rivers_bend

When tigertrapped wrote Break I imagined it changing the whole course of Max's life. Ah the power of sex with Julian *g*. But what if Max didn't get sent to Charterfield? What might have happened then? What if Max and Julian were together instead? I based Walk Home and Twist on that universe, and this is set in the same one. Adam Carter, Max and Julian. Set after Break and overlapping Walk Home.

I could not have written this without the encouragement and kind words of tigertrapped, who has generously let me take her characters and push them into a new story, and did the handholding, complimenting and gushing that made me feel like the writer's block was temporary. She is a treasure.

Adult rated 3,265 words. Part 1


Asked to remain in London, to 'be available,' in case they needed him to answer any more questions about Sands, Max wasn't surprised at the surveillance. He wasn't, however, expecting it in the form of the Admiral's son. Tremont. Wandering past his window, leaning on the garden fence as though he were sent to catalogue all the varieties of flower to be found there. After twenty minutes of loitering, he wandered off, and Max saw him turn into the pub on the corner. He suspected Tremont had seen or heard reference to Max's road, but didn't know the address. That, or he'd been sent by Wrexham to distract Max from the men who were really watching him.

Max looked at his watch. 1:15. Lunch time. And the pub did good food. Hooking his keys off the hall table, he caught his reflection in the mirror, remembering Tremont's face as he'd fucked him up against the sink. A mistake, obviously, if he was taking to lurking around the square. He called you 'Max.' This was a bad idea. It would only encourage him. The last thing Max needed was Wrexham's tame lawyer hanging around. Kit was out of hospital and back with his family recovering, the promised visit from Tom Quinn had never materialized, and he was off Wrexham's hook. Things were just fine as they were. He still had his keys in his hand.

They'd relieved some stress, Tremont, it was Julian, wasn't it? had been there and willing, a decent fuck under the circumstances. Max shook his head at his reflection, and pulled open the door. He owed Tremont a thank-you, for telling Wrexham and his team that killing Sands had been self-defence. Just a thank-you.

'Sands was going to kill me, he had a knife, Lawrence saved my life,' Julian had stated boldly, the tremor of fear in his voice marking him as a lawyer, not a field agent. 'Fane would be dead, I'd be dead, it was the only thing he could do.' He'd run a perfect shaking hand through his hair, but never once looked to Max for confirmation of the story. Whatever he'd told them when they questioned him, it must have tied in with Max's story, because they'd let Max go. After more than a week they'd not had any further questions.

There was no sign of any observers as he circled around and made his way to the pub. Julian was sitting at a small table in the corner, cradling a pint in both hands. Figuring he might as well eat while he was here, Max ordered the day's special and a pint of his own, and went to join Julian.

Putting his hands on the back of the chair across from Julian, he said, 'The gardens are beautiful at this time of year, aren't they?' Julian's mouth pinched with chagrin when he realised the implication of what Max had said, but that broadened into a smile when Max nodded at the chair, asking permission to sit.

'You must have quite a view from your front windows,' Julian finally said when Max had settled himself at the table.

'Are you having lunch?' Max noticed that Julian was turning his pint on the table, making rings of condensation, and wondered if all the nervous gestures in front of Wrexham hadn't been the act he'd imagined.

'Yes, I… Yes. I was tempted by the lamb. Did you want to join me?'

'I already have, actually.'

'Oh.' That smile again, the one that turned his eyes an even brighter blue. 'Good.'

'I wanted to say thank you, for what you said to Wrexham.'

'I only told the truth, he would have tried to kill us, I'm sure.'

'I'm not-'

'It doesn't matter, Wrexham was determined to get you arrested if he could, and you were only doing what you had to do.' Julian was talking quietly, leaning towards Max to be heard over the hubbub. 'I know - well, I don't know exactly, but he deserved what you did.'

The waitress came over with the food. Abandoning their conversation, they ate. Max watched Julian's gaze flickering over his hands and up to his face before hiding behind his lashes again. He wanted to be indifferent to the attention, but instead found himself remembering the feel of Julian's skin under his palms and the taste of him on his tongue.

