The Jigsaw

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Dear reviewers, thank you for your kind words! You have no idea how precious they are to me...

I hope a deal is still a deal... I write, you comment ;)


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Jeffrey Karnov slowly raised the blue drink and tapped his teeth with the glass. It had been a good day. He had set some lucrative business that evening, got a back rake-off, and now he was looking forward to a fabulous party. Uuuuhh... hot Thai dancers - that, for sure, was something to dream about.



Sitting at the redly illuminated bar, he was scanning faces in search for something that would catch his eye. The crowd was closening in, waves of people still flocking to the club. Kaleidoscope of colors, provocative creations, hairstyles and make-ups.



"Martini with ice, please," the soft, low voice sounded behind him. Slowly, with a lazy casualness of an experienced party regular, Jeffrey turned his head. Blond. Red lipstick. How typical. Hostile glance. Karnov smiled slightly. He liked challenges.



"Let me stand you this one..." he turned his whole body towards the counter.



"Sure," she shrugged and lit the cigarette with quick, almost nervous movements.



"Do you often come here?"



"Why?"



"I haven't seen you. I would, if you have come at least once."



"I have," she wasn't looking at him, smoking, drinking martini and staring at the bar shelves.



"Not in the mood, huh? Something unpleasant happen?"



"Happened," the wide glass hit the counter a bit louder than it was intended.



"Go ahead. It helps, I know it myself."



"Fucking..." the girl broke off and bit her lip.



"Aww... He must have been a bastard!" Karnov nodded his head pretending to understand. Or maybe he really understood. People, men, were bastards. At least some of them were.



"What?" she seemed disoriented. Not until then did she cast an indifferent glance at the man.



"You started with fucking... Wasn't it about a man?"



"Shit, no... I was thinking it was a fucking cheap pick-up line."



Jeffrey felt the heat slowly crawling up his cheeks. The blond girl definitely didn't look like one who had high standards.



"Riiiiight..." he slowly let the air out.”It was. Can I have another try?"



"Why not? Today sucks. Nothin' better to do anyway," the faint smile flickered on her full, glaring red lips.



"Well, this... I can't agree. There are a lot of options if you look around..." Jeffrey winked at her.



"I said 'nothing better' Mr Casanova..."



"Oh," he laughed shortly. "That I’ll take for a compliment, then."



The girl said nothing, just waved at a bartender and ordered the next drink, on Karnov again.



At the nearby wall a young pair were lazily sipping mojitos, sometimes smiling, but not talking too much. From time to time they looked swiftly over the people at the bar. Minutes were passing by, alcohol slowly started to warm them up. They weren’t drinking as much as to get drunk, only enough to feel light and relaxed.



***



Casey was browsing through the folders. Nothing. Personal files, some photos, company documents, movies... Everything one could expect, but nothing suspicious. No ciphered files, nothing hidden, even in the mail box. Casey sighed and leaned against the armchair, throwing his head back. Probably the separate drive, kept in a safe or something... He met Sam's asking eyes. Nothing, he shook his head. The green light on Sam's watch blinked dimly. He pressed the receiving button and in the headphones he heard Linda's voice.



"Hi, still drinking."



Sam walked out of the room and in the corridor he opened a window overlooking the garden.



"Still digging," it was an arranged safety password. He was murmuring softly, as quietly as possible.



"He has left," Linda reported.



"Home?"



"No. To the girl he had met here. They were talking about it. We are following anyway."



"Roger."



"Over and out."



Sam closed the window and returned to the office.



Casey had already closed the laptop and was combing through the desk drawers. Black eyes rested on his bent silhouette for a second, expressing "hey, this is not your job" attitude, but the man didn't say a word and went back to searching through the lockers.



Nothing. They had burrowed the whole office and found nothing interesting at all. Leaving everything just as they found it, they moved to the bedroom. A large, heavy, double bed made of some kind of dark, exotic wood was certainly a piece of eye catching furniture. Together with gold and red, ornamented bedspread and thick curtains it created a climate of too emphasized luxury. On the bedside table there was another laptop, black, small, and lost in the room's splendor.

Casey approached it without hesitation. He knelt in front of it, not wanting to crumple the bedding.



Here we go - Windows again... He shook his head with disapproval.



Sam flicked through the wad of papers on the small desk. An ivory-colored, elegant envelope caught his attention. It wasn't sealed. Inside, there was an invitation. Art vernissage. Sam gave some thought to it and finally made a picture with his watch micro-camera. It just might be useful.

The green light started blinking again and Sam left the room, pressing the button.



"Hi, still digging?" Linda's voice was sharp.



"Yep, still digging."



"Then stop. He is heading home."



"What?!"



"Sam, I know what I said. I said what HE had said. But apparently he has changed his mind."



"Where is he?"



"Well, close enough. I have just found out where we are."



"How much time?"



"Three, maybe five minutes."



"Is he alone?"



"No. Still with this girl."



"Drunk?"



"Not really. He drunk a bit, but he is still driving..."



"OK, over and out."



Sam angrily pressed the button and disconnected the transmission. He rushed to the bedroom and jerked Casey's arm showing him the door. Casey gave him a short, irritated look and flinched, trying to finish what he had started. Sam didn't let him. He forcibly turned Casey's head to face him and clearly, but voicelessly, articulated: "OUT. NOW!" He didn't make a sound but the sharp expression of black eyes told Casey that there was an exclamation mark at the end. A very loud exclamation mark. The man clenched his teeth and taking Sam's head, for a change, forced him to look at the screen. Then he pressed some random keys, moved a mouse and... nothing happened.



"HANGING!" his lips told.



Fuck! It was the common thought.



They couldn't just close the laptop. Next time it would start in recovery mode and disclose that someone had used it. Sam pushed the restart button and nodded to Casey, letting him to reload the system, then threw a look around to find the way out of the situation. His brain was working quickly.



The door downstairs clicked.



Two housebreakers didn't waste a second to exchange glances. With shaking hands Casey was completing the log-off operation. Heavy, chaotic steps were closer, higher... Voices, full of amusement, were echoing in the corridor. The loud thud announced bodies pressing against the wall with impetus.



The system went down. Casey, close to panic, somehow managed to close the computer carefully. He immediately got brutally grabbed by Sam and dragged into the dark corner behind the wardrobe, veiled by a curtain.



The door slammed open and a chuckling pair burst into the room. The weak, dim light went on.



"This is soooft, darling..." Karnov croaked grabbing the girl's buttocks with both hands and squeezed them. She snorted drunkenly and latched her body to his while pushing her tongue into his ear. He made a long-drawn-out, hoarse groan.



