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A handful of days after his half-brother killed Marcus, River dreamt that he’d done with his father what he’d done with Lamb.
It happened like this: He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. His normal routine was at least an hour of tossing and turning fruitlessly before sleep would overcome him. But days of playing the fugitive–and, the experience of MI5 yet again intending to kill him–had made its battle for the last several nights a relatively easy victory. He didn’t so much fall asleep as plummet backwards.
When he opened his eyes, heavy in that dreamlike state, there was his father over him again. Ugly snarl fixed on a grizzled face, hands on his throat. He’d had this dream each night now; always he would struggle, cruel glee on his father’s features as he choked the life out his son, snarling, snarling, snarling, sometimes offering, in that mocking drawl, obscenities about his mother, or his grandfather, or River himself.
Except–tonight those teeth were bared the same as ever, but they weren’t snarling, were they? His eyes were dark with anger, but something else, too: River’s throat was cinched, he couldn’t breathe, but this time there was a knee between his legs, and as he grabbed at his father’s hands, panting without air, lungs burning, he started to rock back and forth, and he turned his head, and there was the harsh, unfriendly fabric of his father’s coat that smelled like cigarettes as he pressed his face into his shoulder, and there were words muttered in his ear of good job, son, good boy, good boy-
He woke abruptly, to sweaty skin, a sinking disgust with himself, and a spent feeling he hadn’t woken to since–well, since his teen years. He spoke aloud, to his empty room.
“What the fuck.”
Lamb never talked about their–previous encounter. River didn’t bring it up. Well, that wasn’t quite true–he’d tried, once, on a day when Lamb had been insulting him more than usual, and he’d been in an hourslong state of unwanted arousal as a result. Besides a smirk, though, Lamb hadn’t paid River’s hedging with anything but silence and a practiced lack of comprehension.
They’d went on, then, more or less the same. But this was–well. It had to have been the pint he’d shared with Lamb, he reckoned; never mind that he hadn’t had much of anything, and drinking had never had a similar effect, or that having a dream like that–with that particular vividness, with that–particular person–wasn’t something that he’d ever hoped to experience.
Lamb just had that effect on people. Not necessarily in the same form as he did River, apparently, but–well. He had a way of keeping you off-balance. Just when you thought you knew where you stood with him, or that you’d made an inroad, you’d be slapped down into remembering that you most certainly hadn’t.
So, it was the fact that yesterday in the pub, he’d been, if not pleasant, not unkind, either, that River decided had sent his unconscious mind into uncharted territory. He’d lacked his usual bite. If River had any observation skills at all, he’d have almost said Lamb seemed…tired. Weary.
It hadn’t been entirely unpleasant territory either, had it?
He shivered, quickly banishing these unwelcome thoughts. He knew, logically, that regrettable dreams were hidden away. But even so–if Lamb had a way of unmooring you, well, he had a much more refined way of knowing everything.
There was a slight chill running through Slough House. Marcus’ funeral had yet to be scheduled; he and River hadn’t really known each other, but they’d most likely be expected to attend-
“You’re chewing through the last of your pens.”
River wasn’t quick enough to stop himself from jumping. Coe had wandered up behind him, solemn, silent as a ghost; now he drifted over to his desk, seemingly unbothered by the failures of Slough House’s thermal regulation.
And, well, there was a pen in River’s mouth. He hadn’t noticed, lost in thought as he was, and quickly took it out. He grimaced when he saw tooth marks. A cursory glance over his desk revealed similar findings on the other two. “Bored out of my mind,” he offered.
Coe sat down. His laptop was unopened; he opted to tap his fingers against his desk rather than look busy, as River often did. The tapping of his fingers didn’t have any particular rhythm. Tap. Tap Tap Tap. Tap Tap. Tap.
He didn’t seem particularly inclined to offer anything else in terms of conversation. So it was with some surprise as River clicked around uselessly on his laptop when he spoke, abruptly. “You often put things in your mouth.” Tap tap. “It’s a poor habit.”
River made a face. Talking with Coe was much like the experience of having teeth pulled. He regretted that Shirley was nowhere to be found–though she wouldn’t have saved him from Coe, anyway, even if she weren’t still stewing over his brother and Marcus. “Can I help you?”
Coe tapped his fingers. River caved first. “What’s your point?”
A small smile hovered at the edges of Coe’s lips, even as he stared off into a middle distance only he seemed able to find. River, knew, instinctually, that he didn’t like that look at all.
“Do I have a point?” Coe asked.
“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you.”
Coe, irritating and knowing it, just smiled. “I think you do know. We both do.”
A frantic bolt of fear lanced through River without warning–it was impossible, but surely Coe didn’t know. Right? He couldn’t possibly have looked into River, somehow, read his mind, seen-
No, logic won out, of course he hadn’t. Something must have shown on River’s face, though, because Coe’s mouth was twitching. “I don’t have time for this,” River said, fixing his gaze on his empty computer screen full of nothing to do. “Enough of your–mind games.”
“I have nothing but time,” Coe said, apparently not taking the hint that their little exchange was over. “There’s nothing to do here.”
“Yeah, well, that’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”
“I liked when you fell out of a window. That was something to do.”
“Do you-” River cut himself off, exhaling through his nostrils. “Ok, first of all, I was pushed-
“Little difference.”
“-and if I recall correctly, you’re the one who- who fucked it all up by killing him.”
Coe tapped his fingers.
