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“You can go, Sergeant…”
“I’d rather not…” Gavin watches him. He knows he has to tread carefully and makes sure to add a quick “sir”.
Barnaby leans against the wall. He is holding his side, groaning quietly, and Gavin is all the more determined to stay. There is a silence, they’re still in the hall, and he reaches out and hooks a hand under Barnaby’s arm. Barnaby ignores him and walks into the living room, feet dragging. Gavin winces, not for the first time. Tough, seeing the guv’nor like this.
Barnaby lowers himself onto the sofa and Gavin heads into the kitchen for a glass of water.
“Mrs B and Cully,” he says over his shoulder, “I could pick them up tomorrow. First plane, was it?”
“No need. You’d just make them nervous.”
“But, they know…?”
“Called them, yeah.”
Barnaby is sitting on the sofa, still in his coat and shoes. The left side of his face is dark and swollen, his words are slightly muffled, and Gavin’s stomach stirs as he hands him the glass of water. It’s like the feeling he gets sometimes at crime scenes. He doesn’t like it, he prefers anger. Prefers the stuff that gets him going, but there’s nothing he can do now… He notices Barnaby’s hand is shaking, and he looks away, takes a step back.
“Goodnight, Troy.” Barnaby glances up at him. “See you at ten tomorrow morning.”
“But Dr Bullard said –"
“I know what Dr Bullard said.”
“If it’s the detailed statement, they can do it here. I’ll have them come over…”
“You’ll do no such thing.” There is a tremor to Barnaby’s voice. “I’m coming in.”
Gavin nods. Two weeks of sick leave, that’s what the doctor said. He heads over to the kitchen and wraps an ice pack into a tea towel. He sits down next to Barnaby.
“Here, for your face.”
It’s not just the face. Not just his side. Gavin saw the video from the bank, and his hands ball into fists as he remembers. Barnaby, on the floor, covering his face with his arms as he is being kicked and beaten. Perhaps he should go, Gavin thinks. Back to the station, pay those bastards a visit while they’re still being held in Causton… He’ll tell the lads on the night shift to look the other way.
“Thank you, Sergeant. Goodnight.”
Barnaby presses the ice pack to his face, grimacing with pain. He leans his head back and lets out a long breath. Gavin makes a decision. He gets up again and turns up the heating, all the way up, then he takes off his shoes and hangs up his coat. He’s gonna stay. No matter what his guv’nor says. He’s not leaving him. Not like this. With some luck, the scumbags will be held for another night before their transfer…
Gavin jogs up the stairs. He gets towels from the bathroom, throws the blue pyjamas he finds by the bed over his shoulder. Back in the kitchen he fills a big bowl with hot water, then he returns to the living room. He steps between Barnaby’s legs and sits down on the coffee table.
“For f--, Troy…” Barnaby’s voice is tired, more than anything. But it carries a warning. “Get out of here.”
Gavin looks up at him. He pushes a flower arrangement out of the way and sets down the stuff he brought.
“I’m staying,” he says quietly.
“No, you’re not.”
Barnaby’s eyes are almost shut, flickers of bright blue in his battered face, and for the first time in the two years he’s been working with his DCI, Gavin is going to disobey his order.
“Sorry, sir,” he mutters.
He takes the empty glass from Barnaby’s hand. The guv’nor’s eyes widen as Gavin reaches over and begins to take off his coat. Gavin sees a flash of anger cross his face, then it’s gone, and Barnaby lifts his arms, one then the other, and lets Gavin pull off his coat. Gavin still expects a tongue-lashing, but he continues, taking off Barnaby’s jacket. It’s ripped, blood-stained, and Gavin’s stomach stirs again. It’s not like when Dr Bullard examined him, when Gavin saw the bruises and thought of the video, that was like having second-hand pain. This is different. It’s tough, seeing him like this.
“I’m alright,” Barnaby says. “Quit making a fuss.”
