The Ghost
The pale powder fell from Detective Neil Margrave's fingers in a shimmering trickle, landing softly back in the red velvet box from which it had come. He wasn't supposed to have touched it, not before the lab boys had a go, but he didn't care. The gems were gone, and in their place was this pretty pile of sand. If the thief's previous crimes were any indication, the powder was nothing more than his usual little bit of "gotcha," a gentle teasing reminder of what had once been therein. It would be studied and analyzed and pondered over for months to come, but would ultimately reveal nothing. Nothing but more police frustration.
As the last bit fell Neil was reminded of sand in an hourglass. Running out, like the time left in his once radiant police career.
Who was this master thief? How was he so good?
With a deep breath to shake off the rush of adrenaline and excitement beneath the anger, the raw admiration for the man's audacious flair, he closed the lid of the case gently and turned on his team. He spoke with great deliberation. "How. Did. This. Happen? How did he get past us?" His dark eyes swept his underlings, lips tight, broad cheekbones catching the light of the expensive fixtures mounted on the wall of the display room. "How did he know these were fakes, and the real ones were in the safe? How?"
Everything had been planned to perfection. Publicize the display of a priceless collection of jewels in a prominent luxury good store as an irresistible lure for the City's Most Wanted. Spend money on perfect fakes. Place a small, crack police team in the building to watch them carefully, just enough to be safe but not enough to be conspicuous. This method had worked quite well before. Neil himself had employed it several times to great success.
But not this time, not against the Ghost. This had truly been the perfect crime.
Somehow, the thief had known exactly the three minutes when there would be no one else in the room, even though the detectives themselves hadn't planned it. He had moved quickly, knowing exactly where the real jewels were.
Now the priceless gems were gone.
Neil whirled on his team, drawing on his rising anger and turning it on his subordinates. The whole of his broad, 6'3 frame was tense and taut. The three detectives and Sloane, the contract field tech, all looked scared and intimidated.
Neil was in no mood to shield anyone from his emotions.
He was angry, enraged, unhappy. But there was also more going on in his mind, more complicated emotions. Emotions like admiration. Desire.
In his head he replayed the scene from the Saturday before. It was perhaps the millionth time he had done so. A necklace had been stolen from a small, private museum, but the police were unable to figure out how. Needing some fresh air, Neil was outside the building, around back. He had already faced the press and been put through the ringer on the front steps.He saw a young man on the sidewalk, on the other side of the wrought iron fence, sitting, leaning on his handlebars casually. A small smile on his lips, chewing on the arm of his sunglasses. Sexy. Neil hated the fact he always remembered how very sexy the thief was. And then the man lifted one gloved hand, opening, showing the necklace in his palm. Neil stared at the necklace, and then at the man, realizing who he was with a jolt.
With a wink and a wolfish grin, the Ghost had driven off, engine roaring, Neil yelling and attempting futilely to chase after him. He had attempted to report the incident to his superiors, but they had treated him like he was crazy, and had imagined the necklace in the hand of some crackpot fame seeker. It was not reported to the press, and Neil had accepted that general opinion was he had either lied or hallucinated that necklace in the man's hand out of exhaustion of frustration.
Neil knew he had not.
Pulling himself back into the present reluctantly, he gathered the team to discuss what could have happened and how they could have failed so colossally, but nothing that was offered as an explanation bore scrutiny. Had the Ghost gone through the ducts? Had they all stepped away from their posts at the same time? It was unlikely. But how else could the Ghost have pulled it off?
Because he was the Ghost. Neil sighed inwardly. Because he can.
"Sweep the place," he said to the others. "See if you can find anything, anything at all. I..." He turned towards the door. "Have a very goddamn painful phone call I need to make."
Two hours later, Neil was ready to turn in. During an uncomfortable phone call, Sergeant Tristani, a man with whom he had several years of fantastic relations, had screamed at him for the loss of the jewels and he had barely said anything in return. This was Neil's first major failure in his career, but it was going to cost him dearly.
The most frightening part? He wasn't sure he cared.
Yeah, but who am I without my job? He pinched his nose and tried not to groan, running his hands down his face and wincing at his several-day stubble. The brass was upset because the media was already having a field day, and this was really going to take it to the next level.
Whoever it was perpetrating these crimes was confident, bold, fearless, brilliant. Everything Neil was supposed to be; obviously the thief was more so. And the fact that it was such a scruffy, handsome man, one who looked like a half-homeless biker who modeled on the side pulling off these slick crimes was even more irritating. And erection-inducing.