River licked his lips, the familiar mix of irritation and regret that seemed perpetually fixed in his belly these days once again pressing on his chest with discomfort. It was a low-level undercurrent of anxiety–mostly manageable, but it reared its ugly head whenever he was reminded of his many means by which he’d not only acquired, but added to it.
“Look, just- I’m really not in the mood for this today, so-” he gestured vaguely with his hands, “-can we just move on? Please,” he added, more to keep himself from saying something worse than out of any real politeness.
Coe was still staring at nothing, still smiling, still tap tap tapping. But he didn’t say anything further. So it was that they slipped back into uncompanionable silence, leaving River to ponder just what, exactly, Coe meant.
Having gone downstairs looking for fuck-all, except to get away from the unbearable atmosphere that had descended on he and Coe’s shared space, he was promptly rewarded with a pleasant sentiment from the mouth of Roddy.
“I wonder if they were all fucking each other. Imagine Cartwright being a part of that.”
“Oh my god,” Louisa said, as River shambled into Roddy’s office, regretting his decision already. “You’re disgusting.”
“What? I’m just saying.” Roddy was eyeing a chat on his computer, some girl that was no doubt catfishing him. “Flowers in the Attic is a thing.”
There was a pause before anyone spoke, one that actually had Roddy glancing over his shoulder. He did a double-take when he saw River–a genuine double-take–as River and Louisa wondered, briefly, separately, but just the same, if they had been bludgeoned to death, and were now in some sort of strange purgatory where Roddy knew what a book was.
“I-” Louisa began, stopping when she saw River. “River,” she said, as if she’d forgotten he was a real person, capable of overhearing things. Roddy was saying something further about Flowers in the Attic, and that no, he didn’t bother doing gay shit like read, but certain internet forums that had recommended it for ‘reasons’. River blocked it out. Hearing more about the corners of the internet Roddy frequented would only tempt him into an investigation out of morbid curiosity, one which would no doubt forever sully his will to live.
“What are you doing here?” Louisa asked.
“What do you mean? I work here.”
“Well- yes, but-”
“We were talking about how fucked up your family is,” Roddy supplied helpfully. He tapped a cringeworthy response to a prying question that would likely lead to his credit card being stolen. “You think your brothers ever fucked each other?”
“Roddy! River, I’m-
“What? It’s not like supersoldier camp would’ve had any girls.” Roddy paused. “You are into girls, right?”
“Roddy! Shut up!”
“I’m just saying,” Roddy said, shielding himself as Louisa delivered a sharp slap to the back of his neck, though he soon received a chat response and was back to answering. “It’s not like he’s getting any. Virgin body language,” he muttered. He was rewarded for his observations with another slap.
“I am not a virgin,” River said, a few seconds later than was appropriate to reply. Strangely, however, Louisa did not look at him; nor did Roddy, who had turned to stare at the doorway behind River, with far too happy a look for it to be anything good.
A beat passed; the skin on the back of his neck prickled, and he turned to find Lamb standing at the bottom of the stairs, cigarette in his teeth. His expression was unreadable but for his raised eyebrows. Slowly, he reached up, taking the cigarette out, and exhaled.
“Well,” Lamb said, ambling forward; River shrank against the doorframe, an odd sort of flip in his gut as Lamb made to pass him–only to stop at the last moment, close enough to touch. He stared. Then he smirked. “I suppose that’s a relief. But I hope he paid you well.”
Roddy laughed, a distant sound in River’s ears. He felt more than saw Louisa shake her head, because Lamb was still staring at him, and looking away now felt like it would be losing. Losing what, he didn’t know, but he didn’t want to lose.
He ought to offer a retort. Something about Lamb being inappropriate, unprofessional; tell Roddy he was filing a complaint with HR, or look to Louisa for reassurance. But his mind had gone blank, and his mouth dry. He stared dumbly. The ensuing silence dragged out, until it was something uncomfortable. Louisa shifted in his peripheral vision; Roddy stilled. He had the distinct feeling of a flush creeping up his neck and his feet running cold.
Blessedly–and it was the only, only time he would ever be thankful for such a thing–Roddy couldn’t help but blurt out the first thought that crossed his mind. “I dunno,” he said, “I could see Cartwright with an OnlyFans. He’s kind of got the fuck-me eyes.”
It was then that Lamb and River exchanged expressions, and struck a wordless truce; they may have been on unsteady ground, but ganging up on Roddy was a sure thing.
“You just said I was–virginal,” River said. “I don’t know why we’re discussing my sex life.”
Roddy shrugged, oblivious. “They’re not exclusive.” He paused, considering, and dug in deeper. “I’m just saying. If you were a girl, I’d smash. No homo, though.”
It was perhaps a special talent of Roddy’s that for once, Lamb almost seemed as confused as the horses. Almost. He furrowed his brow, and the vague look of disgust and bafflement on his features bled into his voice.
“Excuse me. Are you under the impression, Ho, that saying you’d get the ride off of a man isn’t the most–homosexual thing,” he said, pausing before saying homosexual, like he’d very much wanted to say something else, “-there is to say, as long as you, what, cancel it out?”
“Well,” Roddy said, “I’m not a fairy.”
Louisa slapped him again.
“You can’t say that anymore,” Lamb said. “Offends the fags.” He turned, faux-apologetic. “Sorry, Cartwright. I’d no idea he used such hateful speech to you.”
