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Killing Phi.

Chapter 11: tell me I'm your baby and you'll never leave me.

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Plan walked beside Mean, no longer able to look him in the eye.

The sound of sirens closing in on them did not seem to faze the assassin, who took the cobbled street corners as though he knew them by heart.

His epiphany, in all of its striking horror, had led them to converse only a few words.

Can we go somewhere?

Where did you have in mind?

Somewhere private. Anywhere.

Mean had no objections, nodding a swift ‘sure’. He’d pressed a gentle kiss to his lips that Plan had barely responded to but neither had he pulled away, quick to follow when Mean turned with a flourish and began to lead them in a new direction.

Plan’s manhood, hastily stuffed back into the confines of his new clothes, was still semi hard as he forced one foot in front of the other, trying not to think about where it had just been, how good it had felt to have Mean’s mouth on him. Adrenaline pulsed through his veins. He knew now why so many people fell foul to his charms. As an assassin, Mean took and took and took. Blood. Time. Hope. Life. If they were a currency, he would be a very rich thief.

Yet as a lover, he gave.

Plan wondered whether perhaps he’d always known that. For Mean had never touched him with hands that hadn’t in some way made him a promise. His kisses were never restrained, lips parted, mouth warm and wet and open. Even his eyes, the way they beheld him as though he were something special. A treasure to admire, for the most part from a distance, behind the invisible wall which separated them. He’d always supposed that Mean had been elevated by other people, exploited for his many talents from a young age and left to live with the consequences those who gave his orders could not shoulder themselves. Now he knew better, for the shame was theirs and not his to bear.

No one had elevated Mean, for he elevated himself.

He was a rare creature. Fascinating to such an extent that as they walked in silence, Plan realised he had been foolish to wonder what it was that Mean saw in him. The answer had always been there, right in front of him. A reflection of himself. A man who possessed the courage to fight in the face of fear. The will to win. An obsession with obsession.

Except they were not the same. Were they?

No. Plan thought firmly.

A world apart and time.

*

“Where are we going?”

Mean did not look at Plan upon answering the question, sensing he was deep in thought and he too was preoccupied, eyes peeled for any more Alexander’s that may be lurking in the shadows. Ready and primed. Every turn felt like a dare, his skin topped by a layer of goosebumps, still burning from their exchange. From Plan’s hands and the way they had cradled his face when it had been between his legs. He did not want to die now.

Not yet.

“Somewhere private, like you asked.”

Plan impressed him, resisting the urge to request more detail. Out of his peripheral vision he saw him nod, mind on other things as they continued to walk side by side. Not a pace behind nor in front, close enough that every now and then their knuckles would brush and every time they did a shiver ran down the assassin’s spine.

A few minutes later, Mean took their final left turn, leading them up to the doorway of a quaint two-storey house. The cream façade lent it a chameleon-like power, camouflaged between a row of boutique shops. A jewellers and a patisserie his immediate neighbours, a small library a few doors along that he knew so well he could direct any passing civilian to any book they sought. The road was quiet, one of the main reasons he had chosen it all those years ago.

Retrieving his keys from his pocket, he sensed Plan’s eyes on him. Turning to look, the expression he wore was hard to decipher so he waited patiently for him to speak.

“Is this your house?” Plan asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Mean shrugged, slotting the correct key into its lock. “One of them.”

“How many are there?”

“How many do you imagine there are?” he countered. The door took three pushes to open, hinges sticky from where it had not been used.

When Plan remained silent, he held out an arm, gesturing for him to go first. He eyed him suspiciously for a few moments before relenting, tentatively stepping inside.

Mean let him advance into the hallway before taking a final look back, scanning the perimeter for any immediate danger before he finally exhaled on the breath he had been holding.

Steeling his own nerves, he then tracked Plan’s footsteps into the house, closing the door behind them and wondering whether he might be a changed man the next time he crossed the threshold.

*

Plan had counted seven keys on the chain.