'Do you want to come back for a drink?' Max spoke with no idea he'd planned to make the offer.

'Yes,' Julian said, and tried to hide a smile in his pint glass.

They went back and sat on the terrace, drinking vodka tonics and talking about fencing and Oxford versus Cambridge rowing, studying law versus practicing it, and living in London. Max waited for something, he didn't know what, but Julian just smiled, sipped his drink and when Max said, 'It's getting late, I suppose you'd better go,' Julian nodded, said 'Dad's home tonight.'

At the front door he turned back, leaned a shoulder on the door-jam and said, 'Thank you. For today, and for everything. If you want, we could…' He half shrugged and started to turn away. 'Give my best to Kit if you see him.'

Max wanted to reach out, catch his wrist and pull him back inside, kiss those lips again, wipe the look of disappointment off his face, replace it with wide-eyed breathlessness. Instead he watched as Julian walked down towards Brompton Road.

Friday he was back. No lurking this time, just a tap on the door at 8pm. 'I'm sorry, if you're busy, I was in Knightsbridge and thought-'

'Come in,' Max said, surprised at how glad he was of the company. Someone who wasn't going to sulk, or glare if he edged too close on the sofa. He'd gone to see Kit, been welcomed with open arms by Kate, but Kit had been rude. Said a formal thank-you and then all but accused him of allowing the whole thing to happen because of his resignation. Said, 'Dawson would still be alive if it weren't-' and then clicked on the TV. He'd tried to touch Kit's hand but Kit pulled away, so Max took his cue and left.

Julian looked at Max through his lashes, brushed Max's fingers when he took his drink, looked grateful when Max smiled. Shallow Grave was on at nine o'clock. Julian never flinched as they chopped up bodies and knocked out teeth. Max considered sliding his fingers along the back of Julian's neck, up into his hair, pulling him across the sofa and kissing him, but he was curious. He'd felt heat coming off Julian like he'd felt with Adam so many times, but Julian had done nothing more than look hungrily at him and catch his breath. It was obvious Julian was coming back for more; Max wanted to know how long it would take him to ask for it.

Thinking it would be some time that night, Max relaxed and let Julian drink and stare and smile whenever Max turned to him, but then the film ended and Julian said, 'I'd better leave you to it.' Suddenly Max was left wondering if Julian was another Kit after all, despite begging to be fucked the day they'd first met. Confused, he let Julian walk out the door.
--
The sun was hot and nothing fresh and green in the garden could compete with the smell of baking city. Tarmac and taxies, bricks and concrete, vegetation left too long in the sun. Max was just going to abandon the terrace when a knock sounded on the door. Perhaps he ought to give Julian his phone number.

When he was half-way to the door, his caller knocked again. Far too loud to be Julian. And too impatient. Max hoped it wasn't the police, or one of Wrexham's goons. He looked out the spy-hole. Adam Carter. He opened the door, stood in the doorway.

'So you knock now? What's the occasion?'

'You didn't seem to appreciate my just walking in last time I paid you a visit.'

'I wonder why.'

'I'm not standing on your steps, let me in.'

'I don't want to talk to you.' Max stayed where he was.

Carter gripped his wrist, breaking his hold on the door-jam, and walked past into the hall. 'Nice table.'

'What do you want?' Wrist loose in Carter's grasp, Max turned and shut the door, stood waiting for Adam to let go or tell him why he was here.

Bringing Max's wrist around to the small of his back, Adam pulled him closer. 'We need to talk.'

'This isn't talking.'

'You complaining?' With a twist of his arm Adam had him back against the door, knee between his thighs.

'Six months ago you were here expecting me to get it up for Mark Reyden. I assumed I got my message across when Tom never showed to make his pitch. You'd better have a different plan this time.'

'There's someone else you know who might have information on your uncle.' Adam pushed himself away from Max, the hand not holding Max's wrist flat on the door next to his head. 'I suspect you've got it up for him already.'

'I'm being a terrible host. Would you like a drink?' Max knew fighting would only make Adam fight back, and he wasn't in the mood.