“I’m not-” River cut himself off. Just like that, everyone was staring at him, again. He closed his mouth, willing himself to think of something nasty to retort, and fell short. Louisa took the opportunity to shoulder her way through he and Lamb, shooting Lamb a dirty look as she went. River watched her go. He couldn’t meet Lamb’s eyes. “I’m not gay.”
He could feel Lamb watching him–always watching, shrewd and calculating and watching. He looked up to see a foreign emotion flash across Lamb’s face; but before River could work out what it was, he turned to the front door, scoffing. “I’m heading to lunch. Back to whatever the fuck it is you do, both of you.”
River watched him go.
It wasn’t out of any obligation that he found himself back up in Lamb’s office at the end of the day, long after everyone else had left. It wasn’t of his own volition, either; his feet seemed to decide for themselves to drag himself up the steps, the old wood creaking unkindly as he shambled up, up, up towards something he wanted, but couldn’t quite define.
As he walked, he allowed himself, against his better judgment, to recall certain things from last night–his father over him, an ugly snarl fixed on his grizzled face, hands on River's throat, cold eyes, mockery, obscenities. Except, well–if he thought about it, it hadn’t just been his father this time, had it? Mockery and obscenities, yes, but something else, too–something just shy of affection, the rock of his hips, heat between his legs, a scratchy voice in his ear.
By the time he reached the door, he was already half-hard.
Lamb lounged in his seat, feet up on the desk, ever-present cigarette clenched in his teeth. The light of his office was fighting a losing battle against the darkening sky, winter hours dragging the sun below the horizon at a stupid hour, and his eyes were shadowed. His hands were folded over his belly; anyone else, and River would have thought them asleep. As it was, he wasn’t surprised when Lamb’s hand came up to take the cigarette out, his legs shifting back to the floor.
He exhaled, opening his eyes as he leaned forward, languid. He didn’t say anything as he reached to put out his cigarette. “I thought you might make your way up here,” he mused, as if he hadn’t predicted River’s arrival. “If you’re here to file a complaint, I’m afraid HR’s lost our number.”
River shook his head. “Come on,” he said from the doorway, as means of explanation. Lamb looked up at him, then. His eyes crawled over River, head to toe, back up again. Lingering.
It was just a look, but nonetheless, it felt like he’d been turned inside out, inspected, examined–and found wanting, if the amused look Lamb wore was any indication. “Ah. I’m relieved, you know. For a minute there, I thought you’d found some self-respect.”
River twitched, what previously mentioned self-respect he had momentarily forgotten as he shut the door behind him, shuffling towards the desk. “I don’t understand.”
“Well, at least you’re consistent,” Lamb agreed. “The daddy issues, though, I really have no interest in being involved with. Run along, now.”
“Can’t we-” River licked his lips, and tried again. The slow heat in his groin was pleasant, pulling at his concentration–it knew what it wanted, and it wanted it without delay. “Let me just–again.”
Lamb’s gaze bored into his skull. River looked away. “Let you? Let you what? Spit it out."
Still unable to look him in the eye, River stared up at the ceiling. He willed away his dignity. His hands fidgeted. “Can I do it. Please,” he added.
“Can you what.” Of course Lamb wouldn’t make it any easier; River would not be getting any relief. He leaned back in his seat, cigarette thrown away, and crossed his arms. “You can do it. Go on. Not like you’re a stranger to humiliating yourself.”
Again, River licked his lips. Fine. if Lamb was going to play it that way, he resolved to look right in his eye when he voiced why he’d come up here.
“Can I- you know,” he mumbled, face running hot. “Suck you off.”
He immediately looked away. It felt–well, not stupid to ask, he convinced himself, but something about standing here, fists clenched tight at his sides to avoid wringing them, Lamb content to watch him get frustrated–it felt like he was all too aware of his body. Like his skin was running cool and hot all at once, his every feature exposed for the picking apart.
And Lamb said nothing. River fidgeted, still unable to meet his eyes. But, well, saying it the first time had put something out into the world. “Can I suck you off,” he repeated, ducking his head as if scolded. “Please.”
Slowly, deliberately, Lamb leaned forward. River looked up, and a little thrill ran through him.
“There you are,” Lamb said. “Good boy, using your words. And no,” he added.
River had started moving towards him, unashamedly excited at the first hint of approval; the no was a slap, enough to draw him up short, hovering awkwardly across the desk. “What?”
Lamb reclined, settling his hands once more across his abdomen. “You got something in your ears? This is sexual harassment, you know. Could ruin what’s left of your supposed career.” He watched River’s expression; whatever he saw seemed to amuse him, lips quirking cruelly. “Christ, you mean it, don’t you? I-” he interrupted himself with a snort, shoulders shaking.
“Yes, I mean it,” River said. “I wouldn’t just–humiliate myself like that if I didn’t.”
That prompted another bout of laughs. “Wouldn’t you? There’s a bit of a track record.”
“If you were just going to say no, then why–actually, you know what? I don’t care.” His groin disagreed, vehemently. “Don’t act like you’re getting any, either.”
Lamb paused, smirk morphing into a scowl. “Need I remind you of the policy on harassment? This is getting sad, Cartwright, even for you. I’d like us to pause a moment, just to appreciate the magnitude of that.”
“Fuck you,” River snapped. Lamb was nonplussed by his outburst. Amused, if anything. “What’s so funny?”