A minimum of seven residences then, most probably spanning countries he had never been to, maybe never even heard of. Seven hideaways where he had touched, sucked and fucked like he hoped to now, no doubt. Where they all like this? he wondered, for the house was cosy. Neat, furnished in a cream and black colour palette yet not hyper-modern. The mahogany dining table was antique. The curtains velvet. The floor carpeted. Distinctly Italian in décor, perhaps each of his properties were an aide-memoire to the countries from which they hailed. Were there flats? Apartments? Villas? Mansions? Nothing would surprise him anymore.

In the living room, a grand fireplace took centre stage, framed either side by two large plants that were still thriving, green and overflowing from rustic clay pots. The leather couch looked barely used, without a crack to its name. Perhaps he’s only using the place for its bed. The thought crossed his mind for a fleeting moment before he pushed it away, turning slowly back to face Mean who stood watching him with interest from the doorway. Under the weight of his gaze, Plan felt his cheeks burn.

“Do you want to sit down?” Mean asked, perhaps sensing his nervousness.

Plan shook his head, regretting it almost instantly. He was exhausted, feet sore from all the walking, the travelling, the killing. It was a tiring business.

“Then what do you want?”

The elder swallowed the lump in his throat. “Can I have glass of water?”

“I can do better than that,” Mean started towards what Plan presumed to be the kitchen.

In his absence, Plan gave in and collapsed down on the couch. It played on his mind, the way that Mean could turn his back on him without a trace of fear. Plan would have been on high alert, awaiting the knife, plunged into his back. Not Mean’s style, he supposed. He knew better than anyone that if the assassin were to kill him someday, any day now, tomorrow, next week, this second, he would want to look him in the eye. Plan stared around the room, ears pricking at the sound of glasses clinking a few feet away. For some reason he had never imagined Mean living in a place like this. A normal house with bookshelves and lampshades. A fridge freezer. A coffee table. He had always pictured something much bleaker. Dark and cold and menacing. A dungeon where people only came to die, those with a metaphorical ‘X’ marked on their back.

Perhaps now he was also such a person.

Mean soon returned at the door with a glass of whiskey on the rocks for them both. Dragging a wooden chair from the side of the room, he chose to sit opposite him, frowning when he sniffed the drink first before daring to take a gulp.

“If I wanted you dead poison would be pretty low on my list.”

The dark liquor looked clear, the smell rich and strong and Plan was thirsty. He took a sip, grateful for the warmth that slipped down the back of his throat. It tasted pure.

“That’s better.” Mean approved, knocking back half of his own glass.

“Go on then.”

“What?”

“How would you kill me?” Plan touched his teeth to the rim of his glass before pressing it to his left and then right cheek. “Seen as you’ve thought about it so much.”

He watched Mean swallow, the ice doing nothing to stop the hot flush creeping its way down his body. He hoped Mean could feel it too, his chest visibly red at the point where his shirt buttons flared open. Beady eyes travelled along his sharp collarbone and up to his neck, where bruises from Alexander’s fingertips were still forming. Mean didn’t seem to mind him looking, composed as always and wearing a smirk fit to kill all by itself.

“I’d slit your throat.”

“Jesus,” Plan whispered, his exhale of breath turning transparent crystal opaque. Their eyes locked. “Why?”

“Because of all the blood,” Mean shrugged, leaning back in his seat, legs spread wide. “Sexy.”

Plan stared at him, shaking his head in astonishment. “You’re so fucked up, you know that?”

Mean chuckled, biting his lower lip in a poor attempt to repress his grin before he met his gaze once more, eyes dark. Dazzling. Plan observed his mouth, the upward curve of the very same lower lip he’d been sucking on not that long ago, remembering how it tasted.

“So, what happens now?” Mean asked, interrupting his train of thought.

“Huh?”

“You wanted somewhere private. You’ve got it,” he spelt out for him. Gently setting his glass down, he leant forward, elbows on his knees. “Why are we here, Phi?”

Plan had not expected such an abrupt question, an afront to Mean’s usually more subtle probing of his mind. He mulled over what he felt, where he stood between all of their blurred lines, for this was not about money or power or hatred. It was about connection, experiencing something sacred. The opportunity to get so close to death that he might just come alive. Or be reborn. He was not a saint, and Mean was not all sinner. No one was perfect. He had come to realise that his flaws were Mean’s flaws and that brought with it a warped sense of belonging. He belonged to Mean. Mean belonged to him. All he wanted was to cement that in time.

