rivers_bend

Before I say anything else, my eternal thanks to tigertrapped, who offered to help when I said I was having plotting problems, and proceeded to discuss and listen to me until I knew what I needed to know. Thank you also for your generous and thorough beta, darling.

Caught starts here with links onwards. Part 2 is here, and part 3 is here. It is an AU of tigertrapped's Tiger Trap, all the chapters of which can be found here. It follows on from her rather delicious Break.

This part is adult rated for Adam/Max and is ~4,300 words.


Years ago Julian and his father had taken to tucking important messages into the edge of the mirror over the telephone table in the hall. His aunt Hester, she of the handkerchiefs at Christmas and birthdays, complained that it looked scruffy, they ought to be able to find a more suitable place for notes, but her younger brother had stood up to her and replied that in some cases practical was more important than proper. With his father gone, the only note there now was the one with Max's phone number on it.

On his way out to get the Sunday papers, Julian stopped to look at it. No name, just seven digits in blue ink on a square from the notepad next to the phone. Confident that Julian would remember whose number it was. Or maybe it was Max's way of saying he didn't much care if Julian lost it. If he ever rang. Either way, it was closer to the Max who'd looked a challenge at him as he'd cut Sands' throat than it was to the solicitous and charming man he'd found waiting on his steps on Friday night. It was that, more than the sex, which made Julian tuck the number into the mirror.

An old colleague from the Home Office was buying a paper as well, and she invited him out to lunch. After chiding him for leaving, and catching him up on the office gossip, Suzanne asked if he was seeing anyone. 'No,' he said, warily. In the time they'd worked together, she'd tried to set him up with her brother, her cousin, and her ex's flatmate.

'There's a new guy at work, just your type, I think.'

Julian thought about Max. Tried to imagine him briefing Ministers on immigration legislation or the implications of changes to custodial sentencing. He decided his type had changed. 'Actually,' he said, 'there's someone who…' I've fucked twice, and I'd quite like to see again. Julian didn't get a chance to come up with an alternative end to his sentence.

'Are you two exclusive or something?'

'No.' He'd forgotten quite how enthusiastic Suzanne could be.

'Well then. There's no reason not to go out with Tim. See if you hit it off.'

'I think I'd just… I'd like to see where this is going.' Which was news to him. As much as Julian wanted Max, and he couldn't think of anyone he'd wanted more, he wasn't deluding himself that Max was reliable, or even available. None of that made the prospect of a blind date any more appealing however.

'Suit yourself,' she said, much to Julian's relief. 'But give me a ring if you change your mind.'

The rest of lunch was uneventful and at half past two they took their papers and went their separate ways.

Julian didn't ring Max that night, but he thought about it.

--

Adam didn’t answer his phone on Saturday afternoon or return any of the three messages Max left between then and Sunday evening. The weather remained stifling and all Max wanted to do was decamp to Fowey, get out on the water, where his phone couldn't ring and no one could turn up on his doorstep expecting sex or other favours. He was sick to death of his uncle, MI6, Adam Carter and the whole mess. The assignment couldn’t be that important if Adam wasn't even going to return his calls.

Julian was a different matter. Max suspected, despite his somewhat stalkerish behaviour of a few weeks ago, that Julian was of the 'wait three days before ringing' school of thought. Not that it mattered particularly if Julian rang at all. Max doubted he had any more information. Which wasn't to say Max wouldn't invite him over if he did ring on Monday night.

The weather broke Monday morning, with a soaking rain that made mud of the dust in the streets. With the shutters closed and the water pounding against the windows, the library felt like a cave. Max was mining books rather than precious gems, though some of the books were as valuable. Frustration had led him to attempt to restore order to the chaos that had encroached in the years since his father had ruled the stacks. He'd outgrown whatever petty rebellion had led him to re-shelve the books in random order, making it nearly impossible to find anything he wanted. The desk was covered with books and he had two clear shelves to start on when his phone rang.

'I'm soaking out here.' Adam. 'Come answer your door before I break in.'

'Sorry,' Max said and thumbed the disconnect button.

Adam's hair was spiked with water that ran down his neck into the open collar of his Baracuta. The visible V of his t-shirt and his jeans were soaked dark. He'd either walked here or had indeed been knocking for some time.