Casey stiffened. Aware of every muscle, he found it unfeasible to relax. He was trying to control his breath, having the impression that it was loud enough to be heard in the whole house. The more he attempted to slow down breathing the more his lungs were craving for air. His pulse was going mad, sweat drops were slowly crawling down his forehead. He was all hot from nerves and felt guilty. For a good reason or not, he broke into somebody's house and it just wasn't right. It absolutely didn't seem like an important mission carried out by special agents. Now, like a rascal who did a mischievous crime, he was scared and hiding. The picture was completed by the fact that the one he was hiding from was a criminal, and only God knew what he would do if he caught them.



They were standing squeezed in the corner, Casey tensed and afraid of breathing. His back was leaning against the wall and he had Sam pressed against his chest. As panic was slowly and reluctantly releasing him from its claws, he could feel the man's regular heartbeat and slow breath on a cheek. It had a surprisingly calming effect. Casey half-closed his eyes and concentrated on this subtle rhythm, trying to adjust.



The uninvited guests couldn't see anything through the thick curtain, apart from vague shadows. They could just hear the sounds, but the sounds were more than enough to imagine the picture.

For a long while the only signs of somebody's presence were wet, smacking noises, and creaks of the bed. They mixed with the soft rubbing of a body against another body, a hand against skin, clothes being slipped off and abandoned onto the floor.



"Aaaaah...." the sensual moan escaped a woman's red lips.



"Yeah, babe..." the low, hoarse growl complemented the erotic chord.



As the tension finally started to leave Casey, other emotions came up to the surface. Still focused on Sam's heartbeat and listening to his breath, he suddenly felt disconcerted and awkward. His body, already relaxing, tautened again, as if trying to lessen the contact between men's bodies to a minimum. He was getting hot.

Oh, God!

Maybe it was because of the working clothes and the balaclava, maybe because of a normal physical reaction to the situation, or maybe both... Whatever the reason was, he wanted it to disappear. He wanted to get out of there and be alone.



"Gimme... oh, yeahhh..." the low, sensual voice, full of lust, was inviting Karnov to go wild. And so he did. Diving between strong, slender legs, wrapped with fishnet stockings, he lost himself in this primal passion and desire of physical fulfillment.



Casey bit his lips, trembling slightly.

Fuck! Holy shit! He knew this feeling; the gentle waves of warmth rolling down his body, making it sensitive and responding. The tingling sensation down in the abdomen was slowly but inexorably leading to an unwanted reaction. Casey panicked and impulsively gave Sam an alarmed look, knowing immediately that it had been a huge mistake. Sam was observing him with a mocking sneer, apparently having entertainment and waiting for a course of events with barely concealed curiosity. Hot embarrassment flushed Casey's face and he fixed his eyes on the curtain, desperately trying to control his body, which was practically impossible, when not being able to move or do anything else. In a rush of desperation he started to evoke sad, terrible or disgusting memories and visions. He needed something to concentrate, not to be absorbed by the passionate, dirty sex going on just a few meters away. But the more he was trying to escape with his attention and stay separated from Sam, the greater the fun was for his partner. Casey was losing it.



Sam was perversely pushing and trying him, clinging to him and not leaving him with any room for manoeuvre. The broad chest was crushing Casey's chest squeezing air out of his lungs, the strong thigh squeezed slowly but forcefully in between trembling knees. The terrorized man could feel the hardening swell pressed to his groin.



"Oh, Christ... Yes! Yeeees!" the bed started creaking regularly. Karnov was panting heavily, the girl was moaning encouragingly from time to time. Soft, clammy pounding announced the culminating point of action.



The warmth of deep, humid breath on his neck and the soft skin of Sam's cheek, lightly brushing his ear and jaw, had an electrifying effect on Casey. And this sensuous, bitter and dark smell of perfume... Breathing fast and shallowly, he felt slightly faint. His head was thumping from erratic pulse, blood boiling, the body hardly managing to stand still. He had no more strength to fight all the sensation. It was just too much. His manhood, teased by the pressing thigh, became a center of his being and he gave in, despising himself, despising Sam and despising the invisible people heading to the loud and rough climax.



"Aaaaaah!!! Oh, god... Yes, fuck... aaah...!" the madness in the bedroom reached its peak. Panting, moaning, crying, pounding, creaking... The air was full of hot sex, the sticky ambience of lust permeated behind the curtain.



Casey wanted to cry. Or vomit. Or both. But his body wanted only one thing: to follow the instinct.



Suddenly Sam let go. Then very, very quietly he whispered into Casey's ear:



"Relax, okay?"



Oh, that was so cruel! Again...

Fuck you, pervert...! Torn between the desperate will to salvage the last shreds of dignity, and breaking the dam and letting the sensual pleasure to blow him away, Casey couldn't pull himself together. His chest was hurting with a chocked sob; the will to explode was driving him crazy. Humiliation and rage were competing to get the better of him.



Nevertheless, the soft voice in his ear had been unexpectedly soothing, with no mockery discernible, and Casey unwillingly succumbed to this calming, rather accidental for both of them, support. It was obvious Sam had eased off only not to push the luck and stay safely hidden, but it worked anyway.



So they were left standing, both warmed up and hard, Casey still jittery, regaining control slowly, with visible effort, blindly staring at the wardrobe behind Sam's back.



"That was fucking good, honey..." Karnov muttered tossing on the bed, exhausted and wheezing.



"Mhm..." a lighter clicking sounded followed by the woman dragging on a cigarette. A few moments later the faint tobacco smell reached the men hidden in the corner. Sam tilted his head back and licked his lips. He definitely felt like smoking. Those who smoke always crave for it after sex...



***



Monday was grey and rainy. The world seemed sad, sleepy and annoyed. This bad mood affected Sarah, who was sitting almost naked on the edge of a bathtub for 15 minutes now and staring at the burgundy, satin dress hanging on the towel rail. She was angry. She had been holding a grudge for two days already, since she had got the assignment. Her job was to attend the art vernissage, the same one Karnov was invited for, and... seduce him. It was like a slap in her face. Everything she had been trying to avoid turned up like a bad penny.



"Sarah, are you ready?" Simon's voice sounded behind the door.



"Not yet."



"C'mon... don't sulk. What has been decided is decided. You’re not making it easier for anyone."