"Hey, boss, want some coffee?"
Neil just shook his head and grunted. One of the detectives, Nick, sidled up to him. A week ago hewould have given anything to fuck that fine, round young ass. Now, he couldn't care less. It wasn't like him to lose interest so fast. Nick slinked off, obviously disappointed he'd lost Neil's favor.
To save his career, his all-consuming passion, Neil had to solve this case. It was as simple as that. So how was it that he found himself not caring? Why did his motivation for wanting the case solved feel wholly personal?
"Paris, Rio, London... now here." A female detective came up to Neil and made a noise of frustration. "But why has he been here so long? This isn't his MO, to do more than one heist in a city."
They'd been over this. Neil had no answer for her, but he tried anyways. "Maybe he's changing his pattern," he answered grimly. "Maybe he's changing up his game."
"Maybe it's not the same guy."
"It's the same guy," Neil snapped, and she started, eyes wide. He ramped down his anger, knowing she wasn't the one to take it out on. "But we'll get him." He didn't believe it. "We just need to figure out how he's doing all this.
As the detective moved away, he stood up, planning to step outside for some fresh air. Someone cleared their throat behind him, and he turned to see Sloane, the contract lab tech, standing there meekly. Sloane was a lean man with floppy black hair and huge glasses. Neil often didn't notice him; he was efficient and intelligent, and didn't get in the way of the other aspects of the investigation. Neil appreciated that.
"What have you got, Sloane?"
Sloane shuffled his feet and looked down at something he was holding in his gloved hands. "Um, well, I found this piece of paper over there, underneath the stand where the decoys were. There was just a little corner sticking out, and, um, I grabbed it."
"Huh. Well, it's probably just something from the building staff that got stuck in there, but good work. Take that to the lab and get me a report by tomorrow morning. I don't expect we'll be finding anything else, so--" He was turning away when Sloane interrupted him.
"Uh, actually sir, it, um, has your name on it."
"What?" He whirled, eyes wide. Heads snapped up at his sudden movement. He lowered his voice. "What are you talking about?"
"It, well, seems to be a letter to you." Sloane's big, Ked-shorn feet shuffled.
Blood rushed to Neil's head, and he could feel his pulse quicken, clouding his senses. That cocky, handsome grin, that wink...that brilliant, insane mind. The ghost was an enigma, and an irresistable one. "Give it to me."
"Okay." Sloane handed the note over with an uncomfortable smile. Neil, who had never had interpersonal confidence issues, pitied the man. "Sorry, uh, I opened it. I didn't read it."
"Don't worry about it, Sloane." It was a tacit dismissal.
Neil knew he shouldn't touch it, not without gloves. But he didn't care what he should or shouldn't do. He had to read it the letter.
Using all his will to keep his hands from shaking, he opened it swiftly.
The note was handwritten. How foolish, he thought with an amusement that broke through his tension. If we ever catch him this will make some very convenient evidence.
Tidy, slanted writing. Confident.
Detective Neil Margrave -
You're good, but I'm better.
This is only because I know something you don't, however.
Seeing you once made me need to see you again.
The tempo of his pulse raced, and he bit back a string of swear words; the last sentence was blatant, teasing phraseology, not something a man would say to another man in a non-sexual context. Was the Ghost playing with him? Did he know Neil was gay? How could he?
Tonight. The Victorian hotel, the Bronx, ask for Ryan's room. Whenever you're ready. I'll tell you how I pulled this heist. How I pulled all my heists. I'm giving myself to you.
"Does he think I'm stupid?" Neil muttered. He tried to ignore the rush of blood throughout his body.
I understand it's a risk. You can bring one--but only one--member of your team. I'll know if you tell anyone else.
The Ghost
Sloane was watching him quizzically from the case in the center of the room as Neil re-entered the room. The detective affected a sneer. "Cocky asshole." He carefully put the note in his pocket. "I'll take this to the chief tomorrow. I need some fresh air." He spoke loud enough so everyone could hear him. His team nodded in response.
He almost ran over Nick, who was coming out of the elevator and clutching his coffee cup with a wide-eyed, "Holy Sh--Detective! What are--"
Whatever the younger man saw in his superior's face frightened him, and he shut up instantly. Neil barely registered his presence.
The elevator ride was unbearably long.
