See Part I for disclaimers, soundtrack, and thank-yous.

---

Crossroads, part III
© 2001 Kellie Matthews


        Even after they'd gotten the photos, Ollie couldn't believe Gus was doing it. Maybe Gus wasn't joking about there being insanity in his family because there was no other word for it. They'd only just met, and Ollie was a criminal, and Gus was helping him, knowingly, willingly. It was just daft. But Ollie had decided it would be bad form to look in this particular horse's mouth so he was just thanking whatever lucky stars had come into alignment three days ago and dutifully watching out the windscreen for a copy shop. They'd found one, but it hadn't had a scanner so they were on the lookout for another.
        "Hold on, there, a block up on the left. Is that one?"
        Gus looked, and nodded. "Yeah. Good spotting."
        He pulled into a parking place half a block away on the wrong side of the street and they got out and headed across, Ollie carrying the little pasteboard folder that held his photos. They weren't bad, as far as passport photos went, at least they pretty much looked like him, though he'd shaved that morning so it didn't quite capture the essential him. Gus held the door for him, which Ollie thought was amusing, and they walked into the place. It was big, bright, clean-looking, and had enough stuff to confuse Ollie, who didn't generally have a lot of call for photocopies. Gus glanced around, and grinned.
        "There we are, flatbed scanner. Perfect. Come on."
        He went to the desk and consulted with the attendant, a young woman who simpered at him rather revoltingly, then he thanked her and led Ollie over to a desk that held a computer and something that looked like a very small copier, and held out his hand. "Pictures please."
        Ollie handed them over and Gus placed them on the glass of the copier-thing and closed the top, then sat down and did something with the mouse, clicked a few things, and the scanner lit up, a bar of light passing down the length and back again just like a copier. About a minute later he was looking at himself the computer screen.
        "You're pretty handy with that," he said, nodding at the computer.
        Gus sighed. "Had to learn it so I could teach it. I've been trying to get the island into the twentieth century sometime before we hit the twenty-first. Actually, they've picked it up pretty well. Even Sil can build a webpage these days."
        "I keep telling you, software."
        Gus grinned. "I heard you, I just can't do much about it at the moment. Now, let me just get into mail here so I can send this to Zeda with all the appropriate information."
        A few more clicks brought up a new screen and Gus started typing, fingers flying, words appearing so fast that Ollie had a hard time reading over his shoulder. After an opening paragraph where Gus greeted the person he was sending the mail to, told her where he was, and told her he wanted her to have Clarence make up a passport on a rush order, he turned to look at Ollie, frowning a little.
        "You think you ought to use another name?" Gus asked. "They might be looking for you."
        "Aye, they probably would be." He thought about it for a moment, and grinned. "But they wouldn't be looking under my real name, since I wasn't using it."
        "So your name's not McIntosh?"
        "Actually, it is. It's just not Gillespie, which is what my ID was under. I've been using that name since I was fourteen."
        Gus looked at him in surprise, a smile starting to curve his mouth. "You gave me your real name?"
        Ollie suddenly felt embarrassed, and he didn't know why. He nodded. "Aye."
        The smile turned into a pleased grin. "Thank you. So, is your first name really Oliver?"
        "Aye. Oliver Innes McIntosh." Ollie said, still feeling warm.
        "I-n-n-i-s?"
        "No, e-s."
        "All right then, shall we go with that?"
        He nodded. "It'll be strange to be myself again. Been a long time."
        "Height, weight, eye and hair color?"
        "Five-ten, eleven and a half stone, blue and ditchwater."
        Gus chuckled, and recited as he typed. "Five-ten, one-sixty, blue, and . . ." He eyed Ollie's hair. "Blond."
        "It's bleached." Ollie admitted.
        "There it is," Gus said, straight-faced.
        Ollie's jaw dropped. "Fuckin' hell. . . you didn't say that in public!"
        "Yes I did. And it's blond. Dark blond, but blond. Birth date and place?"
        Ollie decided he really needed to think up an appropriate retaliation, but at the moment he was blank so he just replied to the question instead. "February fifth, nineteen sixty, Richmond, Yorkshire."
        "Hah! I knew it! You almost had me fooled a couple of times, but I was pretty sure it was Yorkshire."
        "How'd you know that?"
        "Had a Geordie lived on my floor at Oxford. He always made me feel homesick-- you'll be surprised how much the locals sound like Geordies. You sound a lot like he did, mostly. Though sometimes you get this. . . well . . . London thing going."
        Ollie grinned. "That's my mum. I picked up a bit of her cant when I was a lad, and it stuck."
        "That would explain it." He clicked the mouse, and sat back. "All right, sent. Now I just need to delete the files. . . ." more clicks, ". . . there we go, and find a phone and call Zeda, because I know she's going to want to argue and it will take a lot less time to do it over the phone."
        "I thought you were in charge," Ollie said, teasing a little, because Gus clearly liked this woman, whoever she was, and respected her.
        "Oh, no," Gus said solemnly. "Zeda's the real power behind the throne. I'm just a puppet."
        Ollie tried to imagine anyone trying to control Gus, and couldn't. "I think I'd like to meet her."
        "Well, hopefully you will, if I can get her to do this. But we'd better stop somewhere and buy you a suit, and you'll have to shave and make sure your nails are clean, and no swearing."
        "She's pretty formidable?"
        "You have no idea. When I was little I lived in terror of getting on her bad side. When I got older I figured out that she's all bark and no bite, but the bark is bad enough."
        "When you were little?" Somehow Ollie had gotten the idea that the woman was Gus' age. "How old is she?"
        Gus squinted thoughtfully. "Mmm... not sure. Somewhere between sixty and immortal. She pretty much raised me after my folks died, she and my grandfather, That was before he really went off his head, that didn't happen until I was at Oxford. I've always wondered . . . ." Gus lowered his voice confidentially. "I always wondered if they didn't have a discreet little affair going. But they were very proper and they always had me as an excuse to be around one another, so no one ever knew for sure."
        Ollie revised his mental image of the woman considerably. "Sounds. . . interesting."
        "She is. Now, a pay phone." He looked around the copy shop. "I don't see one here."
        "There's always one at a gas bar, and we need to get petrol."
        "Good thought. Get your pictures and let's head out."
        Ollie nodded and retrieved his photos from the scanner, only to look around and find that Gus had gone up to the counter and was paying the charges. He scowled, and waited by the door for Gus to join him, then as they went out, he smacked Gus on the back of the head, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to get his attention. "Stop fucking paying for my stuff."
        Startled, Gus rubbed the back of his head. "Sorry. Habit. Being the only person on the island with much of a steady income I tend to do it a lot. I'll try to remember not to."
        "Good. Because I really hate it, got that?"
        Gus nodded, serious. "Got it." He looked around, squinted up at the sun that shone weakly through a gray haze of cloud cover and frowned a little. "Looks like we may get some weather. We should get going. I want to get to Port Huron before we stop. So, let's go get gas, I'll make my call, and we'll get on the road."
        They found a petrol stop not far down the road, and Ollie made a point of getting out of the car fast so he could beat Gus to the pump and take care of that, and pay for it. Gus headed for the pay phone, giving Ollie a look that said he knew what he was doing, but it was tinged with amusement. As he fueled the car Ollie stole glances at the phone booth, wishing he could read lips as Gus spoke, sometimes frowning, sometimes laughing, sometimes gesticulating like he was leading a band. The pump shut off and Ollie went inside to pay, and when he came out Gus was in the driver's seat looking smug.
        "She's agreed to do it. I told her to have the passport couriered to Port Huron, and that I'd call her later today with the address. But she says I have to bring you to meet her, so we'd better make sure we stop and buy you that suit."
        "Never owned a suit, don't want to own a suit. Can't I borrow one?"
        Gus snorted. "Oh, that'd make a good impression, you swimming in my suit. God, you've really never owned a suit? Lucky bastard."
        Ollie grinned. "Not much call for one in my line of work. And I figure if I turn up my toes there probably won't be enough of me left to dress up, so no point."
        Gus frowned. "What do you mean?"
        Ollie shrugged. "When you work with big machines, explosives, and unstable surfaces, you're bound to buy it sooner or later, and most likely in a messy fashion."
        "Jesus, Oliver," Gus gasped. "That's morbid."
        "Just realistic."
        "You need a new career."
        "Too old to learn new tricks."
        Gus's eyes sparked with challenge. "You're never too old to learn new tricks."
        "Is that so?"
        "Absolutely."
        Ollie had a feeling Gus was going to try to prove that to him. He figured he'd have to try and resist. He hated being wrong. Though letting Gus try might be. . . interesting. The day got darker as they drove north, and it started raining near Grand Rapids. They stopped for lunch at a 'family restaurant' in Lansing. The food was good, hearty and tasty, but the sign wasn't kidding. They were the only people in the place without kids. Ollie's rebellious streak kicked in and found himself wanting to do something to shock all the families. Only Gus' stern look had kept him from leaning across the booth and planting one on him.
        By the time they left the restaurant the rain had turned to snow; thick, heavy, wet flakes that stuck, but melted fast. Gus got into the boot and pulled out his coat, and Ollie dove into the car and grabbed his bag, pawing through until he found the sweatshirt Gus had bought him. He thought seriously about asking Gus to find another K-mart so he could buy a coat, too. The only thing that stopped him was that they'd managed to avoid talking about the money so far, and he wanted to keep it that way, and he figured if he had to dig into the bag in the back for funds that it would bring it up again. He was half surprised that Gus hadn't mentioned it when he'd gotten out his own coat.
        As they drove on in the snow, Ollie found himself leaning forward, straining to see farther ahead. Gus seemed to take the weather in stride, Ollie supposed he was used to it, but he hadn't seen anything like it since he was sixteen.
        "Jesus, it's only October. Does it always snow so early here?"
        Gus looked at him and shrugged. "I don't know, I'm not from here, but probably. At least it's not an ice storm. God, what a snarl those are. You Brits are spoiled by living in a temperate zone."
        "We get snow!" Ollie protested.
        "What, once in a decade?"
        "More than that, really, though I was sixteen the first time I saw more than a couple of inches on the ground all at once," Ollie admitted.
        "What did I tell you? Once a decade. Anyway, this isn't sticking yet. It's not bad, you just have to be more careful."
        "Glad you're driving."
        "Me too."
        Ollie glared at him. "Is that a comment on my driving?"
        "In general no, but if you're not used to snow and it's snowing, yes."
        "Oh. That's all right then."
        Slightly mollified, Ollie settled back and tried to relax as they covered the last leg of the day's trip. He wasn't very successful. By the time they got to their destination about three hours later, he was hoping he'd never see snow again. His shoulders were like rocks and his hands hurt from clenching them. Gus had acted completely unfazed by any of it, even once the road started to slick up and they'd passed an articulated lorry folded back on its container like a pocket knife, but even he'd seemed relieved when they saw the exit sign for Port Huron.
        They located a motel with a vacancy sign on, not easy, apparently a lot of people had decided to stop traveling for the day. The place they finally found was old and a bit rundown looking. Gus went in to get them a room, Ollie waited in the car, not wanting to get out until he absolutely had to. He wasn't dressed for the weather. Just having the engine off for the fifteen minutes it took for Gus to accomplish his mission let the cold start to seep into the car. He tucked his hands under his arms and mentally encouraged Gus to hurry. While he waited, he noticed that there was a pizza place right next door, which was going to be convenient when they wanted dinner. Finally Gus came back out and got back in the car, shivering and rubbing his ungloved hands together.
        "Damn, it's that cold a cat wouldn't save her kittens. I should've left the car running. Anyway, all they had left was a single with a queen bed."
        Ollie pretended to scowl. "One bed? I don't know about that," he said, as primly as he could manage.
        Gus grinned. "Don't worry, I'll still respect you in the morning."
        "That mean you respect me now?"
        He meant it as a joke, but Gus' eyes locked with his, and a smoky heat sprang to life in their depths.
        "That I do," he said, very quietly.
        They stared at each other for a moment, then Gus cleared his throat, looked away, and started the car. "We're around in the back."
        "You've a fixation with back doors," Ollie said, thinking about the last place they'd stayed.
        Gus snickered. "Appropriately enough."
        "Cheeky," Ollie retorted, which set Gus off even worse.
        In between wheezes Gus managed to explain just exactly what that meant in North American English, which made Ollie laugh too. He was still chuckling as Gus pulled up by the rear entrance of the motel and handed him the key. "Here, since you don't have a coat you go open the door, I'll grab our stuff and bring it in."
        Ollie nodded and dashed for the door, holding it while Gus got their stuff from the back seat and brought it inside. Their room was just inside the door, had a window that overlooked their parking place, and was barely warmer than outdoors. Shivering, Ollie found the thermostat and put it on a reasonable setting, grumbling about management trying to save money. The heater groaned and rattled as it tried to cope with the request, and Ollie decided it wasn't management after all, but rather the last tenant trying to get some sleep. He looked at Gus, who looked back at him ruefully.
        "We could go look for something else. . . ." he began.
        Ollie shook his head. "Nay, we're here, we're staying. Once it warms up it won't have to run so often to keep it warm. And once we go to bed we won't need it as warm."
        "We won't?" Gus asked, amused again.
        Ollie shot him a quelling look. "I just meant we'll be sharing body heat and under the duvet and all."
        Gus grinned. "We could do that now," he said, toying with a button on his shirt.
        Ollie's gaze was drawn to the fingers on that button, then he shook himself. "Christ, you're a randy bastard! Thought you said you were sore."
        Gus opened the button, then the next one as well. "I am. But there are other ways to . . . keep warm."
        True enough. Despite the chill, his body was definitely interested in exploring some of those other ways. Gus put a foot up on the vinyl-upholstered chair and started unlacing his boot. The action drew his jeans tight across his thigh and arse, and Ollie was sure that was quite deliberate.
        The room wasn't large, he only had to move a foot or so to get within fondling range, so he did. He cupped his hand over the smooth, taut curve of buttock, then let it slide forward over the arch of thigh, finally coming to rest, fingers spread, over the solid bulge between Gus' thighs. Gus made a soft almost-grunt and straightened up, leaning back into Ollie, turning his head to brush their lips together for a moment before he bent again and unlaced the other boot.
        This time when he straightened up, Ollie slid his arms around him, holding him in place, and ground his crotch against Gus' backside. Gus reached back, holding his hips, encouraging him for a moment, then he let go and turned in Ollie's arms, bringing a hand up to Ollie's chin to tip his head slightly, then sealing their mouths together for a long, slow, surprisingly soft kiss. They did that for a while, sucking, licking, languid and slick, then Gus pulled back with a groan, turning his head to breathe heavily against Ollie's neck as he spoke.
