One Good Turn


(Sequel to Sweet Surrender on the Quayside by FM Parkinson)

The air was quiet around the green-baize table, thick with subdued expectancy, the background music and conversation of the other gamblers relegated to an indistinct hubbub.

The dealer flicked the cards round the table with practised, arrogant ease, aloof and faintly contemptuous at the expressions of greed on the players faces.

A pot of 7,000 hung on the turn of the next few cards and the dealer himself was caught up in the adrenalin that ebbed and flowed around the table. He watched as the players picked up and studied their hands, eyes gazing blackly under hooded lids, lips slightly twisted in disdain as he glanced from one avid face to another.

As his eyes passed the fourth player, the dealer became aware of someone standing behind the man. He stilled, blinked unhurriedly and allowed his eyes to rise slowly over the black- clad legs, black leather jacket and a face partly hidden by dark glasses and topped with a mass of tumbled curls. The stranger stood still and silent and the dealer felt an itch of familiarity about the man.

Deliberately hidden eyes told him nothing, nor the straight nose, but the well-defined lips were definitely familiar, though they were now pressed thin and taut in anger and derision.

As the dealer stared unconcernedly back, a memory returned. A memory of a newcomer to the club, asking to join a game then unable to accept his losses. He accused first the dealer then the house, of cheating. The dealer recalled the cold anger directed against him. He had been ready to defend himself but fortunately, several of the club's heavies had appeared, attracted not only by the hostile language but the aggressive posture of the man, and had immediately thrown the luckless gambler out.

The dealer studied the man with renewed interest. The dark glasses shielded a pair of green eyes that could be cool and empty one moment and firing sparks at you the next. He couldn't remember a name - but then no one had a name in here... But what was he doing back now? Surely he wasn't foolish enough to try...

The dealer's hand slid surreptitiously under the table for his gun but before he could reach it, a deadly looking Magnum appeared, as if by magic, in his opponent's fist.

"I wouldn't bother... I could kill you before you touched it." The voice was calm, confident and cold, and the dealer relaxed back slowly bringing hands into sight and placing them on the table. He raised one black brow in insolent query.

"Well? What do you want?" His eyes flicked quickly to the bar where two of the club's bouncers lounged, ostensibly at their ease. They hadn't noticed the incident - the stranger was too still and quiet to attract their attention, the Magnum held close to his chest, hidden from all except the occupants of the dealer's table.

A faint smile appeared on the full lips. "They're not gonna know until it's too late," he drawled confidently. "And not one of you'd better try anything." His hand took the gun in a sweep around the table, bringing it to rest unwaveringly on the belly of a fat man, who was gradually turning purple with threatening apoplexy at this ill-mannered and ill-timed interruption of their game. The fist tightened menacingly round the grip of the Magnum and the purple hue promptly faded magnolia-pale. "I could blow a hole in that fat gut of yours before you said the second word," the stranger hissed at him. There was a pause and content with the man's shaken acquiescence, the black figure turned to the dealer.

"As for what I'll be revenge - of a sort. On your feet," he said, emphasising each word with a twitch of his gun.

The dealer pushed his chair back and rose to his feet in a smooth motion. He sensed the other's eyes roving over him and felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. For a few seconds they were a frozen tableau before the gunman stepped nearer.

"Turn around. Face the wall," he said.

The heavy drapery of red velvet curtaining drawn back from the nearby archway partly hid them from view and the gunman closed on his prey, all the while keeping a wary eye on the other gamblers.

Reluctantly, the dealer complied and felt a heavy hand descend on his shoulder, pressing him against the wall. A booted foot hooked his ankles apart, kicking unkindly when he didn't move readily enough. Arms akimbo, the dealer waited for the frisking to begin.

Hard hands checked his ankles and calves for hidden weapons, the curly head turning twice to pass a threatening eye over the assembly. Searching fingers climbed one thigh and then the other and a shiver cut through the dealer, sending a pang of nervous excitement along his spine.

The body behind him moved nearer and he jumped as a voice spoke close to one ear.

"Forgive me if I'm a little...familiar," it drawled, "but some people hide guns in the oddest places." And the hand that was still on the back of one thigh curved inwards, rising into his crotch. The gunman laughed quietly at the start his victim gave as his fingertips touched the softness they found there. Fingers trailing between the clenched buttocks, he slid the other hand round the front of the taut body, seeking out and grasping gently through black cotton fabric.

Another tremor ran through the dealer, stronger this time, the echoes culminating in his groin. He felt himself stir into unwilling life and groaned softly. "What the hell d'you want? Are you crazy?" Voice muffled and hoarse.

The stranger ran his hands up quivering flanks, under armpits and over the broad chest, chuckling again as he felt nipples spring into prominence. One hand strayed back to a hardening organ.

"Okay," he breathed. "there's nothing there that'll cause me any problems...Turn around now - slowly."

The dealer was pulled around and away from the wall, one arm twisted painfully behind his back. Thankful for the concealing, dark length of his dinner-jacket and conscious of the Magnum's cold barrel pressing against his jugular, he allowed himself to be led across the room, wincing as his arm was twisted higher and held there with bruising force. They weaved through chairs and tables that were hastily drawn aside as their occupants realised what was happening; music and conversation died away into a faltering silence.