He threw open the heavy front doors of the building and looked around, eyes sweeping the street.
And there he was. Sitting on that beautiful motorcycle again, long denim clad legs balanced on each side. The streetlight glanced off his blond hair, and there was that same cocky grin. Their eyes met, and the thief lifted an eyebrow.
Neither of them blinked.
In an instant Neil's body betrayed him, and he felt his erection forming, straining against his boxer briefs. He wondered if his face reflected how aroused his body was. The moment was sexy, and undeniable, and he wanted to rush across the street and pull the young man into a savage, angry kiss.
What confused him even more was that, normally, he wouldn't even find the guy that attractive. Oh, he was hot, but he was too muscled, scruffy, looked like he lived in cheap motels and nasty diners. Not Neil's type.
But the complicated mind that lurked underneath, the one that would write that both tender and mocking letter...that was the sexiest thing he had ever encountered, and he wanted desperately, painfully to understand how it worked, how the wheels turned.
Despite himself he took a step down the stairs, gratified by the widening of his prey's eyes. What he was going to do wasn't clear, maybe beat him up, maybe actually kiss him, but he was going to do something--
"Detective Margrave!" The voice came from up the street, and he stopped his advance in surprise. "Oh, fuck, yeah, looks like we're the first ones here! Ernie, come on, get a move on. Detective! We hear that the Ghost has pulled off another heist, and when you were in the building, even! Do you have a statement? Detective!"
Turning his head Neil saw Ted Beards, the leading television reporter in town, running towards him with a cameraman trying desperately to keep up. The detective couldn't keep a snarl from his face. No, no, he thought angrily, So damn close!
He heard the rumble of the motorcycle's engine, and then it zoomed past them and into the darkness.
"Friend of yours, Detective Margrave?" Ted asked, his voice thick with curiosity.
With a withering glare Neil went back inside the building, telling the plainclothesman by the doors to make sure they were good and locked. He didn't know who had called the media, but he was pissed.
It was embarrassing to admit to himself it wasn't for the usual reasons.
***
No more clues were found, so he dismissed all his detectives. Once again, it was a flawless crime.
Neil stood alone alone in the room and took a deep breath. It was unlikely, in his mind, that he would still be the team leader tomorrow. Perhaps it was unlikely that he'd even be alive. Am I really to that point? he asked himself sadly.
A figure stepped out of the shadows as he entered the echoing marble hallway.
He peered at it. The disheveled, lanky shape was unmistakable, even when the features were murky.
"Sloane? Why are you still here?"
There was a pause. "Are you, uh, going to meet the Ghost? Alone?"
Neil narrowed his eyes. "I thought you didn't read the letter."
"I lied."
"Are you going to try to stop me?" Neil stood up to his full height, throwing his shoulders back and placing an expression of contempt on his face, lip faintly curled in a contemptuous snarl. He knew when to be intimidating, and what he knew of Sloane, the man was easily intimidated.
Or so he thought.
"No. But I, uh, think I--I want to go with you."
"What?" Contempt changed to incredulity. "Are you crazy?"
"No. But I still want to go."
"Go home, Sloane. Go home to whoever is waiting for you, and leave me alone."
"If you don't let me go with you, Detective Margrave," Sloane's voice was steady, "I will tell the captain that you tampered with and withheld valuable evidence that I called to your attention."
"Are you blackmailing me?"
Sloane had the good grace to look embarrassed. He did not, however, look particularly scared. "Uh, yeah. I guess I am."
"Huh." Neil was more impressed than anything else; he never would have ever guessed the mousy, skinny guy had the balls.
"I guess I don't have a choice, do I?" He saw Sloane start to smile, and cut it off with a firm finger to the chest. "But you will leave the second anything happens, you understand? If you don't I will break every bone in your body, and I won't give a shit if it costs me my job." He briefly noted that the man felt a lot more muscular underneath his baggy clothes than suspected. Full of surprises, the lab tech.
Sloane nodded vigorously.
"Come on." He started walking down the hallway and didn't look back, even when he heard the younger man scrambling after him.
The ride to the hotel was silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Neil wondered what he was doing, letting a lab tech convince him he should come along. It wasn't the blackmail, that had been a stupid ploy, and Sloane would have a lot of trouble following through with that against a celebrated detective like Neil. No, the tech was there because Neil was afraid. Afraid of himself.