'Didn't you hear me out here?' Adam pushed his way inside as soon as Max started to open the door. When Max eyed the water dripping on the floor, he toed off his shoes. 'If you had a towel, that would be nice.'

'I'll be right back.'

Adam had taken off his jacket, but otherwise not moved when Max came downstairs. His t-shirt and jeans were glued to his skin, making shadows of his muscles in the harsh overhead light. Max felt his hips cant and his spine go loose. Keeping his distance, he threw the towel towards Adam and waited until he was drying his hair and face before approaching and taking the jacket from him. 'I'll hang this in the bathroom,' he said, cursing his body's reaction to the other man.

He didn't go quickly enough, catching sight of Adam's cheeks, pink with friction when he lowered the towel to blot at his thighs. Adam caught his look and his eyes went dark. 'C'mere,' he said, voice low.

'I'll just-' Max was on the bottom step.

'Kid, c'mere.'

Max put the wet jacket on the marble table and did as Adam said.

Adam threw the towel to join his jacket and caught Max by the waist. 'Gimme this.' He pulled Max tight and hard against his hip. Max had time to catch a breath, laden with the scents of smoke, wet cotton and Adam, before a fist in his hair tipped him into the heat of Adam's mouth.

The wet seeping through his clothes raised gooseflesh on his neck and made him shiver against Adam's chest. Thrusting a leg between Max's thighs, Adam turned them so Max's back hit the wall and he was held by Adam's weight against him. Sharp teeth caught at his lip and then the point of his jaw, making him cringe even as his pelvis jerked, seeking more contact with the stiff, wet denim.

'Christ, kid, you feel good,' Adam said into his neck as his hands felt their way under Max's shirt. Thumbs found the hard edge of his ribs, digging at the muscles there, making him moan.

Keeping his cock hard against Max's, Adam leaned his shoulders back. 'Take this off,' he said, pushing at Max's shirt. Max tugged it over his head and let it drop to the floor as Adam bent to bite at the skin under his collar bone. Air hissed through Max's teeth. 'Like that?' Adam moved to fasten his teeth on a spot just above his nipple.

No, he wanted to say, but he was throbbing hard against his jeans in time with the rising bruise, and he only tilted his head back against the wall, letting Adam suck and bite his blood to the surface.

With hard hands, Adam pulled him forward, twisting him towards the table. 'Hold on to that, I'm gonna fuck you.' Adam pressed up behind him, took Max by the wrists and pressed his palms to the marble. 'How long's it been?'

Max was confused. Surely Adam remembered when they'd last done this, before he'd decided he didn't want Max any more and sent Tom around as a replacement. 'What?' he asked, tongue thick with wanting to tell Adam to fuck off. Thick with wanting Adam to fuck him.

'Since you've been fucked. How long has it been?'

'Oh.' Adam wanted to know if he was going to hurt him. 'Years.'

'Right.' And Adam was tugging at the buttons on his jeans, struggling a little with the damp buttonholes. He shoved them down Max's thighs, where they stopped, held by his spread legs. While he pulled off his own jeans, Max twitched the towel to the edge of the table, wanting something to cushion his hips. If Adam noticed, he didn’t say anything.

A hand on his back, bending him towards the marble, and then Adam pushed at him with spit wet fingers. Slipping them between the cheeks of his arse before pulling away, replacing them with the press of his cock. The first shove got nowhere. Adam swore and Max felt a finger breach him, opening him. He tried to relax, push back against the burn. 'Tight,' Adam said. The finger was gone and Max again felt Adam shoving into him. This time he stretched, let him in, the pain of it spiking up his spine as Adam leaned into him.

The feeling was brutal. Nothing slick or smooth, all rough friction as Adam ripped into him. As he pulled out, Max bent further, hoping a change in the angle would make it better. Then Adam's hands were at his hips, the bruising grip familiar even after years without it. This was Adam. Max willed himself eighteen again, drunk with desire, too stoned to care that this hurt, was agony, hard despite all that. Maybe because of it.

Max folded his left arm under his head, stayed loose in Adam's grasp, torso rocking on the tabletop, and reached his right hand down, past Adam's fingers to his cock, still hard, aching. Adam moved a hand to join him, fitting his fingers between Max's own. He didn’t stroke, but let Max set the rhythm, along for the ride.