Sarah bridled at those words and clenched her teeth but said nothing. With a reluctance written all over her face she stroke the smooth fabric and took the evening dress off the hanger. The fabric was falling in soft folds caressing her fingers. She flinched and quickly put it on, unconsciously holding her breath, as if diving in cold water.



The sleeveless dress was cut deep at the back, revealing the soft lower back curve and closing teasingly just above the coccyx. It was the condition if she wanted the front modestly covered. The velvet collar was surrounding the neck and the fabric, gathered at the top, was falling over her body, fitting tightly around the waist and hips, being more of a promise than cover.



She felt naked and weird. The look of her own eyes in the mirror was heavy and uncomfortable enough to make the idea of exposing herself to dozens of people terrifying. She was staring at deep, graphite and black shadows covering her eyelids, at long, curved eyelashes and nervously licking her lips. It wasn't her face, what she was looking at. It was a face of a stranger. Lips to big and intensive, eyes to dark... She was wearing a mask. And that hair? Long, heavy earrings?



"Sarah! Come out, please," Simon knocked at the door. She pulled the knob forcefully and slammed the door open.



"Wow..." the beautiful woman looked like a Valkyrie: fiery, enraged, and ashamed. “You look stunning. Really."



"Shit, I feel... My ass is almost naked!"



"Yeah... I wish it was," Simon winked at her and smiled.



"Oh, shut up!" she blushed, grabbed the towel and threw into his face.



"Easy, girl!" he laughed, amused and shook his head on this dissonance between the woman's nubile image and her coarse behavior. "Ready to go?"



"No. But I won't be more ready than I am," Sarah knitted her brows and took a deep breath to summon up her courage. She grabbed a small purse and a shawl offered gallantly by Simon and with energetic step, soldierly even, meant to cover her confusion, she left the room. Simon sighed with resignation, watching her manlike walk and thinking that hopefully Karnov was not a purist when it comes to female charm.



***



One.



Two.



Three.



Four...



The stairs were long and slippery. Sarah's legs were getting tangled in her dress. She was climbing slowly and carefully, the first floor seemed to be so far, so high... What a relief that she had won a battle for flat-heeled shoes.



At the top there was a man was standing. She stopped and bit her lips.



Sam was looking down at her. No, through her. His shirt and the bow tie under the winged tip collar stood out with their snowy whiteness against the black, perfectly-cut no-button tuxedo with satin lapels and piping. He had his hair slicked back; the tattoo had been skillfully masked.



An advertisement... Sarah lowered her eyes and moved on upstairs. She felt nervous in Sam's presence. But this night they weren't together at the party. They didn't know each other.

Sam gave her a studied look of a connoisseur that was assessing a pure-bred mare, slowly turned back and disappeared behind the enormous, heavy double doors.



Sarah went up the steps and with her heart in her mouth she entered the exhibition hall. She was stiff, as if she had swallowed a broomstick, as she tried to walk slowly and look indifferent. She had an impression everyone was looking at her. The impression was close to the truth. Men who had noticed her were following the redheaded beauty with more or less discreet glances.



Finally, after what seemed like an eternity for her, she got to the bar - the safe haven. Instinctively she reached for a bottle of vodka, but at the very last moment she managed to stop the hand and choose red wine. She poured the ruby liquid into the barrel-shaped glass and took a large gulp. She just needed alcohol and it was beyond her abilities to deny herself this first, relaxing dose. Then she took a few deep breaths and hesitantly looked around. Some men diverted their eyes, some didn't, but the party was going on and the world hadn't stopped to watch her efforts with suspicion.



"On your left. He is watching you," the micro speaker hidden in her large earring spoke with Sam's voice. Sarah didn't look left, but with a trained gesture, that she hoped had been sensual, she brushed her hair off her arm, exposing her neck and ear.



"Okay, you have him. Good luck," she heard. Her heart started pounding. The game had started, there was no turning back.



"Would you mind if I join?" she recognized Karnov. A clean-shaven man in a white suit looked harmless, even nice. Of course, she hadn't expected the dangerous guy looking like a criminal, but she felt relieved anyway.



"I'd be honored," she forced herself to smile. "I don't know anyone here..."



"I absolutely understand. Let's say it honestly: it can be boring," the man smiled back and winked to break the ice.



Time and drinks were passing quickly. Jeffrey Karnov was devouring his interlocutor with his eyes and Sarah was pretending she wasn't aware of that. It was clear for both of them that someone should make a decisive step and propose transferring their acquaintance onto private ground, but Sarah couldn't force herself to do that and Karnov felt that rushing things could scare the woman away. Finally, when the clock struck midnight, the agent gathered her strength and cast a seductive glance at the man. Although she wasn't able to utter the inviting word, Karnov's trained eye momentarily discerned the chance he was waiting for. But something happened then, no one intended. Being too sure of himself, the man lowered his hand and put it gently on Sarah's buttock. With a movement as quick as a lightning she shook off his hand and slapped him in the face, splashing the wine on his impeccable clothing. She knew right away that she screwed up the job. Karnov froze for a second, staring blindly at the scarlet stains on his chest. Sarah panicked and leaped at him with a napkin grabbed from the table. She was just about to start rubbing when Sam appeared out of nowhere.



"Madame, sir, is everything all right?" he bowed politely.



Uh..." Karnov still haven't shook off surprise.



"Yes, yes, of course... I moved carelessly and spilled the wine. I’m such a butterfingers!" Sarah fixed her frightened eyes on Sam. He gave her a strongly reassuring look, what came as a surprise to her, as she was expecting something completely different.



"Here, let me help you..." with her face burning with shame and heart pounding in fear, she nervously started to rub Karnov's suit.



"That's okay..." Karnov felt slightly confused. "We are okay, sir, thank you. Nothing happened," he said to Sam, who bowed once again and turned back, "I'm sorry to have disturbed you," being his parting shot.



"Easy Sarah... cool down," this sentence was meant only for Sarah; she heard it in her speaker.



"I... I'm sorry. I... It was just so sudden, I wasn't expecting..." she tried to explain.



"I scared you. I apologize," Karnov smiled. "So... does it mean we're still friends?" he winked at her.



"Oh, sure... friends," she forced herself to smile back by willpower

.

"I look like some sort of bum!" the man chuckled feeling the ruined suit.



"NOW, Sarah. Go for it!" the agent heard the insistent voice in her ear, took a deep breath and gave her all, saying: "I... we could wash it, I think..."



"No, I don't think we could" Karnov was back in his element. "But we could take it off for sure..." There was a perceptible note of seduction in his voice.



Sarah swallowed hard and stammered out: "I... think... I have a good washer-dryer".