        "God. I almost forgot. I need to call Zeda, give her the address here so she can get us the passport."
        Reluctantly Ollie let him go. "All right then. Call. Fast."
        Gus nodded and went over to sit down on the bed, since the phone was on the nightstand. Funny, no matter where they stayed, the phone was always on the nightstand. Ollie wondered if Yanks liked to make telephone calls in bed. Maybe they liked to call phone-sex hotlines. That would make sense. Gus was studying the directions on the card by the phone, and Ollie took advantage of the moment to take off his own shoes and a layer of shirt. He left his t-shirt on, it was too cold to take it off just yet.
        Gus picked up the phone and dialed. Ollie stood for a moment, at a loss, then decided to save some time and get Gus' boots the rest of the way off. He knelt down next to him and picked up a foot, loosened the already untied laces, and pulled the left boot off as Gus started to talk. Ollie listened to Gus' half of the conversation as he picked up Gus' other foot.
        "Zeda, whattaya at?" he asked, then chuckled at whatever the response was, nodding. "I know, I only do it because you always say that. I just called to let you know that we finally made it to Port Huron. It took a bit longer because it's snowing. No, they weren't too bad, they didn't get slick until we were about halfway here. Mmmhmm. No. Yes, four wheel drive would be nice, but Luba's not about to trade the truck back to me for some used AK-47's, so I have to make do. At least I didn't bring the motorcycle."
        Sliding the right boot off, Ollie set both of them aside and looked up at Gus, who was staring off at nothing as he conversed. His gaze moved down to the mostly-unbuttoned shirt, came to rest on the spot that was really pretty much at eye level, and he grinned evilly. Convenient that Gus wasn't wearing a belt today. That would have made this a bit trickier. He put his hands casually on Gus' upper thighs, just resting there. Gus glanced down at him, smiled a little, and then looked away as he started talking again, and as he'd said, the dialect he slipped into so naturally did remind Ollie a bit of home.
        "Is Bunsy staying to bed with the doctor as he ought or is he up and about? Aye, as I feared. You tell him to stay to bed or I'll make him chaperone the next community dance."
        He chuckled, and Ollie went for the button on his jeans while he was laughing. It worked. Gus didn't seem to notice.
        "All right then, I have the address here for you if you're ready," he said, picking up the little pad of hotel notepaper next to the phone.
        Ollie decided he'd have to just go for the next stage. He found the zipper tab and started pulling it down. Gus sucked in a breath and dropped the notepad.
        "What the fu . . .ummm. . . no, I'm sorry, Zeda, I didn't. . . no, something just startled me." He glared at Ollie and shook his head.
        Ollie grinned back, winked, and kept going. Gus reached down with his free hand and tried to catch Ollie's hand. Ollie caught his wrist and moved his hand over to the notepad instead, all the while continuing to lower the zipper, slowly, not wanting to catch anything in it, since he had a strong suspicion after feeling him up a few minutes ago that Gus had gone commando today. As the zipper went down and the fly opened, he confirmed his hunch.
        Gus cleared his throat and started reading the hotel's name and address off the pad. Or trying to. His voice kind of cut out a bit when Ollie eased his fingers into the fly and spread it wider, the back of his hand brushing the warm, silky length still half-hidden behind the fabric. He did it again, more deliberately, and Gus coughed at that, his hips arching up involuntarily, pushing his cock against Ollie's hand.
        "What? No, I'm fine. I'm not coming . . . down with anything, no. Just a little tickle. Yes, that's right. We're in room 42, and I told them in the office that-- uhn . . . ."
        Gus' conversation dead-ended in a sound somewhere between a moan and a grunt as Ollie leaned in and delicately flicked his tongue across the barely-exposed tip of Gus' cock, savoring the unique taste of him. He'd always loved this part. He went for another lick and Gus' free hand came down to clench into his hair and pull him away, shaking his head as he struggled to speak coherently.
        "I . . . ah. . . that I'm expecting a package, and they should. . . um. . . notify me when it arrives. What? No!" He laughed a little stridently, then more softly. "No, Zeda, I give you my word of honor that there is definitely not a woman in this room." He looked at Ollie and winked.
        Ollie started to laugh, and tried to keep it quiet, ending up a wheezing heap on the floor. He vaguely heard Gus finish his conversation and say goodbye, then Gus was beside him, looking like he wasn't entirely sure he knew whether he wanted to kiss him or strangle him.
        "All right, you just proved it. You are a bad guy. Very bad."
        Ollie widened his eyes innocently. "It was bad? I must need practice then." He reached for Gus, tugging on his jeans. "Just nip these down a bit more and I'll give it another go."
        Gus leaned down to kiss him instead, which was more like laughing against each other's mouths than kissing, and that got much worse when Gus started to tickle him. They wrestled for a bit as Ollie tried to stop him, but Gus definitely had the weight advantage and seemed to know a few actual wrestling moves. Ollie ended up on his belly with Gus straddling his thighs, holding both wrists behind his back.
        "I win," Gus said smugly.
        Ollie twisted his head around to grin at him. "Nah, I do."
        Gus studied him, frowning. "How'd you figure that?"
        "Long as you've got to hold my wrists, you can't do anything else," Ollie pointed out.
        "Is that so?" Gus asked silkily. "I could do this," he said, leaning down to lick Ollie's ear, and nip at the lobe. "Or this." He scraped his teeth along the column of his throat, making Ollie shiver and buck under him. "And this." He shifted his weight, and Ollie became excruciatingly aware of the solid thrust of Gus' cock against his backside as Gus rocked himself into the cleft between his buttocks.
        He stilled, startled by the shiver of heat that sent through him. It made him uneasy so he tugged at his wrists in Gus' hands. "Let go."
        "Mmmmwhy?" Gus hummed against his ear, licking in again, continuing his sensual undulation against Ollie's posterior. "I like it. Don't you like it?"
        That was the problem. He did. And that bothered him. "I. . . um . . . ."
        Gus chuckled. "Cat got your tongue?" He licked at the line of Ollie's jaw, nibbled on the back of his neck, and kept rocking. Ollie was getting turned on to the point that his cock was uncomfortably hard, trapped both in his jeans, and against the scant padding of the old carpeting. He lifted his hips, trying to relieve some of that pressure, which meant that Gus ground against his backside even harder, and he shivered again. Gus chuckled again, and licked along the edge of his t-shirt, then tugged at it with his teeth briefly before letting it go so he could speak.
        "This'll be a lot more fun without clothes on," he murmured, one hand sliding up under the shirt from the hem, sliding his fingers under his jeans, cupping and rubbing one buttock. "Don't you think?"
        The shock of Gus' warm hand on his body finally made Ollie realize that Gus had let go of his wrists. Jesus. He hadn't even noticed when it happened. Things were definitely getting a bit out of hand here. Determined to reassert himself, Ollie braced his hands, pushed back, and rolled. As he'd intended, Gus slid off and Ollie scrambled to his feet, breathing a bit heavily, relieved for more reasons than just getting the pressure off his cock. He stood looking down at Gus, feeling pleased with himself.
        "Shouldn't've let go," he said, constitutionally unable to resist rubbing it in.
        Gus rolled to his knees and looked up at Ollie with an evil grin. "What makes you think I did that accidentally?" he asked.
        Ollie barely registered the smile and the words before both of Gus' hands were on him, giving him a hard, flat-palmed shove. Trying not to miss the bed as he went over, he twisted into the fall and ended up on his stomach. Before he could react, Gus was straddling him again, one hand wedging under his hips, tugging at fly buttons and the constriction across his groin eased noticeably even as the sensation of Gus' hand right there made him push hard against the bed. Gus chuckled, and his lips were on the back of his neck again as his hand slid inside the opened fly and cupped his bare cock. God, it felt marvelous, warm and strong, and firm.
        "Better?" Gus purred, starting up that disconcerting rocking again.
        It still felt good. It fired a strange ache inside him, tempted him to spread out and just let Gus do whatever he pleased, and . . . no. No, that had to stop. Now. He pushed up again, trying to get Gus off him, not even caring that it made Gus let go of him. Gus rolled off to one side and leaned on one elbow, studying him, faint frown lines between his brows. Ollie turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling, trying to get his breathing under control, purposely not looking at Gus.
        Gus deliberately fastened up his jeans, moving to sit with his back against the wall at the head of the bed. Out of the corner of his eye Ollie saw Gus rest his elbows on his knees and look at his hands, loosely clasped between his knees, then look up again.
        "You could've just told me," he said quietly. "I swing both ways, in several senses of the phrase, but I know not everyone does. I do take 'no' for an answer."
        Well, that was plain enough, but for some reason it put his back up. "I didn't have a chance to say no," he shot back.
        Gus kept on looking at him. Ollie could tell that, even though he wasn't looking at him. Finally he spoke again.
        "Then say it now, tell me where the lines are. I promise you they won't be crossed."
        Ollie had to look at him, had to see if the calm in his voice was reflected in his face, in his eyes. He turned his head and looked. Gus was gazing back at him, his face and eyes serious, but not angry. In fact, there was an odd bleakness in his gaze that made Ollie shiver a little, feeling the cold in the room for the first time since he'd knelt between Gus' knees. He turned onto his side and put his hand on Gus' thigh, seeking the warmth of him through the heavy denim. He traced the line of the inseam for an inch or so down toward his knee, then sighed.
        "The lines are. . . a little blurry," he admitted.
        He felt the muscles under his hand tighten, and Gus leaned his head back against the wall with a little thump.
        "Thought I was through with slippery roads for the day," he said as he slid down the duvet until they were lying side-by-side again, and squeezed Ollie's shoulder. "I need more than that, Oliver. I need a roadmap. I need warning flashers. Otherwise we may end up in territory you don't want to explore and I'm not willing to risk that, risk you getting lost."
        "Too late," Ollie said ruefully. "Too late a long time back, I think."
        Gus studied him. "Is it really? You seem pretty found to me."
        "Found? What's that mean?"
        "That you know who you are. You're pretty damned secure in that, no matter what else is going on around you."
        Ollie thought about that for a bit, and nodded. "Aye. I know who I am. I just sometimes wonder. . . who I could be."
        Gus smiled. "Welcome to the club, Mr. McIntosh. Now that's a change, right? Maybe this is your opportunity to find out. Do new things. Stretch a little. Find out who else you are."
        Ollie looked back at him, suddenly struck. "What about you? Are you found?"
        A hint of that bleakness flashed in Gus' eyes again, but he looked away and it was gone when he looked back.
        "Oh, I definitely know who I am. Augustus Knickel, head of state of the Republic of Solomon Gundy, not to mention God's representative on Earth for the people of Solomon Gundy."
        Ollie shook his head. "That's what you are, not who you are. Who are you?"
        Gus stared at him, frowning. "The same."
        Ollie shook his head more vehemently. "No. Who. Not what. Who are you? Who is Augustus Knickel?"
        Gus drew in a long breath, let it out, and turned to stare up at the ceiling, much a Ollie had done a few minutes earlier. "A man. Just that. No more, no less. A very tired man."
        "Tired?"
        Gus closed his eyes, and visibly sagged into the bed. "Tired of coping. Tired of trying. Tired of being the only person who can get anything done. Tired of being looked up to. Tired of worrying. Just. . . tired."
        Ollie nodded sympathetically. "Aye, you've all the drawbacks of being self-employed, but none of the benefits."
        Gus laughed. "I never thought of it that way, but you're right. I need some employees."
        "What about Zeda?"
        "She does what she can and I'd be lost without her, but we can't afford to pay her to leave her job at the library. Hell, we can't afford to pay me, but they insisted, and Zeda gets around my refusal by just direct-depositing the money in my account."
        "So, is that why you're always buying things for other people? Trickle-down economics, isn't that what they call it?"
        Gus stared at him. "You're sharp, Ollie, old son. Very sharp. Yes, that's exactly it. They pay me, I don't want it, so I spend a lot of money buying things I don't need, and things for other people. What goes around comes around, as they say." He turned over and put his chin on his fist, staring at Ollie curiously. "But how did this get to be about me? We were talking about you. So. Does what just happened have anything to do with the fact that you don't like locked doors?"
        Ollie blinked, trying to cope with the change of subject. "Locked doors?" he asked, at a loss.
        "Mm. Earlier today when I locked the car door, you got a little edgy."
        Car door. Right. "Oh, that." He laughed, a little embarrassed. "I did, didn't I? Sorry. But no, the one's got naught to do with the other. Locks. . . well, I spent a month and a half in a Saudi jail once. Lucky for me it was all rumor and they couldn't find any witness against me, and the oil company lawyers managed to get me out so long as they got me out of the country and I never went back again. Not that I was keen to do that at that point. In any case, it gave me an aversion for locks I don't control. Which makes it all the more daft that I chose to throw in with Bentley, doesn't it? Ought to have my head examined."
        Gus looked horrified, ignoring his ironic comment. "Jesus, Ollie! A month and a half? What for?"
        "I'd reported a co-worker to the boss because he wasn't following the safety regs. To get back at me he told a police informer that I was gay. Funny thing was, I am, but he couldn't have known that, he was just trying to make trouble for me, which he did."
        Gus paled. "He put the muttawa on to you? Oliver, what did they do to you?"
        Ollie sighed. He didn't want to get into that. "Doesn't matter. It was a long time ago, and I got out with all my parts intact so I'm happy."
        "Ollie."
        He shook his head. "No. Enough. I was lucky compared to most of the poor buggers there, and I full well know it. If I give you my word it has nothing to do with anything happening in this room, will you leave it be?"
        Gus looked like he was going to argue, but finally he sighed and nodded, then pulled him into a fierce, wordless hug, soothing a hand down his back. Considering what they'd just been talking about Ollie almost flinched from that, but managed not to. It wasn't like the old scars actually hurt, it was just the memory of pain. In the present, the hug felt nice, and Ollie wished he'd done the same for Gus when he'd said he was tired. He could see now that it would have been a good moment to do that, but he hadn't much acquaintance at that sort of thing. He'd been friends with Ferret for years, but they were more the shoulder-punching sort of chums. This sort of openness was out of his experience, though he was finding he liked it.
        Thinking about his time in the Middle East suddenly brought something up to the surface of his mind. He said it without thinking.
        "Eminent domain."
        Gus drew back a little to look at him. "What?"
        Ollie sat up, starting to smile. "Jesus. Of course. That's it. Well, that's part of it, you still need a secondary industry, but I just realized how you can reduce your debt load. When the Arabs took over the Suez Canal, they did it by declaring it eminent domain. . . sort of like saying 'it's in our country, and possession is nine-tenths of the law, so therefore it belongs to us.' That's what you need to do on Solomon Gundy. Declare eminent domain and take over all the possessions to be public holdings of the state."
