?"

"I can't see that there's going to be much left of him." Mac's eyes were flicking from side to side as he attempted to find a reason not to go interfering between the Director and her chosen prey. "I'll go and talk to the bartender. You coming? I mean, suppose we were to go in there and she was in the act of actually eating him?" He shuddered, quite oblivious to any double entendre he might have made.

After a moment's thought, LiAnn's eyes suddenly widened as she received the flash of a visual that Mac's words had generated. "Yeah," she said, sweating. "Let's go and talk to the bartender."

Victor was warm and snug, and he was having the most wonderful dream. In it, he was loved. His life was as he'd always wanted it, and he was happy. He was dimly aware of lush, fragrant hair tickling his nose, and an unaccustomed warmth permeating through from another body. The thought was enough to drag him from the depths of his dreaming and yank his consciousness to the surface. Groaning, he attempted to open his eyes.

The light seeped in behind his eyelids, stabbing. Groaning, he pressed his fingers to them, sure that he would see blood when he removed them, but unwilling to open them and find out. What the fuck had he been drinking last night?

Someone stirred beside him, and he froze. Who? What was happening here? A cautious cracking of his eyelids revealed something that made him shudder.

She was looking back at him, eyes bright and face unaccountably lacking her usual mocking expression, but for all of that, it was the Director, right there in the bed with him, and he was now officially busted.

What had he been drinking. As far as he could recall, nothing that would make him feel like this. His head was pounding and his mouth tasted as bad as it ever had in his life. He'd kill for a drink of water and an aspirin. It was almost worth getting vertical just to go find them, and yet…

The only thing he could remember passing his lips last night had been that astonishing orange juice mocktail thing that the friendly bartender had created for him. Memories hit home, and he groaned. Not quite the only thing. Shit! Make that the only thing he'd actually swallowed.

Ummm…

The bartender must've done something to his drink. He could think of no other reason for the way that he'd behaved. There was a rustling, and warmth along his side, fingers stroking him, touching him, and purring contentment. My God, what had he done?

"Good morning, Victor," said the 'Contessa', and his whimper went unheard as she closed her mouth over his.

Down in the bar, LiAnn and Mac were having an argument with the catering manager who had the unhappy task of setting the banqueting suite to rights once more after the rowdiest Christmas function he could remember.

"I tell you, he came from the agency. We just call them up when we need extra staff. He was one of thirty. I can't be expected to remember…" His words were curtailed by LiAnn, who had uncharacteristically seized the slender man by his lapels and thrown him up against the wall with a growl. "I…I… I'll call the agency."

"Do that." Mac had hovered in the background while LiAnn questioned the man, but now he moved forward and laid a hand on her shoulder, unmistakably indicating that she should back off. As she released the hapless little man, he fumbled for his cell and punched in a number, cowering back against the wall as he did so.

"Carlton? Yes, it's Davenport from the Chiltern Country Club. I need a list of names and addresses faxing if you please. " The man paused, obviously listening. "Yes, the Chiltern. I need details on everyone that worked the function last night, particularly the bar staff. I'm looking for a young man you sent us."

Closing his phone and returning it to his pocket, Mr. Davenport eyed LiAnn with trepidation. "They're going to fax us the list. It should come through to my office very shortly."

"Lead on." Mac made an extravagant gesture, and the man scuttled ahead of them, giving LiAnn the kind of look that was normally reserved for a creature from beyond the grave. As they entered the long suffering man's office, they heard the shrilling of the fax, and after a short while, paper began to feed from the machine beside the desk.

LiAnn wasted no time. Whisking the documents from the fax machine as rapidly as it could spit them out, she swiftly identified the men that had been serving behind the bar the previous night.

"There are three possibles. Would you remember any of the names? We could narrow it down that way." LiAnn was frowning now as she studied the pages that she held in her hand. "There was a Mark, a Peter and a Lincoln. Any of them ring bells?"

Mac stared at her, shaking his head, obviously he'd remained in blissful ignorance of his surroundings. LiAnn made a face at him and stalked out of the room in search of her laptop, stepping close enough to the hapless Davenport that he leapt backwards to smack into the wall.

Mac sauntered after her, tossing the catering manager a look as if to say, ‘see what I have to endure,' and then hastened to catch up to her.

They found the first man swiftly. He was a short, slight man whose nerves at seeing LiAnn caused him to stutter. As the two of them left his house again following the questioning, Mac was frowning.

"Don't you think that you're going a little overboard with this, LiAnn?" He laughed, somewhat nervously. "Anyone would think that you cared what happened to old Victor." The black look he got from the Asian beauty made him fall back and blink. Being Mac, he couldn't leave well enough alone. "You do. You want him back, don't you?"

"He's my friend," LiAnn hissed at him, and her face became thunderous as Mac laughed.

"Friend, yeah. That's right. Friend." Mac's laughter was cut off abruptly as LiAnn's fist sank into his unsuspecting stomach.

"Mac, do me a favor? Never, ever speak to me again," she hissed at him and stalked off.

As he hustled to catch up yet again, his breath still uneven from the blow, Mac reflected that it served him right. LiAnn had never shown any sign of having a sense of humor.

