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"Sir Mark Brydon," Nicholas introduced the two women with him, "Rebecca Patel, my chief assistant, I believe you know, and Madame Martin, a colleague visiting from France." Even if Nicholas had not mentioned her nationality specifically, a subtle warning if ever Mark had heard one, the way he said her name would have made her Gallic ancestry clear.
The four of them huddled together, just one more among the many small groups scattered across the park; family and friends gathered to enjoy watching someone else run around a muddy pitch in pursuit of the traditional pigskin. The chilly freshness of a spring that had yet to realise it wasn't winter ensured that all of the spectators were wrapped up warm. It did nothing, however, to dampen their enthusiasm.
"Rebecca," Mark took his eyes from the game to greet her warmly, "don't tell me Nicholas is making you work weekends now."
"Just luring me out of the office," Rebecca assured him with a smile. They had talked, and indeed met, enough times over the weeks that Mark smiled back easily. Turning to the unknown member of Nicholas' party he tried to remember if Nicholas had mentioned her and exactly what a 'colleague' meant in this context. In her coat and scarf she was almost anonymous, a pleasant enough face with a fringe of neat, salt and pepper hair poking out from under the faux-furred brim of her hat. It was probably her air of composure that put him in mind of his first French teacher who, while fair, had had little time for childish sillinesses and had mercilessly drummed his first verb conjugations into him.
"Madame Martin." He was careful to use the correct pronunciation of her name. "Are you enjoying your time in Britian?"
"Immensely." Her accent was light but clear. "Bernadette, please, Sir Mark. I apologise for having forced myself on you like this. When he was visiting last Nicholas and I had many long discussions about football; my filleul plays. I made him promise to take me to a game in Britain the next time I was over. I don't think this was what he had in mind, but I spotted on the calendar in his office that the tournament was on and..." The little gesture she made with her hands said 'French' almost more clearly than it said 'and here we are'. Mark suspected it had been cultivated for exactly that duel effect.
"Not at all." He kept the smile in place, playing the game. "Please call me Mark."
"Mark," she agreed. "May I ask which team we are supporting?"
A referees whistle forced a pause in the pleasantries for the duration of a penalty and accompanying kibitzing by the crowd. It was quickly apparent which team the two men in the party were rooting for leaving Bernadette's question both forgotten and answered. The rest of the game was spent in polite conversation interspersed with calls of support and encouragement as the action ebbed and flowed before them. The final whistle ended things 3-2 in their favour and the kids streamed off the pitch, mostly ignoring the spectators. A few mud-disguised figures waved towards the crowd, but who they were, or to whom they were waving, was hard to tell.
Mark looked at his watch. "I think we have a little time until the semi's start. I was going to grab a hot dog - could I interest anyone else?"
A general murmur of assent greeted his suggestion.
"I'll help you carry," Nicholas offered before anyone could suggest that they all went to get refreshments. "Teas and coffees, ladies?"
Mark had to acknowledge it was very neatly done. In some ways it was a pleasure to watch Nicholas work, as suave as any diplomat. It was only the slight concern as to how often Nicholas had managed him without his realising, a twinge of the distrust that was more about how good he knew Nicholas to be at his job than any personal aspersion, that gave him pause. Nicholas smiled at him briefly, a quick, tight twitch of his lips, as he collected requests.
Orders memorised, the two of them headed towards the concessions stands. Neither paying any attention to the stocky man who drifted through the crowd in their wake.
"I wasn't sure you'd be able to make it," Mark admitted when they were out of earshot of their companions.
Nicholas shrugged slightly, dismissing the importance of his presence. "I said I would."
"And with a date for each of us." Mark wasn't entirely sure whether he should be amused or irritated. "Very discreet. It was lucky she spotted that entry on your calendar."
"Thank you." The slight smirk told Mark all he needed to know and irritation began to win out over amusement.
"You know your 'guest' is going to try and wheedle information out of me, don't you?"
Nicholas looked sideways at him, the pale blue eyes assessing. "I'm sure you'll be able to resist her wiles."
"It's not her wiles I was worrying about." Mark wasn't really sure why he bothered objecting except he felt it was somehow expected of him. "You really are a crafty bastard, aren't you?"
Nicholas smiled.
"You could at least have the good grace to be less happy about it," Mark grumbled.
Nicholas judiciously said nothing as they joined the queue at the hot dog stand. It was mercifully short. Mark looked over his shoulder until he located their shadow.
"Chris, do you want a hot dog?" he called.
The shadow shook his head. "No thanks, sir. Vegetarian."
Mark looked over at the menu board, trying to decipher the chalk scratches. "I'm sure they do something else."
"It's quite alright sir," the current representative of his security detail assured him, "I ate before I came on shift."
Mark took him at his word and let him drift back into the crowd. It still felt odd to have security following him around constantly when he was in public. And more than a trifle embarrassing.
He and Nicholas stood together silently as they waited to be served.
"Five hot dogs please," Mark ordered when it was their turn. "Two with onions and the rest plain."
The woman manning the counter passed the information to the chef behind her and then turned back. "It will be a few minutes," she warned. "He just put another batch on. Did you want anything else?"
"Two teas, two coffees and..." Mark thought for a second ,"what lemonade do you have?"
"Sprite and... I think we have some Fanta Lemon." She checked the small fridge below her as she spoke.
"Better make that a Fanta then."
Her hand hovered for a moment between the orange and yellow cans. "Fanta Lemon?"
"Please."