        Gus stared at him. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and started to frown thoughtfully. "Eminent domain?"
        Ollie nodded. "I'm not a lawyer so I can't tell you exactly how they got away with it, but they did, and I bet you could, too."
        "Eminent domain," Gus repeated, frowning.
        Ollie was quiet, waiting for Gus to process, to absorb. Finally, long moments later, a slow, blazing smile spread across his face.
        "I can not believe I didn't think of that. Oliver McIntosh, you are brilliant. I'm going to have you declared a national hero."
        Ollie rolled his eyes, embarrassed. "Oh, shut it, I'm no hero."
        "Well, I suppose I ought to wait and see if it works before I make it official, but Jesus, Ollie, I've known you three and a half days now and already you've thought of things I haven't thought of in four years!
        "Well, it's hard to think clearly when you're cagged."
        "What, stress makes you stupid?"
        "I didn't say that. In any case, it 's easy to come up with ideas when you don't personally know the people your outcome might affect, which is a luxury you don't have. Anyone could've done it."
        "No, that's true about knowing the people, but not anyone would have come up with the eminent domain idea, so don't argue with me about not being brilliant."
        "Not sure I can do that. It's not in my nature."
        Gus chuckled. "No, I haven't known you long but I can see that's so."
        The heater kicked on noisily, and they both looked at it and laughed, then Gus looked at the clock on the nightstand and for the first time since they'd thrown in together, reached for the television remote control. He shot an apologetic look at Ollie as he did. "Sorry, this'll just take a few minutes. I want to watch the news and see what the weather's supposed to do. If it doesn't let up tonight we may want to stay put tomorrow."
        Ollie grinned. "I've no problem with that. Telly, or the staying put. Bed's a nice place to ride out a storm, and with the pizza place next door we won't want for food, so long as you like pizza."
        Gus shook his head. "Love it, and it's one of the few food groups we haven't covered so far. We've had the hamburger group, the breakfast group, the Mexican group, the hero group, time for the pizza group."
        He turned on the television, and settled back against the wall. Ollie settled back too, watching idly as the news segued from one story to another, not really listening. For some reason he kept thinking about Gus' problems on Solomon Gundy, still trying to figure options to get him out of trouble. Problem was, the eminent domain thing would only really solve part of the problem. He looked over at his bedmate.
        "Gus?"
        "Hmm?" Gus responded absently, mostly focused on the news.
        "What will you do if you can't work out the financial problems?"
        Gus sighed. After a moment he turned the television off and looked over at him. "I'll have Zeda call Ottawa and tell them I've resigned from office and that Solomon Gundy wants to be repatriated. Then I'll probably go shoot myself."
        "What?" Ollie asked, stunned.
        "Sorry. Bad joke. Suicide is a sin. But if the island goes back to Canada I'll have to find some place that would give me political asylum, and that probably wouldn't be the U.S., not after . . . what happened. Nor would it be anywhere in the United Kingdom, because technically Canada is still part of U.K. In any case, I'd have to leave the island for good."
        None of this was what Ollie had expected. He frowned. "Why?"
        "Oh, just a couple of little reasons. High treason. Fomenting rebellion. Now back in the old days those were hanging offenses. Nowdays they'll just throw me in jail for the rest of my life." Gus laughed humorlessly. "Good thing I like having sex with men, isn't it?"
        Ollie looked at him, still not quite sure whether Gus was serious or joking. "They wouldn't really, would they?"
        "Honestly? I don't know. I've had no trouble going to or from Canada since Solomon Gundy declared its independence and frankly that surprises me. They would have every right to refuse me entry, even with a diplomatic passport. However, it could just be that they feel no pressing need to assert their authority, assuming that we can't hold out forever. Once I'm a citizen of Canada again, it will be much less problematic to assert themselves. I embarrassed some important people, and could well face charges. If it comes down to that I have no doubt that I'd be convicted, because by any definition I did commit high treason. There's an old saying, 'Treason doth never prosper: what's the reason? Why, if it prosper, none dare call it treason.'² I suspect that's the principle operating at the moment. Let that one factor change and all bets are off."
        "So you're saying that the only way to guarantee you won't go to jail, or have to leave the island for good is for Solomon Gundy to remain independent?"
        "That's about the size of it, yeah." Gus sighed. "Kind of sucks."
        Ollie nodded. "I'll say." He was silent for a while, mulling options. One in particular seemed to be increasingly obvious, a possible solution to both their problems, though a highly risky one. Ah well, nothing ventured. . . . . "I think they call this irony," he said.
        Gus looked back at him, eyebrows lifted, his question unspoken.
        "You're at risk for the lockup because you haven't got enough brass," Ollie continued nervously. "And I'm at risk because I've got too much. Can I have the keys to the car for half a tick? I've got sommat I need to show you."
        "They're on the table," Gus said, clearly curious.
        Ollie got up, pulled on his sweatshirt, shoved his feet into his shoes, and headed out to the car. Shivering as the snow collected in his hair he unlocked the trunk and got out both bags, hauling them awkwardly back into the room where Gus was waiting, watching him curiously. Shaking the snow off, he left the larger bag by the table, and took the leather satchel over to the bed. Sitting down he pulled out the contents, took a deep breath, then handed the stack to Gus.
        "Happen these might be useful."
        Gus looked at what he held. His eyes widened, and he started counting. He hadn't even gotten halfway through the stack when he stopped and carefully put them down on the bed.
        "Ollie."
        "Aye."
        This is. . . shit. This is a fuck of a lot of money. I thought you said you had around a million."
        "The million's in the other bag."
        "What?" Gus turned to look at the other bag, then back at Ollie. "There's more?"
        "Aye. The big bag's full of cash, the satchel's full of bearer bonds. Found the satchel near where I washed up, Bentley dropped it. But I heard him say the ransom was just six million, so I've got no fucking clue where the bonds came from. I only picked up the bag because I knew Bentley wanted it, so I figured he oughtn't have it. Didn't even know what was in it until we stopped for lunch in Nebraska, when I got a look at them in the trunk. Just about wet myself when I realized what they were."
        "Understandable. It seems a little strange, though, that someone who had a stack of million dollar bearer bonds in his possession would stage a kidnapping for a measly six million. Doesn't that strike you as odd?"
        "Odd? Hell, it strikes me as completely daft. Maybe it was personal. He seems the sort to hold a grudge."
        Gus nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe. Or they might be forgeries."
        "They might. They look official enough to me, but what do I know? I suppose the whole stack might not be bonds, either. Could be just the top few."
         "You haven't looked to see how many are there?"
        "No, haven't had the chance." He looked at the stack, back at Gus. "Could do it now, I'll take half, you do half?"
        Gus shook his head. "There's no reason to. You have to give it all back, you know that."
        Ollie stared at him. "Well, there it is. I wondered when that was going to come up again." He shoved himself off the bed and paced the room, feeling confined suddenly. He stopped and looked at Gus, feeling his chin come up. "No. I'm not giving it back. Bentley'd just use it to get himself out of trouble, and I don't think he should be able to do that."
        Gus looked at him, clearly troubled. "But it's not yours, either, Ollie. It's not right. You can't keep it."
        "Look,"Ollie snarled. "I know it's not mine, and I've soot on my nose myself, I know I'm calling the kettle black here. Happen I don't deserve to get off scot-free either, but that's not the point. I don't even want the sodding stuff! More trouble than it's worth all around, but I'm not giving it back to Bentley."
        "You don't have to give it to him. Send it to the cops, wherever it was this all came down."
        "Aye, I could, but they'd just have to give it back to him. So why can't I give it to you, instead? Sort of like Robin Hood. Steal from the bad and give to the good."
        "That might have worked in the thirteenth century, Ollie, but this is almost the twenty-first."
        Ollie sat down on the bed next to him, staring at him challengingly. "What's that to say to aught? You need dosh, I have dosh, it's simple, two plus two."
        "It's not that simple," Gus said stubbornly.
        "It is that simple. I'm sitting here with a shitload of money I don't need, but fuck it all, Gus, you do. Take it and do something good with it."
        "There is just no way I can do that, Oliver. It's not my money. It's not ethical."
        "Sometimes ethical has to take a backseat to practical. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and you damned well know that."
        Gus sighed. "Look, you're not going to change my mind, so don't give me any lip."
        "You forget I'm the argumentative sort?" Ollie asked, scowling.
        Gus looked at him, and, oddly, smiled. "Well then, if you feel compelled to give me lip, do it this way . . . ." He leaned forward and brushed his lips against Ollie's.
        Ollie knew Gus was trying to win the argument by distracting him. It wasn't fair at all. He pulled back.
"Bastard," he said, turning his head, moving his mouth out of range.
        Gus chuckled. "Yeah," he said and went for his ear instead.
        Ollie shivered as a warm, wet tongue-tip slid around the inner contours of his ear, and was strongly tempted to sulk, but while he might be argumentative he wasn't stupid and after a few seconds he threaded his fingers into Gus' too-long hair and held him still while he brought his own mouth down on those tormenting lips, angling him so the kiss could become deeper, hotter, wetter. Gus' mouth was an entire category of sin all on its own. He'd gladly risk hell for it.
        Gus' hands slid up under the hems of both his shirts, one stroking his back, the other moving up his front, skimming across a nipple. Ollie shivered, and Gus laughed softly into his mouth, doing it again, following it with a slow, sweet lick across his lower lip. Ollie tightened his fingers in Gus' hair and pulled him away.
        "You don't play fair," he accused.
        "Thought you said sometimes ethical has to take a backseat to practical," Gus said with a wink. "Desperate times." He went for another kiss, light, teasing.
        Ollie pulled away. "You're not desperate. You came three times last night."
        "So I did, amazing thought. Would you believe me if I said you make me desperate?"
        Ollie laughed. "No, but it's a hell of a good line."
        Gus chuckled, and went back to kissing him. The room had warmed up some, but it was still on the cool side, so having Gus' warmth pressed up against him felt nice. The warm lips on his, and warm tongue in his mouth were even nicer. The quiet of the room, the snow-muffled traffic noise from the street, the dim lighting, all gave a sense of intimacy that Ollie was aware was a little false, but he didn't care. He'd take what he could get.
        They lay there kissing and touching for quite a long time, no sense of urgency pushing their caresses to a more frantic level. With his arms around Gus, his hands on his back, Ollie could feel the tension in him. Even here, with nothing to occupy him but the lazy spiral of desire, he was taut in a way that spoke of anxiety, not need. Without really thinking about it, he started to knead Gus' shoulders and back with his hands. Gus made a contented noise and ducked his head into the curve of his shoulder, sighing.
        Ollie smiled, and kept working the knots. Within minutes Gus had relaxed against him, his hands lax, and the damp spot on his shoulder told Ollie he was asleep. For some reason he really didn't mind the fact that Gus was drooling on him. He should've guessed that the drive had taken its toll, even if Gus had seemed fine with it. Ollie was beginning to understand that the seeming calm with which Gus approached life hid the much more complex reactions he was really experiencing. He'd probably learned to do that as a minister, since his job was to stay calm in the face of whatever storms battered his flock.
        It was clear that Gus had been dealing with crises too long on his own. That seemed very wrong. Gus was not a man meant to be alone, no matter how much he had been. His choice of profession, both of them, said he needed people. Why couldn't the people he needed see that? Why did they let him do it all alone? Perhaps more to the point, why didn't he ask for help?
        As soon as he thought that, Ollie nearly laughed at the absurdity of the question. He knew the answer already. He and Gus had both learned to depend on themselves. Asking for help had never come easy to him, and likely it didn't to Gus either. They also had in common the little problem of not trusting anyone else to come through in a pinch.
        Gus was the first person he could think of who had done that for him since his parents had died. Well, Ferret had tried, but that was on a different level. He'd never asked Ferret to do anything personal for him. Come to think of it, he'd not asked Gus either. Gus had simply done everything unasked. That was completely out of Ollie's experience. Of course, so was pretty much every aspect of Gus.
        He was starting to get that 'this is a dream' feeling again. Except for the drool. That helped. He was pretty sure if he was fantasizing all this, he wouldn't have put that detail in. He'd also probably not have someone who kept harping on how he had to give the money back. It cheesed him a bit that he actually had the means to help Gus, but that Gus wouldn't take it. Gus needed money, he had money, the math was dead easy. Why couldn't Gus see that? He tried to think of some way he could make Gus take the money, and came up with naught. The best he could think of was to tell Gus he'd turn himself in to the police if Gus didn't take the money, but he knew damned well that Gus would call his bluff and he'd no intention of going to jail.
        Gus didn't sleep long. Only about ten or fifteen minutes had passed when Ollie felt him stir, shifting his weight, and pressing his groin into Ollie's thigh in a slow curl, while his hands tugged blindly, pulling him closer. Ollie grinned and pushed back a little, against Gus' hip. Nice. Gus made an unintelligible sound, and rubbed his face against his shoulder, then pulled back a little, one hand coming up to investigate the wide damp spot on Ollie's shoulder.
        "Jesus," Gus muttered, lifting his head to look up at Ollie in chagrin. "Sorry. That's disgusting."
        Ollie shrugged. "It'll dry."
        Gus chuckled. "So it will. Look, why don't you take it off, I'll go wash it out in the sink. It's not like you have clothes to spare."
        "That an excuse to get me out of my shirt?" he asked, suppressing a smile.
        "Well, not originally, but now that you mention it. . . ." Gus grinned.
        Ollie let the smile free, and sat up so he could peel off his shirt. Cool air fingered his bare skin as soon as it was gone and he shivered, but then Gus' hands were on him and he didn't feel the cold any more. Just warm, callused fingers, and rough palms. Working hands. He'd bet Gus was the only prime minister in existence who could boast such a thing. That made him smile, and Gus reached up to touch a finger to his mouth.
        "What?"
        Ollie shook his head. "Just wondering how many of your peers work a fishing boat to make ends meet."
        Gus frowned a little, puzzled. "Most of them. That's what we do."
        Ollie laughed. "Not those peers, Mr. Prime Minister."
        "Oh. Those peers." Gus actually blushed. "I never really considered them to be peers."
        "Very true," Ollie said. "Useless sodding bastards, the lot of them. Probably have to be told which end of the shovel to hold when they have those ground-breaking ceremonies." He looked at Gus critically. "You do know which is which, right?"
        Gus laughed. "Trust me, I am intimately familiar with shovels. . . whether using them to shovel dirt or shit."