The towel helped, though not much, keeping his stomach off the cold marble as Adam thrust into him again and again. Their twinned hands jerking him took him out of the pain, above it, until he came, nearly breaking Adam's fingers in his grip. He was driven forward hard against the table's frame and held there by the weight of Adam on his back.

Fingers tugged from his grip, placed flat on the table next to his face, then the feel of Adam pushing himself up and away, relief, regret. Max straightened, wiped his hand on the towel. 'Here,' Adam said, reaching for it. Max handed it over.

Adam cleaned himself up and then Max did the same while Adam worked to get his wet jeans back over his hips. Neither of them spoke. Max noticed Adam's bare feet on the floor, pale against the wood. Just for a second, Adam seemed vulnerable.

'I'll have a drink. D'you want one?' Adam started to walk through to the sitting room.

'No,' Max said, reflexively, and then, 'Yes.' He picked up his shirt off the floor and pulled it on.

Adam stood next to the drinks cabinet, topping up two glasses with tonic. 'I'd hate to ruin your upholstery,' he said, holding out one of the glasses towards Max. 'Let's talk in the kitchen.'

Max felt disorientated, drunk already, and only nodded, following Adam as though this were Adam's house, not his own. He tried to shake off the feeling, decided coffee would help.

'Here, sit down,' Adam said, pulling out a chair for himself.

'I'm making coffee. D'you want some?'

'Sure, why not?'

Max put his drink on the table. He'd no intention of drinking it. 'So why are you here?' Reaching the coffee out of the cupboard, Max realised how much he ached. He'd forgotten what Adam's fucking felt like.

'I got your messages. Thought I'd come see you in person.'

Max didn't answer.

'So, what did Tremont have for us?'

'Reyden made him his protégé, so he knew more than I expected. Overheard phone conversations, even saw some memos. He's not sure who their partner was, but Reyden and my uncle were definitely arranging side deals along with MacIntyre's contracts. Julian says that whoever they were working with was in the UK.'

'So it could be Siviter.'

'Julian never saw or heard a name.'

'So you tell Gideon Ware what you know. Threaten to blackmail your uncle to get the rest of your inheritance. He wants Sir Charles out of the picture. If Jools is the third partner, then the last thing he'd want is you bringing any of this up.'

'You want me to go to Gideon with information he'd do anything to keep buried.'

'Keep well away from Tremont's kid though. Harry doesn't want any civilians involved, especially not the son of an Admiral in the Royal Navy.'

'I thought Harry sent you to get me to talk to Julian.'

'Yeah, well, talk to him. He didn't think you were going to go to his house. Spend the whole night and half the next day. Anyone could have seen you.'

'Does Harry even know about this?'

'He knows enough.'

If Adam had come on his own, what was his agenda? How long had he been watching Max, and what did he want from Max's involvement with Julian? 'What makes you think that if I have information that could harm Jools Siviter, Gideon won't try to get rid of me?'

'Gideon thinks you'd do anything for him.'

'He also thought I was working for Wrexham at his behest.' Max put a coffee down in front of Adam and leaned against the counter with his own. He couldn't face one of the hard kitchen chairs. 'Sashwood's demise and my resignation were not on his agenda.'

'Has he said anything to indicate he doesn’t trust you?'

'I just think you're overestimating Gideon's esteem for anyone other than himself.'

‘You’re underestimating his desire to see your uncle lose everything.’

‘He’s trying to protect Siviter, not bring him down. I suspect he wants to read the name Sir Charles Lawrence in the weekend obituaries. The last thing he wants is me threatening to make public the very information he’s trying to keep quiet.’

‘You know you can do this. Give him what he wants and get what we need. Why are you arguing with me?’

‘Because I don’t think you’ve thought it through. I think we should talk to Harry-‘

‘I’m running this operation.’ Adam’s eyes were angry. ‘I’m not asking you to walk naked into the lion’s den. This is your job. This is what you do.’

‘I know.’ Max couldn’t think, for the moment, of a single reason why he wanted to be doing this.

‘This could be the end of the hold he has over you.’

Max wondered what would end the hold Adam had over him. He’d held his own the other day when Adam had pushed him, but any ground he’d gained was lost now. No point telling himself he wasn’t eighteen any more if he was going to let Adam think he hadn’t changed.

‘C’mon, kid.’ Adam cajoling now, conciliatory.