Gavin hands back the ice pack. “Just a moment…”
He lays the coat and jacket aside, wondering if any of the clothes can be salvaged. He takes off Barnaby’s tie that hangs open around his neck, and moves closer as he starts to unbutton his shirt. It’s torn in several places, hard with dried blood.
“It’s not my own,” Barnaby tells him, and his eyes close for a moment.
Three bodies. Who knows how many more if Barnaby hadn’t kept the men busy. He’ll be getting a medal for this, Gavin is sure of it, but he knows his guv’nor better than to say it out loud.
“Saw the video,” he says instead.
“It was a right mess, that.”
He opens Barnaby’s shirt, and there is the sharp smell of disinfectant. The smell of sweat, of blood. Gavin is careful as he helps him pull out his arms. The pain shows on Barnaby’s face, but this time it doesn’t feed into Gavin’s anger. Nor does he feel sorry for him. He just wants to make it stop. He wants to keep him from hurting. It’s a weird thought, a weird need, and it’s just now that he understands why he’s still here…
“Part of the job,” Barnaby says, and his hand is shaking as he presses the ice pack to his face.
It’s not, Gavin thinks. Not this stuff.
“I’m putting a towel behind you,” he says.
He feels a little ridiculous as he kneels on the sofa and helps Barnaby bend forward. With the towel in place, he reaches down and pulls Barnaby’s undershirt loose. It’s torn, blood-stained, and Barnaby puts up his arms, wincing as it’s being removed. His hand feels over his side. For a moment Gavin just looks at him. His strong form, bent over slightly, covered in bruises, small cuts, dried blood. Dr Bullard told him to take it easy. Told him it’s gonna take time. In a way, Gavin thinks, he was lucky…
Gavin dips a small towel into the hot water and presses it to Barnaby’s shoulder. He feels firm under his touch. Reassuringly so. His left side got it worse, so Gavin starts on the right. He starts before he might be told to stop. But even if Barnaby tells him to… He rubs lightly over his skin. It feels weird, all of this does, but he watches Barnaby’s eyes drift shut, his expression ease, and he keeps going, carefully, working the towel down his chest. Swearing under his breath as he looks closer at the bruises. He rinses the towel and touches it to Barnaby’s stomach. It twitches, and Gavin makes it quick, cleaning the area as best he can.
“Please lean forward,” he says.
He gets on the sofa next to Barnaby, taking another look at his back. Pretty bad… He feels Barnaby wanting to pull away, hears his breath hitch as Gavin brushes the towel over his shoulders. He cleans his back, dabbing at the stitches and swellings. The water is brownish-red, and he goes into the kitchen to change it before taking another towel. Perched on the coffee table, he carefully reaches up to Barnaby’s head, who pulls away at first, but eventually lets him rub the hot towel lightly over his hair.
Gavin takes his time with it. Not because he needs to, but because he sees him relax. Barnaby leans slightly towards him, even his breathing changes, and Gavin feels this is good. He can make him feel better. He cleans Barnaby’s neck, working the towel slowly, in small circles until Barnaby’s head sinks forward as though he’s about to fall asleep. Gavin dries his hair with a fresh towel and gives him a washcloth for his face. Almost done. He unfolds the blue pyjama top and helps Barnaby into it. Buttons it up. It smells like him… Like the house smells in the mornings when Gavin comes to pick him up.
Barnaby kicks off his shoes. He clears his throat, and Gavin looks away when he opens his belt and pushes down his trousers. Gavin picks them up and puts them on top of the other clothes. He looks at Barnaby’s legs, relieved to find mostly light bruises, nothing like the ones on his chest and back. He hesitates for a moment before sitting back down and touching a warm towel to Barnaby’s thigh.
“I’ll take it from here…” Barnaby mutters.
“Just a sec.”
