He probably should have talked to Warrick about it. It was a stupid thought but Toreth couldn’t stop the phrase, or variations of it, from going through his mind over and over again. He should have talked to Warrick about it. This was all ridiculous, and it was, of course, all Warrick’s fault. Toreth had never engaged in ridiculousness of this level before he’d met Warrick, but even with everything he’d done because of Warrick since then, this was right there at the top of really, insanely stupid things.
He probably really should have talked to Warrick about it.
Instead, he’d done the insane, crazy thing; tracked down fucking Carnac, called in sick and got on a plane.
He’d got on a fucking plane. Why? Because he’d had a dream. Several dreams, in fact, but having more of them just proved that he likely should have talked to someone about them - and that someone was definitely not Carnac - rather than justified his doing this.
Because of a goddamn dream.
It had started small, simple - started out as things he barely remembered when he woke up, and then he’d been able to fuck Warrick and get whatever memory of those dreams out of his head. Night after night, though, it had slowly become something he could no longer ignore. Even fucking Warrick hadn’t managed to get rid of it, and every morning that he tried, he could see that do you want to talk about it? look becoming more and more obvious on Warrick’s face until Toreth was pretty sure he was going to actually be stupid enough to ask; that was when Toreth had made the decision.
Fly half way around the fucking world to some hole-in-the-wall address - though Toreth was pretty sure he’d find something that was definitely not a hole in the wall if he knew anything about Carnac - so that he could do what he should have done as soon as he’d met the stupid man: smash his head against a wall.
It didn’t help that, when Carnac opened the door, he had that infuriatingly all-knowing Cheshire grin plastered across his face like he’d known Toreth was going to show up here. Toreth hated being predictable, and Carnac had a way of making it seem like he was.
“Hello, Toreth,” he said, like he hadn’t left - fled - I&I and the Administration as a whole to set himself up in this fancy house in the middle of fucking nowhere. “Did you leave Keir so Keir couldn’t leave you? Did that cause Keir to finally come to his senses and finally leave you for good?” That smile became, if possible, even more sly. Toreth wanted to punch him in the face.
The pathetically little you can offer him will no longer be enough. And then he will leave you. There is nothing you will be able to do to make him stay.
Toreth could still recite the damn words, and even Warrick’s repeated I won’t leave you weren’t enough to drown them out completely. The last thing Toreth needed right now was for Carnac to start talking again. That wasn’t why he’d come here.
“No,” he answered shortly, stepping forwards. It was a good thing Carnac was so damn confident in his abilities to predict Toreth’s actions because that confidence meant Carnac stepped back, let Toreth into the house. Probably full of anticipation, thinking he’d get the chance to taunt Toreth again, to tell him annoying words like I told you so and all that other bullshit. He’d thought his words had broken Toreth, and it nearly had. Not that Toreth was ever going to give Carnac the satisfaction of knowing that. He’d thought - known - it would work, and now he thought he was getting another chance to do it again.
“Does Keir know you’re here?” The words were conversational, but Toreth knew better; Carnac was probably going through Toreth’s file in his mind, picking out his weapons, finding the sharpest tools that he thought he could cut Toreth down with.
Good. Let the pride in his own abilities be the prelude to his fall. Toreth had learned his lesson.
Carnac opened his mouth, no doubt to deliver some witty and cutting remark, and Toreth slammed him against the wall, hand at his throat, stopping the words from leaving Carnac’s lips. “No,” he said again, quietly. Carnac had made the mistake of forgetting exactly what he was dealing with; in all his psychoanalysing, he’d thought he’d got Toreth all figured out. In doing that, however, he’d forgotten that Toreth was an I&I interrogator - the old-fashioned kind - and a damn good one at that. When Carnac looked like he was about to actually talk, Toreth slammed him against the wall again, other hand going to his crotch and gripping. Hard. “Don’t say a fucking word.”
They were close enough that Toreth could feel Carnac’s breath quickening - and the cock under his hand twitching, hardening. Toreth’s lips drew up into a slow, satisfied smile. “I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to try to tell me about myself, show me how well you know me, give voice to my deepest darkest fears.” He ground his hand down against Carnac’s cock a little harder, shifting to press in closer, pin him there with his body rather than just his hands. “Well I know some things about you too.
“I know that you want Keir to love you. I know you want that more than anything, and all your psychological bullshit can’t explain why he doesn’t. You think you’re a good match; you think you’re perfect for each other. You think Warrick couldn’t possibly want anything from me.” Toreth leaned in a little closer, tilting his head so his lips were mere millimeters away from Carnac’s. “Let me tell you a little secret, Carnac.” Carnac was practically panting against his mouth, hips shifting under Toreth’s hand - an action that might have almost seemed like Carnac fighting to get loose. Almost, because there was a slow roll to his hips with each of those movements - a push upwards into Toreth’s hand. “You can’t give him what he wants. You - you little, spineless bastard - just don’t have what it takes.”
Toreth’s grip tightened at Carnac’s crotch, pressed into the fabric of his trousers until he could curl a hand around the shape of Carnac’s fully hard cock, tightened on his throat, making it even harder for him to breathe. “What Warrick needs is to be owned completely.” Whatever fight Carnac was pretending to put up, the tell-tale leaking of his cock, the rapidly expanding wet patch at the crotch of his trousers, told a different story. Just as Toreth had known it would. “What he wants is to be possessed, to be controlled. And you?” Grip tighter, strokes rougher, faster - and Toreth released his hold on Carnac’s throat just as Carnac’s eyes rolled back in his head and he came, messy and uncontrolled, in Toreth’s hand.
Toreth dropped him, wiped his hand on Carnac’s shirt as he stepped back. He waited for Carnac to come back to himself enough to focus on Toreth’s face - and then Toreth simply reveled in the look of horror and disgust, anger and hatred, on Carnac’s face. “You can’t even control yourself.”
Unable to help himself, Toreth crouched back down and reached out to pat Carnac’s cheek as he smiled a smile that was all mockery. “And apparently, I am that good.”
Then, Toreth turned and left. As he walked down the street to the waiting car, to head to the waiting plane and, eventually, to head back to a warm bed and Warrick, Toreth whistled. Maybe he’d even make it home in time to fuck Warrick before he fell asleep.