He parked the car a block away and approached the building casually, hissing at Sloane to do the same.
It was a seedy hotel, one that looked like it was decorated and had its glory days in the forties. The same could be said for the guy behind the desk.
"Hey. Here to meet Ryan." What a stupid name, he thought, funneling his tension into anger. He wondered why the Ghost had chosen it.
"Room 522." The old man didn't even look up from his magazine. "He's expecting you."
Neil slipped him a five and went towards the elevators, aware of every sound his feet made on the scuffed and dirty floor, and the echo made him wince.
Sloane spoke again on the elevator. "Detective Margrave... You really sure you want to do this?" He was clearly nervous, running a hand through his chestnut hair. Neil had to admit he had beautiful eyes.
Neil made a quick decision. "Go home, Sloane." His mind was already one step ahead, and he knew he had to get rid of this stammering distraction. "I told you, this is my choice to make. "
He was getting hard. His body was betraying to his enemy him once again.
"Detective...." The elevator came to an unsteady halt before them.
"Go. Home. I never should have agreed to let you come." He got on, standing close to the doors and making it clear Sloane shouldn't try to join him.
"Damn it!" Sloane swore, but he just stood there, looking like a lost, scruffy little puppy, head bowed and shoulders slouched. The doors closed.
Neil forgot him as the doors opened on the fifth floor. He walked around the corner, approached room number 522 and knocked loudly.
The door swung open.
Neil fought his erection with as much willpower as he could muster.
And there he was. The Ghost, the man on the motorcycle.
The Ghost stepped back with a wry smile, and Neil was surprised to see the other man looked even more nervous than he felt. Who was he to be nervous?
"Come in."
The thief had a smoker's voice, graveled beyond his years. Up close he was still attractive, maybe about thirty or so, his skin tan and already leathered. His blond hair was cut close, his wide, attractive face could be anyone's. His blue eyes shot all around the room, as if he felt trapped. He looked like Nick, although with less skill in the personal hygiene department.
Neil tried to fight his disappointment. This confused, scruffy young man was the criminal genius who had written him that teasing, intelligent letter, who had led him on a merry chase, who had filled his dreams with erotic images that were more about intellectual sex than physical? That had distracted him from his crumbling life?
"I thought you'd be taller," he laughed bitterly, aiming the comment at himself.
"Huh?" The criminal looked confused, clearly not understanding. Neil was dissatsifed, finding the ultimate criminal sorely lacking in... what? He wasn't sure what it was. but this man didn't have it, whatever it was. There was a disconnect between Neil's fantasy and the person who stood before him.
The Ghost shifted his face back into the cocky, reflective gaze Neil had seen both outside the museum and the skyscraper, obviously with effort. "Anyways, you're here, Detective, uh, Margrave. So you want to know how I did it?" His smile became conniving, and he took off his jacket.
Neil stared at him, eyes narrowed. "Sure."
"Well, first you're going to have to take a seat." The nervous eyes shifted to the door. "First you're going to have to submit to me." With jerky motions, he took off his t-shirt, showing a lean, muscled chest. "You're going to become my slave." The words were not flowing from him naturally; he sounded like he was reading from a script.
"What?" Neil was confused, and moved back a step. "What the fuck? Are you coming on to me?"
"Uh, yes?" the guy answered, nervously.
A very strange answer, and Neil was confused. It wasn't a very heartfelt agreement. It didn't sound like something he wanted to do.
Like a lightening bolt the truth hit him.
His eyes widened. With a burst of speed he rushed forward and punched the guy in the stomach, hard.
"Fuck!" the man swore, and went down, curled in on himself. "Fuck! What was that for, man?"
Eyes full of contempt, Neil stared down at him. "You're not the Ghost. There's no way a dumb asshole like you could pull off the theft of a pack of gum. Where is he?"
"I don't know!" the young man wailed. He tried to get up, and Neil kicked him, hard. The man wailed in pain.
"I really recommend telling me." He lifted his booted foot again.
"But I don't!" He was sullen now. "He just emails me! He just told me to come to this room, and meet you, to try and get you naked!" Suddenly his legs kicked out and caught Neil in the ankle.
Neil stumbled briefly, giving the other man the opportunity to get up off the floor and make a break for the door.
Neil reached for his gun in order to make him stop...and it wasn't there. "Fuck!" He went to follow, fighting a limp, when the door flew open. It was Sloane.