To make this a fixed point, not to be re-visited or reminisced over, but real nonetheless.

“What do other people do…” Plan cleared his throat, “when they feel like this? Normal people.”

“Feel like what?”

“When they want someone. All of someone, no matter how hard they try.”

“All of someone?”

“Their body, their mind, their sins. Everything. When they want to know someone inside out.”

Plan watched Mean swallow, the way he frowned as if not quite certain whether they were on the same page. His grip on the glass tightened.

“You’re asking the wrong person.” Mean said softly, “I’m not normal.”

“What would you do then?”

“Honestly?”

Plan nodded once.

“I’d have them all night, all day, again and again, over and over, until I was satisfied.”

“And are you? Usually?” A wave of arousal clouded Plan’s eyes. “Satisfied, I mean.”

“Yeah…” Mean nodded, setting down his drink before looking back up at him. “Usually.”

A heady combination of nerves, anticipation and fear swept over Plan. A special agent who in that moment, lost sight of exactly what he was and wasn’t capable of anymore.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop until I know what it’s like,” Plan’s voice broke, “and I need to stop so…”

Every cell in his body begged to be touched, to reach out and touch. Either or. One and the same. He reached for the tumbler the assassin had just put down, placing his lips around the imprint of Mean’s before draining the rest of the liquor it contained. The younger watched him intently, lost for words, unblinking and still in his seat.

“Show me.” Plan whispered. “Spare me… please.”

The elder didn’t know if he was asking to live or die. All he was sure of was that his assassin would do his best to fulfil him, whatever path he chose.

*

Mean’s skin tingled all over, the way it usually did when he came.

But Plan was not even touching him. He only waited, breathing through an open mouth, lips dry without the moisture from his tongue to lick them wet again. A fish out of water, dehydrating, gasping for air. So why did he feel as though he were being seduced?

He did not need asking twice, getting to his feet and outstretching a hand for Plan to take. The special agent looked at it hesitantly, glancing up at him with a question in his eyes.

“Come upstairs,” Mean said softly.

Eventually, after what felt like a centuries worth of internal debate, Plan slipped his hand in his and let Mean guide him out the door, back down the hallway and up to the first floor. They took each step slowly, one by one, the assassin giving him every opportunity to change his mind. Plan snubbed all of them, following as though in a trance. Mean led him to the bedroom and let him enter first, holding back with every ounce of self-restraint he had, which wasn’t very much at all.

Plan stopped dead a few paces into the room, seemingly memorising this new insight into his tastes. The décor surrounding the queen-size mattress was chic, purposefully chosen. A mosaic of paintings, mirrors and old-fashioned wood furniture, most of which he had bought from specialist vintage stores. One of a kind pieces worthy of significantly more attention than Plan granted them, his focus stolen by the enormous bed which took centre stage. Mean observed with interest as he looked it up and down. The headboard, also wooden, with edges that had been carved into ornate spirals. The sheets, a deep, midnight blue silk. The pillows, plump full of goose feathers. Luxurious and expensive, the way Mean liked all things.

Unable to resist, the assassin snuck up behind him, pressing in close until his chest aligned fully with Plan’s spine. Carefully, he placed both hands on his hips, pleased when the man between them did not shy away. He appeared relaxed there, in his clutches once and for all, reclining ever so slightly back against him. Not enough to submit, but enough for Mean to infer that he liked being touched.

Spurred on, Mean slowly lowered his mouth to Plan’s neck, making sure he could feel every breath that escaped his lips, arms snaking around his petite waist.

“You know, for so long I felt nothing,” Mean murmured, grazing his pulse, thrilled when Plan inhaled sharply through his nose. “Not even pain. Just numbness. I got creative with my kills because I wanted to feel something. Anything. I was so fucking bored. And then you came along.”

“What do you feel now?”

“Inspired. Captivated. Powerful. Weak,” he told him truthfully. “Sometimes all at once. You don’t know how incredible it is just to feel, Plan. For as long as I live, please keep chasing me.”