She placed the can in front of them and started putting together the rest of the drinks. The counter was soon filled with Styrofoam cups that steamed with gentle allure. Mark cupped his hands around the closest as the bill was calculated. Even through his gloves he could feel the slow seep of promised warmth. That did not stop him glaring at Nicholas when, unencumbered by cup or cold, he tried to reach into his jacket for his wallet when the total was announced. With exaggerated care Nicholas drew his hand back from his pocket, holding both, palm open, in mock surrender, and let Mark pay.
They gathered the food as it arrived, adding the requested condiments and debating lightly the relative merits of English vs French mustard.
"Mark," Nicholas said suddenly. He nodded towards a short figure making his way across the park towards where they had been standing.
"Azzam!" Mark called. The boy turned and, spotting him, jogged towards them. "You don't miss anything do you," Mark muttered.
Nicholas' eyes slipped over him with a certain sly challenge Mark was beginning to recognise. "I try not to," he agreed quietly. Mark couldn't quite stop his grin in return. He made sure he'd composed his expression into something more suitable before he turned towards his son and was, of course, ignored.
"Uncle Nicholas!"
Mark put out an arm and halted the boy before he could throw himself at Nicholas and the stack of hot drinks he was carrying.
He smiled to take any sting out of the words. "Don't you think Uncle Nicholas might appreciate not being covered in half the pitch?"
"Maark," Azzam complained, looking at Nicholas quickly before looking away.
Nicholas ignored the byplay. "Good game," he greeted. Azzam's evident embarrassment faded under the praise. "Some good teamwork up front. Do you know who you're playing next?"
"St Johns," Azzam said. "Unfortunately. We might have made it to the final if we'd drawn one of the others. We normally beat Chitchall at least."
Nicholas frowned. "You aren't playing off for third?"
"Before this goes any further..." Mark interrupted. "Hot dog?"
Azzam eyed the collection in Mark's hands suspiciously. "Did you put onions on mine?"
"No onions, no mustard, no ketchup." Mark held the plain sausage out towards him and Azzam took it carefully. He had, Mark noticed, had the good sense to wash his hands after the match although at Azzam's age dirt had been a standard supplement to his diet. "And your drink is in my pocket."
"We should get back to the others before the rest get cold." Nicholas pointed out as Azzam fished out the can.
Azzam's glance up at Mark said 'others?' very clearly, but he didn't ask which saved Mark from having to answer.
The two women appeared to be talking quietly as they approached, the darting gestures of their gloved hands modelling indecipherable shapes in the cool air. Mark wondered what story Nicholas had given out for his presence at the tournament. Rebecca presumably knew the truth, or something close to it. But Bernadette? He could imagine Nicholas spinning a story of long-term colleagues on an overseas posting. Of tragedy and adoption and an 'uncle's' duty. It probably played well.
"Azzam," Mark introduced as they got close, "you remember Rebecca." Azzam held up a hand in greeting, his mouth full of hot dog. "And Bernadette is a friend of Nicholas' from France."
Azzam swallowed carefully. "Bonjour, Madame," he said politely.
If she was surprised, she didn't show it. "Bonjour. Ça va?"
"Ça va bien, merci."
"Tres bien." She accepted her hot dog from Mark with a quiet 'thank you', careful of the ketchup that threatened to ooze free. "Your accent is very good. Have you been to France?"
Azzam's face clouded a little. "My dad took me a few times when I was younger; I don't remember much." Seeing the sympathetic look on Bernadette's face he smiled with a determined brightness. Mark hurt at the sight, hating the fact that there were some things that could never be fixed and the ease with which Azzam presented a false front. A part of growing up or something learnt from the so-called role models in his life? He said nothing as Azzam continued, "but I'm going to the Loire Valley next month. The whole class is going."
Nicholas' eyes met Mark's over Azzam's head as Bernadette discussed the historical highlights of Orléans with the boy.
Nicholas was waiting in his office. No-one should have been in there alone, especially not someone in Nicholas' line of work (since they shouldn't be allowed anywhere unattended as a rule), but Mark had long ceased to be surprised by Nicholas' disregard of such restrictions. At least when applied to himself. His presence explained the smothered smile Mark's secretary had given him. He suspected she had had drawn her own conclusions about the two of them weeks ago. Or Nicholas had just charmed his way in. Either was possible and Mark wasn't sure which was more disturbing. He found himself grateful, nevertheless, for the steady calm that Nicholas brought with him.
"How did it go?" Nicholas asked, looking up as Mark entered. He had not only charmed his way into the office but had acquired a cup of tea and a selection of biscuits in the process. The good biscuits. Mark stole one from his saucer as he walked past and Nicholas let him.
"I think I got my point across about the situation in Afghanistan."
His chair was cooly comfortable as he settled back into it. After being quizzed under the glare of studio lighting, a hot seat in both literal and figurative senses, it was nice to relax in his own office again. Even if he had another interrogation to face first.
"That's the important thing," Nicholas agreed deadpan as he took the seat opposite Mark's. The cup and saucer were placed back onto their tray with a firm click of porcelain. "You talked to Azzam?"
Mark raised his eyebrows. Nicholas would be the first to argue Mark was not, in fact, an idiot, probably while calling him one in the same breath.
"Before he left." Mark confirmed with pointed emphasis. Before his mother, but after the PM, not that Nicholas needed to know that. "I'll call him again tomorrow when we know what the reaction is. They might have missed it."
As unlikely as that seemed, one's private life mostly remained one's own as long as it also remained reasonably discreet, but the passing mention of an ex-boyfriend was more than any seasoned interviewer could pass up. Not that a BBC political journalist, especially not one Nicholas had selected, would allow things to degenerate into a discussion on the vagaries of human sexuality. A conformation that there hadn't been a misunderstanding and Mark had indeed dated both men and women in his youth, coupled with the subtle implication he might again in the future, and the conversation was moved on to the much more interesting and controversial question of withdrawal from Iraq. Still, one didn't come out on public television everyday.