Gavin moves the towel slowly up his thigh, cleaning away the specks of dried blood, then down along his outer thigh. Barnaby’s knee is swollen, and it twitches away when Gavin reaches it. He rubs down Barnaby’s calf. Strong legs, like a footballer. Gavin says it, just to say something, and above him Barnaby shifts, leaning back into the sofa.
“Do I?”
There’s something to Barnaby’s voice. Something that feels off, though not in a bad way.
“Yeah…”
Gavin rinses the towel. There is a different feeling at the pit of his stomach now. Weird, familiar. He leans down again, scooting forward on the coffee table to tend to the other leg. The smell of blood hangs in the air, and Barnaby’s smell, and Gavin works his way up, from his lower leg to his thigh. He takes his time. Reaching around Barnaby’s leg and dabbing lightly at the back of his knee. In the quiet, Barnaby makes a small sound. Gavin pauses. But it’s not a sound of pain, sounds more like… The knee seems uninjured, and Gavin touches it again, rubbing the towel lightly along the hollow. Something crosses his guv’nor’s face, and there is a sharp intake of breath, and this time Gavin continues. Feeling himself flush as he keeps pressing the towel lightly to the same spot. It’s easy, really. Easy if you know how, and he wants to… he wants to make him feel better.
“Enough…” Barnaby’s voice is gruff, quiet.
Gavin doesn’t stop. He doesn’t look at Barnaby, either. Just dips the towel back into the water and touches it to the back of his knee. He strokes it. Properly strokes it this time, thinking for a second he might get a kick for this. Or worse. Even in this state, Barnaby is quite capable of a trademark dressing-down… Gavin listens to his breaths, louder now, and after a while, he slowly brushes the towel up along his inner thigh. Another small sound. Gavin’s face feels hot, but this is good, has to be, and he sticks with it, moving the towel further up, though very slowly.
There’s been a rawness in his chest. From the moment he stepped into Bullard’s office and saw him there, bloodied, in pain, from the moment he saw him and understood how close it had been… that feeling is going away now. And this… the thing he’s started, it’s good, even if it doesn’t make any sense, it’s good.
His hand stops at Barnaby’s pants, and before he can think twice, Gavin leans down. He presses his face to where the towel is, to the damp, warm skin. Barnaby’s leg tenses, but other than that he doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound, and Gavin knows better than to take this as encouragement. He stays quite still. Breathing in the warm, dense scent before he puts his lips to it, lightly at first, and kisses him.
“Stop, Troy…”
He’s not gonna stop. He knows Barnaby doesn’t want him to, just like he didn’t want him to leave. The second order he disobeys. He likes the way Barnaby smells, even here, ripe and warm, and he moves up and brushes his nose along the crook of his thigh.
He’s never touched another man. He’s not sure this counts… but even if it does… He glances up at Barnaby. His eyes are bright, almost shut, and despite the swelling and the injuries, he looks nothing like he did when they arrived here. Or back in Bullard’s office. He looks better, so much better, and Gavin knows there’s more. He can do more.
Letting go of the towel, he touches Barnaby’s thigh. The leg of his pants, fingers moving upward until they reach his crotch. Gavin’s heart pounds, and he pauses, but he’s not got gonna chicken out. Barnaby is warm through his pants. Gavin traces the swell of his cock and gives him a light rub through the fabric. He feels him stir into his touch, and he leans down to Barnaby’s thigh and presses his face to it as he starts stroking him, rubbing him slowly through his pants. He’s cut, Gavin feels himself flush at the realisation, but his fingers keep moving over Barnaby’s cock, and it almost feels good, the way it fills out his hand. Getting hard. He listens to Barnaby’s quiet hums, and as he keeps stroking him, his own cock stirs, too…
“For God’s sake…”
Gavin’s hand gets shoved away, and his eyes fly open. He watches as Barnaby tugs at his pants, just enough to get his cock out. It’s stout, veiny, and his balls are pressed up by the pants. Gavin’s heart is hammering, and part of it is relief that he didn’t get pushed away. The other part… He leans forward, balancing on the edge of the table. No time for second-guessing. He nudges Barnaby’s cock, brushing his nose against it. Craning his neck and pressing his lips to the sticky shaft. He smells him, almost tastes him, and there is a sound from Barnaby, like it’s knocked the wind out of him.