Plan turned a blushing cheek, looking up at him with warm eyes.

“If I were to stop, would you kill me?”

Mean did not wait for reassurances, neither did he intend to give any. Instead he took Plan’s left earlobe between his teeth, coating his silver piercing in wetness, and tugged gently. The way Plan’s skull fell back against his shoulder, the hitch in his breathing, turned him on beyond measure. Cheek to cheek, hot and flushed. It was not enough. The elder turned his face towards him, lips parted. One glimpse inside at his tongue, reflecting off the setting sun that seeped in through open curtains, was all it took for Mean to give in.

The assassin kissed him on the mouth, slow and deep with so much intent that Plan stumbled back, the bed there to break his fall when he lost his footing. Mean barely noticed as he went with him, engrossed by his lower lip, sucking on it the way he would a female breast, well aware that Plan could feel it between his legs just like a woman could.

*

The way Mean kept kissing him made Plan drip the way he had whilst being blown.

His knees instinctively fell apart, lifting his legs without being sure where to put them. He let them hover at Mean’s hips, sandwiching him between them as if to say; you’re not going anywhere. Not that he had to worry because closer and closer he came, leaning over him, pressing his weight against him. Plan liked the pressure. A weight on his chest he could finally get on board with. Mean kissed with hunger, open mouthed and wet but still sensual. The little things he did, the soft pull of his lower lip with front teeth, the slow drag of his tongue, the little gasps when Plan pulled his hair, all reassured him. He was not the only one lost in time.

“Touch me,” Plan heard himself say, his voice almost unrecognisable, pitchy and hoarse.

Mean smiled against his mouth. “Let me take your clothes off?”

It wasn’t his usual calculating smile, Plan realised, blinking his eyes open. A genuine and toothy grin void of any motive or manipulation. He looked youthful. Goofy even. It was strange but he was still beautiful. Maybe even more beautiful.

“The clothes you brought for me?” Plan reminded him. “Scared you’ll ruin them?”

A laugh escaped Mean’s throat but the elder let it slide, preoccupied by how his own was now being assaulted. Mean pressed hot kisses from the tip of his chin, over his Adam’s apple and down to the spot where his neck became collarbone and all Plan wanted was for him to keep heading south.

“I’m scared you’ll ruin them.”

Plan swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth. “You’d love that wouldn’t you?”

Mean murmured a soft hum of approval.

“You underestimate me.”

The teeth nipping lightly at his jaw stopped as Mean pulled back, fixing blown eyes on him with a gaze that made Plan’s hips arch, ever so slightly.

“It’s not my first time,” the assassin reminded him.

Plan raised an eyebrow. “I’m not a virgin.”

“I know,” Mean nodded, “but you’ve never been with a guy.”

“It can’t be that different.”

“Oh it is. Trust me.”

“How so?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Mean said, resuming his work at Plan’s neck.

Plan placed a hand against Mean’s chest, directly over his heart, pushing back just slightly until the assassin stopped, pinning him with dark eyes.

“Tell me. Please.”

Mean chewed his full lips, already bitten red, deep in thought. He pondered his answer for what felt a long time, Plan using the break to steady his breathing.

“Being with a man, for me at least,” Mean finally began, dragging a finger down his chest and over his stomach, “is in a different league. Women are delicious, sure, but with a man there’s a…an exchange of power, I suppose…beyond anything they can offer. There’s no ulterior motive, no biological urge to mate or reproduce. Just attraction without purpose. The desire to pleasure and be pleasured… just for the sake of it. To feel good. Making a man give himself to me, to make them shake, and moan, and beg – fuck, it makes me so hot. I never feel more masculine than when a man comes for me.”

Plan didn’t realise he was frozen still until Mean stopped talking, throat dry from where he hadn’t swallowed. Mean’s hand, now poised above his waistband, hovered there awaiting approval but he had other ideas in the split seconds he used to look the assassin up and down. Clumsily enough to be considered awkward, he launched himself forward and rolled Mean over on to his back.

It didn’t surprise him that he did it.

What surprised him, was that Mean let him.