"Grab him!" Neil bellowed, and Sloane exchanged a look with the imposter, who blew past him. "Damn it, Sloane!"
Sloane tilted his head, looking puzzled. "Should I go after him?"
"No. We'll never catch him now, and you're no cop, anyways. Fuck!" Neil pounded his fist angrily against one mold-stained wall, leaving an imprint and obvious damage in the drywall underneath. He didn't care. "How the hell could I let myself be played so easily. That bastard!" The bed groaned under his weight as he dropped down to sit, running his hands through his hair. Sloane perched next to him carefully and without comment.
Neil brooded unhappily, lost in his own head. What an idiot. He was a stupid son of a bitch who let his crotch do the leading, and now all he had was the burning knowledge he was a fool. That letter he had received was probably useless, but it was still evidence, and he had wasted a possible opportunity and used it for his own means, to satisfy his own desires.
But that wasn't the real reason he was so down.
You're disappointed, something told him quietly, you're deeply, completely disappointed.
He tried to ignore that voice, but it was too damn loud.
"Detective Margrave..." Sloane said quietly. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure." How could he possibly be more humiliated than he already was? It wasn't actually possible anymore. "Go for it." Point out that I'm even dumber than I think I am.
"Why did you want to meet the Ghost alone so badly?"
He let out a humorless laugh. "I'm not really sure, Sloane."
"Really?"
Neil shrugged. "I don't know. Chasing him has been exciting. I haven't felt excitement in years. He makes me angry, he frustrates me, he's gotten me this close to being fired. And it's great. I feel alive, I feel imperfect. I like it."
"So now that you're out and gay, you feel like a misfit?"
Neil whipped his head up to stare at Sloane in shock. "How do you know that?"
Sloane chuckled, and Neil's breathe caught as he felt the man's hands touching his arms, lightly, almost tenderly... felt a light touch around his wrists. "I know everything about you, Neil." There was then a sudden metallic snap, and the detective felt the distinct and unforgettable sensation of handcuffs around his wrists. His hands were now firmly trapped behind his back.
"What the...?" He stood up, and struggled briefly. He felt a rush of excitment that he attempted to conceal with rage. He snarled at Sloane. "What is this shit, Sloane? What are you doing?"
This time Sloane laughed, and with one hand pushed Neil down on the bed again. "Keeping you contained, officer." He took off his glasses, and with one hand swept his dark hair back from his face, showing gleaming green eyes and a sharp-featured, grinning features. He was standing up straight now, and for the first time Neil saw how very good looking he was. How hadn't I noticed?
But that was neither here nor there. He'd been handcuffed, and that wasn't good. Standing up again, he put his authority in his mien and his voice. "Don't fuck with me, Sloane; even without my hands I can beat the living daylights out of you. Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I want this shit."
Before he could blink Sloane's face was right in front of him, and his hands on the sides of his head. Green orbs locked onto his own. "But isn't this exactly what you wanted?" Sloane breathed.
And then kissed him, violently. By the time Neil figured out what was happening he was in the middle of it, giving as good as he got.
He jerked backwards as he felt his cock stir. Things were getting weirder and weirder. "What the fuck was that? Why the fuck would I want you to kiss me, you prick?" He writhed in the handcuffs. "Let me out of these. I'm getting really fucking pissed off. This has been a really shitty day, Sloane, and you don't want to get me angry."
"But don't you feel alive, turned on when I anger you? When I give you the slip yet again?"
Neil stopped. "What?"
Sloane grinned, and ran a finger down the detective's chest, and then bunched the fabric up in his hand. "Welcome to my room, Detective Margrave. Sorry you had to wait so long to meet me."
His whole body was on fire with rage and shock. And...excitement. His breathing was shallow. "You...you're the Ghost?"
Sloane shrugged and smiled modestly. "I didn't create the name, but, I suppose so, yes."
"So you... How did you get a job with the police?" It can't be. Sloane can't be the Ghost.
"I'm a contractor, Neil." The name came out like a caress. "Trust me, they have much less impressive background standards than for the actual police. And in terms of what they needed, an experienced lab tech...my resume was impeccable."
"You fucker. The last three heists were inside jobs." It was impossible for him to keep the awe out of his voice. "You just waltzed into that room and took the gems."
Sloane grinned. "In my pocket."
This time Neil sat on the bed on his own, his legs no longer holding him up. His thoughts rushed. He'd largely ignored Sloane for so long, barely noticing him except in admiration of his technical skills.