"I bet it's wonderful! Let's go... washing, then." Karnov offered his arm to the blushing woman and lead her to the door.



"That's my girl! Good job," she heard Sam's supporting voice again and thanked God for it.



***



The taxi driver was chewing a gum with a sleepy face. He was trying to ignore the romantic pair on the back seat, although he could see that the woman was accepting advances rather with embarrassment than enthusiasm. Her partner seemed to be even more excited by this and spared no effort in seducing. Suddenly the woman stooped and, pretending fiddling around with her shoe, with a fast movement grabbed the little object from under the front seat. Then she smiled widely to the man, for the first time that night the smile being natural and honest, and put her arms around his neck. Something pricked him slightly. He instinctively slapped his neck with his hand and one of the last things he was aware of was the touch of a syringe and a long needle. It took short seconds until his vision blurred and went black and his consciousness sank in itself.



"Fuck!" Sarah exploded. Her suppressed feelings at last could find an outlet.



"That was close, Sarah," Simon cast a glance on a back seat, to find Karnov lying lifeless.



"I know... sorry. Shit, I..." she shook her head, still nervous.



"Leave it. You are in for it, that's for sure, but now we still have things to do."



"Yes..."



"I'll leave you here. See you in the hotel."



"Yeah, thanks."



The car stopped at the bus stop and Sarah got off. A moment later the taxi had melted into the traffic.



***



"What..." Karnov shook his head to clear his vision. It took few seconds for him to remember what had happened. He jerked his head up and froze, blinded by the sharp light. He yanked, trying to stand up, but tight fetters kept him in place. He was sitting on a hard chair, his hands fasten behind its back, feet tied on to metal legs. Around his chest ran a thick rope, immobilizing him on the chair. The blinding light of a spotlight revealed no more than cold, stone walls and a concrete floor. The basement. Someone was standing in front of him, but in the dazzling brightness his face couldn't be seen. Karnov had his heart in his mouth.



"Where am I? Who are you? What do you want?!" questions were coming like shots out of the machine gun.



"Calm down. I won't hurt you. I just want to ask some questions," Simon lazily leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest.



"What... Who are you?!" the man started to struggle in panic, but he got neither answer nor freedom. "Please...!" his voice became pleading. "I am nobody! I swear! For God's sake, I know nothing!" Simon was silent. He let Karnov panic. The imagination always suggests the most cruel and terrifying visions and possibilities so silence worked better for him than any words he could find.



The low whirr disturbed the sleepy, gloomy atmosphere of a dark backstreet and the black motorcycle with a powerful engine slowly rolling in between the squalid tenements. It stopped in front of the man in a black leather coat. The driver took off his helmet and gloves before dismounting from the machine. He was just as high as the man waiting for him. Their eyes met for a long while, perfectly cold and indifferent. Black holes and ambers.



"Let's go," said the man in black and not waiting for a response he turned back and disappeared in the suspiciously looking entrance. The motorcyclist followed him silently. They descended to the basement and opened the door marked with a line of light showing in the clearance under it.



Karnov jumped in his seat, hearing people entering the room. His breath sped up; eyes widened with terror were franticly trying to pick out any shapes or faces.



"Please, please... don't kill me!" he started begging again.



A hand attired in a black glove delivered a blow in his face. The force of the strike threw his head aside, his nose started to bleed, as well as his smashed lips. He sobbed briefly and choked on his blood. He didn't lift his face up, trying to protect it as much as possible. But the next blow didn't come.



"Okay, now..." the harsh voice sounded. “Who hired you to blow up the bank?"



"Oh, God..." whined Karnov. "No one... no one, really!"



"Really," it wasn't a question. The strike came from the other side this time. Karnov would have fallen with the chair if not held by another hands. He spit out the knocked out tooth and cried woefully.



"Don't... don't anymore... I did it by myself, I swear!"



"No, you didn't," the tied man's head swung to the side, hit again.



Casey thought that Sam's voice was colder then ice. Being in the basement it sounded like a grave, giving him shivers. Looking at Karnov's face and the agent's gloves covered with blood he twisted his mouth in disgust. He would have intervened but they had warned him not to butt in.



"Listen, Jeffrey," Sam's calm voice wasn't calming at all. "Listen carefully," he reached under his coat and took out a gun. He released the safety catch. The short metallic clang echoed like a cruel warning. "I don't think you could somehow get an idea that I'm merciful, but let me confirm you in your belief that I'm not," Sam put a gun to Karnov's arm. "If I shoot you here, it'll be nothing serious. But it'll hurt. So, I'm counting up to three and you confirm you had been given instructions. One..."



"Stooop! Please I will tell you what I know..."



"I said: confirm. Two..."



"Okay, I confirm! I had orders!" although it was pointless Karnov was instinctively trying to keep the distance from the gun.



"Good. From who? One..."



"I don't know the name... I only got orders!"



"Two..."



"My boss!"



"All right... 'Your boss' means..?"



"Venatti. Enrico."



"What orders exactly did you get?"



"I had a bank plan and photos... I just new I should blow up some shit..."



Time was passing by and Karnov was answering questions in a well-disciplined way. Nevertheless, he knew nothing of high importance. The agents weren't disappointed as they hadn't expected he would. They got the next name to chase and that was enough.



Simon nudged Casey elbow motioning to the door with his head. It was an order to leave which Casey obediently carried out. Just after he closed the door he heard the flapping steps in the corridor, behind the corner. Right... people lived upstairs and had basements there. For a second he was considering options he had, and not seeing a better solution he decided to hide in the interrogation cell. He opened the door as quietly as he could quickly slipped inside. He didn't even manage to close the door when someone grabbed him and pulled forcefully, putting the gun to his throat. Karnov's left hand was choking him and right was gripping the small woman's pistol. What he could see in front of his eyes was the barrel of Sam's gun.



Fuck!

Funny... the word was always adequate. Even if you can't do or think anything, it comes with no effort. Casey didn't expect this course of events. He left everything under control so the last thing he could predict was the idea of two guns aimed at him merely seconds later. His eyes widened with terror and helplessness. His fighting skills were nothing in comparison with bullets.



"Shhh!" Simon hissed warningly. "Someone's coming!" Everyone froze. Enemies as they were, they all wanted to get out of there unnoticed. And alive.



Steps passed the room and echoed down the corridor.