"I hope not," Nicholas was frowning slightly as he thought. "We'll have to go through all this again if they do."
Mark ran the arguements through his mind. They'd discussed it enough over the past few months, Nicholas playing both devil's advocate and voice of reason in equal measure until Mark didn't know if he wanted to prove him wrong or right. In the end it came down to one thing - Mark wouldn't lie to Azzam. That Nicholas couldn't afford a relationship that might be open to blackmail was a consideration, but a secondary one.
"I just hope they get the worst of it out of their systems before Azzam gets back," he admitted.
There was a dangerous glint in Nicholas' eyes although his tone was light enough. "If not I'll just have to find something to distract them."
"An international crisis won't help matters any," Mark warned, not entirely certain that Nicholas was joking.
"Who said anything about a crisis?" Nicholas' expression was innocent although the crinkle around his eyes hinted at a repressed smile. "I just mentioned a distraction."
Mark stole the last biscuit and frowned. "Somehow that is not reassuring." Because Nicholas would willingly throw someone else to the wolves to stop them ripping into him and Mark wouldn't let him. Their eyes met and Nicholas dropped his gaze. Mark would have liked to think it was in acquiescence. He sighed. "What do I do when they ask about you?"
Although that would hopefully not be for months yet. Time first to make sure they could make fond hope a reality and put to rest the question of whether Nicholas could afford a relationship at all.
"Tell them." Nicholas shrugged his importance away. "I'm just a lowly civil servant, after all. They can have fun ferreting out my service record."
It was a comfort at least that Nicholas never questioned that the time would come when their names would be linked in the press. The minister and the spy - it sounded like something out of a thriller.
"You know they'll work it out," Mark objected.
"They'll suspect," Nicholas agreed. "But suspicion is not proof." His eyes closed briefly. "Mark, you know as well as I do Six never confirms the identity of an active agent."
"I know," Mark leaned forwards on the desk, "but they don't need conformation to go to press. All they need to do is ask the question."
Nicholas shook his head. "Not if they have sense. Don't worry, the editors know how the game is played. They'll take their pound of flesh from you, but they'll leave me in the shadows if we let them."
Mark slumped back in his chair, laughing ruefully. "You make it sound so appealing."
And yet it was. Even with all the difficulties he wanted this impossible man by his side.
"It was never going to be easy, Mark." Nicholas' eyes were soft even if his words were not.
"Few things are." Mark found himself smiling, the pain of the memories ameliorated by time and greater hurts. "It won't be the first pound of flesh I've given up. And for much worse reasons."
Nicholas' expression tightened. "Don't romanticise this," he warned quietly.
"This?" Mark insisted, knowing well enough what Nicholas was saying but stubbornly wanting to make him say it.
"Us," Nicholas confirmed. It was another discussion they had had a few times, in one form or another, over the preceding weeks. Mark understood the caution but felt the continued concern unnecessary. Neither of them was about to do anything to risk the other and while Mark's track record for inadvisable behavior might not be spotless it was also not thoughtless.
"As if you'd let me," Mark said with more humour than he was sure Nicholas would feel was warranted. "You're lucky I don't take it personally." Mark held up a hand to stop the objection he could see forming on Nicholas' lips and looked at him with total seriousness. "I understand, Nicholas. I'm not going into this with my eyes shut. And I'm not going public for us." He waited until Nicholas nodded acknowledgement of the truth of what he was saying before he continued more lightly, "Although, yes, one lying bastard in the relationship is enough - and you have that role covered."
Nicholas' lips quirked slightly into a twisted smile. "A lot of people would say one was is more than enough."
"A lot of people are concerned with being cheated on, not national security."
They were teasing but the words had a hard edge, the bone they were cutting so close to.
"And if the two are the same thing?" Nicholas asked, all joking laid aside in a second.
Because Nicholas had lied and cheated. And worse.
Nicholas had said the his association with Styles had been more than just work. It wasn't the 'how much more' that had kept the ghost of Nicholas' lover hovering at the back of so many of their conversations, it was that part of it hadn't been more at all.
"Christ, Nicholas. You're determined not to make this easy aren't you?" Mark took a deep breath and wished he was back in front of the cameras - the questions might have been more complex but the answers had been less difficult to give. "There are aspects of what your lot get up to that I don't particularly like, and never have. I don't think I ever made a secret of that. But when I was offered this job I had it impressed on me that it was not about my finer feelings and I accepted that when I accepted the position. You do what you have to do to get your job done."
They hadn't talked about it. Even if they had wanted to, the discussion of a past relationship at the start of a new one was hardly good manners.
Nicholas looked at Mark with an odd expression he had not seen before. "I want to tell you not to trust me."
He remembered Nicholas telling him that it hadn't just been Mark's position being compromised that had kept him away when they had been in Washington. Nicholas' life was a study in necessaries. It was just one more that many of them were necessary evils.
"I trust you to be who you are." Despite the way Mark covered Nicholas' hand with his own there was no softness in his expression. Neither of them held any illusions as to who Nicholas was, or what he was willing to do. "But I trust you to do it for the right reasons." Nicholas nodded slowly and Mark could feel him relax under his touch. Reluctantly he withdrew his hand. "Now can we never have this conversation again?" he asked, a little plaintively.
"Would it help if I apologised?" Nicholas looked contrite which immediately made Mark suspicious.
"It might if I believed you." That was another path Mark didn't want them to start down. They would both have enough things to apologise for in the future, as everyone did, without confusing the issue with false remorse. "But don't. Let's save the bullshit for when we actually need it."