But Sloane had always been there, over his shoulder watching. Waiting. The bastard was brilliant. "Genius," he whispered.
"Funny how you can say that and not even look at me." Sloane grabbed his chin, his eyes intense.
Neil's searched his face, memorizing it. "Why the ruse, the idiot biker pretending to be you?"
"To keep you occupied. It was convenient for you to think someone else was to blame. Also, as a test. A distraction."
Neil closed his eyes. "Fuck. Of course. You'd found the perfect setup, the perfect situation, and you had to keep me out of your way." He sneered, but it was directed at himself. "I'm such a moron. The perfect patsy, letting you play me as long as you could. You were seeing how long you could keep it up, weren't you?"
"No." Suddenly Sloane was on his knees, staring up at him. "You misunderstand me. Or, no." He shook his head. "You don't. I did want to play you as long as could. But not for the loot." His hands squeezed Neil's thighs and continued to move upwards. Neil knew he should move.
And yet he couldn't. The touch burned his skin.
Here, before him, with gleaming eyes and wicked smile, was a worthy opponent. Everything he could have hoped the Ghost was.
It turned him on so much it hurt.
"So what did you do it for?" he managed to get out.
"Isn't it obvious?" It wasn't to Neil, but before he could speak Sloane leaned forward, running his tongue up the length of Neil's clothed cock, causing the detective to squirm and swear. "I want you. And I wanted you to completely accept how much you wanted me, your enemy." His hands took the top of Neil's pants and underwear, pulling them down slowly. Neil's penis sprang to attention, reaching forward, and despite himself the he lifted his hips, wanting, needing that touch.
"Fucking beautiful," Sloane said dreamily, almost as if to himself, before looking up at Neil again. "But I wanted to put myself in a physical package I'd know you want, the pretty young biker. He was irresistible, wasn't he?"
"You dumb fuck." Neil growled, and the younger man blinked in surprise. "The way he looked had almost nothing to do with it. It was the mind I thought he had... Your mind. That was what made me so fucking--" He stopped himself, embarrassed, suddenly vulnerable in front of the one man he should be anything but vulnerable to.
But that was exactly what was so damn hot, and he couldn't deny it anymore.
"So fucking...?" Down on his knees between Neil's legs, Sloane looked up with bright eyes; it was shocking now to the detective that he hadn't noticed them before. "So it's my mind you want?" He leaned forward and ran his nose up the length of Neil's cock. "Hope you don't mind if what you get is my body." And then, without warning, he slipped the detective into his mouth, all the way down to the base.
"FUCK!" Neil shouted, overwhelmed by the sensation.
He arched against his handcuffs, frustrated and turned on by the fact he couldn't actually touch the other man.
His body was straining towards coming. "Stop. Stop," he insisted through gritted teeth, and Sloane's head popped up.
"You aren't enjoying it?"
"That's not it...." He shook his head, but couldn't say it. It was degrading.
"You want to do more?" That quirked smile again, and a tongue against his balls before lifting his head up completely.
Neil glared at him defiantly. He knew what he wanted, and it was impossible to say it. He'd never said it to anyone before, not in his thirty-four years.
"Come on, Detective," Sloane purred, and undid his shirt, opening it to bare Neil's hairy, muscled chest. He pinched one dark nipple and Neil twitched with a strangled oath. "What is it?"
"Fuck me."
Sloane's eyes widened. "What?"
"Fuck me, you thieving asshole. I...want you...to top me. To fuck me hard." His eyes blazed, daring the man to laugh at him, or to show incredulity.
Instead a new expression spread on his face. It was empty of the wry, ironic humor, and full of surprise. "Really?
"If you don't want it, you don't, forget it." Neil turned away. A hand pulled his face around again.
"No." Sloane breathing was shallow, and Neil could see his erection. At that moment he knew he had to taste it, feel it between his lips. "There's nothing I want more. Nothing I want more than you. Surprised myself, really." He trailed a finger down Neil's wide cheekbones. Neil flushed, and bit at digit. Sloane drew back, surprised, but his eyes gleamed with excitement.
"Shut the fuck up and let me suck you," Neil growled.
Sloane quickly pushed down his pants, revealing lean, muscled legs, and came forward. Neil took him in greedily, loving it when Sloane grabbed the back of his head to guide and control him. "Fuck, Detective," he groaned. The grip of his fingers tightened. "Wanted...this...for so long..."