“That you even have to ask proves my point.” Lamb frowned. “I told you-
Yes, he had told River something, hadn’t he? What that was, however, River missed. He was too busy ignoring Lamb’s directions. Dropping to his knees, shuffling himself into the same position as he’d been before, and trying to get things free and moving while Lamb slapped at his hands tended to take a not insignificant amount of mental effort.
In retrospect, it was a stupid decision. A common theme in River’s life. Luckily, however, it paid off, but not without a few–bumps in the road, so to speak. For example: he was angry and horny enough that he didn’t feel the iron grip clamping down on the back of his neck until it was too late.
By the time he noticed, Lamb’s fingers were already dug in. The nails of his hand scraping along the nape of River’s neck were the only warning River had, before his shirt collar was abruptly snagged and yanked backwards. He grunted, momentarily surprised at being scruffed like a misbehaving dog.
And was unsure if he was surprised to find, as Lamb pulled him up with alarming strength, slamming River’s upper half roughly against the papers littering his desk, that he was painfully hard.
Lamb had hooked him under an arm to pull him up; now his palm forced the side of River’s face into the desk. He was shaken by his shirt collar, feeling a weight at the backs of his thighs, and then a bright pain as Lamb kneed him between the legs.
“What part of no,” came Lamb’s voice in his ear, “is not making it through your thick fucking skull.” His shirt was pulled taut against his neck, and the mild lack of oxygen coupled with pained arousal sent a slow heat down his spine. He shivered. Lamb pushed his face into the desk; then, as if remembering River had them, released his collar, and shoved his wrists down.
“You stupid, stupid prick,” Lamb continued irritably, kneeing him again for good measure. River groaned; he arched his spine, shamelessly trying to rub on the source of the pain between his legs, and the noise Lamb made was somewhere between incredulous and furious. “I’m humiliated for you. I can’t believe-” River had hissed in pleasure as more weight was leaned on his back, and was rewarded with yet another knee to the balls. “-a grown man would behave like this.”
“Oh really?” River asked, after he’d caught his breath. Lamb paused, and he took the opportunity to raise his head, trying to look over his shoulder to lock eyes. “Can we skip this? If you don’t want a–you know, then just- put it in already. We both know you want-
His words were cut short as Lamb again pushed his head into the desk; his fingers tangled uncomfortably tight in River’s hair as he shoved his face into the wood, pulling on his scalp. Fuck, but Lamb was deceptively quick; River grappled at the hand in his hair, but then there was a grip on his windpipe, fingers wrapping around the front of his throat almost tenderly. He swallowed, feeling the pressure rise and fall with it, unsure what to attack first–the pain, or the threat to his oxygen–only to freeze, and groan, softly, as there was yet again a knee between his thighs, but without intent to hurt this time.
The near-constant buzz beneath his skin and the pressure between his legs did little to help him decide. He began gathering himself, as if to push his front up off the desk and break the hold, and was met with a warning squeeze of his throat. “None of that, now. You headbutt me it’ll be the last thing you ever do.” He slid his palms back overhead. “That’s better.”
A warm feeling spread in his belly from the praise. It only intensified as his hair was released, Lamb’s free hand stroking his flank almost absently, the fingers at his throat increasing their grip incrementally as he spoke. His breath brushed up against River’s ear. “This is entirely your problem, Cartwright. The minute you get a bit of leash, you go and hang yourself on it.”
“I can tell you’re into it, dickhead. You’re practically- humping me.”
“I’m reining in my dumb fucking horse, is what I’m doing. Is this how you beg for affection, now? Skip past the bravado and delusion, cut right to embarrassing yourself? I can’t tell which is worse.”
“What, is rubbing your dick on m-” he gasped as his words were cut off by Lamb’s grip tightening; he thrashed, scrabbling his hands at his throat, but it was like being caught in a vice.
“I let you,” Lamb said slowly, still stroking River’s side, “get one off out of pity, and you think–what? That this is a negotiation? A tryst?”
River gagged; just as dark spots were starting to swim in front of his eyes, he was released. He gasped, and Lamb continued on as if nothing had happened. “How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t like you. If you waltzed into traffic and some driver turned you into paint on a windshield, I’d buy him a round.”
“How evocative-” Lamb’s grip tightened again. River wheezed, the words again cut off in his throat.
“Shut up.” When his hand went to River’s side this time, it didn’t stop there. His touch at River’s throat was light as he leaned back, sliding his other hand along the back of River’s thigh, dipping between his legs. “Look at you. Fucking panting for it.”
This time, River didn’t respond; Lamb snorted, one thumb pressing gently into the angle beneath River’s jaw, the other into his hip. “I meant what I said, you know. This is a new low, even for you.”
River waited. When Lamb said nothing further, his hand drifting down to settle at the hollow of River’s throat, he exhaled. Slowly, even as he felt Lamb’s grip on his hip tighten, he began to stand, hands bracing on the desk.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Lamb warned. Again, River slunk back down. “That’s better. So you can follow directions–fancy that.”
“Well, I don’t want you choking me again.”
Lamb snorted. “You think I haven’t noticed you rutting against my desk? Settle down, there’s plenty of that to go ‘round.” His hand wandered over River’s chest.
“So what’s your plan? Are you just going to feel me up all day like some old pervert?”
Lamb did not pause said feeling up. “Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself? There’s no plan here, there’s you taking what I give you. And being grateful I’m not throttling you worse, by the way.”
River opened his mouth, readying a retort; all he managed was an aborted, breathy wha, as one hand clamped down on his windpipe, the other on his chest. A hot, dizzying sensation coursed down his back, down and between his legs, and he panted shamelessly, ducking his face down towards the desk, harder than he’d been in weeks.