"I can at least make it up to you this evening." And that was, Mark believed, an honest offer. The soft suggestion in Nicholas' voice had nothing to do with 'sorry's and everything to do with their having some time to themselves while Azzam was away. "Eight-thirty?"
"Well, since I am about to be hung for the lamb..." Mark agreed, trying not to think about how much work he had lined up for him before then. Some small celebration seemed due though, and the next few days were likely to get very busy indeed.
"You might as well lie down with the lion?" Nicholas raised his eyebrows in feigned shock as he deliberately misquoted the proverb.
"I'm not" Mark said, trying not to laugh, "even going to dignify that with a response." Although the chances were good he was going to be thinking about it for the remainder of the afternoon. "Now, I'd better get some work done if I'm going to meet you this evening."
Nicholas stood up to leave, gathering his things. Mark wondered at what point he would get a kiss goodbye when Nicholas dropped by his office. That time had not yet come, but that didn't stop Mark wanting it.
"Nicholas." Nicholas stopped in the doorway, looking back as Mark spoke. "I also trust your discretion, but if anything does happen in the course of your work, something that I might want to know about as someone other than the Foreign Secretary... just tell me before I have to read it in a damn report."
Nicholas gave him a curt nod that was as close to a promise as Mark could hope for before he shut the door behind him.
"You're early," Mark took in Nicholas' formal attire as he let him in, "and I'm under-dressed."
With one thing and another he'd barely had time to exchange his shirt for something more comfortable and hadn't even begun to think about what he planned to wear that evening. It was times like this that he missed Jennifer with her encyclopedic memory of protocol and appropriate attire. She'd laugh now. Once he was carefully out of earshot. The last he'd heard she was getting along well with the new Ambassador and his wife.
Nicholas smiled. "Which is why I'm early - now you have time to change."
And to stop working, Mark realised ruefully. Nicholas really knew him too well.
"I need to grab a quick shower. Help yourself to a drink if you want it and come on up. You can at least talk to me while I'm trying to find my cufflinks. Or was that part of your plan?"
The smile became warmer, more personal. "An added bonus."
Mark made the shower as short as he could but, even so, Nicholas (and a Scotch for each of them) was waiting for him by the time he emerged. It hadn't occurred to him to do any more than wrap a towel around his waist until the slow, appreciative smile he received as he walked across the room made him realise what he had done. He threw the towel at Nicholas, who caught it easily, and slipped into his underwear. It wasn't as if it was anything Nicholas hadn't seen before.
Nicholas chuckled and took the towel back to the bathroom, loosely folding it as he went, while Mark dug out his suit and all the necessary accessories. The dinner jacket hadn't seen any use for a while but Mark was pleased to find everything still fit and his fingers hadn't lost the knack of knotting a bow tie. Nicholas sat quietly on the edge of the bed and sipped his drink as Mark dressed.
"This is because of all those embassy receptions, isn't it?" Mark ran a quick brush through his hair as he spoke. Looking at them both they could have been back in Washington. How many times had Nicholas come to his rooms to give him a final briefing before an event? All that was missing was the last minute lecture. And Mark didn't think he wanted to know what instructions Six might have for either of them.
"I don't know what you mean." Nicholas' light denial lacked any conviction; his eyes were merry as they caught Mark's in the mirror.
Mark turned and looked him, well aware that Nicholas was watching him as he did so and fighting the ridiculous urge to play up to it. "Do I at least get find out where we're going?"
Nicholas just smiled again and swept him out.
The clear, sharp notes of the violin hung in the air and drew breath for a moment before falling in a tumbling cascade. Mark's knee brushed against Nicholas' as the wind section took up the refrain and carried it high once more. Neither man moved.
"Tony," Nicholas greeted the concierge as if being met at the back entrance of a hotel and given the keys to a suite was the most normal thing in the world.
"Mister Brocklehurst." They shook hands and Mark saw the flash of money pass between them, "Good to see you again, sir."
The doorman had obviously met Nicholas before; the smile of greeting had been the sincere welcome given to a known tipper. Mark couldn't help but wonder whether it had been business or pleasure which had brought Nicholas there previously. Not that Nicholas necessarily separated the two so cleanly. Whatever the answer, common sense told Mark that it didn't matter. As long as Nicholas knew this place and trusted the discretion of its staff Mark could hold himself content. Still he felt something inside him tense as he saw Tony's eyes widen slightly in surprised recognition when he looked past Nicholas to where Mark stood. He waited for the inevitable comment but it didn't come, just a small nod of acknowledgement before Tony turned and led them through the service corridors towards the lifts. Mark kept quiet as they walked, aware that his role was not to confirm what Tony clearly guessed.
Mark took a interested look around the room they were shown to. It was nice, with crisp modern furnishing which spoke of money and taste without losing the comfortable feel. A businessman, or woman, could conduct meetings there without embarrassment or could relax and forget the long day at the office. Or, he supposed, meet their lover. He walked over to the desk with its headed paper, ready for the guest's convenience. It was a step up from the hotel rooms he had shared with Jane for those first clandestine nights. But then in the intervening years they had all moved up in the world. It was best not to compare the past with the new and he very much doubted Nicholas had intended the reminder.
He turned towards the door where Nicholas was having a few, last, quiet words with Tony. Whatever was said seemed to please Nicholas judging by the expression on his face as he spoke. However it was not until the door was shut and locked that Mark felt himself relaxing. They would never be just Mark and Nicholas, they both carried too much else with them, but at least with a locked door between them and the rest of the world they could have some illusion of privacy. Clearly aware of Mark's gaze Nicholas slowly pulled loose his bow-tie, letting the ends hang free around his neck as he popped open the top buttons of his shirt, loosening the collar. He stalked closer with a smile that Sean Connery would have envied. Mark stepped forward to meet him.