        Ollie pretended shock. "Your minister of the interior would be getting out the soap."
        "She would. But you won't," Gus said confidently.
        "No?"
        Gus shook his head. "No."
        "Why not?"
        "Because you don't like the taste any more than I do," Gus said as he slid his hand behind Ollie's neck and pulled him in for a kiss.
        He was right, of course. Ollie liked the way he tasted without detergent. Enough to go looking for more, seeking it out, enjoying the smooth hardness of teeth, and the soft, slick warmth of tongue against his own. He let his hands seek out the last closed buttons on Gus' flannel shirt, opening it, pushing impatiently at it, wanting to feel skin. Gus pulled back and tugged and twisted until he was free of it, then he skinned out of his t-shirt as well. His fingers went to the fastening on his collar, then he stopped, and shot Ollie a wicked look, eyebrows lifted. Ollie laughed and nodded.
        "Aye. Leave it."
        Gus grinned and pulled him down for another kiss, rough hands moving down Ollie's back, sliding under his waistbands an inch or so, then back out again. Ollie settled over him, letting his legs fall to the outside of Gus', humping languidly against him as they kissed, enjoying the contact of bare chest against bare chest, where it wasn't covered by fabric. Ollie slid down a little and started licking his way down Gus' throat to his collarbone, avoiding teh collar, pausing there to nibble a little, wondering what it was about Gus that made him want to use his teeth. Gus didn't seem to mind. Nor did he mind when Ollie moved on and used his teeth lightly first on one erect nipple, then the other.
        All the while Gus' hands were sliding over his skin, strong, and callused, and the slight catch of roughened skin as they moved on him made it all just a little more real. That, and the faint rasp of stubble on stubble, and the warm male smell of him. Gus kept kissing, kept caressing and stroking his back, his thighs, his hips, but after a little while Ollie became aware that he was just skimming past his backside with fleeting touches in passing between destinations.
        Ollie rocked his hardening cock against Gus' hip and kept waiting for Gus to bring him in tight, but he didn't. It was as if he suddenly wasn't sure where to put his hands, like he was avoiding. . . . Fuck. That was exactly what he was doing. Daft bugger. Still kissing, Ollie grabbed one of Gus' hands and placed it solidly on his arse. Gus went still against him. Ollie sighed into his mouth, then pulled back, breaking the kiss.
        "It's all right. I like it."
        Gus regarded him critically. "You're sure?"
        "I damned well think I'd know, don't you?"
        "Ah, yeah. I . . . so, hands are all right, fingers are all right, but nothing more, right?"
        "Can't we just play it by ear?"
        Gus frowned. "No. I'm sorry, but no. I need to know what's all right so I don't trespass again."
        Ollie growled. "For fuck's sake, Gus! It's all all right! Happen it's time I tried sommat new, so stop worrying about it."
        Gus blinked, clearly surprised. "Something new?"
        So much for hoping that one had slipped by under the radar. Ollie knew he was turning red, but he nodded. "Aye."
        "Jesus, is that all? You've just never . . . ."
        "Said so, didn't I?" Ollie interrupted. "So just shut it, right?"
        Gus was quiet for a moment, but Ollie could tell from his expression that it wouldn't last, and sure enough a few minutes later he had that intent, curious look on his face again, and that sinful mouth was opening for something other than a kiss.
        "Not ever? Not even once, just to see? What about fingers?"
        Ollie sighed. He should've known Gus wouldn't be able to leave it alone. "Not before last night."
        "Last. . . ."
        Ollie could see Gus thinking back, remembering what they'd done, and could tell when Gus remembered the right thing because his eyes widened.
        "Oh. I just assumed. . . that'll teach me. God, I'm sorry, Ollie, I didn't . . . ."
        "Gus, enough," Ollie said firmly. "I liked it. Pretty much spunked my brains out on that one. Surprised me, though I don't know why it should've. I mean, other people like it. You like it."
        "Yes, I do. I'd forgotten just how much. I can't believe it's been twenty years."
        Ollie stared at him. "Twenty years? Thought you said you didn't have to be celibate."
        Gus chuckled. "I haven't been. Just haven't been with anyone of the right. . . persuasion . . . since then. As I said, I swing both ways in several senses of the word. You?"
        Ollie shook his head. "Tried it a couple of times. Just. . . no. Wasn't right. Blokes for me, all the way."
        Gus absorbed that thoughtfully, then looked at him, frowning again. "But you never . . . oh, hell, just tell me to shut up, all right? It doesn't matter."
        "Already told you that, doesn't seem to work," Ollie said, grinning. "Maybe this will . . . ." He leaned in to kiss Gus again before he could get offended. Their lips met briefly, then Gus pulled back a little.
        "I resemble that remark," he muttered against Ollie's mouth, then his mouth captured Ollie's, his tongue slinking inside in a soft tease.
        Ollie rubbed his cock into the hollow of Gus' hip. Felt good, but not good enough. He wanted more than just bare chests. He rolled away, slid off the bed and started tugging Gus' jeans off. Gus laughed and helped by lifting his hips and wiggling at the necessary moments, and Ollie got them off without much trouble. God. The man was really something. All sleek, smooth, sensual grace, like some sort of big cat, just pretending to be domesticated. Sprawled out with his legs slightly spread, Gus levered up on his elbows to look at Ollie on the floor, lifting his eyebrows.
        Remembering a similarly vulnerable position from the previous night, Ollie couldn't resist the temptation, and he caught Gus by the knees and pulled him forward until his hips were right at the edge of the bed. As Gus caught his breath in surprise, Ollie came up from underneath so Gus' legs were draped over his shoulders, used his hands to expose his target and went in tongue first, gently, remembering that Gus had confessed to being sore. Gus jerked and shuddered at the first touch, hands fisting in the duvet. Oh yeah. He definitely liked it. Which was perfect, really, since he liked doing it.
        "Fuuuuck. . . ." Gus moaned. "Oh sweet adorable . . . ."
        Ollie pulled away for a moment, taken aback. "What did you call me?"
        Gus panted for a moment, then lifted his head, craning a little to see Ollie. "Not you. Just an expression. I love that. Nobody ever did that for me before."
        Ollie blinked. "Never?"
        Gus rolled his head back and forth across the covers. "Never."
        "Guess we're even then," Ollie said, grinning. Funny how something Gus took for granted Ollie didn't know, and vice versa. And thinking of things he didn't know. . . "I want to try."
        Gus lifted his head and blinked at him. "What?"
        "I want to try it." He looked around, spotted Gus' bag at the foot of the bed and slid out from under Gus so he could reach over to grab it. Putting it down on the bed next to a surprised Gus, he asked: "Where's the lube?"
        Gus sat up. "Lube. . . you mean you want me to . . . ?"
        His voice trailed off, and Ollie grinned. "Fuck me? Aye. That's right."
        Gus swallowed hard. "You're sure?"
        "I'm sure," he said firmly.
        Gus regarded him steadily, and finally he smiled, shaking his head a little. "Jesus. I'm honored. I'm flattered. I've . . . got a severe case of performance anxiety."
        Ollie laughed. "Bollocks."
        Gus laughed too. "All right, would you believe a mild one? Look, I can't just do it on cue, and I can't do it with you down there, so get back up here."
        "Give me a sec, got to take a piss. You can find the lube while I do."
        Gus nodded and Ollie headed for the toilet to relieve himself. Finishing up, he washed his hands, and after a moment grabbed the little tube of hotel-supplied toothpaste and finger-brushed his teeth. He wasn't sure how fastidious Gus was, and he didn't want to take any chances on not getting kissed again. By the time he left the bathroom, Gus had the lube on the nightstand and the covers turned back, most of the lights off, and his bag and the bonds set neatly on top of the little bureau across the room. Gus himself was laid out on the white sheets, looking like something out of a skin rag, except he looked noticeably more self-conscious than those models ever seemed to be.
        Ollie carefully didn't laugh as he skinned out of his jeans and socks, and joined Gus on the bed, pulling him close into a quiet, unhurried embrace. After a moment Gus turned and kissed him, then drew back, startled.
        "Crest?" he asked, a little smile curving his mouth.
        Ollie felt himself returning that smile. "Colgate. Better than soap, aye?"
        Gus laughed and they kissed some more, and humped each other idly, two hard cocks nudging together, parting, stroking on hot, smooth skin. Finally one of Gus' hands settled on Ollie's bare bum, a firm and unhesitating presence. Ollie pushed back against it a little.
        "Come on," he whispered into Gus' mouth. "Do it. Do me."
        Gus' hand tightened a little. "How?"
        "Christ, don't tell me you don't know how!" Ollie said, annoyed.
        Gus laughed. "Of course I know how. I meant front or back."
        "Oh." Ollie considered. "You've done it before, you tell me. Which is better, for a first time?'
        "Both have their merits," Gus said after a moment's thought. "But I think it's a little easier to go back to front first time."
        "Right then." Ollie rolled over.
        Gus sighed. "Ollie, relax. We're not on a schedule, just let it happen. It's not a job, and it's not something to be gotten over with, at least I hope to God it's not. Just enjoy it. And if you don't enjoy something, tell me."
        He trailed a hand down Ollie's back as he spoke, and followed it with his mouth after he'd finished speaking, dropping light, licking kisses down the length of his spine, then back up. Ollie squirmed a little under the hot, wet flick of supple muscle. He never would have thought that someone kissing and licking his back would be such a turn on. Each trip down his spine got closer to his arse, too, and he was nearly holding his breath by the third time, when Gus let his tongue dart into the top of the cleft there, his hands stroking lightly over his bum, and then just as he was sure Gus was going to go for it, he. . . stopped.
        After a moment those rough fingers stroked back and forth across his lower back, just above his hip, then moved a little, did the same thing. Odd. Even odder, Gus suddenly sat up and snapped the bedside light to a brighter setting. Ollie looked awkwardly back over his shoulder to find Gus staring at his back, frowning. No, scowling. His fingers returned to stroke those same spots, moved higher to brush lightly across several more places, and oh, fucking bloody hell. Ollie knew what he was doing, now, what he was seeing. He hadn't realized they were still noticeable. He never even thought about them, and certainly never saw them. Gus looked up, met his gaze with shadowed eyes.
        "Ollie. Those are scars."
        He sighed and nodded. "Aye. It was a long time ago, Gus. Let it be."
        He saw Gus' expression change as he put two and two together. Fingers stroked lightly again, a caress. "Whip?"
        "Cane. They don't use whips. I was lucky. Could've been executed. A few scars is a much better deal."
        "I. . . suppose that's true. But. . . ." his fingers touched first one of the faint lines, then another. "How many times?"
        Ollie rolled over and started to sit up. "I said I don't want to talk about it and I meant it," he snapped, reaching down next to the bed for his jeans. Gus caught his arm and took his jeans away, dropping them back on the floor, and used his other hand to urge him back down onto his belly, leaning over to put his lips against the lowest scar, the one just above his arse, and it was like he had a line directly to Ollie's cock.
        "Don't. I'm sorry. I just . . . Jesus, Ollie," he whispered.
        All right, so irritation didn't work. He'd try something else. "Come on, Gus. My john thomas is getting confused and my knackers are turning blue, and not because it's cold in here."
        There was a noticeable pause, then Gus laughed softly against his skin. "Sorry. I got distracted."
        "I noticed that. So get to it."
        "Yes sir."
        "Ooh, 'sir.' I like . . . aaah!" Ollie's tease ended on a yelp as Gus nipped at his arse, and one of his hands slid up Ollie's thigh, two fingers dipping between them, pressing against the smooth expanse of skin between cock and ass. Little sparks of pleasure made him rock harder against the covers.
        "Like that?" Gus asked, his voice a dark, seductive purr.
        "Aye," Ollie whispered, surprised and pleased that he'd managed a coherent syllable.
        "Mmm," Gus said as he continued his massage. "Wait until you feel it from the inside."
        "At this rate, I never will," Ollie complained into the pillows.
        "You know, I'm beginning to understand the temptation to gag one's partner," Gus said tartly, moving his hand away.
        Ollie reached back, trying to find it. "Here now, didn't mean you should stop."
        Gus lay down alongside Ollie and pulled him onto his side so they were facing one another, took Ollie's chin in his hand and held him still while his mouth came over his in a brief, hot kiss. Then he pulled back, staring into Ollie's eyes. "Oliver. Shut up. Please."
        Ollie grinned. "Gus. Get a move on. Now."
        Gus closed his eyes. Sighed. And ten seconds later Ollie found himself flat on his back with Gus sitting on his thighs, one hand wrapped tight around his aching cock, stripping it hard and fast, the other hand under his balls, cupping them, rolling them just right, and Ollie's hips were straining upward, trying to thrust but pinned by the weight on his thighs. Gasping, he reached for Gus' hands.
        "Wait. . . stop . . . slow down!"
        Gus let go of his balls and caught both wrists in his hand, grinning ferally. "Make up your mind, Ollie."
        "All right. . . I've . . . got the picture. Stop."
        "Why would I want to do that?" Gus asked silkily, slowing his caress to a leisurely stroke that was nearly as maddening as the fast-pace of a moment earlier.
        "God!" Ollie gasped, fighting his body's natural urge to just let go. "Not like . . . this. Please?"
        That did it. Gus finally stopped stroking Ollie's cock, and instead started stroking other places. The next few minutes were a blur of pleasure. There seemed to be no part of him left unkissed, unlicked, or unsucked. He discovered the strangest things nearly sent him over the edge, like Gus' tongue in his navel, his teeth on the seldom-touched skin where arm and torso met beneath his arm, and even the sound of the deep inhalation as Gus breathed his scent in.
        Conscious thought stopped somewhere about the time that Gus pushed his thighs apart and his knees up, and a slick finger finally breached him, a smooth, hot burn of sensation moving in and out, until he was pushing back and spreading out and moaning in startled bliss. Wanting more, needing more, getting more-- two more fingers, deep, knowing just how and where to touch to keep him mindless, and he still wanted more, and he confessed that into the mouth that brushed his, against the teeth that caught his lip and tugged, almost hard enough to hurt, almost.
        He got more, again. He got Gus kneeling between his thighs, something broad and blunt and ohgod . . . hot, pushing, opening him, a smooth, strong push, sharp flare of almost-pain, and then the deep, shocking slide of him all the way in. Gus paused there, both of them panting, shifted Ollie's thighs over his arms, and started to move, a sleek, slow rhythm, until the burn was gone and nothing but pleasure remained. Their sounds seemed to fill the room, harsh rasp of breathing, dark vocalizations of need and greed.
