I used to love nights like these.
Work was great. I can't believe I'm saying that, but it was. We were out on loan to the Bureau of Land Management. Normally I hate the way we get passed around like a bong at a frat house, but this was actually really cool. BLM are the guys who round up the wild horses in Nevada every year and auction them off. Well, they found out that a bunch of them were being bought cheap and re-sold for slaughter, which is against the law. A couple of the guys involved in the slaughter ring live in San Diego, so we lent BLM a hand in catching them.
Afterwards, me, Bobby and Claire went out and had Greek food and some beers. Well, Bobby and I had beers. Ms. "Woo-hoo, let's swim naked!" decided discretion was the better part of valor, and played designated driver for the evening.
Now that I think about it, maybe we shouldn't have told her to just drop me and Bobby off at my place. That probably wasn't too subtle. But she didn't say anything.
So now here we are, fresh off a satisfying case, well fed, a bit of a buzz on, and we're trying to stumble to the bed while Bobby's busy taking my shirt off and I'm frantically working on the buttons of his jeans.
Like I said, I used to love nights like these.
"Are you hitting on me?" Darien stared at his partner in disbelief.
They were in the van, driving home after staking out a suspected smuggler at a topless beach. Darien had had to spend half the assignment hiding under the umbrella so nobody would see him flickering in and out of visibility every time an attractive woman walked by. After listening to two and a half hours of his partner's bitching about his Q-gland-induced celibacy, Bobby had proposed what he thought was a very sensible solution.
"I'm not hitting," Bobby said, a touch defensively. "There's no hitting, here. I'm just offering."
"To have sex with me."
"To help you in your time of need, my friend."
Darien grimaced. "Thanks. That's flattering."
"Look, you said it yourself, you can't really go looking outside the Agency. And getting laid twice in two years," Bobby shook his head sadly, "it's just not good for a guy."
"So you're, what, offering me your body."
"Yeah, something like that. It's no big deal," Bobby continued without taking his eyes off the road. "You never messed around with a friend a little? Just to take the edge off?"
"Well, yeah," Darien admitted. "Long time ago."
"We spend all our time together anyway, right? We're already," and here he did glance over at Darien, a serious look passing over his face, "we're already about as tight as two people can get, so what's the big difference if we go back to your place and watch some cable, or go back to your place and fool around?"
"... and then watch some cable. I don't know," Darien mused, "it just seems like there oughta be a difference."
"Well, it'll be more fun this way," Bobby said with a smirk.
"Confident little bastard, aren't you?"
"Bobby Hobbes knows what he's good at, my friend. So what do you say? We got a deal?"
Darien didn't answer. He sat in the passenger seat, letting his eyes roam speculatively over his partner for a moment. Bobby looked back at him, impassively.
Finally, Darien grinned. "Yeah, sure. What the hell?"
And that's the way it was for the first couple of months. You know -- buddy sex. Nothing serious. Just two guys hanging out, having some fun. I had some needs I couldn't get satisfied anywhere else, so Bobby took care of me. And I took care of him. Not so much doing for your partner as doing your partner, I suppose, but it basically worked for us.
Worked, hell. It was fantastic.
It was only supposed to be an occasional thing, to relieve some pressure when I couldn't take being by myself anymore. I mean, I love Bobby, and I know he loves me, but it's never going to be a relationship, with us. And I think he wants a relationship, for all that he puts on a big act about being a ladies' man. He was married, and I think he'd like to try again someday. I know he's talked about having kids.
So when we started getting together two, three, four times a week, I can understand how Bobby might have started freaking out. Wanting to wean me off of him, so to speak. I don't blame him. He doesn't need to spend his life groping around like this with some guy who can't get laid any other way.
Not that he doesn't enjoy it. We're on the bed now, and we've gotten the clothes out of the way, and I'm lying half on top of him, sucking him. He's making these sounds that are sort of a cross between desperate and deeply contented, and not so long ago that would have been enough to make me Quicksilver. But I've got some control now -- more control than he thinks -- and I don't.
I'm glad I can make it fun for him. I at least owe him that much.
It was the day after a very nice, very hot night before, and they were sitting in Bobby's office eating lunch.
"So," Bobby began conversationally, "you talk to the Keeper about..."
He paused. Darien looked up from his sandwich, eyebrow raised. "Yes?"
"You know. Your, ah, your disappearing problem."
"Disappearing problem? I can disappear fine. Watch." Darien Quicksilvered until only his grinning mouth was visible. "Huh? Huh? You like that? Little Cheshire Cat action, here."
"Very funny. You know what I mean."
"Hardly ever." Darien shook the Quicksilver off.