Neil tasted the telltale pre-come, and pulled back, getting a moan from the man standing over him. "Let my hands go and fuck me, Ghost boy. If you don't, I'm going to bite you."
What Sloane did next unnerved him, and robbed him of words. Slowly, almost tenderly, the man bent down and kissed the top of Neil's head, running his hands through his short hair from his ears back. "Anything you want," he answered quietly.
He pulled a key from his pant pocket he quickly undid the cuffs. "Now's your time to get away," Sloane said teasingly as he threw them away, his pointed devil's grin returning. "You could escape."
"For someone so smart, you're awfully stupid, Sloane." Neil reached up and grabbed the man by his hair, giving it a good tug before pulling his face almost too his. "Do you really think handcuffs could have stopped me if I really wanted to escape?"
"No?"
"No. So--" He jutted his hips forward, rubbing his cock and his ass against Sloane's straining groin, loving the sensation that mingled with his own rising anticipation-- "keep your promise, 'Ghost', and fucking fuck me. Before I beat the shit out of you."
Sloane's pupils dilated, and his breathing became ragged. "God, you're amazing." He positioned himself on his knees, and Neil lifted his legs, running a large fist around his erection, groaning as he felt the head of Sloane's long tool push against his hole, pushing forward.
But to his deep consternation the man didn't enter at that moment, and after a beat Neil stared over his own body at him incredulously. "What?"
"Well," Sloane looked worried. "We have no lube."
"Use spit, then." Neil threw back his head proudly. "I can fucking take it."
"Yeah," Sloane was serious now, no smile. He gathered spit and covered his hand with it before bringing it to his own cock and coating it with the slick wetness. Then he leaned forward, lightly kissing Neil, their tongues dancing. "I think you can." With that he pushed forward suddenly and swiftly, and Neil closed his eyes and bellowed as he felt the pain explode through him.
It felt so fucking good. Neil pushed his ass into the sensation, the raw and rough explosion of the flesh of Sloane's cock giving him pleasure like he'd never known. He reached again for his own cock but Sloane stopped him, taking it in his hand and jacking it up and down, rubbing it deliciously raw.
"Fuck, Sloane..." he growled, the name stretched out into pleasure.
"Aaron," the thief said, and leaned forward to nip Neil's knee. "My real name is Aaron." He started to thrust faster and Neil arched into the bed.
It could have been a lie, it probably was a lie; who knew if it was really his name? But at that moment Neil didn't care, the sensation of the scratchy bedspread underneath his back as Sloa--Aaron pounded into him faster and faster set his body on fire. "Aaron... Fuck, yes, Harder, Aaron!"
"Oh, god." Aaron's head had fallen to the side, eyes closed in ecstasy. Neil could feel both the rock hard strain of the cock inside him and of his own, the increasingly erratic thrusts, deeper and harder and faster.
"Coming...Oh, FUCK!" Aaron's warning was cut off as his lips opened to an "O" and then he let out a strained, sexy yell, his fingers and clutching around Neil's cock as he spasmed.
Neil's own orgasm was like an explosion, light bursting from the corner of his vision. He bucked, growling as he pushed against Aaron to get the last of his hard, violent movements. It was the longest he had ever come; his pleasure just seemed to go on and on as it came out endlessly. Aaron leaned forward and violently mashed their lips together, holding himself inside Neil as the other man came.
As the shudders subsided Aaron kissed down his chest, running his hands through the come, tasting it. Of its own accord one of Neil's hands lifted and touched Aaron's hair.
"Well that was both more painful and better than I thought it would be," he said, bemused.
Aaron lifted his head, surprised. "What? You've never bottomed before?" A grin that could only be called delighted spread over his face, but he quickly dropped it when he saw Neil's warning snarl. He chuckled quietly, and they fell briefly into a comfortable silence. Neil stared at the ceiling, mind working but not settling on any particular thought.
He had a decision to make, and he was going to have to make it now. But it wasn't coming easily.
It was Aaron who broke the silence. "So...now what?"
Neil looked down at him, face blank. He answered as best he could, figuring the question had the same meaning as those in his own mind. "There's two options. One: I drag your ass in, now," he tightened his grip on Aaron's hair, "and you spend the rest of your life in jail. But I also don't believe you'd let that happen."
Those green eyes caught his again. "Why wouldn't I?"