        The rhythm stuttered, quickened, became a pounding drive, and the blissful intensity on Gus' face was almost as good as the feeling of him inside, almost as good as the broad, rough hand that wrapped around Ollie's cock and started to stroke, and didn't even get to finish before Ollie was arching and yelling, and coming harder than he'd ever come in his life. Gus growled, and laughed, and shoved hard into him, shuddering and gasping, .
        As he started to recover, Ollie realized that the pounding he was hearing wasn't just his heart, but someone banging on the wall. Gus wiped a streak of come off his face and eased back, carefully disengaging. Ollie winced, wondering why it hurt now, looked at the wall, then back at Gus with a grin.
        "Guess we've got neighbors this time."
        Gus grinned. "Apparently so. But it's not even seven o'clock yet. If they were asleep this early, they deserve to be woken up."
        Ollie snickered. "Says the man who just had a nap."
        "That's different."
        "Oh, aye," Ollie agreed, shifting a little uncomfortably, aware of his body in ways he'd never been before.
        Gus eyed him with a faint frown. "You all right? That was probably a little rougher than it should've been. Sorry."
        Ollie shook his head. "Happen I like rough. I'm fine. It's just. . . not used to it."
        "You're sure?"
        "Aye. Want a shower, though."
        "Good idea. Long, and hot. One thing, though, first."
        "What?"
        "I think we need to establish some ground rules."
        Ollie tensed. "Such as?"
        "Such as I don't tell you how to drive when you're behind the wheel, and you don't tell me how to drive when I am."
        Ollie didn't pretend he didn't understand. "Goes both ways," he said. "I seem to remember someone telling me how to drive that first time. Sauce for the goose, eh, guv?"
        Gus looked suprised for a moment, then sheepish, and he chuckled softy. "Sauce for both ganders, at any rate. All right, you've got me there. We'll both have to work on it. Come on, shower." He stood up, and held out a hand.
        Ollie nodded and took it, letting Gus pull him to his feet, following him to the shower.

* * *

        Waiting in line at the inspection plaza on the Blue Water Bridge, Gus kept stealing glances at Ollie, who looked somewhat less than cool.
        "Ollie, relax. You're going to tip them off."
        Ollie shot him a look that reminded him of a horse about to bolt. "Relax? I'm about to be arrested and you want me to relax?"
        "You're not about to be arrested. You're with me, and I've got a diplomatic passport. I'll just say you work for me."
        "Oh, right. And what exactly am I? Minister of Silly Walks?"
        Gus chuckled. "No, but that's a good point, you need a title, in case they ask. What should you be . . . I know! You're the one with the money, you can be the Minister of Finance."
        That drew a reluctant smile from his passenger. "Finance. Yeah. Makes sense. Still don't see how the hell you think you're getting all that money across the border, though. We should have hidden it."
        "Just keep your mouth shut and trust me, it'll work."
        Ollie opened his mouth, closed it, and after a moment he looked back at Gus, an odd expression in his eyes. "I . . . do."
        Their gazes locked for a moment, until the car behind them honked and Gus realized the car ahead had moved and he hadn't. This was it. He pulled up to the booth, rolling the window down. The man at the window looked at the little screen that displayed the image of Gus' license plates, a little frown on his forehead.
        "Diplomatic Corps? Interesting plates. That a fish on there? Where are you from?"
        "Yes, yes, and Solomon Gundy," Gus said.
        The frown deepened. "Where?"
        "Solomon Gundy," Gus repeated patiently.
        Still frowning, the guy turned to the other man sharing the small booth with him. "Hey, Dave, you ever hear of someplace called Solomon Gundy?"
        The second man looked at the plates displayed on the screen, and nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think so. It's an island, on the Atlantic coast. Wasn't there some sort of incident there a few years back?"
        Gus nodded. "That's right, old son, we're the ones who shot a missile at Canada's Wonderland."
        The man leaned down. "That's it. I remember that. You guys are independent now?"
        "Yeah, see?" He handed over both passports.
        The first man chuckled. "Good job." He flipped open Gus' passport and read aloud. "'Augustus Knickel is a representative of the Republic of Solomon Gundy and should be accorded all the rights and privileges of a member of the international diplomatic community.' Very impressive." He looked at the cover. "Nice fish."
        Gus grinned. "It's what we do."
        "And what do you do for the Republic?"
        "I'm the prime minister."
        "No kidding?"
        "No kidding."
        "Bet that's an interesting job. Good pay."
        Gus snorted. "Yes, sometimes it can be, and no, not as such. We're not exactly Brunei."
        That got a chuckle. "So, you're going back?"
        "Yep."
        "Carrying anything we should worry about?"
        "Other than a case of merlot and seven-hundred and fifty million dollars? No."
        Both the guards laughed, and the first one handed back both passports. "Okay, thanks. Drive carefully, the roads are a bit slick today."
        "I'll do that. Thanks."
        He put the car in gear and drove on through, waiting until they were well out of sight before he glanced over at Ollie and found him staring at him in clear disbelief.
        "I can't fucking believe that just happened," Ollie managed after a moment.
        Gus shrugged. "Told you I'd get you over the border. The rest of it's on your conscience."
        "I haven't got one," Ollie said glibly.
        Gus looked at him.
        "Don't do that," Ollie snapped. "Watch the road."
        Gus sighed and looked back at the road. After a few minutes Ollie sighed, too.
        "All right. I do. You're right. Jesus, you don't even have to say a word to win an argument. Your flock must hate that."
        Gus had to bite his lip to keep from smiling. "I'm sure they do."
        "It's no good, you know. I can see that."
        "See what?"
        "The smile."
        Gus laughed. "Sorry. I tried."
        "I don't get you." Ollie said after a moment. "You'll buy a nuclear sub and hold the Canadian government hostage to get your fishing rights restored, but you won't let me give you money that would get you out of the hole you're in."
        Back to this. He'd wondered how long it would take before Ollie started in on it again. It was somewhat amusing that just like half the couples Gus counseled, their main point of friction appeared to be money. This point though, was easy to explain. "That's exactly why I won't. I learned my lesson. Quick fixes don't work."
        "I'm not saying it would. It's a short term solution, I know that, you know that. But you could use it as a temporary fix while you build yourself a proper way out. You wouldn't even have to use all of it. Just whatever you needed, then you could give it all back, as soon as you'd gotten things squared away and working."
        "Right, but what if I can't?" Gus asked. "It's possible, you know. Not everything can be fixed. There's not a solution to everything."
        Ollie was quiet for a moment, then he shook his head. "I never would have guessed you were a quitter," he said in a disappointed tone. "Never."
        Gus blinked away the fog that obscured his vision for a moment. "I'm not," he said, his voice betraying more than he wanted it to. "I'm just out of time and options."
        "You're not out of options, there's one staring you in the face."
        God, the thought of all that money was . . . tempting. There was so much he could do with that. Even if he just borrowed it for a while . . . no. Too tempting. "Ollie, enough," he snapped. "I said no."
        Ollie looked away, then back, intent. "All right. But it's there if you change your mind."
        Gus didn't bother to answer that. Ollie let him. After half an hour, Gus pulled his tape case out from under the seat and chose one, sliding it into the cassette deck. As the opening notes of 'The Wall' came over the speakers, he saw Ollie's jaw tighten, but he didn't say anything, he just settled back into his seat, tipped his head back against the headrest, and closed his eyes. Gus didn't think he was sleeping.
        The silence lasted until they got to Kingston and stopped for lunch. A cautious truce was declared over shepherd's pie at a pub crowded with students. They watched a local band hauling in equipment and setting up the stage for a show later that night, and started talking about bands they'd heard. After a while Gus noticed that one of the band guys, a stockily-built fellow with a growing-in mohawk and an earring, kept looking over at them. Staring actually, with a puzzled scowl on his face. Gus had started to wonder if there was some sort of secret sign that told the world they'd been humping like rabbits all night. Then he'd realized the guy wasnt staring at both of them, but at Ollie. Just Ollie.
        Ollie must have noticed it too, and after he finished his meal and his beer he deliberately got up and went over to the stage. Gus followed him, concerned, and he was right to be, because Ollie got very in-your-face with Mohawk Man about the staring thing. They'd reached the clenched fists stage when Gus had cleared his throat, and called them gentlemen, which neither of them really were, but it had worked. Ollie had backed off a bit, and Mohawk Man had grudgingly confessed that was just struck by Ollie's resemblance to a friend of his. Hackles down, they bought each other beer, and Mohawk Man gave them a free CD before his bandmates dragged him off finish setting up.
        They got back on the road, Ollie driving and telling Gus about his latest job, working on the Parisian sewers, and then he followed that story with a rather involved but still funny one about his year on the Trans-Siberian pipeline and by the time Gus finished laughing the residual awkwardness was gone. He was well aware that the argument wasn't over, just tabled, but was willing to let it be so. He liked Ollie, and wanted to spend their remaining time together doing things other than argue. There was little enough time left, after all. They'd be at the coast by the end of day tomorrow. Going their separate ways. Funny how much that thought sucked.
        "Gus?"
        Startled, he looked at Ollie, and realized he hadn't heard a word he'd said in at least five minutes, maybe more. He saw in Ollie's face that he was aware of that, and smiled ruefully.
        "Sorry. Thinking."
        Ollie nodded. "Thought as much. Just thought you'd like to know we're nearly in Quebec now." He gestured toward the road, and Gus looked up to see the sign welcoming them to the province, in French. French made him think of Noelle. And thinking of Noelle made him remember. . . .
        "Hell," he said under his breath. "Next place you see where I can make a phone call, pull over, all right?"
        Ollie looked at him oddly, but nodded. "Sure. Problem?"
        "No, not really. I just promised someone that I'd stop on my way home. She lives in Montreal."
        "Ah. We're about an hour out, here, depending on traffic. Think she'll be home?"
        "I don't know, but I told her I'd try."
        Ollie nodded, and they stopped a few minutes later at a gas-bar where Ollie filled the tank while Gus went to use the phone. They were still 'friends' at Noelle's insistence. Her announcement that she was moving to Montreal had been post-scripted with the dreaded 'let's stay friends.' So they called one another now and then, and when he'd told her about the conference she'd asked him to stop by, offering to feed him dinner. Lonely and stressed, he'd accepted the invitation, though he knew it would be a little awkward to see her. Still, he had promised he'd at least try. He dialed, more than half hoping that Noelle wouldn't be home. Luck was against him, though. After three rings she answered.
        "'Allo?"
        Her voice was so familiar. That odd, thick nasality that he'd once found attractive almost grated now.
        "Hello, Noelle. It's Gus."
        "Gus! I've been thinking of you today. Where are you?"
        "Riviere Beaudette."
        "Riv. . . ." There was a short silence as she absorbed that. "Dieu! You're nearly here! You should have given me some warning!"
        "I know, I'm sorry. I made better time than I expected. Look, I know it's short notice, if you'd rather not meet, that's all right. I understand." He prayed he didn't sound hopeful.
        "Non, of course I want to see you! I promised you dinner, after all. Come and see me, we'll talk, we can order in."
        Hearing the eagerness in her voice, he stifled the urge to back out. It wouldn't hurt to stop by, and with Ollie along things wouldn't get out of hand. If they ordered in it wouldn't even be any work for her. As he was thinking that she got a second call beep on her line, and she put him on hold for a moment, then came back to tell him she had to take the other call. He quickly got directions to her townhouse, said goodbye and hung up. As he got back in the car it occurred to him that he probably ought to have mentioned Ollie's presence. Too late now.
        "All set?" Ollie asked.
        "Yes. I've got directions."
        Ollie nodded and pulled away from the pumps, heading for the road once more. "So, old friend?"
        "Yes. Noelle Denoyer. She. . . I've mentioned her before. She came to the island with Dexter Lexcannon."
        "The bird who was supposed to figure out the job situation, but never did, right?"
        "Ah, yeah. Though she did try. There just wasn't much available."
        "Mmm," Ollie said noncommittally.
        Gus could have defended her further, but didn't. Frankly, he'd always been a little skeptical about that himself.
        They found the townhouse without difficulty, and parked. Ollie looked at Gus, eyebrows lifted. "Well?"
        Gus nodded. "Right then. Come on."
        They got out of the car and went up to the door. His first inkling that this was going to be bad was when he caught a glimpse of flickering candles through the venetian blinds. His second was when Noelle answered his knock at the door barefoot, wearing a deep green velvet top and black velvet leggings. She knew he was tactile, knew that the velvet would entice him to touch. Or would have, under other circumstances. No, it didn't take a genius to figure out that she'd had more than dinner in mind. If he'd had half a brain he'd have figured that out long before this.
        Smiling seductively, Noelle went up on her toes to kiss him in what would have been much more than a friendly kiss hello if he'd let it go there. Instead he returned it closed-mouthed, not relaxing into her embrace. She drew away, looking a little puzzled until her gaze went past him and her eyes widened. Gus glanced at Ollie, who was looking annoyingly amused, and cleared his throat.
        "Noelle Denoyer, this is Oliver McIntosh, Ollie, Noelle. Ollie's ride-sharing to the coast with me."
        Ollie smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Denoyer."
        Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned a little, then she smiled, insincerely. "Va t'foutre, M'sieur McIntosh."
        Ollie's eyes widened, and he darted a look at Gus, then back, and his smile turned as insincere as hers was, and his eyes were bright and challenging. "Merci bien, mais j'aimerais plutôt 'foutre' avec lui," he said with a nod at Gus.
        Noelle gasped, her jaw dropping, then she cleared her throat. "Désolé, je n'me suis pas rendu compte. . . ."
        Ollie grinned. "Évidemment. Moi, je ne suis pas désolé."
        Gus looked from one of them to the other, a little puzzled. "Hey, remember I only speak Russian."
        Ollie nodded. "Sorry mate. Look, you two obviously have some catching up to do, and I haven't had a beer in three days. I saw a pub down the road, think I'll just nip off there for a bit."
        He was off down the stairs before Gus realized what he'd said, striding away, his hands shoved into his pockets against the cold. Gus had a momentary thought that they really needed to get him a coat and some gloves. He stood for a moment, indecisive, wanting to go after him, but knowing it would make a scene. Damn it. He'd really been counting on Ollie to keep things on a neutral level. Now he was alone with her, and she had more than dinner on her mind. It didn't help to realize that under other circumstances, say if he'd stopped on the way out, instead of on the way back, he might have been perfectly willing to take her up on that offer. That didn't speak well of him.
        "Gus? Are you going to stand there all night?" Noelle put one foot over the other, rubbing them against each other in a way he remembered quite well from cold nights on the island.
        He looked at her. "What was that all about?"