Carter rubbed his thigh against Max's groin and then let him go, leaving him with finger-marks on his wrist and a familiar buzzing under his skin. Adam was mixing his own drink when Max followed him through to the sitting-room. He held out a glass towards Max. 'What's with you and the military brats anyway?'

Tremont. They had been watching him. Only it wasn't the MPs or Wrexham doing the watching. He'd lost his edge those months at Fowey.

Adam said, 'Does this one at least put out?'

'Fuck off.'

'I've only just got started.'

'What happened to Tom, anyway?'

Max still hadn't taken the drink and Adam put it down on the side. 'Tom's tied up at the moment. Harry sent me.'

'Did he send you to brief me, or fuck me?'

'No reason I can't do both.'

'Yes,' Max said. 'There is. What good do you think Julian Tremont is going to be against my uncle?'

'Tremont worked for him for a year before hiring on with Wrexham. Worked in the legal department, had access to all sorts of paperwork. Apparently looks are deceiving and he's a bright boy. You don't want to go through Reyden, maybe this Tremont kid can give you somewhere else to look.'

'How likely do you think it is that my uncle let some boy just out of law school look at any paperwork that mattered?'

'I told you, he's smarter than he looks. Reyden thinks he's got someone to cross his Ts and dot his Is, but Tremont's putting two and two together and making four. Or better yet, six. You're curious about your uncle, want the rest of your father's money, tired of living under his thumb. I don't have to spell this out to you. We don't even have to get you close to him. You've done that for us already. What'd you do? Suck him til he couldn't see straight?'

'I fucked him til he couldn't stand.' Adam looked at him, considering. 'Now piss off. I get your point. I'll contact you if I find anything.'

'Tell you what. I'll ring you in a week or two. Check in.' Adam started walking towards the door.

'Don't bother.'

'It's no bother.' Adam turned so he was watching Max as he backed out of the room. 'I'll show myself out.'

Max watched through the front window as Adam stepped into his car and drove off. Wondered if Julian would have said 'no' that first night, if he'd known a random fuck would get him in the sights of MI6. He might at least have avoided the stalking.

Though the likelihood was that they knew about Julian Tremont's involvement with MacIntyre Corporation long before he'd shown up lurking around Montpelier Square. In which case, had his presence at Sands' takedown been a coincidence? No, Dawson had been killed, and there was no way Julian, no matter how sharp he was, was important enough for Vauxhall Cross to have planned the whole kidnap. They were fishing. Making use of what situations presented themselves. Or Adam was just looking for an opportunity to interfere.

As though on cue, Julian turned the corner. He looked up at Max in the window and smiled, lifting a hand in greeting. 'Perfect,' Max said, resigned to dealing with this now, and went to open the door, still unsure how he was going to play it.

--

Max had the door open before he'd even climbed the stairs, and Julian enjoyed the view as he crossed the road to the house. Max had on the 501s again, bleached almost to white in the bright sunshine, blue only in comparison to the white t-shirt that set off his summer colour and emphasised the slim strength in his arms. Julian was done playing whatever game had kept Max chastely on the other side of the sofa Friday night.

In the bars and clubs, Julian had learned to read which men wanted to make the first move, and which were going to wait, but Max confounded that. He'd gone from cold indifference to fucking Julian, kissing him, in the time it took to blink water out of his eyes. Then, just as quickly, it was as though Julian didn't exist. He'd tried to ignore the images of Max in the mirror, the sound of his voice in Julian's ear, you feel amazing, the touch of Max's fingers at his hip, but every night he'd had his hands on himself, fucking into his fist as he'd fucked into Max's, pausing to lick his taste from his own fingers, feeling the thrust of Max's tongue, you taste good, and the heat of Max curling around his spine.

Julian had lasted three days after hearing Wrexham complain that Max was "holed up in that fucking house on Montpelier Square" before he'd found himself in South Kensington on a Sunday afternoon, hoping to run into Max, but with no plan for if he actually saw him. Stalking, not to put too fine a point on it. He wasn't sure if it was worse or better that it wasn't really about the fuck even. That he'd been gone as soon as he looked up into that calculated smile, if not before that. Gone as soon as he'd sat down at that table.