Vic wasn't sure if he was ecstatic or horrified. Awash with sensation, he was lying sated, panting, covered in a sheen of sweat that was testament to the energy he'd just expended. Beside him, purring like a kitten, curled the Director, her head pillowed on his chest as her red talons skittered over his flushed skin.

He didn't speak -- he didn't dare. To begin with, he had no idea what he could possibly say. What the hell did one say when one had sexually assaulted one's boss? He was sure that there was no protocol for that.

Etiquette aside, she seemed to be in a very good mood. She was positively catlike as she squirmed over his chest to nuzzle down along the treasure trail towards his groin. He moaned. She was going to kill him if she kept this up, but already he was aware of her soft breath on his groin, of his own body ignoring his commands to stay still as his penis began to fill, growing solid in small and ticklish spurts.

"Don't. You're going to break my back." His velvety voice was soft, his tone giving the lie to the words that fell from his lips, and she chuckled throatily as her mouth moved to take him in, the vibrations of her laughter deliciously translating into prickles of delight.

"Nonsense, Victor. You worry too much. I wouldn't dream of letting anything happen to you now." As she went to work on him with her sweet, knowledgeable mouth and clever fingers, he lost the power to do anything but feel, and groan, and then sob with pleasure.

The second bartender was elusive. They'd called at his house several times but he wasn't in. His mother had denied any knowledge of his whereabouts, and LiAnn had been forcibly restrained from marching to the young man's bedroom and searching it for evidence. As Mac dragged her away from the bemused woman that was Lincoln Metacewski's mother, he made apologies and arranged for their return at a more opportune moment.

As soon as they were back outside on the street with the door closed behind Mrs. Metacewski, LiAnn kneed Mac in the groin and then proceeded to stalk away towards the car.

Two for two, thought Mac, sourly, as he hurried after her, his gait crabwise from the pain she had inflicted. Wonder what she's going to do to me next. He made a silent promise to himself that if LiAnn picked up anything with a sharp point over the next twenty four hours or so, he would set a new world record for the mile.

Peter Daniels was a student at the local college. He proved to be a very well built young black man. When they were shown into his room, he greeted Mac and LiAnn with an easy smile and waved LiAnn to the single chair that stood in the corner. Mac remained standing, lounging against the door post, while LiAnn dove straight into the questioning.

"Do you remember this man?" She passed over Victor's photo as she spoke, and waited for Peter's reaction. It wasn't long in coming. A broad grin lit up his face as he recognized the man in the snapshot.

"Hey, man. This is the dude that did the wild thing with that hot babe in the middle of the dance floor last night. Man, that was incredible. They should film it. I'd buy a copy." He laughed, and continued laughing until LiAnn landed the punch on his jaw that dropped him to the floor.

"Looks like the one we're after is this Lincoln guy," said Mac, as they left Peter's dormitory. LiAnn merely grunted, and Mac sighed as he hurried after her.

She was letting him out of bed. Vic was not sure yet if that was a good thing. His legs were shaky as he stepped out onto the deep pile of the rug in the penthouse assigned to the ‘Contessa'. He was starving. Much as he wanted to cut and run, he was far too hungry. Pulling on his underwear he looked around for something he could wear something other than the tux he'd had on the previous night.

The Director had gone out, leaving him bemused and shuddering, emotionally wrecked and physically drained, in the aftermath of the previous evening's events. He took a look at himself in the mirror, and hastily looked away when he spotted the circle of bruises that laced his neck. Damn her. Why did she have to be so… so butch!

Sighing in resignation, he picked up his shirt and began to insert himself into its once spotless folds, wanting merely to escape from the opulence of the suite and lick his psychic wounds. He was just pulling on his pants when the door opened and the Director returned, followed by a white jacketed waiter pushing a cart from which delicious smells were emanating.

"Ah, Victor. So nice to see that you are once again with us. I thought that you'd like a little sustenance to replace your lost calories. We have to keep your strength up," Her voice was a purr, and she headed straight towards him, while Victor looked around wildly for refuge and then slumped, hopelessly.

"Don't worry, Victor. In time to come, you won't even remember what it used to be like before." As Vic groaned, she gestured to the server, and he whipped away the covers from the platters, revealing the kind of sumptuous breakfast spread that made Vic's arteries harden just to look at. He sighed heavily. He knew when to give up.

LiAnn's face was as black as thunder as she manhandled the hapless Linc into the car. She'd refused to entertain returning to the club until she'd caught up with him, and once she'd discovered that he worked at another bar in the area, she'd lost no time in rushing over there to quiz him.

Linc had laughed when LiAnn had begun her questions.

"Sure. The poor Joe was looking so grim; I thought I'd loosen him up a little. I'm a chemistry major, and I've created a special concoction I like to call my ‘Joyjuice'. " Linc laughed as he recalled. "I slipped a little into a mocktail and passed it to him. He sure seemed happier after that."

Mac had moved rapidly to hold LiAnn back as Linc finished speaking. He could see that her mood was not good, and he had an idea that somehow he'd catch the fallout if she succeeded in choking the shit out of the kid something she appeared to be earnestly attempting.