“Fuck,” he choked out.
“It’s like your generation has never heard of foreplay,” Lamb replied, releasing him; River slumped into the wood, legs trembling. His hip was tugged on until he took the hint to turn around. Face to face, he looked down, noting with some dismay that Lamb was–well, not as excited as he. Lamb rolled his eyes, gesturing to the desk, and River may be poor at taking directions, but these were thankfully fairly obvious. “Or proper courtship, I might add. You do stupid shit like throw your mouth at my cock. On your back, then.”
River paused–he’d been under the impression that he was about to be bent over, and this was not that. “On my…? Where?”
“The desk,” Lamb said.
“The desk? Why not the couch?”
“The couch? No. I don’t know where you’ve been.”
“The hell does that mean?”
“It means I’ve no interest in- contracting whatever venereal fucking disease it is that makes you act this way.”
River considered bringing up the fact that Lamb’s reasoning made no sense, as they’d already–well, exchanged fluids–but after a short period of solemn, clear-eyed contemplation, concluded that Lamb would not give a fuck. He grimaced, glancing over his shoulder at the wood, and tried one last time. “Here?”
Lamb didn’t reply.
“I- never mind,” River amended, and avoided meeting his eyes. He shifted backwards, feeling Lamb watching him, unimpressed. And so to salvage things, with what sex appeal he could muster, he leaned back, back, back, clambering in reverse until he had somehow wrangled himself into laying along the length of the desk. On the way, he bumped up against a phone, a glass, a stack of somethings. Several things fell.
He curled onto his side, trying and failing to ignore the unpleasantness of the wood against his ribs, and the thought of what he might find on his shirt from the desk later. Along with the feeling that he’d just lost yet another of his few remaining pieces of dignity.
“Like this?” he asked, wincing immediately. It had been overeager to his own ears, even. He shifted onto his back; decided he didn’t like it, and rolled back onto his side; again decided that no, his side hurt to lay on like this, and once more spread out on his back.
Lamb, who had been content to watch this entire saga, put his hands on his hips once River had settled. “I don’t really know,” he began, slowly. “What I expected. But I think that just made me impotent.”
River snuck a glance at his groin. Still nothing. Fitting, for this to be the one time Lamb told the truth.
Lamb ignored him. “You know, normally, when you beg for something in your arse-” he stepped around until he was standing at the end of the desk between where River’s legs hung off the edges, and grabbed him by the shins, manhandling him until his hips were flexed, heels digging into the wood beneath, “-it involves taking your clothes off. Unless this is some new sort of thing I’m unaware of,” he finished.
River rolled his eyes. “You didn’t tell me to do it.” He reached for his shirt, making eye contact as he unbuttoned and shrugged it off; Lamb’s eyes were near-black as they watched him move, leaving the skin they trailed down feeling hot and exposed.
Letting it drop to the floor, he leaned back, waiting expectantly. “Well?”
“Well,” Lamb echoed. It was hard to tell if he approved of what he saw. “As much as I can appreciate a free show, I want you to walk me through your thinking, for a moment.”
This time, he gestured nothing–no, all he did was watch as River fidgeted, and wondered with uncertainty, in between the word appreciate rotating through his head, what-
Ah. Yes. Right. Wrong…location.
Lamb grabbed his thigh before he could roll over and try to pick it up. “No. Leave it.” He roved his eyes down, up again. He snorted. “You just can’t help but fuck up, can you?”
The retort that formed on River’s tongue died as Lamb pulled off his shoes, tugged at his clothes, undoing everything until he was in nothing but his socks. So, considering there was no further protest, Lamb simply continued what he’d been doing before–hands on River’s calves, his thighs, touching everything but his-
“Get your hands off that,” he snapped, batting at River’s hands from where they’d been reaching to stroke himself. River complied. He snorted. “You know–I have to say, naked on your back really suits you. I think we might’ve actually found your–how did you put it? Wheelhouse?”
“Fuck you,” River said again, without any heat. It was hard to feel much anger when there were fingers dragging through his pubic hair. Lamb paused, contemplating something; then he snickered, and River frowned. “What?”
“Ah, it’s just-” he leaned down to reach in a drawer, returning with a bottle of hand lotion; when he came back up, he was smirking. “Carpet matches the drapes.”
“You’re- fucking weird.”
“Shut up.” Lamb’s phone began to ring. “Ah, just in time. Guess you’ll have to wait.”
“Who’s calling?”
“Lady Di,” Lamb yawned. “I better take this."
River froze. As he watched him pick his phone up, tap the button, hold it to his ear–well, it was as if it was all in slow motion. A peculiar, sinking feeling ran through him; a cold, shocked sensation, that oh, fuck moment, because of course Taverner had to know, she-
“The fuck do you want,” Lamb said, lazily, and then there was a finger at his entrance.
River jerked, calves flexing without any particular higher input; he hissed out a breathy noise, feeling his legs tremble with anticipation and lack of warning, but Lamb, well, he hardly seemed bothered. His finger–it had to be his finger–when had he got the lotion on it?–began to press down, up, sliding just barely in, out, purposeful as he always was. As for River, well, he had done this on his own before, and he’d been wondering about it, and the present feeling from getting worked over had started tipping over from foreign to good, really good, but he hadn’t–not with another person-
The finger slipped inside.
“Ow,” River said. “Too- ow.”