Bobby rolled his eyes. "Your little control problem? With the premature Quicksilveration?"
"Oh, that. Yeah, I talked to her about it. And can I just say, that is going down as one of the Top Ten Most Embarrassing Conversations I Have Ever Had."
"Be a man," Bobby scoffed. "She's your doctor, you've got a medical problem. No big deal."
"Yeah, I'm gonna remember that the next time you have some deeply personal sexual issue to deal with."
"Never gonna happen," Bobby said boastfully. "So? She have any ideas?"
"Well, she said that I couldn't get ... excited without getting an adrenaline rush. It's all part of the package." He shot a quick look at Bobby, as if daring him to make a juvenile pun, and continued. "But I can get an adrenaline rush without necessarily Quicksilvering. I mean, I've learned to control it in other situations, like when I'm in danger." He scowled. "And isn't that just what's wrong with my life, in a nutshell. The last couple of years, I've been in mortal peril more often that I've been in someone's bed."
"So you get some practice. No problem. We got that covered."
"Yeah, but you know, she said I could do that, uh, on my own. Not that I'm opposed to the way things are now," he added hastily. "It's just -- well -- you don't have to feel obligated, or anything."
Bobby considered for a moment. "I don't think it's exactly the same, do you? I mean, hey, it's one thing to fly solo, but we wouldn't want you to lose your cool and go see-through the first time you hook up with a real live other person."
"No," Darien agreed with a grin, "we wouldn't want that."
"So there ya go. Tactically, it just makes sense to test your reactions with a partner."
"That your professional advice?"
"That's right." Bobby nodded sagely. "This is in the interests of national security, I'd say."
"And there's nothing you wouldn't do for your country."
Bobby puffed up his chest. "I am a patriot, my friend!"
So we practiced. And when I say "practiced", I literally mean that Bobby would, like, run drills. He would have me in his hand, or (god help me) in his mouth, and if I started to Quicksilver, he would just stop everything and pull away from me until I got control of myself. And then he'd start all over again.
Yeah. No lie. Sometimes I wondered if this was really supposed to help me with the gland, or if it was just Bobby's way of being dominant. Either way, it drove me crazy so fast, a couple of times I could have sworn I was going QSM again. Eventually, of course, he'd have to stop torturing me, and I would Quicksilver so fast and come so hard that all I could do was collapse and lie there twitching for a few minutes. After the first couple of times we "practiced", I learned to get him off first because after he was done with me, I was in no condition.
Right now, he's lying back riding that post-orgasmic wave I know so well. He reaches toward me with one arm, and I obligingly curl up beside him. He does this a lot, afterwards. It's nice, just lying here quietly. Sometimes, in these moments, I get a bit overwhelmed by the feeling of being in the arms of the person I love most in the world.
Mostly I try not to think about it too much.
Darien's body stiffened and he came with a loud moan. His head flopped back onto the pillow, and he lay panting as the Quicksilver flaked off them.
Bobby crawled back up the bed to lie beside him. After a moment, he casually noted, "You're getting pretty good at that."
"So are you."
"Smartass. I meant, controlling the invisibility."
"Ah. Yeah. Still, um, having a little trouble concentrating when I get close."
"You'll get there."
"Hey, y'know, Bobby ... It's great that you're helping me with the Quicksilver and all. Really." He propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at his partner. "But, you know. We don't have to work on that all the time. It was fun when we were just fooling around, too."
"Well, yeah. Sure. But I figure this way, once you get to where you can get excited without giving some chick a nice view of the sheets where your body used to be, then you can go out and have a real social life. Instead of being stuck with me."
"Yeah. I guess." Darien rolled off the bed and started picking up his clothes. "I should take off."
Bobby watched him dress and leave, saying nothing except for a soft "See ya, partner" as Darien headed out the door.
And now he rolls me over so I'm lying underneath him, and he's making his way down my body with his hands and his lips and his tongue. Every inch of him intense, and focused, and concentrated on making me feel good.
Just once, I'd like to be able to stay visible the entire time we're having sex. To see him as he is, in full color, and touch him without the Quicksilver slithering between us.
But if I could do that, we wouldn't need this arrangement anymore. He'd tell me to go off and have fun with all those women I can't have now, and maybe he'd go back to looking for somebody to share his life with.
I used to love nights like these. Back when it was just simple, honest sex. Now I hate myself for doing this to him. But not enough to not do it.
He strokes and squeezes my cock as he kisses my stomach. My hand is at the back of his neck, my fingers playing in his hair.
He lowers his head just that last little bit more, and takes me in his mouth.
I close my eyes.
And I send that magic signal to the gland, willing the Quicksilver to flow over us both.