"Nobody move," the stranger growled, staring round at the now quiet assembly. "If any of you try anything, I'll kill him and you'll louse your best card-sharper." He pulled his lips back in a cold travesty of a smile, the grimace displaying white teeth and the dealer's eyes were drawn to one chipped tooth that seemed starkly revealing of the sometimes merciless attitude behind the otherwise attractive face. "You wouldn't like that, now would you?" the man continued. "Be a great loss to the house."

Various fists clenched tightly at the insulting and sarcastic allegations but nobody moved.

Reaching the velvet hung doorway, the gunman turned for a last look at his audience. He didn't speak, simply aimed the Magnum at the centre light and fired. The magnificent chandelier exploded, showering tinkling shards of glass on the tables below.

The dealer grinned at the theatrical gesture then felt himself dragged to the side of the doorway. As his captor had anticipated, the shot brought another thick-set individual crashing into the room. The man stopped directionless in the darkness and using the outraged shouts and feminine shrieks as cover, the gunman hustled his prisoner outside.

The prosperous club interior gave way to a dingy, shadow- filled backyard. The dealer was alert for a chance of escape as they crossed the yard and when his captor held him aside in order to yank open the heavy gate with its already sheered-off bolt, he gave a sudden twist, dug a sharp elbow in the man's ribs and pulled free. Breath knocked out of him, the stranger wheezed for air but recovered rapidly and turned to attack. Conscious that they were being observed, the dealer strove to keep the advantage with a swift, jabbing fist in the man's stomach, hard knuckles slamming onto the chin in a follow-up. His opponent absorbed the punches easily, returning on light feet to land two equally rock- hard blows on the heavier body. Before the dealer could retaliate, a wiry strength twisted his arm and threw him, dropping to straddle his body and hold him still.

Sensing helpless anger coursing through the pinned body and seeing flaring nostrils, the conqueror grinned. "Had enough?" he asked. "Or do I have to carry on?" A clenched fist raised to strike again and the dealer capitulated.

"Enough. Let me up."

"Oh, no, Not yet. I can't hang on to you all the way home... I'll have to tie you. Turn over." He dug a length of sturdy cord from his jacket pocket and hauled his prisoner over, pulling his arms back.

Wrists tightly bound, the dealer was dragged to his feet.

"What are you going to do? Where are you taking me?"

"Home, I said," the stranger replied shortly. "I'm not telling you what for."

The dealer was pulled roughly through the gate and across the road to a dark, unmarked van. The rear doors were unlocked and he was pushed unceremoniously inside, the ridged, metal floor bruising knees and hip.

"This is bloody uncomfortable. Why can't I sit up front?" he complained.

The Magnum's cold, unblinking barrel appeared between the seats.

"One more word out of you and you can stay back there all night."

He subsided, glad he couldn't see the eyes behind those dark glasses, knowing they were as cold as the voice.

Satisfied, the man turned back in his seat, took off his glasses and started the engine.

After a ten minute, excruciatingly bumpy ride, the van stopped and the dealer was hauled out. They crossed a grass verge and mounted a short flight of stone steps. A strong hand grabbed the back of his neck and pressed him into the rough brickwork while keys were located. Once inside, the hand propelled him forcibly into the lift then slammed against the control panel. The dealer staggered and turned on his captor in fury, tugging at his bonds. Instantly, the gun was whipped out of the leather jacket and trained steadily on him, while its owner leaned back in a corner, eyes hidden once more.

The flat looked pleasantly tasteful but the dealer wasn't allowed to linger - he was pushed into the bedroom and shoved, face down, on a huge bed. The creaking of leather betrayed the movements of the other man and a bedside lamp was snapped on and curtains drawn. The dealer turned over, wincing as the rope cut into his skin.

His assailant stood silently beside the bed, hands on hips, mouth twisted in a mocking smile. "Okay..." he drawled. "Let's begin." And he pounced on his prey, pulling off the bow tie, ripping open the shirt in patent disregard for such details a buttons, and unzipping the trousers.

In a very short space of time the dealer found himself naked except for gaping shirt and jacket, which were roughly pushed aside.

"Jesus!" The dealer bucked as cold hands descended over his ribs. "What are you - some kind of pervert?" The sentence ended in a moan as fingers pressed a darkening bruise.

The stranger tutted under his breath. "Pervert? No, not me. Let's just call it payment for a debt," he murmured ambiguously and allowed his hands to continue their survey, thinking that the bound wrists presented the smooth-skinned body very pleasingly.

Black eyes travelled from the circling, teasing fingers to the absorbed face. A thrill of icy arousal rang through him as he searched for the eyes behind dark glass; the fact that he couldn't see them heightened the excitement strangely.

With startling suddenness, the surly head dropped and teeth sank into his breast, nipping sharply all around the nipple. There was a hissed curse, cut short as the open mouth hovered over tender flesh. A hot tongue lapped ticklishly and the taut- strung anticipation eased a little.