Angry Adam was easier to trust. There was something else going on here. More than a mission to stop Jools Siviter. Max gave in. ‘I’ll go and see him.’

--

Monday was Julian’s last day working with Wrexham’s team. Sands’ death was officially declared self-defence, the paperwork was all in order. Starting Thursday, he’d be working on a case for the Air Force. In the meantime, he’d accrued annual leave. Despite having disliked Wrexham intensely, none of his other cases had netted him anything like the adventure he’d had on this one, and he felt a twinge of regret that he was unlikely to repeat the experience. Never mind that he’d been hauled up for getting involved in Kit’s rescue, by his superiors as well as his father, he wouldn’t have given up those thirty-six hours for anything.

He’d decided before he even got home that he had the perfect opportunity to ring Max. It was someone else’s job to officially inform him that any potential charges against him had been dropped, but Julian doubted whoever that was had invited Max for a celebratory pint. Julian dropped his umbrella in the stand and his keys in the bowl on the hall table and then picked up the phone.

After seven rings he was about to hang up, when finally Max answered, ‘Lawrence.’ He sounded out of breath.

‘It’s Julian, are you alright?’

‘I was in the shower.’

Julian’s stomach flipped over as he remembered Max’s gaze on him as he’d stood under the spray in Max’s bathroom. ‘I’m sorry. Should I ring back another time?’

‘No, it’s fine. What can I do for you?’ Max’s voice was flat, almost strained.

‘We finished all the paperwork today on the Sands case. I wondered if you wanted to go for a drink to celebrate.’

The sound Max made was almost a laugh, incredulous, as though Julian’s offer was the final straw in a back-breaking day.

‘Another time, maybe,’ Julian said, before Max could say no.

‘If you knew the day I’d had.’

‘I’ll leave you to it then.’

‘Thanks. But yes, another time.’

Julian looked in the mirror as he said goodbye and hung up the phone, allowing himself to imagine Max answering the phone in a towel, wet hair dripping down his neck, the smooth skin of his chest… ‘Ok,’ he said to himself. ‘Enough.’ After hanging up his coat, he went to make a cup of tea.

While he was waiting for the kettle to boil, the phone rang. He told himself it wouldn’t be Max as he answered it.

‘You’re probably right.’ It was Max. ‘I need a drink.’

‘Great,’ Julian said before he could stop himself. ‘Is there somewhere you want to go? Or we could stay in, if you’d rather.’

‘Do you mind coming this way? We could go to the Clipper, where we had lunch.’

‘No, that sounds fine.’

‘Actually, that’s not – Do you know the Black Cap in Camden?’

‘Near the underground?’

‘I’ll meet you there at nine.’

Julian had time to shower and change into jeans and a t-shirt, thinking of Max in his 501s, the curve of his arse under the faded fabric. The rain had cleared, making the sky all oranges and pinks in the sunset as he walked towards the tube. As he sat listening to the noise of the tunnels, Julian wondered if the sudden change in tonight’s venue had anything to do with the phone call Max had received precipitating his sudden change in mood the other week. He chastised himself for craving the mystery and sense of adventure. For still getting off on that rush he felt on first seeing Max. A reaction not just to Max’s gaze and the shape of him, but to the fact he was a spy. The feeling in his stomach when Max kitted up, with quick efficient movements of his hands, had been no less intense than when those hands had pulled him into a kiss, turned him against the sink, wrapped around his hip and his cock.

This wasn’t the time or the place to be thinking about that night. Time to stop and change to the Northern line, let the chill air on the platform cool his cheeks. A man with a large suitcase and an American accent asked how to get to Euston station and proceeded to tell Julian about his flight to Gatwick and his daughter’s upcoming wedding in Manchester. The conversation effectively dampened any stirrings the thoughts of Max had started, leaving Julian grateful to the man and immune to the irritation he might otherwise have felt at the flood of personal information from a stranger.

Night had descended while he was under ground, and Camden High Street was busy with aging punks, young Goths, and clots of students. It was ten to nine as Julian climbed the stairs to the bar. No sign of Max inside or out on the roof terrace, so Julian got himself a drink and found a table near the windows. It was at least a year since he’d been here, they’d installed TV screens showing music videos and gay porn. A man in a leather jacket with enough steel in his ears and face to make a good set of kitchen knives asked if Julian wanted company. He was about to demur when Max arrived, said, ‘He already has company,’ and slid onto the banquette next to him.