"A concert, dinner and a five star hotel..." He said when Nicholas stopped in front of him, so close they were almost toe to toe. "I think I'm being seduced."
"I've always admired your mind." Nicholas' voice was a rough satin caress. They looked each other, the tension they had been deliberately ignoring throughout the evening sparking between them. "Among other things."
"Shut up and kiss me," Mark broke the moment. The low smoulder of arousal that had kindled from the moment Nicholas had arrived on his doorstep was growing and he could see the answering warmth in Nicholas' eyes.
Nicholas laughed but complied. They kissed like it had been weeks. Which it had. Tentative at first, rediscovering responses that they hadn't really had time to learn, and then swiftly throwing all such finesse aside. It was slightly awkward but Mark didn't care and he didn't think Nicholas did either. The kisses gentled eventually as if, having staked their claim, there was a mutual realisation that they had time enough for more than frenzy. At some point between kisses Nicholas had pushed Mark's jacket out of the way and curled his arms loosely around his waist, bringing their bodies that little bit closer together. Mark became aware of the hand that rested in the small of his back, hot through the fine material of his shirt, the other, lower, half tucked into his waistband. Of how the soft, short hairs at the nape of Nicholas' neck felt like down under his fingers. Less wild, their kisses grew deeper, indolent explorations that were both promise and reward.
They drew apart reluctantly.
"We should..." Nicholas murmured.
"Yes," Mark agreed. Not sure what he is agreeing to and not really caring. There were so many things they should do but Mark doubted Nicholas was talking about any of them at that moment. The blue eyes in front of him were glittering with something that was lust and want and pleasure, the mouth that had been kissing him so thoroughly twisted into a smile that was both wicked and inviting.
Mark took up the invitation and kissed him again.
"Clothes, Mark," Nicholas insisted, more laughter in his voice. However, that time he was the one who initiated the kiss and logic was briefly lost once more in the devouring mix of lips and tongue.
Mark put his hand on Nicholas' chest when they broke to catch their breaths. "Right," he said, pushing Nicholas away gently. "Clothes."
"Allow me," Nicholas offered.
In reply Mark let his fingers brush down the hard planes of Nicholas' torso. Nicholas waited, hardly breathing, as Mark's hand continued lower and cupped the ridge of his erection. Nicholas' eyelids flickered as Mark palmed the hard length, stroking it through Nicholas' trousers. Nicholas' breath hissed between his teeth and he covered Mark's hand with his own, stilling him. Their eyes met and it was all Mark could do not to throw himself to the bed, pull Nicholas down on top of him and fuck small details like clothing.
He relaxed his hand letting it drop. "Better not," he admitted.
As he took his jacket off, Mark slipped his hand into the inside pocket and pulled out the condoms he had secreted there earlier. He tossed them on the bed with a grin. Nicholas lips quirked slightly and, reaching into his own pocket, he did likewise, adding to the heap. They both looked at the pile and then at each other, smiling because even if they were twenty years younger the only way they would have got through the embarrassment of choice was if they were inflating them for party balloons.
Nicholas scooped them all up and put them on the night-stand, close at hand but out of the way. "Later," he promised.
Mark turned away, needing a moment to quash the rush that went through him at that promise of later and using the excuse of hanging his jacket to take it. The creation of the EU condom mountain had broken the tension enough that he could think again. It had also taken the urgency which had gripped him with it. The threat of a future, at least as embodied by Nicholas and as wanted as it might be, warned against rushing into anything. Before there had been the need to do everything, a whole relationship fitted into one night. This time the possibility of that relationship and many more nights stretched out before them, giving them leeway for whimsey and leisurely exploration but also urging caution as any misstep would also be carried forwards. He had obviously been staring at the wardrobe too long because Nicholas came up behind him without his noticing.
"Second thoughts?" Nicholas asked.
Mark turned back to look at him. He'd taken off his own jacket and Mark could just see it draped over desk behind him, the black-on-black lump of a holster nestled on top. It didn't surprise him that Nicholas had been armed, just that he had missed that fact before then. "Not about this. You?"
"About this?" Nicholas echoed. "Constantly. Even if we do this right it could destroy your career."
Mark was a firm believer in everyone's right to say 'no' at any time, but he didn't believe either of them was going to. Not when they were both hard, both wanting the other and holding onto control through sheer habit. Of course it wasn't about whether either of them had any doubts, at least not for themselves. It was about Nicholas believing that Mark should have second thoughts.
"I don't give a damn about my career," Mark told him firmly. It wasn't strictly true but it wasn't a lie either. They'd gambled Mark's career together with stakes much greater.
"Luckily, I do." Nicholas raised his hand to stop Mark from speaking. "But," he emphasised, "we've made our move; now we just have to see how it plays out."
One day Mark would get through to him that he was doing this from his own informed choice and not because Nicholas had used some secret agent power to manipulate him into it. He was an adult who was capable of making his own decisions, right or wrong. Nicholas just disliked acknowledging the latter. Although he had had to admit it was better that Mark manage the revelation of his bisexuality. Mark had been lucky that all the people who knew, university contemporaries for the most part, had either kept quiet for their own reasons or from basic decency when he had been appointed to the Cabinet and the information became profitable. Some would probably crawl out of the woodwork now, maybe even someone he had actually dated. There was nothing they could do about that and Mark was well past caring. Even if Nicholas wasn't convinced of that fact.