*

It took less than a minute for Mean to come to terms with the fact that he would trade a hell of a lot to spend the rest of his days under Plan.

There was nothing of him, small in stature and slim in frame and yet he felt heavy. Mean could feel it everywhere they touched. Strong arms held his hands above his head, his heartbeat in sync with the other resting above it. Defined hip bones dug into the grooves of his waist. An erection, stiff and pronounced beneath its confines, rubbed against his and boy, he was a mess.

Plan shook him up the same way he had whilst kissing him brazen in the street. His body reacted as it had then, shivering though he was not cold. It almost annoyed him to discover it had not been a one off. Pulling him closer by his shirt, and writhing when he obliged, Mean hadn’t known before that it was possible to feel so aroused whilst trapped.

His counterparts confidence served as a sweetener. The Plan kissing him right now with hands running down his sides, to his waist where they gripped him tight, even occasionally threatening to drift lower, playing incy wincy spider along his belt buckle, was the same Plan he’d seen through the window on Halloween. He experienced now what April must have felt then, seduced into submission by a man so sure of himself that it was almost intimidating. Sexuality and labels to one side, he sensed Plan’s self-belief as he began unbuttoning his shirt. It didn’t matter to him that he wasn’t a girl, the elder firmly believed that he could make him feel good. Just because he wanted to, and apparently that was all the affirmation he needed.

And he was right. He felt amazing.

Was this how his own lovers had felt? Mean wondered. Had he reduced all of his many conquests to nothing more than a string of unfiltered moans and curses? The answer was yes but he had forgotten how it felt to have someone do the same to him. It left him on edge, his usual equilibrium scarily off balance and he wasn’t sure if he liked it.

Plan’s hair hadn’t been cut in weeks, long and rich and thick when Mean pulled on it, black strands soft as he curled them around his fingers. Yet he had shaved, his jaw and upper lip soft when he kissed down the strip of his newly exposed chest. Had he bothered just for him?

Plan kissed lower, down over his abdomen. “Can I ask you something?”

Mean hummed a positive, distracted by the sensation of Plan’s lips against his belly button.

“Have you ever let anyone… you know?”

“Huh?”

“Have you ever let a guy…”

Plan cast his eyes down and back up, helping Mean fill in the blanks. “Have I ever let a guy fuck me?”

The assassin couldn’t help but smile when Plan nodded, his soft cheeks burning a visibly darker shade of red than they already were.

Mean debated lying before offering a simple: “Yes.”

“Is that how you like it?”

Mean lifted himself up on his elbows for a better look at him.

“Not strictly. I have made exceptions before, for those that were special.”

“For when you were in love?” Plan asked, a hint of suspicion in his tone.

“You say it as though I’m incapable,” Mean frowned.

“It’s not that. It’s just hard to imagine.”

“Once upon a time I was engaged.”

“Seriously?” Plan raised both eyebrows in awe. “What happened?”

“He was murdered by the wife of one of my hits,” Mean confessed bluntly. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and all that.”

Plan’s face became a scrapbook of emotions, all of which Mean detested, especially when it settled on pity. Eyes that had seconds ago been blown with desire were now full of compassion.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” snapped the assassin, “it comes with the job.”

“He must have been one hell of a guy, to want to marry an assassin.”

“Who he was is none of your business,” Mean said coldly, neglecting to tell Plan that Kamon never had the faintest idea as to what he did for a living. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“Wait,” Plan pushed him back down when he tried to sit up properly, climbing over him and pressing a warm, sweet kiss to his lips that Mean, despite his best efforts, couldn’t stop himself from responding to. When the elder broke away, Mean was pleased to see how his pupils had expanded once more, eyes almost black. “Would you let me, if I wanted to?”

“What?”

“Do you consider us special?”

Mean cocked his head incredulously, piecing together the real question being asked.

“Sorry, are you asking if you can top me?!”

“Not whether I can. Whether you’d let me.”

“I – ”

Mean scanned Plan’s face for any indication that he might be joking but there was none, his expression one of genuine intrigue. He mulled over the prospect, the idea of allowing himself to be captured, once and for all. It was not what he fantasised about or how he had ever pictured it but if he was to use his earlier statement as a basis to draw a conclusion… was Plan special? Undoubtably. Would he do anything he asked, if he asked nicely enough? Probably.