‘Sorry,’ Mr Metal said, and headed back towards the bar.

Max was wearing a shirt and chinos and looking very serious, despite the smile he gave Julian. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

‘Sit,’ Julian said. ‘Let me get you something, you can get the next round.’

Max asked for a vodka and tonic and took out a cigarette. Julian watched as he lit it, distracted by Max’s fingers and his lips. Catching his stare, Max rolled the lighter across the backs of his knuckles before sliding it back into his pocket. ‘Vodka and tonic,’ Julian said, and tearing his eyes away, went to the bar.

‘This is new,’ Max said, when Julian returned, gesturing with his cigarette towards the nearest screen, where two men were writhing artistically on a bed. ‘Makes a change from the football.’

‘It – yes.’ Julian put down Max’s drink. Picking up his own, he remembered they were here to celebrate. ‘To the end of the Sands business,’ he said, lifting his glass.

Max tapped his glass on Julian’s and drank. ‘Thank you again for everything.’

‘So, does this mark the real end of your days as a-‘ Julian lowered his voice, ‘spy?’

With no obvious change in expression or posture, Max seemed to shut down. It was like going back to the night they’d met, Max looking through him as though he weren’t there.

‘Sorry,’ Julian said. ‘Let’s talk about something else.’

Max put out his cigarette and stood. ‘I’ll be back,’ he said, and headed towards the gents.

Wondering what the fuck he thought he’d been doing, Julian watched Max walk away. Heard, I’ll shove your nice white teeth down your lying throat, and saw, like a kaleidoscope, Max’s anger, indifference, interest and lust.
--

The men’s rooms were narrow and water seeped across the floor. Max ignored the man at the urinals, stared into the mirror at his reflection. What did Julian see when he looked at him? A spy? A hero? Someone different, certainly, to whoever Adam saw. A kid with a hard-on. Or maybe not that different. Julian had looked at him, shy and hungry at the same time, and Max had fucked him up against a sink like a horny teenager, never mind they were in a government building waiting for a call from a terrorist, or that it was a really bad idea. He’d got hard and just taken what he wanted. And returned for more.

Not that Julian had complained. Nor had he pushed Max up against the nearest available hard surface when he’d seen him again. Which brought him back to his original question, and a level of introspection that made him narrow his eyes at himself. The other man was done and wanted to get to the sink, so Max moved out of his way.

Julian shouldn’t be involved in this. Adam was right. Julian thought of spying as a game. Something exciting. He was a lawyer. Ill equipped to deal with Gideon Ware and Adam Carter. Max had made a mistake ringing him back and asking him to the pub. Hiding in Camden, as though that made a difference to whoever Adam had watching him tonight. He’d finish his drink, apologise, and say goodnight.

‘Max, that was none of my business,’ Julian said before he even sat down.

‘It’s okay.’ Max sat, sipped his drink, took out another cigarette. ‘Did you want one?’ he asked, holding the pack out to Julian.

‘No, thank you.’

‘I shouldn’t have come tonight. This was a mistake. I’ll finish my drink and then I’ll go.’

‘No,’ Julian said.

He looked completely serious. Putting a hand on Max’s knee, he circled his thumb just above the inseam of his trousers. Max felt his resolve faltering. ‘It’s more complicated than that,’ he tried, listening for conviction in his tone.

‘Finish your drink.’ Julian’s eyes were flicking from Max’s gaze to his mouth, his hand moved an inch or two up Max’s thigh. ‘Tell me about Cornwall, or Oxford, or whatever you want to talk about, and then we’ll go downstairs and dance.’

The idea of going clubbing with Julian seemed absurd. ‘I don’t –‘

‘I don’t want to hear that you don’t dance. We can stand in a dark corner and snog and drink shots, if you don’t want to dance.’

Max tried to hide the rush of desire that idea brought behind the act of tapping ash off his cigarette and bringing it to his mouth. Julian just watched him, thumb still circling, eyes still hungry. Max didn’t want to say no. He finished his drink in two swallows. ‘What are you drinking?’ he said.

Julian’s smile flashed in his eyes first and then curved his lips. ‘Gin and tonic.’

‘But it’s snogging and shots. I’m not dancing.’ Max could hear Julian laughing as he walked towards the bar.

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