"I'm taking him. Move and I'll shoot him!" Karnov pressed the barrel to Casey's throat digging painfully into it. He pulled his hostage to the door and tried to open them wider with his foot. For a short time he averted his eyes from the men and looked at the exit and in the same moment Sam's hand twitched slightly and the muffled sound stopped the time. Casey felt a jerk, a burning stroke in the temple and something exploded near his ear, covering his hair, cheek, and neck with hot, wet, slimy substance. Karnov's hands drooped down, clinging heavily to Caseys clothes, the gun fell on the floor with a dull thud, and the man slumped back to the floor, marking the hostage's shoulder and jacket with blood.



"Fuck!" Simon swore quietly but forcibly. "Fuck!!" he combed his hair with his hands and slowly run them over his face. Sam, with stone face and fiery eyes put the gun down. Casey was gaping at the body, his mind empty and stomach starting the revolution. Karnov was lying on his back, in a strange, twisted pose, staring blindly into space. The dark, red hole with uneven edges bloomed between his misty eyes and bloody pulp under his head was growing slowly, forming a puddle.

Casey felt stomach cramps and hastily turned away, covering his mouth.



"Breathe!" Simon approached him and took his head in both hands, squeezing. "You hear me?! Breathe!"



Casey drew air in fighting desperately not to vomit.



"Take him out," Sam's composed voice made it through to Casey's consciousness. "I'll take care of it."



"Okay... We'll wait outside."



"Don't. Leave him at the hotel."



"Good. See you, then."



"Yeah..."



Simon pulled Casey violently and pushed him through the threshold. He wanted to shake the shocked man out of the hypnotic trance evoked by the ghastly events. Simon knew that state all too well. When something exceeds the limits of emotions the person can handle, they snap. Something breaks inside, and the blockade slams the mind locking it up in the safe chamber. Almost all healthy people react in this way, though everyone has their private limits. Simon closed the door behind them and dragged Casey outside into the fresh air. He pushed him against a wall, holding him by the chest, and gave him a few hard slaps across the face. Casey choked, drawing in air with a wheeze and looked at Simon with more or less clear eyes. He tried to focus, which came with considerable effort.



"Can you hear me?" Simon asked quietly, still pressing Casey against the wall.



"Yes..." he heard a clear whisper.



"Okay. Look in my eyes."



Casey made an effort to find blue irises and fix his own eyes on them.



"Good. Now listen. You are alive. You are safe. The bastard who wanted to kill you is dead now."



"That I know..." Casey closed his eyes, too tired to keep looking.



Simon made a surprised face. That guy was tougher than he had expected. He sighed, relaxing slightly.



"I know it wasn't nice, but there is always a first time. It's normal... but you'll get over it, that's for sure."



"It was disgusting... His..." Casey unguardedly remembered the picture and writhed, feeling the content of his stomach moving up his esophagus. Simon had the foresight to back off just in time to let the man lean forward and throw up.



"You'll be okay, man...Get a drink, get some sleep, talk to a shrink," the agent patted Casey's arm and gave him a tissue. Casey spat getting rid of the nauseating taste in his mouth and wiped his chin.



"Fuck... It hurts..." he moaned touching his temple carefully. The left side of his face was all covered in blood.



"Hey, it's not yours, the blood. We have to go, okay? You'll take a shower later; I'll give you an aspirin... Come on," Simon clutched Casey's arms and forced him to straighten and move towards the motorcycle. "I'll drive." he added.



"No, I will drive," Casey took the helmet hanging on the handlebar and put it on. "I can drive."



The agent hesitated for a moment but eventually he nodded his head. "As you wish."



Casey needed something to concentrate on. The vision of guns, the shot, explosion, Karnov's brain and blood, his twisted limbs and empty eyes was coming back again and again. Maybe the road, the wind, the speed and driving could erase that memory temporarily, or at least relegate it to the back of his mind.



***



Sam pushed the door and slowly entered the hotel room. He wasn't sure what he would find there and he definitely didn't feel like dealing with post-traumatic effects of Casey's experience. Casey was sitting on a couch. It was kind of good, because if he had shut himself away in his bedroom, Sam would have had to check on him.



They weren't at good terms lately. Since the memorable adventure in Karnov's house Casey had treated him as if he hadn't exist. No reproaches, no anger, no signs of embarrassment... nothing. Just ignoring him, apart from professional contact. That was quite unexpected.



The man at the table didn't turn around. Maybe he hadn't heard the door opening. Sam approached the couch and saw an almost empty vodka bottle. Then he skirted to the table, sat opposite Casey, and took a look at him.



"Fuck, man..." he shook his head, resigned, and pulled a bottle away, out of Casey's reach.



"Give it back!" Casey made a poorly coordinated movement to hamper that action, but failed. His head drooped down and started to sway.



Sam leaned back and closed his eyes for a second. He was tired. He was so fucking tired! Finally he stood up, took his coat off, threw it onto the floor, and brought a wet dishrag from the kitchen. He slowly took Casey's chin in his hand and lifted the man’s head to clean the blood. The drunken man's eyes widened as he remembered that face behind the barrel, he flinched, threw himself back and hissed: "Don't touch me!"



"Fine, moron... Please yourself!" Sam flung the dishrag to the floor with irritation, gathered his things and started to the bathroom.



Then he felt a yank and heard: "Don't... don't go! Don't leave me."



"Oh, fuck you! You didn't want me to touch you, right?"



"No, no... no..."



"Shit!..." Sam hurled the coat onto the floor again. "Fuck!" he went his fingers through his hair and sat on a couch with impetus.



"Do you often kill people?" Casey put a huge effort in constructing that question. His logic was lost somewhere in the nooks of his mind and linking words seemed extremely difficult.



"No."



"How many have you killed?"



"I don't know."



"A lot?"



"I don't know."



"It's terrible... terrrrrible!" Casey laughed stupidly, playing with 'r' letter, what suddenly seemed very amusing to him. "Oooooh.... Disgusting. You are a murderer, aren't you..."



Silence.



"Aren't you?" Casey repeated.



"Fuck you, you’re drunk..."



"Drunk... drrrrrrunk....." he chuckled again. "Yes, I'm drrrrrunk... And you're a killerrrrrrr!"



"I'm going." Sam started to get up, but Casey threw himself on his lap to stop him.



"Noooo.... You can't. I'm drunk. I'm sick. I'm everything..." he squeezed Sam's waist, nestling his face in the man's elegant shirt. His head was spinning, but light. Life wasn't that bad... just difficult to think of. Tomorrow... I'll think of it tomorrow.



"Hey, what are you...?" Sam tried to push Casey off, but Casey clung to him with all his strength. "You didn't want me to touch you, remember?"