        She looked vaguely guilty. "Nothing. Just an exchange of pleasantries."
        "Uh hunh," he said, patently disbelieving.
        "Really, it was nothing, come inside. It's been too long. I'm glad you came."
        He suppressed a sigh and stepped inside. The townhouse was open and modern, with vaulted ceilings, and pale rose-colored carpeting. Candles glimmered on the mantel of a fireplace, and below them the gas logs burned with artificial cheer. A big, gray leather couch was set up in front of the fire, flanked by pale wood and glass end tables. He immediately felt uncomfortable and out of place.
        "What an odd man," she said, closing the door. "But then, you always did like to pick up strays."
        Gus eyed her, amused. "You'd know."
        She flushed a little. "Yes, after living with you, and seeing it first-hand," she said deliberately, ignoring his implication. "And speaking of strays and other lost causes, how are things on the island?"
        He shrugged, trying for nonchalance. "Muddling along."
        She regarded him narrowly. "That's not what I hear."
        He tried not to let his surprise show. He hadn't realized she had a source on the island, though he supposed it made sense. She liked to stay informed. He wondered who it was. Definitely not Zeda, she'd never really cared for Noelle, and had liked her even less after she'd left him. Not Bunsy, Sil, Luba, or Mary. Dempster Millard, though... that was a possibility. "Well, Dempster always was something of an alarmist."
        Her expression told him he'd gotten that one dead on target. She smiled, though.
        "An alarmist, perhaps, but often an accurate one." She looked at him with an expression of concern. "Gus, I told you when I left that it wasn't going to work out. Why don't you just admit it, and ask Ottawa to take the island back? I'm sure it could be worked out."
        "I'm sure it could, too, with us ending up even worse off than we started, and me in jail."
        She rolled her eyes. "Now who's being alarmist? Why would they put you in jail?"
        "Oh, a little thing called treason, maybe?" he asked, irritated by her casual attitude.
        "I can't see why they'd bother. Can I take your coat?" she asked, deliberately changing the subject. "You look tired, did you come far today?"
        He shrugged his coat into her tugging hands and shook his head. "No, just from eastern Michigan. Eight hours or so. A short day, compared to the last couple. It helps having someone to switch off with."
        As she turned to put his coat in the closet he saw a flicker of a frown cross her face. "Switch off?" she asked, her back to him as she found a hanger.
        "Driving."
        "Ah." He was sure he wasn't imagining the look of relief on her face. "Come sit, I'll get you a drink. I only have white wine, I wasn't expecting you."
        "That's all right. Actually, tea would be nice."
        A flicker of annoyance lit her gaze. "Tea?"
        "Or coffee. Instant is fine."
        She wrinkled her nose. "I could make you an espresso."
        He shook his head. "No, that's too much trouble. Tea's fine."
        She sighed. "Tea it is."
        He followed her into the kitchen and waited while she got out a mug and filled it with water, then located a box of tea-bags and dropped one into the mug, putting it in the microwave to heat. No tea-kettle, he noticed, that was probably too provincial for her, but she owned a personal espresso machine. That was so Noelle. A few minutes later, she had a glass of wine and he had his mug of tea and they were ensconced on her sofa which creaked annoyingly every time either of them moved more than a fraction of an inch.
        "So, it looks like you're doing well for yourself," he said, waving his free hand at the room.
        She smiled. "I am, very well. And I love it here, it's a wonderful place. I think you'd like it too."
        "I've been here before. It's nice," he said equivocally.
        "I knew you'd like it." She set down her glass of wine, and moved closer, the couch creaking. "Gus, I've been thinking a lot lately. When you called, it was like a sign."
        He felt tension knot his shoulders. "A sign?"
        "Oui. That I should talk to you. . . tell you."
        He put down his cup and looked her in the eyes. "Tell me what?"
        She started to speak, stopped, and sighed, then she had her arms around his neck and her mouth was soft and warm on his. His response was automatic, and he tasted the sharp tang of white wine on her lips, and her body felt familiar in his arms. Familiar, yet . . . wrong. Which was strange, because always before, even when they'd been ready to strangle each other, the sex had been good. Well, usually. Noelle had sometimes had a peculiarly distant demeanor that had made him wonder if she was fantasizing about someone else. Still, it was distinctly odd to realize that what he wanted wasn't her slim curves and scented warmth, but rather hard strength, the prickle of stubble against his lips, the bitter taste of tobacco. He wanted. . . Ollie.
         Ollie, who was off somewhere being tactful, without a coat. Jesus. Gus didn't remember having seen a pub anyplace close. Ollie was out there in the cold. Or . . . fuck. He had the car keys. He might've gotten his things and taken off for good. Suddenly feeling a little panicked, he reached up to disengage Noelle's arms from around his neck, holding her hands in his as he drew back. "Noelle. Please, don't do this."
        Her jaw lifted in a way he recognized as trouble. "Why not?"
        "Because, we've been down this road, and it leads nowhere. There's no reason to do it again. You know we're not compatible."
        "Non, I don't know that. We were good together."
        "We were practically not speaking when you left," he reminded her.
        "That was nothing. You know it wasn't you I couldn't deal with, it was that fucking island. I was going out of my mind, nothing to do, the same people all the time, the damned ocean."
        "That fucking island is my home, Noelle, and those are my people."
        She shook her head. "You're being stubborn. You could live anywhere, people do move, all the time. You could live here, with me. You could find a church, or even just let me take care of you, I make good money. If you'd just come to your senses and dump that place, you . . . ."
        "That's enough," he snapped. "Isn't this where we left off three years ago? Nothing's changed, Noelle. You're not suited to live on the island, and I'm not suited to live anywhere else."
        She sighed, shaking her head. "You'll come to your senses. You need to cut your losses."
        Okay, that was enough. Keeping in touch over the phone had been easy enough, he'd just avoided controversial subjects, and so, apparently had she. But less than twenty minutes in person, and he was ready to do her bodily harm. "My senses are just fine, and what I need is help."
        "What you need is a miracle," she said archly.
        Abruptly Gus got to his feet. "You may be right, but what I don't need is this. I'm sorry but I think I should go."
        Noelle was on her feet instantly, contrition on her face. "Gus, no. I'm sorry. Please, stay."
        He shook his head. "No. Really, it's best that I go." As her expression turned stricken, he felt a flare of guilt. "Look, I'm sorry if I led you to think there might be a possibility of . . . anything. Sometimes it's difficult on the island, being alone, and I may have let that spill into our phone conversations."
        She nodded. "It's lonely here, too, sometimes. And maybe I was doing a little wishful thinking. It's easy to forget the bad, and just remember the good. And we did have a lot of good."
        He smiled, remembering. "Yes, we did." He pulled her close and hugged her, then let her go. "But we also learned every one of each other's buttons and how to push them."
        She smiled ruefully. "Oui. Unfortunately."
        Gus looked around. "So, my coat? I need to go see if I can find Ollie before he freezes. He hasn't got a coat."
        She went to the closet and took it out. "That man, he's a strange one. I think he's. . . ." she stopped and shook her head. "Never mind."
        "You think he's what?" Gus prompted.
        She blushed. "Nothing, really."
        "No, what?"
        She bit her lip. "Did you meet him at the conference?"
        Gus chuckled. "No, I picked him up hitch-hiking."
        "Gus! Dieu! That's so dangerous!"she gasped.
        "Relax, he's fine. A bit of a character, but no more so than I am."
        "Still, you should be careful. I think he's. . . . interested in you."
        Gus stared at her in surprise. How the hell could she have figured that out in three minutes at the door? "What makes you say that?"
        "Just a . . . feeling."
        He eyed her thoughtfully for a moment. "Even if he is, why should that bother me?"
        "Well, he might try something."
        "And that would be a bad thing?"
        She eyed him narrowly for a moment, then laughed. "Oh, you. I forget how much you love to play l'avocat du diable. Go on then, but take care. You know I worry about you."
        "Thanks, but there's nothing to worry about." He took his coat from her and pulled it on, getting his gloves out of the pockets and donning them as well. "Good bye, Noelle."
        She looked at him sadly. "It is, isn't it, this time?"
        He nodded. "I think it's best."
        "I'm sorry."
        "Don't be. Just go find someone more your style."
        She smiled. "And what would that be?"
        He looked around the foyer. "Someone who would rather have espresso than tea, and who doesn't smell like fish half the time?"
        She smiled a little. "I never minded that."
        He laughed. "Like hell you didn't. Be honest with yourself, Noelle, you'll be a lot happier."
        "And you? Are you honest with yourself?"
        He thought about that for a moment, then shook his head. "No. But do as I say, not as I do." He opened the front door, then kissed her on the forehead. "Goodbye. Be well. Invite me to your wedding, whenever it is."
        She nodded as he stepped outside, and closed the door behind him. The click of the lock sliding home gave him an odd sense of relief. It was cold, with a brisk breeze blowing, and would have been dark if not for all the porch and parking lot lights. Seeing that the car was still parked in front of the townhouse, he looked hopefully for Ollie, but it was empty. He dug in his pocket for the keys as he reached the door, only to realize he didn't have them. Ollie had been driving, he had the keys. Damn. He trudged back up to Noelle's door to ask to use her phone to call for a taxi, but as he reached for the doorbell, an odd shape hanging from the knob caught his eye. His keys, carefully hooked around the knob by a piece of leather. He realized after a moment that it was the choker Ollie had been wearing that first day. The sense of relief he'd felt on seeing the car dissipated instantly. Fuck. He untied the knotted leather and tugged the keys free, went back to the car and got in.
        Think. Where was he? Ollie had said he was going to a bar. Gus didn't remember seeing one, but that didn't mean anything, he hadn't been paying much attention at the time. He started the car and retraced their route. It didn't take him long to locate a bar-- an upscale sort of place, suited to the neighborhood. Not Ollie's sort of place at all, but Gus guessed he wouldn't have cared that much, as long as it was out of the cold. He parked and went in.
        A quick survey told him Ollie wasn't there. Frowning, he went to the bar.
        "Excuse me?"
        The bartender, a stocky woman with short dark hair, turned. "Oui?"
        Crap. He'd studied Russian in his youth, in defiance of logic, what with Quebec being next door, and ever since had wished he'd studied French instead. Maybe it would have kept him from buying a Russian submarine. But he wasn't going to get into that vicious thought circle now. He had work to do. He put on what he hoped was an ingratiating smile.
        "I'm looking for a man," he tried, hoping the barkeep was bilingual.
        She chuckled. "You and me both," she said in accented English. "Any particular man?"
        He grinned at her joke. "About my height, blond, English accent, no coat."
        "Ah. Him. Oui, he was here. Two pints of Guinness. Good tipper. But he left."
        Did he say where he was going?"
        She shook her head. "Non. Sorry. I was busy, didn't see him go."
        Gus wanted to swear, but didn't. He thought for a moment, trying to come up with a plan. "Look," he said finally. "If he comes back, tell him I'm waiting for him back at my friend's place, all right? And tell him to take a cab, it's cold out."
        She nodded. "Certainment."
        He took one last look around, tried the men's room just to be sure, and then went back to the car. He was about to get in when a thought occurred to him, and he went around to the back of the car to open the trunk. The duffel and the satchel were both still there. He sighed, relieved again. If Ollie'd taken off, he might have left the damned bearer bonds, but he'd have taken the duffel. He wanted to pay his crew. All right. That meant he was planning to come back. He closed the trunk and headed back to Noelle's.
        Her house was dark now, and a knock at the door brought no response. He smiled a little. She'd gone out. Apparently she didn't plan to waste any time looking for someone else. Ah well. It was cold, but not miserably so. He'd just wait in the car, run the heater now and then. Ollie'd be back. He got back in the car, adjusted the seat all the way back and stretched out a little with a sigh, thinking. Ollie and Noelle. Night and day. Though, come to think of it, they were kind of built alike. . . both tall and thinnish, and Noelle was pretty flat-chested. In fact, reviewing his past girlfriends, he shook his head, smiling. Maybe he wasn't quite as bisexual as he'd always thought.
        Still, in every other way, they were opposites. Where Noelle was clingy, Ollie was self-sufficient. Where she was pessimistic, he was optimistic; where she was unhelpful, he was. . . once again it hit him that Ollie had been more help in three days than anyone else has been in years. Ollie was smart, shrewd, reliable, had a core strength that had nothing to do with muscle mass and everything to do with self-assurance. Noelle didn't have that, and she'd relied on him to supply it. It would be very easy to get used to having Ollie around. Not that that was going to happen. Jesus. Now who was being clingy? Scowling, he settled into his seat, ducked his head so the street light didn't shine in his eyes, and waited.
        A sudden flare of light brought him awake with an adrenalin rush, and he straightened, seeing someone leaning into the passenger side back seat, picking up Ollie's bag.
        "Hey!" he said, unable to think coherently enough to manage anything more.
        The other man jumped, tried to straighten, hit his head on the door, and swore. "Fuckin'. . . what the hell? Gus?"
        Gus' heart started to slow a little. "Ollie?"
        "Jesus Christ, you scared the piss out of me! What are you doing out here?"
        "Well, we're even then, you scared the crap out of me. And I was waiting for you."
        "Why out here? It's freezing!"
        "I noticed," Gus said, rolling his sore shoulders and flexing stiff fingers. "I went to find you, couldn't, and figured I'd just come back here to wait for you, but by then Noelle had gone out."
        Ollie blinked. "Out? Last I saw she looked like she was settling in for the night with you."
        "Well, if you'd stuck around for longer than thirty seconds, you'd have known that I wasn't interested. Why the hell did you take off like that?"
        Ollie snorted. "When a lady tells you to fuck off, it's polite to do so."
        "When a lady does what?" Gus demanded, shocked.
        "You heard me. Can't get much plainer than that."
        "I'm sure you must've misunderstood her."
        "Gus, I just spent six months working in the sewers of Paris. Believe me, I know how to say screw off in French."
        "I don't know what to say. I had no idea. . . ."
        Ollie grinned. "Yeah, got that. Mr. I-Only-Speak-Russian. Hang on, let me get rid of my taxi here."
        He backed out of the car and went to the cab waiting a few feet behind the car. A few moments he was back, putting a big handled shopping bag into the seat next to his athletic bag, then closing the back door and settling into the front seat. "Come on, I got a motel room, let's go there, it's warmer."
        Gus stared at him, trying to figure out what was different. Then it hit him. Coat. Hat. Gloves. "You went shopping?"
        "Aye. Happen I was tired of freezing my arse off."
        "Good idea. You got a room?"
        "You always this dense when you first wake up? Yeah, I got a room. Thought you'd be. . . busy. So I got a room."