He collected a kick on the shins for his trouble, but it appeared that she had relaxed again, and he would heal in time. What were broken bones and a few missing square feet of skin when compared to a serious tongue lashing from the Director. Far better to take the contusions, he decided.

Together, the shadowy government agents returned to the country club, and went to find their boss.

Vic had finished his gargantuan breakfast, and was feeling pretty damned good considering he'd just had his innocence destroyed. He was lounging on the Contessa's bed, reading the sports pages of the Globe and Mail, when LiAnn and Mac burst into the room, shoving the confused and somewhat angry chemistry student in front of them.

"Children," drawled the Director, frowning gently as she looked up from where she was painting a further coat of red lacquer onto her fingernails. "Don't you think that it would be politic to knock in future. I know that you've been deprived of the sight of me for a full twelve hours now, but even so, it's really impolite to burst in. Who knows what we might have been doing."

"That's just it," blurted LiAnn. "We've found out why Vic was behaving that way." She gave Linc a shove as she spoke, and the unfortunate bartender stumbled forward.

"Have you now?" The Director seemed to be a little more interested as she heard LiAnn's words. "And pray, what would that be?"

"It's this guy here. He put something into Victor's drink," said LiAnn, accusation ringing in her voice. The Director fixed her with a bland stare and waited for her to wilt. After a few seconds, she did so. Then, waving her fingernails airily to dry them, she turned her attention to Linc, who was beginning to wonder what he'd gotten himself into.

"And what precisely was it that you put into Victor's drink, my little friend?" she purred.

"Joyjuice," grinned Linc as he recalled Vic's performance on the dance floor the previous night. "He just looked as though he needed a bit of fun." He began to explain about his chemical creation, and the Director leant forward towards him, hanging on his every word.

Mac realized long before LiAnn, precisely what a mistake they had made. He faded silently away under the pretext of going for some champagne, packed quickly, and was on the road back to Vancouver before LiAnn even knew he was no longer in the room.

The following Monday, which was Christmas Eve, Mac sauntered into the briefing room, fashionably late as was his habit, and paused to take in the sight of LiAnn sitting in the chair she favored, with Jackie perched on the table beside her. Of Victor there was no sign.

"Hey, LiAnn. Where's Vic?" The unwise question was greeted by a scowl that would have curdled milk if there had been any lying around.

"I have no idea. I think she ate him," was the surly response.

"Seriously, where is he?" Mac persisted, the grin on his face not entirely due to pleasant thoughts. He'd always thought that the Director fancied him, not Vic.

"He's… resting," was the reply from the direction of the Diva's private office. "I find that there are only so many chemicals he can take before his body needs to regenerate." She stalked out of the shadows, a stunning vision in four-inch heels and see-through black lace, with a cigarette holder that must have measured two feet from stem to stern.

"You mean that you've been giving him that stuff the bartender made?" LiAnn's voice was horrorstricken. "You can't…"

"Oh, but I can, my dear. Dr. Metacewski is making more for me. Ah, yes. I brought our friend Linc back to work for me in… let's call it a private capacity. We aren't going to run out, and I'm sure that he'll refine it even more as he goes." She took a seat and surveyed the agents that were all looking at her, slack jawed with horror.

"And Victor is so happy now. For the first time, he has everything he's ever wanted. How bad can that be?" she said, inwardly quaking with laughter at their expressions. As the Director launched into the presentation of their next case, all three of the agents that sat around the table were silent.

Just as Mac was beginning to believe that they might never be safe again, Victor appeared at the door, pausing for a moment to survey the room. The Director's voice faltered and suddenly became silent.

Vic was back in his jeans and leather, and ostensibly there was no reason for him to appear different from his usual, truculent self, but there was a somehow indefinable something about him. His head was high, his eyes were flashing, and his body, when he finally descended the steps to approach the table, was a study in unconscious sensuality. He said nothing, merely stalked towards the table, his eyes on the Director, who wonder of wonders was blushing.

"Ah," said LiAnn, waspishly. "It's wonderful what a few designer drugs will do."

"What are you talking about?" Vic eyed her coldly and moved to stand beside the Director, with a proprietary air that none of them had seen before.

"She's drugged you, Victor. You aren't yourself." LiAnn sounded defensive, and Vic's expression changed from the frosty self containment through dawning realization, to wild amusement.

LiAnn, Mac and Jackie sat, stunned, and watched as first Victor, and then the Director, cracked up. Finally, Vic managed to regain some semblance of his normal, stoic self. "That guy slipped me something, yeah, but that was it. I haven't needed it since then." He slipped his arm around the Director's waist. "You about ready?" he asked her.

"Ah, I forgot. I was having so much fun messing with your minds, that I forgot to wish you a Merry Christmas. Off you go. I shan't need you ‘til Thursday." Rising to her feet with her usual grace, she nestled in next to Victor and fluttered her fingers. "Consider yourselves had!"

Together, the slender, red headed woman, and the tall, brawny young man left to celebrate a decidedly weird Christmas together, leaving the others to gaze after them in awed disbelief.

End

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