"Mhmmmm...." Casey only mumbled something into Sam's shirt.



"Fuck..." Sam had no choice but to let it be. He was too tired to defend himself. He leaned his head against the couch back and closed his eyes. He felt dirty. Disgusting... It was a good word. And so what? He shrugged his shoulders. The world was disgusting. This job was disgusting. He was disgusting. Nothing new and nothing to care about.



Suddenly Sam felt a shy touch. The hand was slowly crawling up his chest. He looked down to see Casey's face, comically concentrated and absorbed by the movement of his own hand, as he was gently caressing the fabric of Sam's shirt. The black-haired man smirked, amused. Casey's hand slowly made its way to the collar and managed to undo the button. And the second. And the next...

Sam knitted his eyebrows but didn't move. What the hell was that? Casey wasn't looking at him. Probably he wasn't even aware of his own actions. Nevertheless...



Slender fingers opened the shirt with funny reverence and slithered under it. The touch was teasing, gentle and trembling. Much like one of a child. But it had that strange, firing intensity, as if electric sparks were flowing from his fingertips. The sensitive olive skin was reacting with shivers when Casey half-tenderly and half-curiously pressed his palm to Sam's chest. It rested there for a few moments and then moved up, trailing the black flourishes of the tattoo. The unintentional caress reached the collarbone, the index finger slid into the dimple above it and made a few pleasantly tickling circles. Sam bit his lower lip as Casey's thumb passed over the collarbone and the hand slipped into the crook of the neck, clinging to it with the whole palm's surface. Actually Sam wanted to stop it. He just couldn't find a good reason. There was no motivation he could think of that would convince him to shake Casey off. It felt... simply nice.



"I like it..." Casey murmured. "Beautiful... beautiful..." his hand was caressing Sam's neck slower and slower, his eyes were growing heavy. Finally he closed them and let the hand slide down. He had fallen asleep.



Sam was observing him, detail after detail. Golden hair, spread on his lap, glued together with clotted blood on the left side, smooth skin, now sickly pale, lips slightly parted. Eyes shaded by long lashes had red circles around them. Sam took a closer look at Casey's left cheek and temple and noticed a bloody groove at the cheekbone. "By a hair's breadth, smartass..." he whispered, carefully touching the shallow wound, but quickly withdrew his hand as Casey's face twisted in grimace.



"Damn you!" he sighed with irritation, dispelling that stupid feeling of intimacy and relax, that had unexpectedly overcome him. For a minute he was considering the situation, then he lifted Casey's upper body with a resolute movement, trying to wake him up. Casey muttered something under his breath, but remained limp. "Hey! Wake up!" Sam slightly slapped his face. "It's not my problem that you're drunk... I'm not your fucking nanny," Casey didn't react. "Get the fuck up!!" Sam shouted angrily into his ear and brutally shook him by arms.



The action made him slightly open his eyes. His eyelids were heavy, swollen, and stinging. He blinked a few times; it took a moment until he could focus. He saw a tattooed cheek above his face, reached to it smiling blithely and mumbled: "Pretty... very pretty," he attempted to caress the pattern, but Sam slapped his hand away and made an effort to stand up, pushing Casey's heavy body off his lap. He raked his fingers through his mop of hair and moved to the bathroom. "Wait! Please... wait!" Casey was blabbering incoherently, trying to get up, but Sam ignored him and disappeared behind the bathroom door without looking back.



He hated intimacy. Not the physical one - this was a perfect tool and entertainment, but the real closeness. People often mistook the community of interests or a casual chat for his consent to mutual commitments. They had this extremely annoying tendency to be over familiar and it was troublesome. Even drunk people, when clinging to him and not getting the simple message: Stay away!, were violating his private space.



He was angry at himself for taking liberty of giving in to the momentary casualness while Casey had been exploring his decorated skin. His own reaction to the situation came as something of a surprise, as he usually would have felt irritated or bored by such an expression of admiration. Well, maybe aroused, in certain circumstances. But this time, arousing as it had been, it was also simply nice. It had nothing of manipulation or cheap flattery. It was an intense, sincere curiosity, the one you can experience from children or very honest people. In his life and job Sam hadn't met many honest people, not to mention children. Casey would be something new, Sam felt it in his bones. He was honest, but not simple; clear, but not easy; inexperienced, but tough. And because it was new, it was also alerting and... annoying. Funny, wasn't it... The vicious circle of annoyance.



Sam took off his crumpled shirt and looked in the mirror. The muscular, dark-skinned man with messy hair was staring at him with expressionless, deep, tired eyes. Almost unconsciously he touched his chest, where the tattoo was blooming and run his fingers up the design to his neck. He placed his palm above the collarbone as if he wanted to snuggle into his own hand. Suddenly he froze and snorted with a short, cynical laughter, when he realized what he had been doing. He shook his head, angry and confused, and quickly turned away from the mirror.



He was soaking in the shower for good forty minutes. It was a purifying ritual, celebrated after every mission. Water was washing the tension, fatigue and stress away, soft swoosh was soothing his senses.



When he returned to the room, Casey was sleeping again, sprawled on the couch. Sam ignored him and disappeared in his bedroom.



It was almost two before dawn, when Sam's sleep was interrupted by a loud noise. He jumped out of the bed and with one leap he appeared in the living room. Not that he was particularly worried about Casey, but he'd have troubles coming from above if something happened. Casey was sitting on the floor near the couch, breathing heavily. His forehead was covered with sweat; his eyes were vacant, yet feverish. He must have fallen from the sofa and was now half-way between sleep and wakefulness. Sam stopped at the door. He had no intention to intervene.



"I... I had a dream," Casey whispered and turned his eyes to the standing man. "You killed me," he shivered.



"I didn't, as you can see. It was a close shave, though," he pointed to his cheekbone showing Casey the place to examine.



"I... I had the brain splashed around," Casey didn't move. He was just staring blindly, going through his nightmare once again. "There was blood... so much blood..." he bit his lip until it started bleeding.



"Stop that namby-pamby, will you?" Sam made an impatient face and approached Casey. "How, the hell are you going to work? You think we'll wet-nurse you, or what? They don't pay me for arranging painless memories for rookies. You should pull yourself together; take a shower and go to sleep. Tomorrow we'll send you back and you'll see the psychologist, for what it's worth," he tried to lift Casey from the floor, pulling his arm, but the man broke out of his hands, giving him a cold, hostile look. He wasn't drunk anymore. Alcohol managed to evaporate, more or less, within a few hours.