With his free hand, Lamb held the phone to his shoulder. He raised his eyebrows, movements not pausing. If he’d said anything else to Taverner, River had missed it. “I thought this was what you wanted? In, out, meaningless, much like yourself?”
“I-” River grimaced. “Not like…you know.”
“Christ,” Lamb muttered, and River convinced himself that that was a wince he’d just seen on Lamb’s face. Although, on reconsideration, it was probably irritation. “All that groveling, and you’ve never even done this before?”
The pressure was intense, too intense. River whined. The finger was back out. It was placed by a thumb on River’s taint, pressing up, hot and insistent; it dug in almost uncomfortably, moving around until hitting up against something that prompted a shiver. “Of course you haven’t. I dunno why I even bother.”
“Well I tried it on my–own.” The finger was back in. “It didn’t…
“Work?” Lamb finished for him. Even as he raised the phone to his ear again, his hand didn’t stop moving. Fitting, River thought; as soon as Taverner was on the line, he was fucked. “Well of course it didn’t. You can’t do anything right.”
“Teach me then,” River said. The way it made Lamb’s face twitch would sustain him for weeks. “If you’re so good at this.”
And as if on cue, Lamb hit something, and River groaned in a fashion he had never groaned before.
He was distantly aware that he was writhing, and that he’d grabbed the sides of the desk. Lamb was watching him; something that sounded like someone saying breathe–or something or other–floated past his ears, in between his own bitten-back noises and the sound of his feet sliding uselessly.
As soon as the immediate bliss subsided, he flailed his legs up onto Lamb’s shoulders.
“For the love of-” Lamb grunted, momentarily stopping to brace for balance. “Get the fuck off me.”
“Was that my…?”
“Yes. Now fuck off.” He put the phone back to his ear and smacked one of River’s legs, pointing at the desk. River did not move. He rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t anything. You sure you aren’t losing it?”
Taverner said something out of hearing range, and Lamb sighed. For perhaps the first time, River did not care to listen in on her and Lamb’s conversation if at all possible. He may have been distracted by a few other things.
The phone went to Lamb’s shoulder again. “Not another fucking amateur whore noise out of you. Think of what old Granddad would say.” He put the phone back up to his ear. “Sorry, love. What was that last part?”
“Oh, and you’re such a professional? You can’t even get it up.”
Lamb responded by twisting his fingers to hit that spot again. “Because I’m looking for something, Diana. Honestly, calling me at this hour–a little needy, don’t you think?” He put the phone down. “What part of not another fucking sound was unclear to you?” The phone went back up. “Well, that’s a nice offer, but no.” Phone down, and a slap at River’s hands. “I said keep them off. There we are.” Phone back up. “Repeat that for me? Because one of my idiot fucking losers is trying my patience.”
Another groan escaped him. And then he looked to Lamb’s face, and well–
Well, either Lamb hadn’t quite looked at him like that the last time they’d done this–whatever it was–or River had still been feeling the lingering effects of his concussion. But this time, if being worked open was starting to get him most of the way there, Lamb looking back at him with such intensity nearly brought him over. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out; fucking hell, Lamb was putting it on speaker-
“-problem, I expect it to be dealt with.” Taverner’s voice was tinny through the phone. “Do I make myself- ” Lamb hit his prostate again, and again, and again, and River whited out for a moment. “-for your horses to get in the way.” Taverner paused. “Jackson, what was-
“Oh, fuck off,” Lamb cut her off, dropping the phone on the table. “You know how the old colon gets.” He glanced at River’s yet-untouched dick, trailing his eyes up to River’s face, and smirked. Taverner was talking, but River quickly stopped paying attention; because the triumphant look Lamb had was the only warning he had had before there were cool fingers sliding up the underside of his dick, only adding to the slowly building heaviness inside. He closed his eyes again, trying to push it down with minimal success.
“-continually find ways to disgust.” Another pregnant pause, and then something that, had River not currently been fighting for his life not to come early, probably would have set him off in any other scenario to overhear. “And I don’t think it needs reminding, but whatever it is you do, I do not want Cartwright anywhere near my operation. Not even a hint of him, Jackson.” She sighed. “I have had about enough of the bloody Cartwrights. If he finds out-
Lamb flexed his fingers still inside as she said Cartwrights, and River found his own ability to bite back a gasp downright admirable.
“Finds out? Finds out how? My lad doesn’t know his cock from his arse,” Lamb mused. He punctuated it by palming the head of River’s dick, massaging a few circles, then slid his hand down to the base, all while his other fingers were still flexing back and forth.
How there wasn’t even a slight quaver to his voice, well. But something on River’s face must’ve shown, because when he opened his eyes to Lamb’s own gaze, his eyes were dark with want. River’s legs started to tremble, the pleasant, telltale warmth now building up rapidly in his gut. Fuck.
“I don’t- know how, Jackson, just keep him that way.”
“Ah, come on now, love.” River’s hips had started to buck, and just like that, Lamb’s hand slowed, squeezing the base of his dick almost painfully, fingers now fucking in and out of his ass. The abrupt change in motion was confusing and arousing all at once; he bit back a whine as a thumb rubbed lazy circles into his balls. “I’m not saying he’s not a fuck-up. Just finally have him nice and behaved, is all.”
When Taverner spoke this time, it was with a suspicious tone. “Do I need to be concerned with something?”