Gavin wets his lips and drags them slowly along his cock. Barnaby groans quietly, holding his side again, and Gavin leans closer and puts his lips around the head of his cock. He sucks on it, lightly, sucks in his taste. A strong one, stronger than his own, and Gavin braces himself against the sofa and takes him into his mouth, just a little past the head. Barnaby is panting, not a bad sign, and Gavin goes down some more until his mouth is full.
He begins to suck on his cock. He tries to go for the stuff he likes on his own. Not as easy as it looks, but after some fumbling around he starts bobbing his head down over his cock. He tries to keep his mouth tight. To catch his cockhead a little between his lips. Works, too, he feels him get harder, the kind of hard that’s good to go. His face is hot with effort, hot from the sound his mouth is making on his guv’nor’s cock. He is straining in his trousers, too, and though he hesitates, his hand begins to inch up his own thigh.
Shouldn’t feel good, this. Or be like this… He dips his head some more and ends up gagging, and when he eases off, he feels a slight thrust. Barnaby’s cock, pushing back up into his mouth. Gavin doesn’t miss a beat and goes back to sucking him, and there it is again. Must be doing something right, Gavin thinks, and as he continues to work him with his mouth, Barnaby starts meeting him with small, jerky thrusts. Gavin opens his mouth some more, and he ends up gagging again, the feeling tingling through him. Barnaby’s cock pushes deeper into his mouth, and Gavin coughs, but doesn’t pull away.
The taste of Barnaby’s cock, warm and slick as it fills his mouth… After a while Gavin sits back to catch his breath. Without thinking, his hand comes up to his own cock, grabbing himself through his trousers. Barnaby is watching him, his face is changed, flushed, his bruises darker than before. He moves forward and touches Gavin’s cheek. Touches his hair. He pulls Gavin close again, and Gavin follows, his hand rubbing his own cock as he leans over Barnaby’s. As he starts sucking him again, Barnaby’s hand settles on the back of his head. He has an idea what Barnaby wants, and he is ready to go with it, only flinching for a moment when Barnaby pushes his head down.
He is trying his best not to gag. To keep his teeth in check. Barnaby is fucking into his mouth, his grip tight on the back on Gavin’s head. Steady thrusts that have his nose pressed into the light, sticky hair at the base of his cock. Barnaby is grunting over him, now and then it sounds like pain, probably is, too. Even through the snot and spit Gavin can taste his cock, can smell him, feel him. His own cock is hard and leaking, and there is no shame… he is gagging and moaning in turns, rubbing himself quick and hard, he doesn’t understand it, he doesn’t have to, and he closes his eyes as Barnaby grabs him hard and pushes him down. Ready for this, too. He tries to hold still as Barnaby comes into his mouth, coughing around his cock as he is being held in place, Barnaby’s hips jerking as he keeps spilling into him, deep and warm.
Gavin is worked up, almost there now, and as Barnaby lets go of him, and he feels the dribble of spit and spunk on his lips, it just rips through him. He comes hard. His head thrown back, his cock pulsing in his pants. It’s blinding. Shakes through him and leaves him hot and weak. He slides back on the coffee table, leans back, the high lingering in his cock, his stomach, gripping and teasing him. Going on and on. He is aware of Barnaby, of the quiet of the room. He knows what happened just now. And still. Somehow… it’s good…
A couple of minutes, and he hears Barnaby clear his throat. Gavin gets to his feet. His lips are numb and hot, his mouth tastes of spunk, and he wipes his face with the washcloth. No point in hiding, so he meets Barnaby’s gaze, finding it tired but intent, searching his face. The swelling around his eye has gotten worse, and the first thing Gavin does is get him a new ice pack. He looks his guv’nor over, and before thinking too much about it, he carefully pulls his pants all the way down and wipes him clean with a fresh towel. He helps him with the pyjama pants, noting with quiet alarm that his pain seems to have gotten worse, too.