"You are one of the most..." Mark searched for the word. His first thought had been 'unromantic' but the rest of the evening rather suggested that Nicholas could do romance if he chose to. "...pragmatic people I have ever met."
"And that's one of my better qualities," Nicholas agreed.
Which begged the question why they were still having the inane conversation when they could be doing something much better. Mark was sure Nicholas wasn't normally this scrupulous about his seductions.
"I know." And Mark did know, maybe not all of it but enough. "I'm still here."
"Mark," Nicholas whispered roughly and kissed him once more.
They managed to walk the few steps towards the bed, tangled in each other. Nicholas' hands were in Mark's hair, his mouth, hot and needy, against Mark's skin. Whatever restraint Nicholas had felt was gone and Mark let himself be swept up in the storm. Apparently only one of them got to be sensible at once. Nicholas had had his turn and Mark was much too sensible to stop him now that the tables had turned. Nicholas undid each button of Mark's shirt, only stopping when he reached Mark's waistband or to bat away Mark's hands when he tried to reciprocate. As Nicholas pushed the cloth open, he ran his fingers reverently over the revealed skin. They were hardly touching but Mark found the breath catching in his throat.
There was an intensity about Nicholas that turned even the gentlest touches fierce. That Nicholas was dangerous was something that Mark had never questioned, even, maybe especially, when he had questioned everything else about the man. However, at the same time, it was not a quality which he found particularly attractive. But there was something about having Nicholas, so strong and intelligent and dangerous, touching him with such care that turned him on almost more than the touches themselves.
Nicholas slid open the fastener on Mark's trousers and stroked the hard bulge of his erection through the cotton underwear. The sensation was muted by the material, leaving him wanting more, revenge for his doing the same thing earlier. Nicholas was clearly feeling merciful as he didn't make Mark wait. A little shuffling and Mark's trousers and briefs were pushed down over his hips. He should have felt ridiculous, his trousers around his knees and his shirt flapping in the non-existent breeze but, at that moment, as Nicholas half-knelt in front of him, it didn't seem to matter. And mattered even less when Nicholas took his cock in a firm grip and brought it to his mouth. Mark could feel his muscles lock in anticipation as Nicholas huffed warmly on the head. He just had time to spare a brief thought about whether his legs would hold him then damp, strong lips closed around him and he discovered the answer was 'just'.
Nicholas' mouth was as hot and teasing as Mark remembered it. He tried desperately to think of the most tedious reports he had had to read that week, anything to stop him coming embarrassingly fast as Nicholas began to work his mouth down his cock. Slowly. He was, in the best possible way, a bastard - and Mark didn't have a problem with that at all. Finally, and Mark was sure it could not have taken as long as it felt like, Nicholas' mouth and hand met, dividing Mark's cock between them like spoils of war. Mark couldn't quite hold back the hiss of breath as Nicholas pulled back in a slick glide only to plunge back down again, dropping his hand and taking Mark deep. He set a swift pace, mouth working the full length of Mark's erection as his hands stroked over hips, thighs and balls. Mark's hands found Nicholas' shoulders without any thought, his fingers curling into the strong muscles to steady himself. The only thing keeping him upright was the delicious suction on his cock and the knowledge that collapsing would take him away from it.
And then Nicholas stopped, the tip of Mark's cock resting on his pursed lips. The moment stretched as Mark counted silently to ten. Backwards. In French. Nicholas' eyes met his and held them. Mark couldn't have looked away even if he had wanted to as Nicholas slipped his lips over the head of Mark's cock and flicked his tongue along the slit.
"Nicholas," Mark tried to say but the result was closer to a croak. Nicholas seemed to know what he wanted, pushing him firmly backwards and down until he was seated on the bed. Before Mark could do much more than register the loss of contact, Nicholas' mouth was on him again, just as deep and fast as before but with a broken rhythm which pushed Mark to the edge but was not quite enough to push him over. Mark gasped for breath as Nicholas paused briefly once more and he felt the deliberate, goading press of teeth around the root of his cock - not enough to hurt but enough to send a surge of adrenaline mixing with all the other sensations that Nicholas was producing. And then he was moving again. The slip-slide of Nicholas' tongue as he massaged Mark's flesh was bliss and torture, the tight ring of his lips a goading promise.
Mark stroked his fingers through the short blond hair, stroking the curve of the skull as it ebbed and flowed with a primal rhythm. There was more silver than he'd realised among the gold. It seemed so in character that even Nicholas' hair was deceptive that Mark felt something twist inside him, a warm feeling that had nothing to do with arousal and yet seemed to make it sharper. He wanted this so badly. To be fucking Nicholas, to be fucked by Nicholas. Either. Both. And there he was, sat on a hotel bed with Nicholas knelt between his legs and sucking him to paradise. It was everything he could have hoped for and yet something nagged at the back of his mind which even the pleasure of the moment could not smother. Everything had been perfect. Maybe it was that moment of connection they had shared making the moments without seem more meaningless. The shock of silence at the end of a tape. But he wanted that noise again; that connection. He wanted to come feeling that Nicholas was with him, that they had made their way to that point together. At the very least he wanted them both naked. Nicholas would probably say he was a sentimental fool.
It had been easy when they couldn't allow it to mean anything. "Nicholas. Stop," he whispered.
Nicholas did. Releasing Mark's cock he looked up, his lips slick with saliva.
"Come here." Mark drew him close until they both collapsed backwards on the bed in an ungainly heap.
That was the difference between want and need. Between lust and... something else.