        Gus frowned, a little offended that Ollie would think he'd be that rude. "Why?"
        Ollie looked puzzled. "You said you swing both ways."
        "I do, but not simultaneously. . . at least not without the consent of both partners. Noelle and I split up a long time ago."
        "Sorry, didn't look very split up to me. Come on, start the car. It's cold."
        Gus started the car, then turned to stare at him again. "It doesn't speak very highly of your assessment of my character that you think I'd do that."
        Ollie frowned at him. "What?"
        "You really think I'd dump you, alone, in the middle of a strange city, just so I could screw an old girlfriend?"
        Ollie looked confused, almost lost. "Well. . . aye."
        Gus was starting to get angry. "Really? Would you?"
        "I . . . don't know. Haven't got any old girlfriends, or boyfriends, so it's a moot point."
        "You haven't. . . give me a break, Ollie. You know exactly what you're doing. You're not a virgin."
        "Of course not," Ollie said disdainfully. "But fucking isn't the same as having a . . . ." He paused, and that lost look flickered over his face again. "It's not the same," he finally repeated, a little uncertainly.
         It took Gus a moment to realize what Ollie was really saying. He frowned. "Can I ask you something?"
        "You can ask, happen I'll answer," Ollie said warily.
        "What's the longest relationship you've ever had?"
        Ollie thought for a moment. "A fortnight."
        Gus wasn't sure how he managed not to stare in gape-mouthed astonishment. Years of being a priest stood him in good stead, helping him maintain an unruffled demeanor. "I see."
        "What does that mean, 'I see'?"
        "It means I shouldn't be pissed at you for assuming that I'm like everyone else you've slept with."
        Ollie's eyes narrowed. "Don't do that."
        "Do what?"
        "You're feeling sorry for me. Don't."
        Damn. It was like Ollie could read his mind. "I'm not," he lied. "I just think there've been a lot of really stupid people in your life. So where's this motel?" he asked, changing the subject abruptly.
        Ollie frowned a little, clearly not sure what to make of Gus' comment, then shrugged. "Turn right out of the parking lot and go straight for about three miles. The taxi driver recommended it."
        Gus chuckled. "He probably gets a kickback."
        "Maybe, but it's all right. Pretty classy."
        "Yeah, in this area, I believe it." He pulled out and started down the road. "You've moved around a lot, haven't you?"
        "Aye. I go where the work is."
        "Do you ever want to stop moving?"
        Ollie sighed and poked his finger at a fogged-up spot on his window. "Happen so."
        Gus switched on the defroster. "Why haven't you, then?"
        "No reason to stay anywhere. No family."
        "There are other reasons to stay in one place."
        "Never ran across any of them," Ollie said with a shrug. "I found out a long time ago that thinking about what I haven't got only makes it seem worse, so I've learned to just be happy with whatever I've got."
        Gus was silent for a moment, contemplating that, then he smiled slowly. "You know, Oliver, there's something very profound about that."
        "Profound or not, it's practical." Ollie said succinctly. "See, I forgot that when I took the job for Bentley. If I'd remembered, I wouldn't be in this mess." He paused a moment, then shot Gus an apologetic look. "Not that you're a mess."
        Gus laughed. "No, you're absolutely right. I am a mess. And I'm sorry I subjected you to Noelle. Did she really tell you to fuck off?"
        "Pretty much. She told me to go screw myself. Didn't expect me to understand her."
        "And what did you say?"
        "Told her no thanks, I'd rather screw you."
        Gus chortled. "You did? Jesus! No wonder!"
        "No wonder what?"
        "Just before I left she told me to be careful, that she didn't trust you, thought you were after my ass."
        Ollie grinned. "She's right."
        "Thankfully. But I couldn't figure out how she knew that. Now I know."
        "Sorry, I should've been more careful."
        Gus shook his head. "No, she got what she deserved. And it just makes me even more glad I turned her down, so thanks."
        "You're an odd one, Gus Knickel."
        "So I am," he agreed complacently
        He drove in silence for a few minutes. The lights were with them, and they covered the distance quickly. Gus nodded toward the first sign for accommodations that he came to.
        "That the motel?"
        "Aye. The room's on the third floor." He paused, looked at Gus, and grinned. "In the front."
        Gus grinned back. "Not worried about neighbors?"
        "Nah, got some spare socks if you get noisy."
        "Me? I wasn't the one making all the noise."
        "No, just half of it," Ollie shot back as Gus pulled into a place and parked, then looked at Ollie.
        "Want to see just how quiet we can be?"
        Ollie's gaze warmed. "Happen so."
        Gus leaned across and kissed him, then pulled back. "Come on then, what are we waiting for?"
        Ollie licked his lips and nodded, then unfastened his seat belt and opened his door. Gus was seconds behind him, retrieving his bag from the back, watching Ollie get his own bags. As they walked through the lobby to the elevator, he nodded curiously at the paper sack. "What'd you get?"
        "Clothes. Needed a few things."
        "Extra socks?" Gus asked, smirking.
        Ollie grinned. "Aye."
        As the elevator doors closed behind them, Gus was tempted to kiss him again, but refrained. He was wearing his collar, and he was in public, and those two things combined demanded a certain level of circumspection. The urge was strong, though. Oddly, he kept thinking about the nonchalant way Ollie had said 'a fortnight' when Gus had asked him about the length of his previous relationships. God. Even Gus had done better than that. Sure he'd had his share of one night stands, but he'd also had several reasonably long-term relationships. Certainly longer than two weeks.
        Why would Ollie, who was smart, attractive, and extremely charismatic, not have had the same experiences? That puzzled him. It made him want. . . things he shouldn't want. He didn't have the time or energy to spare for a relationship, he had too much to do. And Ollie would be going his own way soon enough. They were a long day's drive from home, two if he could manage to stretch it out some. He was beginning to really dread getting home, for more reasons than he had already had. So, using Ollie's extremely practical philosophy, he should make the most of what time he had.
        The elevator opened on their floor, and Ollie led the way to their room. It was a generic motel room, a small foyer with a bathroom on the left, and a closet, a bureau, a television, a table, and a bed. The low-wattage light in the foyer area lit the whole with a yellow-tinted glow. As soon as the door closed behind them, Gus dropped his bag and pushed Ollie up against the wall, taking his mouth in a kiss that was almost fierce. Ollie resisted for a moment, clearly startled, then he relaxed and returned the kiss. His bags smacked Gus in the backs of his thighs as Ollie tried to embrace him, then there were two soft thumps as he dropped the bags and tightened his arms around Gus. His mouth was hot, his lips slightly rough, chapped a little from the cold and dry air.
        When they finally parted, they were both breathing hard, and a small bead of red welled on Ollie's lower lip, which he rubbed away with his thumb. Chagrined at his own roughness, Gus started to apologize, only to have Ollie shake his head and put a finger to his lips. Gus was confused for a moment, but Ollie looked amused, and lifted his eyebrows, clearly willing him to remember, and finally he did. Right. The challenge. Quiet. He hadn't meant they couldn't talk at all, but it would be interesting to try. Communication without words. He thought he could do that.
        He moved his hands up the front of Ollie's coat, opening buttons, then pushing it off his shoulders to fall onto the floor. Ollie smiled, and did the same for him, went him one better by tugging Gus' sweater up and off once his coat was gone. Gus reciprocated, and in moments they'd managed to strip one another with ruthless efficiency. Gus snagged his overnight bag and dropped it next to the bed as Ollie yanked the covers back and they fell onto the bed together.
        Gus let himself go, touching, stroking, kissing. All that wiry strength under his hands felt so damned good, so right. Ollie's hands were all over him, too, but he hardly felt them, he was so intent on burning the moment into his senses. A strange urgency suffused the quiet gasps and sighs that were the only sounds they allowed themselves. He groped beside the bed, unzipped his bag, and found the lube on top of his clothes where he'd left it, anticipating future need. Holding the cap in his teeth he unscrewed the tube and with his other hand prompted Ollie onto his stomach. He went, willingly, pillowing his head on his arms, spreading his thighs, and that open trust shook Gus, especially knowing how new this was to him.
        The first finger in went easy, the second provoked a gasp, and Gus hesitated until Ollie pushed back against his fingers, setting a clear rhythm. Gus leaned down to kiss and lick the faint scars that latticed his back, letting his fingers follow the cadence Ollie had given him until Ollie was rocking against the bed, and panting, and he couldn't stand the separation a moment longer. Moving into place, he slid home in a long, smooth push that wrenched an actual moan from both of them, despite their resolve.
        Gus wondered briefly, in an instant of too-coherent thought, if Ollie felt the same strange urgency he did, if this had gone from having sex to lovemaking. It had for him, he knew it. He tried not to know it, pushed the knowledge aside and buried himself in sensation, hilted in the tight clasp of Ollie's body, taking him with raw, primal thrusts. It was too much, too perfect. He was on the edge, so close, too close, and then he was over, pumping out his pleasure into Ollie's body, far too soon. It was nearly impossible to stay silent, but somehow he did, shuddering with the intensity of it.
        When he could think again, he was instantly aware of the unresolved tension in the body beneath his own. He felt heat burn in his face. No. Damn it. He started to ease out, and Ollie reached back to try to keep him there. He kissed the back of Ollie's neck and rubbed his nose against his shoulder as he lifted his hand away and finished disengaging, then instantly slid his fingers into Ollie in place of his cock, three this time, an effortless push now, in the slick heat. Ollie shivered, and Gus pulled him up a little so he could work a hand beneath him and cup the hard length of his cock, then began again, remembering the rhythm Ollie needed, each push he made into his body echoed by a squeeze of his hand. After that, it took only moments before Ollie tensed, shuddered, a tiny, inarticulate noise trapped in his throat, and then Gus' hand filled with slick heat, and he felt the pulsing inside Ollie as he came.
        Easing his fingers free, Gus rolled them onto their sides and wrapped his arms around Ollie, pulling him close. Ollie put his hands over Gus' and squeezed lightly, then sighed and yawned. Unable to resist that contagion, Gus yawned back, then chuckled a little. He thought about going to turn out the light, and get a wash cloth, then Ollie made a little murmur, nothing intelligible but clearly contented, and Gus abandoned both ideas and fumbled for the covers, dragging them up over them both, closing his eyes.

* * *

        Ollie watched Gus covertly, stealing glances now and then as they waited on queue to board the ferry. Though last night had been, without a doubt, the best night of his life, today had come close to being one of the worst days. They'd started arguing, mildly, while eating the free 'continental breakfast' at the motel (which, in America, he discovered, meant gooey pastries and coffee), and they'd been snarling at each other off and on for most of the day. Ollie wanted Gus to take the money. Gus wouldn't. Gus was a stubborn son of a bitch. Ollie was too.
        He'd also discovered that Gus had a sharp side to his tongue that Ollie hadn't had to deal with before, and it had taken him aback, though he thought he'd given as good as he'd gotten. They'd settled into a sullen silence, listening to whatever cassette came to Gus' hand each time the last one finished, so the quiet wouldn't be so noticeable. Finally it was their turn to drive aboard the ferry, and from the way Gus spoke to the man boarding them, it was clear they knew one another. The man looked curiously at Ollie in the driver's seat. Gus didn't introduce him. That bothered Ollie more than he wanted to admit. Once the car was aboard, Ollie set the brake and turned off the engine as Gus looked at him for the first time in a while.
        "I'm going to go talk to Davey. I need to check on something."
        Ollie nodded. "I'm going to go have a fag," he said. Gus had said he'd quit smoking years ago, so Ollie'd tried to be good and not smoke in the car, but sometimes the craving got bad, like now, and he'd go find somewhere else to indulge his vice. They both got out of the car and walked in opposite directions. Ollie stood at the bow, watching the water, smoking, and thinking.
        Finally he looked back at the car. No Gus yet. He looked to where he'd thought Gus would be, and didn't see him. He kept looking, and eventually spotted him up in the wheelhouse, talking animatedly with someone there. It hit him suddenly, that Gus had said the population of the island was something like six-thousand. He likely knew every last one of them by name, and they all knew him. He was their mayor, their minister, their head of fucking state. Their. . . fucking head of state. No, they weren't going to take kindly to Ollie's presence. Gus bringing home a piece of tail might have gone over all right if said piece was female, but . . . he wasn't. And he wasn't stupid enough to think they'd be fine with the idea of Gus taking up with a man. He was as sure of that as he was sure the sun would rise tomorrow. And he liked Gus too damned much to do that to him.
        He glanced up at the wheelhouse again. Two more people had joined him there, and Gus was smiling, laughing, talking. Ollie took one last drag on his cigarette and stubbed out the butt in a bucket of sand already littered with similar detritus, then he walked back to the car and got his kit out of the back seat, then unlocked the trunk. Checking the wheelhouse for any sign that Gus might be watching, he pulled out the big duffel, closed the trunk, then went back to the front and tucked the keys up in the sun visor. Picking up his bags, he walked back to where the last car was coming on, nodded pleasantly at the man minding the process, and stood for a moment at the start of the ramp that led onto the dock. He almost looked back one last time, but shook his head and walked down the ramp.
        A query at the ferry office garnered him the location of the local bus station and the use of the telephone to call a taxi to take him there. As he waited for the car to arrive, the ferry blew three blasts on its airhorn, and he watched out the window as it left the dock on its way to Solomon Gundy. He closed his eyes briefly, and hoped Gus wouldn't be too angry, would use the money, and . . . remember him. That was quickly followed by a savage inner sneer about how ridiculous he was being. He could feel the middle-aged woman behind the counter watching him, and decided to wait outside. He'd have another cigarette and use the time to think about where he should go.
        The wind on the quay was cold and damp, and he set down his bags so he could turn up his collar and get a cigarette out. He lit it, shook out the match, sucked in a lungful of smoke, and looked up to find someone leaning against the dock railing directly across from him, hands shoved into his coat pockets, shoulders hunched a bit against the cold, watching him as the wind blew his dark, curly, gray-streaked hair into a wild mess.
        "Fuck." He dropped the cigarette.
        Gus smiled. "Love to."
        Ollie looked at the ferry, well on its way, then back at Gus. "You're supposed to be on the boat. They're going to be right steamed when they can't get your car off at the other side."
        "I gave Davey the keys, he'll drive it off and park it," Gus said, studying him thoughtfully. His gaze dropped momentarily, cataloguing Ollie's possessions, then lifted. "You left the bonds in the car."
        Ollie flushed, nodded, and looked away from those shrewd blue-gray eyes. "Aye. Meant you to have them."
        Gus was silent for some time. Finally he spoke again. "Why?"
        He scowled, looked up again. "We've been through this forty times at least, Gus. You know why."