“Another pill, sir?”
“No. I’m good.” Barnaby grits his teeth as he pushes himself up from the sofa.
Gavin follows him upstairs, with another glass of water and the pills the doctor pressed into his palm. He watches the guv’nor get into bed, and a weird thought crosses his mind. Though less weird, now. The bed looks comfortable, and Gavin wonders what it would be like, getting in next to him… He would like to touch him, but he knows that’s through for now. Standing in the door, he looks back at him. Barnaby is leaning his face against the ice pack, up to his chest under the covers. Gavin’s stomach stirs again, just like before, and the same helpless anger grips him.
“Goodnight, sir. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”
“Take the guest room.” Barnaby’s voice is quiet. It’s not an order. Anything but. “The next door on the right.”
Gavin nods, and he lingers in the door for another moment.
“Goodnight, Troy.”
. . .
Tom stares at the door that Troy has just shut, feeling the urge to call the boy back and climb in beside him.
He closes his eyes on that thought, and moves the ice pack down to his side with a hiss.
What had happened tonight was possibly more incredulous than what had happened earlier in the day.
To begin with, Troy never disobeyed orders. Never. And yet, he had, because?
Because he was worried about me, he thinks to himself. Because I am an idiot is the next thought. Because, He scowls, Because he cares. He cares about me.
Though, that level of care is certainly more in-depth than he’d expected.
He remembers the touch of the warm towel, Troy’s gentle touch on his skin slowly taking the edge off some of his lingering tension. He remembers taking his trousers off in front of the boy—not even for the first time that day.
He remembers feeling weak in front of his subordinate and not liking it. It hadn’t seemed to matter though, as Troy wouldn’t leave him alone.
And then that comment about his legs. A warm feeling had blossomed into his existence in his stomach, and he’d wondered, just a little, about the younger man.
Seeing that look of devotion in his eyes, seeing those brief flickers of raw need on his face had been illuminating, if only in a distant way.
Well, it had been distant for a moment, and then Troy’s mouth had alighted on his leg, and all of his doubts had been set fire to.
He licks his lips, feeling the cut in his lower lip acutely. That mouth, those lips on his skin had ignited something that he had thought long buried.
He remembers feeling Troy’s mouth at the edge of his groin, and the sudden need to put a stop to whatever this was as fast as possible.
But it had been for naught, because Troy had read straight through his lie and had kept on.
He whimpers softly to himself as he remembers those warm wet lips wrapping around his cock, and the realisation that Troy was as turned on by what was going on as he was.
He certainly hadn’t expected the orgasm! It had been such a bright moment in his otherwise dark day.
He smiles and opens his eyes. He knows what he’s going to do, but now he has to do it.
With some difficulty, he slides out from under the covers. Getting on his feet is harder, but he manages.
And then he is opening his door and heading down the hall to where Troy, where Gavin hopefully is.
He knocks and the door opens almost immediately to Gavin in an undershirt and trousers.
“Sir? Are you okay?” Gavin asks, clear concern showing in his face.
“Come to bed?” He asks, hoarsely, uncertain of what the younger man will say.
A brilliant smile is his response.
“Only if you want me there, sir.”
He holds out his hand and pulls Gavin back to his room. Once there, Gavin stops and blushes.
“Could I borrow some pants, sir?”
He remembers him shuddering, his mouth open and a look of bliss blooming across his face.
God.
“First drawer, left side,” He says, climbing laboriously back into the bed.
He closes his eyes for a moment, finally at peace with himself.
The lights go out and the bed dips beside him, and there is a warm, young, lean body sliding in beside him.
Maybe today isn’t so bad, after all.