Nicholas' mouth was as inviting as it had looked, lush and tender. Mark cradled the base of his skull, keeping Nicholas close as he kissed him thoroughly. Had he thought about anything beyond the joy of the moment he might have spared a regret for Nicholas' dress trousers as his body pushed against the solid form pressing him to the bed. The fine material rasped agreeably against his cock as they rocked together and he arched harder into the curve of Nicholas' abdomen. The ridge of Nicholas' erection pressed against him in return, unmistakable as its length scored along his skin even through its cloth prison.
He groaned, unable to stop the plea of sound as Nicholas' tongue flicked across his lips and a tilt of his hips brought the perfect angle and pressure to bear. His hands were loose in Nicholas' hair, his concentration on other things. Nicholas pulled away slightly and he let them fall to the bed while he waited to see what Nicholas would do.
Nicholas' hands skimmed greedily over Mark's chest, placing nipping kisses with no rhyme or reason that Mark could discern other than passing fancy. But there was purpose as Nicholas untangled him from his shirt. Only the cuff-links, a gift from Mark's mother many years ago, were treated with any respect as they were quickly but carefully put on the bedside table.
Mark reached for Nicholas' shirt only to be thwarted as Nicholas' attention focused once more on the taste of Mark's skin.
"Christ.... Nicholas, let me..." Mark gasped around his own distraction.
Nicholas shushed him but this time as they kissed Nicholas cooperated with Mark's efforts to undo his clothes in return. Finally unfastened, Mark pushed Nicholas' shirt off the office-pale shoulders. After a English winter the freckles that dusted his skin had faded to memories of themselves but Mark traced them. Down from the strong forehead and soft temple they cascaded in a gentle rain to pool on shoulder and collar bone. Nicholas' body was warm under his hands after the cool touch of cloth. The planes of his back were firm as Mark ran his hands down them, feeling the power in the bunched muscles under his fingers.
"You're still much too dressed," Mark murmured as his touch moved lower and encountered material once more.
Nicholas raised his hips far enough that Mark could easily reach the flies of his trousers and Mark lost no time in doing just that and pushing them away as far as he could reach. Nicholas toed off his shoes and shimmied the restricting garment further down his legs. They rolled clumsily as he did so, still half off the bed, but not wanted to be parted more that necessity demanded. Their cocks brushed together as they moved against one another, tongues playing as their bodies did likewise, hands and minds full of each other. They came to rest with Mark uppermost, one of Nicholas' legs curled around his and keeping them close.
Mark knew he was smiling stupidly but didn't care. Nothing else mattered at that moment but the feel of Nicholas beneath him and the lust-drunk glaze that darkened the pale eyes. In a brief lull Nicholas looked across at the night-stand with its collection of brightly coloured packets and Mark followed his gaze.
"You want to?" Nicholas offered.
"Later," Mark echoed Nicholas' earlier promise. "Like this. Just like this." The precarious nature of their position occurred to him. "Well, maybe not just like this - maybe actually on the bed..."
Nicholas' laugh was huskier than he'd ever heard. "However you want it, Mark," he promised. "However you want."
The temptation was to tell Nicholas that he had exactly what he wanted but Mark kissed him instead. There were some temptations that had to be resisted. Mark looked down at Nicholas. They were both lucky that there were some that could eventually be indulged.
With one last kiss, they scrabbled more firmly onto the bed, both taking the opportunity to remove their socks and sharing rueful smiles over the need. Stretching out full length along the bed Mark spread his legs and pulled Nicholas between them.
Nicholas reached for the pile of packets on the bedside table and Mark watched at him surprised as he searched it briefly. Seeing the question on Mark's face he held up the oblong packet he had selected for him to see.
Mark dropped his head back onto the pillow. "I didn't even think about that," he admitted.
"It really has been a while, hasn't it?" Nicholas kissed him.
"You'll have to do something about that later."
"Damn it, Mark" Nicholas said roughly.
Nicholas ripped open the packet and squeezed some of the lube into hand. Discarding it he reached between them and took them both in his hand, slicking them up. Mark thrust into the loose grip only to feel the fingers tighten around him. He instinctively arched up as Nicholas pumped their cocks together.
"Good?" Nicholas asked.
Mark nodded.
"Let's try this."
Nicholas let go. Putting his weight on his damp hand he used the other to encourage Mark to wrap his legs around his hips. A little shifting and they were thrusting against each other, their cocks lined up and rubbing between them. Mark's eyes slid shut, relishing the sensations and letting himself give in to them. Everything was warmth and touch and spiralling desire. The scent of Nicholas' shaving gel in his nostrils, the slight hint of salt-sweat on his skin, even then harsh rasp of Nicholas' breath as exertion and excitement closed his throat served to drive his arousal higher. This was what had been missing earlier - this was bliss and connection and if that made him a fool he didn't care because some things were worth being foolish about.
Nicholas was lithe under his hands, every action an embodiment of power and restraint and each calling a reaction from Mark in return. Unintelligent sounds stumbled from his mouth as Nicholas sucked at his throat or pinched at his nipples, low grunts of need that were beyond his control. The tight heat in his belly warmed him; driven deeper at every new touch it clenched around his balls in heady portent.
He hung in a moment of balance, the future clear before him and just waiting for him to tumble headlong into its consuming rapture. He couldn't take another moment, but he wanted it to last forever. His fingers dug into the muscles of Nicholas' back, his legs clenching tighter and forcing more of Nicholas' weight to bear down on him. The added pressure was all it took. He thrust hard against Nicholas, carried away on the mindless waves of joy that washed through him. Nicholas panted in his ear, the sound dry and frantic, his body moving hard under the bite of Mark's fingers as he worked to meet Mark strength for strength, giving him the desperate abandon that he craved until he was lost in it utterly.