“I would yes… if that’s what you wanted,” Mean nodded.

Plan’s reply came in the form a kiss so hot it tore a moan from Mean’s throat.

A moan which echoed around the elder’s tongue.

*

For some reason the knowledge that Mean would let him top, made it okay for Plan to bottom.

That was how he ended up flat on his back riding Mean’s fingers. He’d already put it to the back of his mind that Mean had a stash of lube laying in wait for anyone he decided to bring home when working in Rome. The foreign feeling inside of him had taken precedent over everything else.

The first had been uncomfortable and it had surprised him that Mean seemed to know that before even entering him. He’d kissed him quiet until his nerves had steadied, pushing in slowly to the hilt. Once knuckle deep he’d repeated the cycle, whispering things Plan would never have imagined hearing in his voice until soon enough, he’d become accustomed to the intrusion and begun to relax.

God, you feel amazing.
You are doing so fucking good.
Keep breathing, I won’t move until you’re ready.
That’s it, in and out, just like that.
I wish you knew how much you are turning me on.

Without realising it, Mean’s continued praise and encouragement did wonders for Plan’s confidence, now beginning to master the technique of relaxing his muscles in a way that made him looser for the assassin to work open. Which he did, to the point that one finger stopped satisfying Plan enough for him to ask for a second. At that point, the simple exchange of giving and taking became a competition. For Plan, how many fingers could he accept within him and for Mean, how many could he get him to beg for?

The answer, they discovered, was four.

The fourth hurt and felt good in unison. Mean, however, noticed when he began to wince and despite the way Plan’s hips persisted in grinding down, showed more care than he anticipated.

“That’s enough,” he said softly, withdrawing each finger one by one.

Grimacing, Plan hated the sensation of incompleteness they left behind. He made a sound new to him, a whine full of loss that lifted Mean’s eyebrows in surprise. He had never had someone leave him empty before, and perhaps that’s why he said what he said.

“Mean,” he choked out, panting. The assassin stared on, sitting back on his heels and taking in every inch of skin exposed to him, which by now was all of it. Plan didn’t want to imagine what he must look like. “Do you wanna?”

“You don’t know how badly.”

“Do you have a…” Plan couldn’t finish the sentence, blushing fiercely.

Mean smiled and the elder was certain he saw the assassin’s cheeks tinge their own shade of pink before he got up off the bed and approached the bedside table from where he’d earlier retrieved the lube. Still wearing his designer boxers, black with a white Armani band, his visible arousal made Plan’s mouth water, hovering inches from his face as the assassin unboxed a foil wrapper.

Plan thought that perhaps if he got it out of the way quickly, the moment would be less awkward. Instinctively he leaned forward and mouthed Mean’s protruding hard on through the cotton, turned on by the way Mean gasped and the volume of the moans that followed.

Rathavit, don’t, you can’t do that and expect me to…”

Hearing his real name said in that voice, in that tone, banished any remnants of anxiety he might have felt. Looping his thumbs into the waistband, Plan pulled down Mean’s underwear to reveal an impressive and, by the way it bounced against his stomach, very neglected cock. No doubts crossed his mind as he leant in and did what he felt programmed to do, taking Mean into his mouth and sinking down as far as his throat would stretch.

“God… you…you don’t have to do that…Phi…”

“I want to,” Plan murmured around him, the vibrations making Mean reach out, gripping the bedside table, his other hand in his hair for something to hold on to. “You were right.”

“About what?”

“You do taste hot as hell.”

Dipping his head up and down Mean’s shaft, Plan learnt why Mean had enjoyed sucking him off so much earlier that day. To hold his manhood between his teeth was empowering, feeling him tremble every time he hollowed out his cheeks, the way he grew harder and harder in his mouth the more stimulated he became. He even decided to swallow when Mean pooled pre-come all over his tongue. He was having such a good time in fact, that he voiced actual protests when Mean began to push at his shoulders.