“Nah. I’ve finally got some peace and quiet for once. Not sure how long it’ll last, but I figure all that business with his father scared him straight. Or he found himself a quick fuck. Take it from me, all that frustration can really make a growing boy-
“Jackson,” Taverner’s voice rang out sharply, and Lamb allowed himself a chuckle. “I expect an update.” She hung up before he could reply.
For a moment, River held his silence; it was broken, abruptly, by an embarrassingly loud noise from somewhere deep in his chest. Things happened all at once, oddly harmonious: Lamb was instructing him to hold on to his own fucking knees, you fucking twat, and his hips were flexed up, and he sounded like he was fucking caterwauling, and then a hand was twisting at the head of his dick, and another hit that spot one last time-
Every muscle tensed, and from inside he felt himself start to come; except, fuck, it was being pointed up at his own face, he shouted what the fuck, and then, well-
Well, he came, and was worked through it, slow and steady fingers still inside him. Lamb didn’t offer him any mercy–he shot off at his own face, spilling out over his chest, vision going white for the second time until it was over.
Slowly, he became aware that he’d lost the hold on his knees, and that there was no longer anything inside him. But not for long. Boneless, he was pulled to his feet, and then–long after he’d first thought it would happen–his front was pushed out over the desk. Fuck, there was a finger in him again–no, fuck, two this time, how was he–he braced himself on his elbows, panting, pleasantly burning, there was no way-
“What was that nonsense earlier about how you aren’t a fag?” Lamb asked, and drove his fingers in. River’s only response was, as he had multiple times by now, to groan. Knee between his legs again–no, his dick was spent, it hurt–except, well, the pain was good–too sensitive though- “You sound like a whore. Over a fucking handjob.”
“I can’t- stop, it’s too soon-
“You want me to stop? I thought you liked all the attention.”
River pressed his forehead to the desk.
“That’s what I thought.”
“Are you ever going to be–normal about this,” River panted, clinging to the desk for dear life. His legs felt precariously wobbly. “I can’t go again so fast.”
“I’m not surprised you’d say that.” There was the sound of his belt unbuckling. River swallowed. “Not like you know anything.”
Fuck, but Lamb was hitting that spot again–and again–and, well, his cock might’ve not been responding, but there was a feeling deep inside beginning to start up again. “Arch your back.”
“Why? It’s not going to- fuck!” River hissed. The angle was different; the feeling, when it hit just right, was the same. He curled in, abdomen flexing in pleasure. “Seems you’re doing- fine.”
“Of course I am,” Lamb snapped. “Arch your fucking back.”
“Why?”
“It ever occur to you to do something for- someone else?” The sound of skin on skin; Lamb’s voice was breathier than before.
Oh.
River complied.
“Fucking finally,” Lamb said. He’d changed back to thrusting his fingers in, out, moving them around; River sighed involuntarily, skin tingling.
“Now, that’s better. You know, I’m starting to wonder if this is how you ever sniffed the Park. Considering how lack-fucking-luster you are at everything else you do.”
River opened his mouth to reply. What came out, however, was an oh, god- and then he was coming, somehow, except he wasn’t, because nothing came out, but he was, and his cheek was dragging on the desk, and Lamb was fucking him, fucking him, fucking him-
“Christ. Quiet down,” Lamb said, amused. River shook, his legs threatening to give out; the feeling was already starting again. “Was I right? You get on your knees for that friend of yours? Let the dogs pass you around?”
“No,” River panted out, with perhaps more sincerity than he should. “No. Not in the service. Just–you.”
Lamb’s movements faltered. But there was no time to comment, because the moment was over almost as soon as it had begun.
“Too fucking right,” Lamb muttered. Then he raised his voice, tipping back over into condescension. “A shame, though, really. Thought you might have given ‘em all the clap.”
“Not before you- keel over,” River got out. In between the high-pitched, panting noises that kept escaping him when he was fucked just right. “How are your coronaries?”
“Clear as a bell. Where’s all this mouth on you coming from? Sure didn’t have it when you sucked me off.” He pushed another finger in with the others; the sound River made was choked, this time. “Poor job, like everything else you do. Stansted, Code September, tigers. One’s an accident, but three’s a pattern, you know.”
“Fuck, fuck-
He tremored on the desk, legs shaking. The feeling was slower, but no less hot and heavy; after the wave had shook him from the inside, he became aware, dimly, that he was about to collapse.
As usual, Lamb was aware of it first. “Proven my point, have I?”
River panted, panted, panted. Lamb’s hand slid out; he jerked, having become accustomed without knowing it. Goosebumps broke out on his skin; his legs sagged; he slid more than sat down, face pressed into the wood. Then, slowly, as if waking from a daze, he began to hear that sound from earlier–skin on skin, accompanied by Lamb’s breath increasing in rate.
“Are you still trying to get it up,” River began. “Because-
Something hot splashed on his back, the side of his neck, his shoulder. He turned his face away, still breathing hard; exhausted, and impossibly still turned on. Finally, to the sound of Lamb’s ragged breathing, he risked a glance up.
Lamb’s eyes were lidded, dick still in hand; he was finishing stroking himself, and then he put it away, all the while staring. Always staring. River watched him readjust himself as if in a dream. He wanted that hand in his hair again; or maybe the fingers inside him, insistent and burning and annoyingly precise. He wanted something in his mouth.
“Can I use your shower?” He said instead. “I can’t go home like this.”
Lamb, what else, stared down at him. Then he reached into a drawer of the desk and fished around, pulling out a new cigarette.
“I’ll–make it up to you. I promise.”