"Go fuck yourself, mister James Bond..." the words were distinct and venomous. "Or maybe tell me what was your first time like, huh? You took a smoke and brushed dust off your shoes?!"



Sam backed off, surprised. "The answer won't satisfy you, fool, so stop it and off you go to the shower!" he answered coolly.



"Oh, ashamed? What, you were also shocked?! I get it; that hardly befits your fucking tough guy image..."



"Shut up, you loud-mouthed drunk," Sam muttered through his teeth. "You wanna know?!" he grabbed Casey's clothes at his chest and pressed him to the couch. "I can't fucking remember what it was like...! Happy now?!" he was furious. It had been a while, a long time since someone managed to throw him out of balance so quickly, with such an innocent, simply desperate question. It completely wasn't like him to go overdramatic.

"Do what you want." He released Casey and angry at himself, he rushed to his room. The door banged behind him.



Casey was glaring at the closed door for a minute, speechless, before he clumsily stood up and trudged to the bathroom. He turned on the light and took a look at his reflection in the mirror. God, he looked like death. Pale, sick, with swollen, bloodshot eyes, and a brown scab covering his face and gluing his hair together. A natural born demon. This image was perfectly corresponding with his physical and mental state. An alcoholic stupor was giving way to gigantic hangover killing him with a piercing headache and suction in his empty stomach. He felt weak and rotten like never before. That was pretty natural; taking into consideration the fact that he had never seen manslaughter before. He switched on the warm water and fully dressed stepped under the shower. Clothes quickly became soaked and clinging to his body, streams of water colored with blood were running down his face, causing stinging sensation on his left cheek. He touched the burning place and hissed with pain. Then it was close... he thought dispassionately, not being able to process and comprehend any more of facts with due emotion.



A lot had happened lately. A lot of disturbing, confusing and exhausting experiences found their places in Casey's life store. Every human had their limits and he felt that most of his had been overstepped. He felt in his bones that there was no return from the way he accidentally had bad luck to step on. It was not possible to simply forget and pretend nothing had happened.



Once more that night Casey woke up terrified, this time in his own bed. Dead, empty eyes crying with blood were haunting him; Sam had shot at him again. Moreover, he had a huge hangover and was feeling sick. His breath was deep and heavy, he was sweaty and feverish. The sheets stuck to his hot, wet body, restricting his movements, which caused a panic attack and obsessive, claustrophobic feeling of being trapped. Casey was wheezing, fighting for every gulp of air and desperately trying to get out of the bed. A choked sob was welling up inside his chest. Finally he managed to disentangle himself from the bedding and he sprung at the window, opening it with impetus and tearing off the T-shirt he used to sleep in. He took a deep breath of the cool air, as if he came up from the depths.



Calm down... get a grip... calm down... calm down... he repeated this mantra many times, digging his fingernails into the window frame, until he was able to control his breath and thoughts. An unpleasant awaking, stress and violent movements made his head almost exploding with dull, pulsating pain. His stomach warned him loyally, just in time for him to manage to the bathroom and drop to his knees in front of the toilet bowl, before strong spasms turned his guts inside out.

He remained there, as if praying, for a while, too weak and resigned to move. He couldn't go back to sleep; he doubted he could fall asleep and stay in that state for more than fifteen minutes. Finally he forced himself to stand up and rinse out his mouth. He swallowed a couple of gulps of water to get rid of the nasty taste in his throat and dragged himself to the kitchen annex. Nothing else but water would be accepted by his stomach, thus he took a Perrier from the refrigerator. Heh, rather pathetic destiny for such a noble drink... he chuckled.



Standing over the table with a bottle in his hand he was staring at Sam's door, not being able to make a decision. He needed somebody's presence, even if it was Sam; someone to talk to, someone to avert his tormenting thoughts. He bit his lower lip wrinkling his forehead and irresolutely tugged at his wet hair stuck to his cheeks and neck. However, he wasn't sure if this need was stronger than his fear and pride, especially since Sam had got so pissed...



Eventually he pushed himself from the table and moved towards the agent's bedroom. When he touched the doorknob he stopped for a second, then hesitantly knocked. The only response was silence. He tried again. Nothing. Shit... Sam was probably sleeping soundly. Sick fuck... It was so disgusting that someone could not to give a damn about killing, when he was going through that hell. Overwhelmed by black thoughts again he leaned his forehead against the door and pressed his palms to its cool, smooth wood.



God, I can't stay here... You only die once! He took a deep breath and pushed down the doorknob.

Sam was sitting motionless on the window still, only in his boxers, with his legs hanging outside. He hadn't even turned at the door’s click. The cigarette was burning out between his fingers.



Casey timidly slipped inside and sat on the bed, not waiting for invitation. He wasn't expecting one, thus not being thrown out was enough. Actually he wanted to talk, about whatever, but the feeling Sam's back was giving out made him keep silence. The last thing he needed was the next outburst of fury. Nervously clenching his fists he fixed his eyes on Sam's huge back tattoo. The eagle had been caught in a majestic pose, enormous wings spread widely... Casey closed his eyes for a second.



The royal bird was gliding majestically over snowy summits, wind blowing its feathers. Its scream was echoed by rock faces. The mighty snake was still wriggling in the iron claws, but its fate had been already sealed. Suddenly, the perspective swayed, distance strangely decreased, and eagle's sharp eyes lanced right through Casey. The whole man's world shrunk and concentrated its center in those black magnets. Then everything started to spin, together with mysterious symbols circling the eagle, faster and faster, and eagle's eyes became like two bottomless wells, sucking him in. Casey heard the dreadful whistle of air, an eagle's piercing scream made his blood run cold. An eagle was attacking, and Casey couldn't move, hypnotized and paralyzed.



Silence. The vision got blurred and the dream slowly dissolved into dark contours of the furniture. Casey jerked his head waking up and looked up, still a little absent-mindedly. The eyes were still there, black and intense. Sam was observing him, smoking lazily, still sitting on the window, but now with his face turned to the room. His elbows were rested on his knees, hands hanging freely between them. Casey shook his head and for a moment hid his face in his hands. Then he returned a gaze.



"Why have you come here?" asked Sam.



"I couldn't sleep," Casey lowered his eyes to look at his sweaty hands.



"You always sneak to somebody's room when you can't sleep?" there was a perceptible mockery in this question.



Casey ignored the taunt but asked instead: "How old are you?"



Sam made a surprised face, but answered: "Twenty eight."



"And Simon... is he your real brother?"



"Excuse me, is this a kind of a survey?"