“Stop,” Mean rushed, pulling Plan up roughly by an arm to kiss him hard, licking inside his mouth and groaning when he inevitably tasted himself on his tongue.

“What’s your problem?” Plan muttered between kisses, “I liked doing that.”

“If I’d left you there I would have come in your mouth.”

“Why didn’t you? You could have found out whether or not I’d swallow.”

“I know you’d swallow,” Mean smirked, full of conviction, “what I don’t know is what your face will look like when you come with me inside you, and I want to find out.”

Plan wasn’t sure why, considering all they had already done, but a shudder ran through him from head to toe. Leaving his swollen lips in peace for a moment, Mean looked him dead in the eye for a few, never-ending beats of his racing heart.

“Will it hurt?” he suddenly found himself asking.

Mean shook his head. “No, not considering you nearly had my whole fist in you.”

Exhaling around fresh nerves, Plan gave a small nod, sitting back on the bed. He looked round at the full span of the mattress before turning back to Mean.

“How should I…?”

“If you’re worried about pain, probably on all fours.”

“No, I don’t want that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you want to see me, you said. And I want to see you too.”

Mean thought for a few moments before he grabbed one of the plush pillows, placing it in the centre of the bed.

“So stay on your back, put this under your hips, it’ll help.”

Nodding, Plan did as he was told, flushing with embarrassment when he looked up at Mean expectantly only to find him gawping.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m just admiring you.”

“Well get on with it would you? You’re making me nervous.”

Mean came closer, rubbing Plan’s knees comfortingly before he hooked both arms underneath them and spread them further apart. The elder let him position him how he wanted using the pillow as leverage, self-conscious the entire time Mean spent putting on the condom. Plan was glad that he didn’t waste time aligning them once done, overwhelmed to breaking point.

“Don’t be nervous, okay? We can always stop.”

“Kay,” Plan replied through gritted teeth, nodding his consent when he saw Mean looking for it.

Both men groaned in unison when the younger finally, after months of torturous cat and mouse, sank his cock into Plan whose grip on the bedsheets turned white-knuckled. The assassin had been right, their foreplay had served its purpose for the glide was smooth and he was not in pain. He was still overcome by the feeling, every muscle in his body tense.

“My god you are so tight, how is that even possible?” Mean groaned against his ear.

“Move,” Plan blinked, eyes watering. “Make me forget I’m being screwed by a – ”

“By a what?” Mean cocked an eyebrow. “A psychopath? A murderer? A man? Which is worse?”

“I know which one my parents would say,” Plan’s laugh came out choked. “Mean, please.

“Do you feel good?” the younger asked hesitantly.

Plan squeezed his eyes shut, nodding.

For in that moment, Plan wanted to abandon everything he stood for. His morals, beliefs and principles all turned to dust as Mean began to thrust gently inside him. It soothed him somehow, to think of them as just two people who shared a connection, irrespective of the paths their lives had taken. It made it easier to accept that he wanted this, perhaps naïve enough to believe that Mean being an assassin and he being an intelligence agent played no part in his attraction. He’d still want this if they were just the two ordinary people they’d pretended to be the first time they’d met.

Wouldn’t he?

*

Plan lay on his back with a pillow propped against the headboard, wide awake.

Mean was still beside him, naked and napping peacefully on his shoulder. He was sweet in the aftermath, an arm wrapped around his waist as he subconsciously nuzzled into him every now and again and the special agent couldn’t help but wonder where such a troubled child had learnt such affection.

His hair, ruffled in all directions thanks to him, kept tickling Plan’s nose. Turning his face to the side, he regretted it almost instantly when in his immediate eyeline he spotted the knotted condom, discarded on the floor, a physical reminder of what they had just done.

Despite everything that Mean had told him it would be, Plan still felt unprepared for the feelings which stirred whilst the assassin had been inside him. No one had ever pleasured him like that, in such a way that he’d cried out for more, lunging forward for kisses he needed just to feel grounded. He could still see the marks his nails had left behind etched into Mean’s shoulders. The assassin had made him come harder than he ever had in his life. Harder than he had even as a teenager, discovering the art of masturbation for the first time.