Neil snorted, putting his hands behind his head to lean back upon and looking at Aaron in amusement. "So you're saying you'd let yourself be thrown in jail for one quick fuck? I doubt it. I'm surprised I'm not already tied up again, or knocked out, or something. Maybe dead."
"What's not to believe?" Aaron wasn't smiling.
"There's no profit in it. You're a thief."
"No. I am a thief, yes, but I'm not in it for the money." He ran a finger down Neil's nose. Something wicked sparked in his eyes." I do it for the game. I'm in it for the thrill. And profit... Sometimes, it's not financial. It's for the profit of discovery. The spoils of risk. "
"Uh huh. And I'm your latest thrill, your latest game? Mind-screwing the cop as the greatest risk, yeah? Fuck that," Neil growled. He began to move away, but Aaron stopped him with surprising strength.
"You're my favorite game. You're the only game that's been more than an exercise, more than play. Ever since the first time I saw you investigating the Van Gogh heist." His eyes clouded. "You were so beautiful, striding around like some sort of caged beast."
He took advantage of Neil's shocked stare to kiss him, biting his lips.
"Fuck," Neil swore into his mouth, and flipped them, pinning Aaron down, muscles bulging. "You're a twisty bastard, you know that?" His head was light with the knowledge that he was the reason the Ghost had stayed around so long, fighting with an anger at how thoroughly and easily he had been manipulated.
The thief was equally as obsessed as he was.
Aaron's smile was small, tight, and his eyes were still intense. "Yes, I know that. What's that other option?"
"I let you go." Neil sighed. "Maybe it's good I'm not the 'perfect detective' anymore. They'll stop expecting me to pull their asses out of the fire every time. If I get fired for not catching you, I get fired. I'll live. But." He put his face inches from Aaron's and growled. What he was about to say made his heart ache, oddly, but it was the only way. "You get out. You leave. You never pull a heist in my town again. Move on. Push off."
"No." Aaron shook his head, expression nonchalant. "That's not actually an option."
"What?" Neil was incredulous. "You want to end up in prison, you dumb fuck? I might now officially be a shitty cop, but I'm still a cop, and you're still a criminal scumbag. I'm not going to let you keep this up on my turf. No matter how good it feels to have you fuck me."
Aaron stretched like a cat, and his long lean, muscles shifted under his pale skin. "I'm obviously not that bad a scumbag to you, if you're going to let me go. But it's nice to hear I'm a good lay." His wicked smile played around his lips, dancing.
Neil felt a stirring in his cock, and took a deep annoyed breath. "You little..."
Aaron lifted a hand to his lips. "Option 3. I quit stealing. I stay in your town."
"As if I believe you'd--"
"Your career is magically saved by finding where I've stashed everything I've stolen," Aaron continued. Neil's mouth felt like it was frozen open. "And the Ghost goes 'poof.'" He made a dissipating motion with his two hands. "Forever and ever."
"You..." Neil shook his head. "Crazy asshole. I thought you were in it for the 'game.' Men like you don't just stop that shit, you'll be bored."
"Mmmmm." Aaron ran a finger down Neil's broad chest, snagging hairs. "You have the most amazing body.... I was already getting bored with the thievery game; it was losing its thrill, and I've been getting sloppy. If you're not going to put me in jail, I'd rather quit at the top of my game." His smile was sly. "I'll find new games to keep me busy."
"And Ryan, the idiot biker? Doesn't he know about you?"
"His money was waiting for him at the bus station, he's done his job. He was an easily manipulated grifter who has no idea who I am. I wouldn't worry about that."
"You're fucking nuts." He couldn't keep the admiration out of his voice. "But." His large hand pinned Aaron around the neck, and his other was around his arm. He squeezed both, making it clear he could break either very easily. Aaron's breathing deepened, and his face became flush. "If you ever involve me personally in any of your fucking games, I will snap you like a twig, understood?"
Aaron reached up and wrapped his limbs around Neil, and electricity shot through the detective as their renewed erections met. The younger man put his lips near the Neil's ear, and ran his tongue slowly along its edge. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Detective Margrave." One of his fingers started to rub gently between Neil's asscheeks, and the policeman's body instantly pushed into the touch.
"Fucker," he swore, and cut off Aaron's laugh with a crushing kiss. He wasn't sure if he could trust the thief to mean everything he said--actually, he was pretty sure he couldn't.
But that was part of the game, and Neil was now ready to play.