One knee on the bed, the man leaned over his prisoner and nuzzled into the bared neck, first kissing then biting, feeling the heavily muscled body under him gradually relaxing, surrendering bit by bit as he worked his way downwards.

Cold fire flared through the bound body, slowly gaining its heat from warm hands and hot, moist mouth as pleasure replaced pain. Hips thrust helplessly as his tormentor lingered over belly and thighs and the dark head fell back as a hand skimmed up one inner thigh and cupped the heavy sac beneath the swollen shaft. But the promise wasn't fulfilled and a long groan left his throat. "Untie me...for god's sake."

The curly head shook slowly as the man stood up once more and stretched lazily, back arching. Then the leather jacket was discarded and midnight dark eyes watched appreciatively as each successive garment was dropped to the floor. the dark glasses were last to be removed and he stretched again, a languorous, sensual movement, flaunting the furred chest and heavy genitals with unashamed pride. When he straightened and saw the dark, hungry gaze fixed on him, he stared back, unsmiling, one hand rising to rub an arm, smoothing over a shoulder and onto his chest. He brought his other hand into play, stroking and caressing in voluptuous self-idolatry, gliding open-palmed over nipples, across the flat stomach and slender thighs, returning to frame the burgeoning, swaying erection. Through slitted eyes he absorbed the envious stare, enjoying the open craving on the flushed face. He slid one hand onto himself, stroking and squeezing and saw the man twitch and tug uselessly at the ropes. The sense of sinful voyeurism accentuated his arousal and a flush of heat spread through him, dropping his head back and working his fingers purposefully.

The figure on the bed panted in time to the other's heaving chest, more aroused than he believed possible. The long-fingered hands quickened and he couldn't tear his eyes away from them. Abruptly, the slim body jerked, mouth opening in a long drawn-out gasping cry.

"Oh, god..." His own body nearing the peak, the dealer couldn't stand any more. "Cut these!"

Heavy-lidded eyes blinked sleepily at him for several seconds, before dropping to search the floor for the leather jacket. A penknife appeared from one pocked and the ropes were cut. Immediately, captor became captive, was pulled onto the bed and positioned by urgent hands.

"On your knees... Come on, spread 'em!" Too desperate to think straight, he knelt behind him, lubricated them both with saliva, centred himself and thrust, gently at first then harder, fiercer as the relaxed flesh opened easily to him, taking him deeply.

He wanted to wait, to savour this after such a long and shameless torment but his body overruled him, quickening his movements until he stilled, filling the accepting body with his warmth.

After a moment's frozen ecstasy, he slumped, falling limply onto the bed. His partner was still on his knees, head hanging, eyes closed, and he reached for him, pulling him down, turning, tugging and squirming until they lay entwined in heavy, satiated contentment.

Velvet blue eyes opened first and gazed in quiet tenderness as the sweat-dampened curls and lashes, the curve of his cheek and the full, relaxed mouth which twitched into a smile even as he looked.

He eased closer and claimed the softly curving lips with his own, giving a slow and tender kiss, prolonging and deepening it in gentle affirmation of the shared intimacy. Then he drew back. Green eyes met blue and the smiles widened.

"God, I've missed you," Doyle whispered.

"Yeah, likewise," Bodie murmured, then, "One good fantasy deserves another, eh?"

"Mmm...yes..." The memory of that quayside seduction was sweet. "You had more fun in yours, though."

"Oh, I don't know. You didn't do so badly, either then or now. That tantalizing, stand-up exhibitionism wasn't part of mine, you know."

"Yeah, well...I couldn't resist weaving in a bit more of my own fantasizing and you can't tell me you didn't enjoy it."

"Mm..." said Bodie, grinning slyly. "How many more have you got tucked away in that curly noddle of yours, f'god's sake?"

"Oh, enough to keep us going for a while yet."

"Jesus." A pause. "I didn't really think you'd take me up on mine."

Doyle grinned at the recollection of the fantasizing that had been triggered in his partner at the end of the Colonel Sagster affair a few months ago. They'd celebrated the success of that operation, plus their return to London, in a favourite pub and after several drinks, the whole, outrageous, wanton fancy emerged of what Bodie would've liked to happen whilst he was in those handcuffs.

Doyle listened, amused and - although he wouldn't admit it - aroused. He hadn't made any definite plans, just kept it in mind for a suitable occasion.

"Well," he replied, "you did need springing out from undercover and I just thought I could combine the two..."

"Yeah, and it worked perfectly... was perfect." Bodie sighed happily. "You know, it really turns me on, seeing that cold, cruel side of you occasionally."

"I noticed." The smug complacency earned him a pinch in a tender place. "Ouch. What's it like to be deep into masochism and sadism?"

"You're the best person to answer that, aren't you?"

The slender body rolled on top of him and was immediately borne back and pressed down into the pillows.

"Hold it!" Doyle rapped out. "What day is it tomorrow?" he asked sweetly as Bodie froze above him.

"Day off. Two days off," he emphasised. "Can I carry on, now?"

"Yeah... Hey, d'you wanna hear what I've got planned for the next time we're on a beach?"

"Oh, my god..."

Fortunately, a prolonged and persistent kiss put an end to that conversation.

-- THE END --

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