Yet he did not agree with Mean’s assessment, for whilst he did not feel emasculated he did feel intensely vulnerable, unaccustomed to letting someone else reach depths within him he hadn’t even known existed.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever be the same again.

Now, as Mean lay sleeping, his eyes kept sporadically filling with tears, forced to swallow them out of the fear that if they were to spill over, even just once, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

It was difficult to pin-point why he was even sad. He’d gotten everything he wanted, satisfied every curiosity that had plagued him all these months. Was it because in those brief minutes they had been connected Plan had experienced, in the most visceral of ways, what it was like to know the Mean behind the assassin? The man who he could have been, who in some ways he still was, that loved with as much passion as he killed. Was it because he was jealous that there had been a point in time that Mean had loved someone so much marriage had become a plausible option, and that someone wasn’t him? Was it because, deep down, he knew that what they had just shared they would never share again?

He didn’t know.

All he knew was that in the afterglow he’d expected to float like a helium filled balloon, at the pinnacle of euphoria and instead all he felt was devastation. His world felt like it had been hit by a tsunami and it was his job now to clear up the mess left behind.

Except that meant getting up. That meant wiping the remnants of his pleasure away, still drying on both of their skin, as though what they had done was something to be ashamed of. That meant leaving Mean in bed alone. That meant forgetting all of the things Mean had whispered to him whilst, for a few life-changing minutes, he had been completely and utterly his.

Instead he held him closer, inhaling deep even though it made his heart ache.

For he did not want to forget.

He was not ashamed.

The man in his arms might be an assassin but he was also the man that, much to his surprise, had saved his life in more ways than one.

*

Mean wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep but he was rudely awoken by an alarmingly loud slam of the front door. The sun had by now fully set, the room lit only by a tall lampshade switched on next to the bedside table.

His first thought was of Plan, the space beside him in the bed empty.

“ARMED POLICE!”

Sitting up on his elbows, he scanned the room, finding the face he sought stood in the corner by the window, fully dressed and wearing an expression a far cry from the one Mean had engrained to memory only hours ago. Solemn. Almost numb.

Awash with concern, Mean sprang into action and began to dress. Shirt and pants would have to do, listening intently as the intruders kicked open the doorway of each and every room downstairs, yelling his name at the tops of their lungs. Mind still half asleep, it took a few seconds for him to catch up as the stark realisation sank in, spotting a phone that didn’t belong to him on the dresser.

“What have you done, Phi?”

Plan only looked at him through stunned eyes, shocked perhaps by his own betrayal.

“I…” he shook his head. “I…”

Hastily buttoning his jeans, Mean swallowed hard. Heavy footsteps pounded in his ears, climbing the stairs two by two. Instinctively, he crossed the room, taking Plan’s face in both his hands. Met by no resistance, the elder just looked up at him through forlorn eyes. Gently, and with as much tenderness as he was capable of, Mean brushed both of his thumbs over soft cheeks before he leant in and kissed him. Just once.

And Plan kissed him back with everything he felt deep in his chest.

Breaking away, Mean spoke his next words into the special agent’s mouth.

“You did what you had to do.”

Plan’s lower lip trembled, tear ducts brimming.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Mean reassured him, tucking a strand of hair back behind his ear. “I forgive you.”

The police reached the top of the staircase, thundering along the landing yet it still took all of Mean’s willpower not to slit his throat. Letting his hands fall to his sides, he took one last, wistful look at the man to whose heart his was now tied and smiled softly.

“May we meet again.”

Plan did not stop him when he pulled back the curtains.

Plan did not stop him when he opened the window.

Plan did not stop him when he jumped.

For the first time in Mean’s career he put his life in God’s hands, praying for something to break his fall because by letting him go, Plan did the most dangerous thing he could ever have done.

He gave Mean hope.

And falling, it turned out, made him feel even more alive than killing.

Notes:

Thanks so much for reading! If you can spare the time, do drop me a line with your thoughts and ideas for incorporation, it makes my day to hear from you. Find me on Twitter @raining_xoxo for updates and to wait for LBC2 together. Stay safe and take care of yourselves!

Love,
RainingCantaloupes.
xoxo