But now they'd had their date. Two of them in fact, and if they'd not exactly held hands and looked into each other's eyes, Julian was still counting them, and it was time to get back to where they'd started.

'I'm back,' Julian said, walking up the front steps.

'So I see.' Max's smile didn't reach his eyes; he looked preoccupied. He stepped back to let Julian in and shut the door behind them.

They walked through to the sitting-room. Before Max could offer him a seat, Julian said, 'Some kid tried to mug me on the way home Friday night.'

Now Max looked concerned. 'You're kidding.'

'It made me think. I shouldn't have left after the film.'

'Are you ok? He didn't hurt you?'

'He kissed me.' Max's eyes flashed, something too quick to read, but something. 'I should have kissed you instead.'

'Julian, I -'

Not waiting for Max to say 'no,' Julian took Max's wrist, rubbing his thumb over the bone there, and stepped close enough to feel the heat coming off his skin. He'd thought somehow that Max was taller than him, but they were shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. Watching Max's eyes on his face, Julian touched his lips to the corner of Max's mouth, his lower lip, and when he felt Max's fingers curling around his forearm, he put a hand on the back of Max's neck and they were kissing, Julian tasting himself at the push of Max's tongue, memory stronger than reality. Max's free hand went to Julian's arse and pulled him closer. The friction, even through their jeans, was irresistible.

'I want to suck you,' Julian said and kissed Max's neck. 'I want you to fuck me.' Another kiss, at the point of Max's right collar bone where his throat dipped. He felt drunk with the feel of Max's skin, reckless with the desire to feel Max pushing into him.

Max pulled away and Julian followed his gaze to the front window, with a clear view out to the street.

'Is that a..?' Julian said, waiting for Max to say "no," to ask him to leave.

Looking at Julian and then again out the window, Max said, 'Upstairs.' He pulled his gaze back to Julian and let a smile erase the worry from his eyes. 'Your choice. Sucking or fucking.'

Max led him to a bedroom at the back of the house, drew the curtains and then hooked a finger in Julian's belt loop before kissing him again. 'What do you want?' he whispered, breath tickling the hairs at the back of Julian's neck.

'I want to taste you.' Julian unhooked Max's finger from his jeans and knelt at Max's feet. The buttons on his 501s were loose in their holes and came undone with a tug, releasing the smell of sun-warmed denim and musk, heady enough to make Julian reach for Max's hips to steady himself as Max's jeans slid down his thighs. He kissed the skin next to his thumb, tasted it, slid his hands around to cup Max's arse, smiling against his hip at the shiver that evoked. Pulling away, he looked up into Max's face at the blue eyes half-lidded with desire, and he licked the length of Max's cock, feeling the clench and shift of muscles under his palms.

Max had one hand lightly on his shoulder, the other brushing fingertips against his forearm. Julian wanted to feel his grip tighten, to push Max beyond his careful stillness. Keeping his eyes on Max's, Julian took him into the heat of his mouth. His breath came quick and shallow as Max slid his fingers up to Julian's elbow, and Julian's own fingers tightened their grip.

The feel of Max in his mouth made him ache with wanting to be touched, but Max was now gripping his left elbow and flexing under Julian's hands in a way that made him loathe to let go. Instead, breathing deeply, he tilted his head and slid Max forwards into the clutch of his throat, backing off and then letting Max fuck deep, reading Max's need under his hands and in Max's eyes, in the play of Max's fingers at the back of his neck.

When he went to stand, Max hauled him up with a fist in his hair, kissed him hungrily, pushing him back towards the bed, kicking off his jeans. Max had him down on his back and was shoving a hand past his waistband before he'd got his zipper half-way down. 'I need to touch you,' Max said, and he did, Julian arching into his grip.

He'd almost come from the taste of Max's come on his tongue, and the heat of Max's chest hard on his shoulder, Max's teeth sharp on his neck, his fist tight and quick, sent Julian over the edge before he could catch his breath.

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