The cigarette was lit. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. You could never rectify any of your–myriad of wrongs.” He nudged River with a foot. “That’s how it’s done, twat. Now put your fucking clothes on and fuck off.”
“Can we not do this? This- pretending you don’t care, then you go and do something later to undercut yourself.”
River moved to get up; he was stopped by Lamb reaching down and grabbing his face. Lamb didn’t have much for calluses, but his hands weren’t soft, either; he considered River a moment, then tilted his face up and shoved a thumb inside.
It didn’t taste good–bitter, if anything. Lamb explored the sides of his mouth; went beneath his tongue, and back over it. River’s tongue was pressed down, that thumb sliding further and further back into his throat until it was bumping up against his pharynx uncomfortably. Neither of them said anything. Until, without warning, what had until that point been a not intolerable feeling curdled into pain, because Lamb was ramming his fucking hand down River’s throat.
River sputtered, flailing back with a shout. He coughed, jerking his head away, Lamb’s thumb dragging roughly over his bottom teeth as what had been an impossibly rising arousal gave way to reflexes. “What the fuck,” he wheezed, swallowing down the sudden rise of bile. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
For a while, Lamb didn’t reply. It wasn’t until after he took his cigarette out of his mouth, blowing out smoke with deliberate ease and observing River for several pointed seconds, that he bothered to answer.
“I already told you. This,” he gestured between them as he sat, “is not whatever stupid fucking fantasy it is you’ve conjured up in that empty head of yours.” His feet kicked up on the desk. “I could fire you for insubordination. ‘Spreads his legs when told no. Likes if you call him names.’ At least there’s a market for that these days. And the street corners are always hiring.”
River paused where he’d crawled to his pants–he was still building up to standing, and Lamb had discarded things rather haphazardly, and he’d only just found them–to grimace at the wall, as if hoping it would commiserate. “You understand that what you’re implying makes you a john, right?”
Lamb ignored him, chair creaking as he reclined. He watched River put his clothes on, or didn’t. River wasn’t about to look up and risk any more eye contact. “ ‘Course you’ll need to work on following orders. Can’t have you running off to save London mid-taking it from behind.”
River pulled his shirt on. It did as he feared it would, and–stuck to places. “Thank you for the performance evaluation.”
“But of course. I’m always available for honest feedback.”
“My shoes?”
“Tacky.”
“Yes, thank you. Where are they?”
Lamb puffed his cigarette.
“Right,” River said. He found them by the door. “So, what–I’ll just be going, then?”
Lamb closed his eyes. He leaned his head back. “Well, you’re always free to give anyone else still lurking a shitty fucking blow. Might get you in a spot of trouble though, if Taverner finds out.”
Shuffling into his shoes while standing on still-woozy legs was a considerable chore. “You could always vouch for me.”
“I’d rather blow my brains out,” Lamb said, helpfully.
“Right,” River said, again. He paused. “Speaking of- what was that business with Taverner?”
Lamb waved a hand–the one that had, well, been inside. “That’s for me to know, and you to fuck off.” He made a shooing motion. “Run along, now.”
“You can’t keep it from me forever,” River said, not fully believing it himself. He half-opened the door, pausing before he exited. “I’ll find out.”
“Doubt it,” Lamb yawned. “Back to the wet dreams, then?"
“I-” the words died in River’s throat. His mouth ran dry; of course he knew, how the fuck would he had not known? Lamb knew everything. “How did you…” he began, weakly.
Lamb stilled. His eyes blinked open. “How did I what,” he said. And, well, the intrigue was back in his gaze.
Fuck.
“Nothing,” River said. But it was too late–Lamb’s eyebrows were already at his hairline, his mouth open in the type of hopeful surprise that he only showed when one of the horses managed to metaphorically–or, in one memorable instance, literally–trip and fall in front of his face. “I’m going to go,” River tried.
“Cartwright,” Lamb said, slowly. “Is there something else you wanted to say?”
“Not particularly.”
“That so? Because if I’m not mistaken, I could’ve sworn you were about to ask me something.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t. Leaving.”
“I- Christ,” Lamb said. He crossed his arms, tilting his chin into his chest. Dismayed, River watched his shoulders begin to shake; when he looked up, he saw something on River’s face that made him grin. “You’re the gift that just keeps giving, aren’t you?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Didn’t you?”
His foot was fidgeting, a nervous tic. He forced it to still, studying an interesting spot on the wall behind Lamb. It did nothing for his case. “No.”
“So you weren’t about to–what, confirm that you shoot off in your sleep like a teenager? That isn’t what got you?”
River licked his lips. “It was one time. You weren’t even that good,” he added. And, well, fuck, the surprise was back on Lamb’s face. Fuck. Fuck, he thought, too late as usual. Because Lamb was leaning forward, fully invested now.
“My word,” he said, not unlike a biologist who had just discovered a rare new species of frog. “You actually have sex dreams about me. I-” Whatever he’d been about to say next was lost to a bark of laughter.
“So what?” River said, defensive. “It was one time,” he admitted.
““I-” Lamb broke off into another peal of laughter. A tissue appeared in his hand, and he wiped at his eyes. “Get out of my sight. Try anything like that again, and you’re fucking fired.” He turned away, dismissal evident.
River opened his mouth; what would have come out, however, had he voiced anything, likely would not have been good. So, it was with a feeling he couldn’t quite define, that again, he turned around and left.
That night, he didn't dream of his father.