        Gus shook his head. "Not why did you leave the bonds. I know that. Why did you leave?"
        There was a slight huskiness in his voice, and a raw vulnerability in his eyes that hurt to look at. Ollie scrubbed his fingers through his hair, thought about lying, but as usual with Gus, couldn't bring himself to. "I didn't want to be a liability," he admitted finally.
        Gus blinked. "You what? What the hell does that mean? How would you be a liability?"
        "Jesus, Gus. I'm on the lam from the law, and I'm a poof, and we're fucking. What more do you need? Your people find out any of those things, let alone all of them, and you're going to have a hell of a time digging out from that mess. And they will figure it out. About us, anyway. You said yourself it's a small place, and people in small places know everyone else's business. They'll run you off the island."
        Gus stared at him, and started to shake his head, then he started laughing.
        Ollie scowled. "What's funny?" he demanded irritably.
        Still chuckling, Gus shook his head. "I'm not laughing at you, honestly. It's just. . . you have no idea how these people are. Jesus, I can't begin to tell you the lengths I've gone to trying to get them to kick me out once and for all, starting when I was a teenager. I set the library on fire once. I lost my virginity at seventeen to a guy from New York, an artist who came to the island to paint. I've gone through every vice you can name, alcohol, tobacco, women, men, gambling. . . all of them. And they've known about all of it, because as you say, people in small places know everyone else's business. And of course, some people were scandalized, but for the most part, they've just shaken their heads and coped. If they were going to toss me out on my ear they'd have done it long since. I finally just gave up trying. I'm afraid we're a pretty co-dependent lot."
        Ollie studied him, trying to decide if Gus was spinning a yarn or not. If he was, he was damned good at it. He flashed again on their conversation by the lake in Nebraska. Fanciful or not, the idea of sacred kingship seemed to fit the situation. A king, no matter what he did, was still a king. However, there was a flaw in Gus' theory that was patently obvious to him. "Aye, that's as may be, but there's a big gap between what people will forgive in a seventeen-year-old, and what they'll forgive that same man twenty years down the road."
        Gus took his hands out of his pockets and pushed away from the railing, moving to stand next to Ollie, uncomfortably close. In his experience people only got this close if they were going to hit you, or . . . kiss you.
        "Is that right?" Gus asked, still seeming amused. "Really?"
        "From what I've seen," Ollie said, not sure what he was getting at.
        Gus smiled, a predatory smile unlike anything Ollie had yet seen on his face, and he leaned forward, taking Ollie's face between his palms, and planting a kiss on him. Ollie resisted at first, shocked, but Gus's hands dropped to his back, holding him close, and that sleek tongue sought out his, and everything else stopped mattering, everything but that mouth, those hands, the fact that Gus didn't seem to be mad at him, in fact, seemed to still want him. He kissed back, licking, sucking, hands sliding down Gus' back to cup his ass through the heavy wool of his coat, trying to feel him.
        A bell jingled discordantly, and someone cleared their throat. Someone female. Ollie froze, mid-kiss.
        "For pity's sake, Augustus Knickel, take it around the corner, you're blocking the door," the woman from inside the ferry office said tartly. "And your cab's coming up the quay, whoever you are."
        Gus pulled back fractionally. "All right, Margery. Sorry."
        The bell jangled again as she went back inside. Ollie stared at Gus, who was still so close he was mostly just a blur, in amazement. Gus pulled back a bit more, enough that Ollie could see him looking annoyingly smug.
        "Margery's originally from the island, and she's known me since before I was born. Now, what was that you were saying?"
        "I. . . ah . . . ." It took him a good fifteen seconds to remember. And he realized that Gus had just ably demonstrated the error of his assumption. "But I'm a criminal," he protested weakly.
        "So am I. So's Sil. And Bunsy, and Meg, and Dougal, and Zeda, and pretty much everyone on the island when you get right down to it."
        Ollie blinked, trying to process that, knowing there was a flaw there somewhere. Yes. That was it. "If you're a criminal why won't you take the money?"
        Gus frowned. "That's not relevant."
        "It sodding well is relevant."
        Gus sighed and pushed away, looking at the cab waiting just a few yards away. "You going to take that?"
        "I haven't decided yet. Tell me why you won't do it. Tell me a reason that makes sense."
        "It's not mine."
        "Nor was the island."
        "That's . . . "
        "Different?" Ollie asked, feeling a grin that was more a snarl twist his mouth. "How?"
        "It's the principle involved."
        "Fuck principle, Gus. You need it."
        "Noelle told me what I need is a miracle, and she was right. Hell, lately I've even resorted to praying."
        Ollie sighed in frustration and paced a bit, finally rounding on Gus once more. "You know, I heard a joke once, about a man who was stranded on his roof in a flood, and he was sure that God would save him . . . ." Ollie began.
        "I'm familiar with it," Gus interrupted. "Believe me, I heard pretty much every clerical joke in existence over the last week or so. Tell me if this is the one-- the man's neighbor comes by in the rowboat, and the man tells him to go on, that he has faith that God will save him. Then the police come by in a power boat, and he waves them on, saying God will save him, and finally the army shows up in a helicopter and he refuses to go, saying God will save him. . . and finally the water rises too high and sweeps him away and he drowns. When he gets to heaven he asks God why he didn't save him, and God says 'I sent a rowboat, and a power boat, and a helicopter, what more did you want?'"
        Ollie chuckled. "Aye, that's the one." He put his hand on Gus' shoulder and rubbed gently. "Happen that money's your rowboat, your power boat, or your helicopter?"
        Gus opened his mouth, clearly about to protest, then he closed it again. He looked at the taxi, then back at Ollie. "Don't go."
        "I have to go, unless you can give me a reason not to. I won't stay here and fight with you, Gus. I'm no expert, but even I know that's fucked up."
        Gus sighed, ran his hands through his hair, and looked back at Ollie. "Yeah. I don't want to fight with you, Ollie, but you know, I don't think the money's my helicopter. I think you are. I . . . need you."
        Ollie snorted. "Aye, you need me like you need a good swift kick in the pants."
        "I need that, too. Damn it, Oliver, I'm serious here. I need you. Please."
        "You need me?" Ollie asked combatively. "What for? Because I don't see it."
        "I need you because you don't need me," Gus said after a moment, staring bleakly off across the water. "I know that's crazy. It's stupid. But it's true. And I need you because you're a doer, and you think of things like eminent domain, and offshore banking and software companies and built-in firewalls. And because you're honest with me, and you don't let me get away with crap, and I . . . like you. I like you a lot. And you're amazing in bed. Is that enough reasons?"
        Ollie stared at him, struck speechless, until the taxi honked impatiently, breaking the tension of the moment. He sighed. "You're daft, you know that, don't you?"
        Gus nodded solemnly. "It's more than likely."
        Ollie shook his head. "Hang on." He walked to the taxi, digging in his pocket for money, and came out with a handful of twenties. He knew he didn't dare go dig in the duffel for something smaller, so he motioned for the driver to roll down his window and held one out. "Here. Give me ten minutes, all right? I need to settle sommat."
        The driver looked at the American twenty-dollar bill in his hand and grinned. "Hell, for this you can have half an hour at least. Take your time."
         Ollie nodded and returned to stand next to Gus, who had resumed his place at the railing, staring out at the gray, whitecapped expanse of the strait. He looked relaxed and contemplative until Ollie noted the tension in his hands on the railing, his knuckles almost white.
        "That's a lot, what you said," he ventured carefully.
        Gus flinched. "Jesus, I sounded like a damned three-year-old. Me-me-I-I-I. I'm sorry. I'm not usually . . ."
        Ollie shook his head impatiently "Shut it, Knickel. I think you're allowed to be selfish now and then. I've spent most of my life doing it, you seem to have spent most of yours trying not to be. But I'm not entirely sure what you're asking, or offering. Could be a job. Could be friendship. Could be sex."
        Gus looked at him, his gaze clear and candid. "Could be all of that."
        Well. That was . . . unexpected. Uncertain what to say, Ollie cleared his throat, and sidestepped. "We've still got a shitload of problems to work out. For instance, the money."
        Gus sighed. "You're right, we can't get anywhere without resolving that first. I don't want to use it, you know I don't. But you have a point . . . it is, forgive the word, a godsend. Can we . . . use it as an emergency backup plan? Try everything else first, and if we haven't needed it by this time next year, we give it all back, right?"
        "Hang on, next year? You're thinking pretty far ahead there."
        "Yes. When this whole thing started, I wasn't thinking any further ahead than a few days. That was a real problem. So, I'm learning to make long-term plans."
        Long term plans? Christ. Long term plans. His stomach knotted and he looked at Gus, frowning. "I don't know that I can do that."
        Gus nodded. "I understand that. I'm just letting you know that the opportunity . . . exists. I don't want to pressure you."
        Ollie snorted at that and Gus smiled wryly.
        "All right, yes, I do. But I won't. I'm going to go up the quay to the sandwich shop and get something warm while I wait for the next ferry. If you want to join me, I'd like that. If you want to come to the island, I'd like that too. You can decide not to decide now, and come back in a week, a month, a year. You can get in that taxi and never look back. But it's your call and you need to make it without me standing here watching you. Decisions made under duress are too easily regretted."
        He put out his hand and Ollie automatically reached out to clasp it. Gus closed both of his hands around Ollie's. "If I don't see you again, take care," he said, and turned, walking away. After half a dozen steps he turned. "Don't sign up for any more shady deals, okay?" he called back.
        Ollie smiled, and nodded. "I won't. Learned my lesson."
        Gus smiled back, turned, and kept walking this time. Ollie took a hesitant step toward the taxi, stopped, looked out at the gray sky and gray sea to the east. He shivered. Picking up his bags he walked over to the passenger side of the taxi and put his hand on the rear door latch, was actually lifting it up when a pair of gulls battling over some choice piece of trash drew his gaze up the quay, and he knew, suddenly, what his decision had to be. He stepped back and rapped on the window. The driver rolled it down.
        "Ta, mate, don't need a ride after all. Thanks for waiting."
        "You sure?"
        Ollie nodded. "I'm sure."
        "You only used half your time, you want change?"
        "No, keep it. It was worth it to have the option."
        "Thanks then. Have a good one," the driver said, without specifying one what.
        Three minutes later Ollie was stepping out of the light rain that had begun to fall and into a small, warm room that smelled of chicken soup, chili, and bread. He spotted Gus sitting at the counter, his back to the door, hands wrapped around a steaming mug of something. For a few seconds he stood in the doorway, nearly frozen in place. He recognized the sensation, he'd felt it before, but rarely without a police escort. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and went to the counter, leaning the large duffel against the counter on the left of the stool next to Gus, and wedging the small bag between their stools before finally sitting down. Gus looked down, looked up, and the smile that lit his face hit Ollie in a way that told him he'd made the right decision. At least for the moment. Neither of them spoke for some time, they just grinned at each other daftly, until the counterman cleared his throat.
        "You want something?"
        "Tea, please," Ollie said without looking at him, finding his voice. "So, do I have to meet Zeda?" Ollie asked, trying to lighten the silence straining between them.
        Gus blinked, looking puzzled. "I'm afraid so. Why?"
        "Never met anyone's sort-of-mum before. Scares the bollocks off me."
        "Jesus, I hope not!" Gus said, appalled. "Maybe you could just think of her as the Minister of the Interior instead?"
        Ollie laughed. "Oh aye, that'll help," he said, deadpan.
        "You should have bought that suit like I told you to."
        Ollie cleared his throat and nudged his travel bag with a toe. "I. . . ah . . . ."
        "You didn't," Gus said, sounding amused as the counterman set a mug of tea down in front of Ollie.
        "Aye. In Montreal, same place I got the coat. Saw it, and thought of what you said. It'll be a bit wrinkled, though, had to sort of stuff it in there." He picked up the sugar dispenser and dumped some into the dark liquid, then stole the half-glass of milk from next to Gus' cup and added some of that to his own drink.
        "I have an iron. I think. Somewhere. Or maybe that was Noelle's. Maybe we should buy one just to be sure."
        "Happen so."
        "We'll do that right after I declare eminent domain and slash our debt burden by about seventy-percent."
        "Good plan."
        "And you can start looking for companies to invite out to visit, as Minister of Economic Development."
        "Actually, saw an article in the paper the other day about eco-tourism. Thought that might be right up your alley. The economy would get a shot from resort construction first, then from the tourists later."
        "The hell with this Minister of Economic Development stuff, I'm just going to resign and let you run the country."
        Ollie looked at him and shook his head. "You can't do that, you're the king. I'm just the knight-errant. You just have to remember that you had the sacrifice, now you need to let yourself heal."
        Gus closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, then opened them again. "I think . . . I might just be getting there."
        Ollie smiled. "Right then. What's next on the agenda?"
        Gus leaned a little closer and dropped his voice to a level barely discernible over the noise of something frying on the grill. "Before or after we get to the part with the old quilt and the kerosene lamp and the taste of sea-salt on your skin?"
        Ollie choked on his tea, and had to wipe his coat and the counter with a handful of napkins from the tin dispenser. He knew his face was bright red, but he was determined not to let Gus get the best of him. "I suppose that during would be beyond the pale . . . ." he said with studied nonchalance.
        "Is that another economic development scheme?" Gus asked, equally deadpan. "Pay-per-view cabinet meetings?"
        "It's a thought," Ollie said musingly. "Though from what you've said, I'm not sure the Minister of the Interior would really be up for it."
        Gus' eyes went wide, then he started to laugh. No, really, to giggle, there was no other word for it. He laughed until he was crying, wiping his eyes on the tea-stained napkins Ollie had used to mop his spill. He finally got himself under control by gulping several swallows of hot tea in a way that made Ollie wince, and drew a deep, shuddering breath.
        "All right, what do I have to do to make you promise to never, ever, mention that to Zeda?"
        Ollie grinned. There it was. His opening. "Take the fucking bearer bonds and use them, Robin."
        Gus frowned. "Rob . . . oh. So, that would make you. . . Will Scarlett? Because you're for damned sure not Little John," he joked, then his smile faded and he studied Ollie solemnly for a moment, then finally he nodded. "All right. Like I said, let's try to do it without using them first, but if we really, honestly need them, we'll use them. I promise. No dramatics, no angst. You have my word on it, will that do?"
        He put out his hand and Ollie took it. Gus' grip warm and firm, and familiar. "Aye. It'll do."
        

* * * Finis * * *

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¹William Shakespeare; Hamlet, scene v. act i.

²Sir John Harington, Epigrams, bk. iv, No. 5. Of Treason.

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