"Right... forget it. Just let me sit here for a while."



They were sitting in silence, in soft darkness, in which a cigarette was glowing.



"We are twins," Sam's voice was quiet.



Casey didn't react, although it came as quite the news. He didn't have strength to fight a verbal battle with Sam, who was probably giving him a bait only to jibe next. They fell silent again. Casey felt sleepy, his eyelids growing heavy, thus he decided to talk just to stay awake as long as possible.



"You are not similar at all..."



After a long moment the explanation came: "Genetics. Inherited characteristics."



"I don't understand..."



"Our grandfather was Native American. Grandmother was white; from Europe. Then you have Metis father and mother. It just happened. And so came us - colors divided."



"What about the tattoos?"



"What about them?"



"Do they have a meaning?"



"Probably..."



"Probably? You don't know it?"



"Maybe I do, maybe I don't..."



"Okay, I get it..." actually he didn't but who cared? "Those symbols, on your back, are they letters?"



"No. They are symbols."



"Right... When did you have them made?"



"An eagle - a long time ago. This one - " he pointed at his chest, "- three years."



Casey nodded his head.



"How..." he hesitated for a moment. “How long have you been working here?"



"Shit, long."



"How long?" Casey pressed.



"Uhmm..." Sam was searching through his memory. "Like... nine or ten years."



"Wh... what?!! Ten years?! Come on... you were a child then..."



"Eighteen? Old enough to..."



"To...?" Casey picked up the pause.



"...to work here," it wasn't what Sam had intended to say at his first impulse, Casey could tell that. But what had been said had been said. Sam wouldn't tell if pushed.



"You smoke?" the black-haired man let out a puff of smoke.



"No, not really..."



Sam snorted. "Not really... want one?" he leaned forward offering Marlboros.



"Yeah..." Casey reached for a cigarette. He pulled it out from the pack and shoved it into his mouth.



"I guess you have a night of baptism..." Sam chuckled and gave his partner a light. "Go ahead, drag on it."

Casey did. He inhaled the smoke like it was the last portion of air available for humans. Momentarily his eyes clouded and his respiratory tract objected to such treatment. He choked and coughed violently, almost spitting out his lungs. Tears started to flow down his face. Yet he didn't give up and sucked cigarette again. This time the stomach got his attention and Casey threw himself to the window, vomiting outside, onto the molding.



"Holy fuck!" Sam rolled his eyes pretending disgust and laughing. "Shit, man... it's your point of honor to burn it out at all costs, or what...?"



"Ooooh, fuuuuck! Geeez, I'm so sorry... I..." Casey wiped his mouth with his forearm and started to chuckle, resting his elbows at the still and staring at the street below. It was so embarrassing that he couldn't help but laugh at himself. "I guess it’s okay... you know? It absorbs thoughts. That's what I need," he tried to smoke again, paying for it with the next fit of coughing, but his stomach didn't object this time. "You know... I didn't mean to offend you, back then..." he started when he was able to speak. "It's just..."



"I don't care what you did mean. Forget it."



"Nope," Casey sat back at the bad.



"Huh?"



"I won't just forget it. It was quite dramatic... You really don't remember the first time you've seen death?"



"If you still wanna stay here, leave it."



"'Key, sorry," Casey nodded his head, still intrigued. "I can't imagine I could forget my first. I think it'll haunt me till the end of my life."



"I don't think so."



"Why?"



"Every memory fades. Humans are such amazing creatures that can adjust to almost everything."



"This guy you shot... was he even that bad?"



"Who gives a shit?"



"I do..."



"Yeah, Mother Theresa. I guess he wasn't that good if he was aiming at you."



"It was a self-defense."



"Right. And he got killed in self-defense."



"Do you always shoot first? Before you negotiate or something?"



"I prefer being alive and mistaken than being dead and mistaken."



"You could have killed me..."



"I could have. But I didn't. Lucky you."



"I couldn't... I couldn't shoot like that..."



"Oh yes, you could. Believe me. You just don't know it yet. You don't know those primal areas in your mind... instincts... limits..."



"Do you?"



"They are all I am."



"I... I wish it have never happened. I wish I didn’t work here... and I...don't want to be like that. I don't want to adjust..." Casey blurted out a little feverishly. He didn’t notice that Sam clenched his teeth and knitted his brows.



It was surprising, once again that night, when he heard the cold voice: "Fuck you, whiner... 'I wish, I wish...', shit, no point in regrets! Deal with what happened. Enough, I'm going to sleep. It's fucking dawn outside..." having said that Sam jumped down from a ledge, flicked the butt through the window and threw himself onto the bed. "Coming?" he made a derisively seductive face and ran his finger down Casey's spine. Casey flinched and tensed, moving slightly away.



"Hey, are you gay?" he asked, irritated.



"Shit!" Sam laughed, "I'm nothing specific, decent boy. I don't give a fuck about those tags... Think whatever you want."



"The problem is I don't know what to think," Casey's sharp eyes focused on Sam.



"Well, it's not my problem, is it?" Sam chuckled burying himself in the quilt.



"Hey, seriously!" Casey wouldn't give up. "Are you... uhm... do you... have you ever slept with a guy?" he blushed, embarrassed and suddenly shy.



"Slept? No, I don't think I have ever slept with a guy... However, I do remember some other things I happened to be doing with guys... "



Casey was already red up to his ears. He felt insecure and awkward, as if suddenly faced with a new species of animal. A sudden, inexplicable urge to put on a shirt overcame him, as he was feeling naked and exposed, however foolish the impression.



"Do you have a problem with that?" asked Sam aggressively, guessing rather than seeing a reserve in Casey's attitude. "Would you feel better if I said I fuck only women? Heh... Anyway, you are sort of disgusting right now. Even being gay I'd not be that desperate to actually hit on you," he laughed ironically. "Fuck you and good night. Don't overdo your precious mind. Unfortunately we'll need it in future. And if you still want to stay here, you are more than welcome," he patted the place by his side, giving Casey an alluring wink. Casey didn't redden more only because it was technically impossible. He said nothing, just stuck out a middle finger.



Although Casey felt strung up, he wasn't that eager to fly away off the bed. It was... good there. Somehow safe. And somehow... exciting? In a grey silence of the room Casey was mechanically wiping his dirty hand against his jeans. Strange thing... It had been surprisingly humiliating and unpleasant to hear that Sam wouldn't be interested... Obvious, but still unpleasant.



Pondering disconnectedly over this Casey slipped into the arms of Morpheus.

____________________________________________________________

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