The blinding distraction of pleasure faded eventually leaving a languid residue in its wake. Coming back to himself Mark was aware of Nicholas still moving above him, his actions almost violent in their passion now that Mark was less profoundly involved, but no less welcomed for that. Mustering what energy he had left, Mark held Nicholas close, meeting Nicholas' passion with a compassion no less fierce. He caressed Nicholas with more design than he had before, trying to given back at least a measure of the pleasure he had received. The hot satin of Nicholas' skin burned under his hands as Nicholas arched against him and Mark could not help revelling in the responses he was able to invoke in the other man.
"God, Nicholas," he murmured.
Nicholas' eyes opened minutely and he smiled. For a moment Mark thought he was about to reply but then he stiffened and his response was lost in a senseless sound. Mark could feel the liquid pulses against his belly as Nicholas' body stuttered above him. Mark cradled him through his climax until, spent, Nicholas sagged against him, his forehead coming to rest on Mark's shoulder, almost hiding in the crook of Mark's neck as he caught his breath.
With polite swiftness Nicholas rolled off him and they lay companionably side by side. That was one oddity of being with a man, or maybe just of being with Nicholas, it had been long enough Mark couldn't really remember the details. Jane had always curled herself against him in the afterglow and as far as he could remember his previous female lovers had also shared that habit. Nicholas stretched out next to him, close but not turning to him. And it would have felt odd to have Nicholas, of all people, snuggle up to him in a way that having the evidence of their mutual enjoyment smeared across his skin didn't.
Nicholas' breathing evened, not in sleep although his eyes were closed, but in relaxation. When Mark looked over at him, caught by the half-smile on his face which seemed to hold none of the cynicism that normally wound through his humour, the weft to its weave. It could have just been the after-effect of good sex, and Mark hoped it had been as good for Nicholas as it had been for him, but Mark liked to think it was his company specifically rather than sex in general. He couldn't help but think back over the evening and how enjoyable it had been. After the strain of the day it had been exactly what was called for. It seemed amazing and not quite real, not real like Nicholas was next to him, that he had announced to the nation he liked both men and women. He didn't know what time it was but the show must have broadcast already. Soon he would get to find out if he was front page news or relegated to the small print.
"I can hear you thinking," Nicholas said quietly, not bothering to open his eyes. "I obviously didn't do my job right."
Mark chuckled. "Any more right and I would be dead."
"Well," Nicholas drawled, "I wouldn't want that."
"You wouldn't want me to stop thinking either."
Nicholas was silent for a long moment. "I suppose," he admitted with some pretense of hesitation.
Mark flopped out a hand and wacked him gently on the chest.
"You know," Mark mused, "there was one thing you didn't think of - our walking out in evening dress isn't exactly going to be inconspicuous. And I don't know yours will be fit to walk out in."
Nicholas looked over at him with more than a hint of indulgence in his expression. "You didn't actually look in the wardrobe when you hung your jacket up, did you?"
"Other things were rather taking my attention at the time," Mark pointed out. He had no inclination to move so took Nicholas' word that he would find something. "How?"
"I had them brought over earlier." Nicholas patted Mark's hand where it rested on his chest. "And Chris will be along at 7:30 tomorrow to pick you, and them, up."
"Have you been subverting my security detail?" Mark accused without rancour, or surprise.
Nicholas' eyes narrowed playfully. "Just a little exchange of favours," he said archly.
"Dare I ask what you did in return?" Mark let his hand drift lower.
Nicholas caught his eyes and held them for a moment before he grinned. "Got them a night off. Alarm call for 7?"
Mark didn't move his hand. "Better make it 6:30."
"6:30," Nicholas agreed and rolled over to key it into the phone.
"Grab a tissue while you're at it," Mark said. "We should spare the sheets a little".
Nicholas passed him a tissue without comment and they both cleaned up quickly before slipping beneath the covers. Nicholas reached for the lights, blanketing them in darkness. Mark had not shared a bed with anyone since Jane had left and it had taken him long enough to get used to her presence. The last time he had been too exhausted to think about it until after Nicholas had kicked him out and back to his own room. This time neither would be leaving until the morning and it was strange to share sleeping space again so, while he wouldn't have it any other way, he was glad the bed was large enough to give them both room.
"After all the talks I've had with Azzam on cleaning his teeth," Mark said, sleep beginning to blur his words. "I feel I should be apologising about my morning breath already."
Nicholas settled next to him. "I won't complain if you won't."
"Deal," Mark agreed. Or thought he did. He wasn't totally sure he had said the word aloud. Whether he had or not Nicholas did not respond.
Mark half woke during the night, aware of warmth and weight against his back. The weight concerned his sleep-fogged mind until he identified it - Nicholas was half over him, covering Mark's body with his own. That worry assuaged, he slipped back into unconsciousness.
They were in the same respective positions when he woke more fully the next morning. There was an intimacy of closeness, the way that his body fit within the curve of Nicholas' hip, the drape of Nicholas' arm so it fell down across his chest and the brush of breath on the back of his neck, but it was strangely pragmatic. Mark could not shake the feeling that Nicholas had positioned himself that way not through intent but because it put him between Mark and the door, setting himself, even in his sleep, as guard and protector. Or, Mark knew, he could be reading too much into a simple accident of fate.
Whatever the reason, he found that it was oddly comforting to lie, drowsy and warm, with what felt distinctly like an erection pressing against his hip. Given it was morning and his own state reflected that oddity of morning physiology the odds seemed likely that it was exactly what it felt like. It was something of a severe disappointment when the phone rang shrilly, announcing that their brief interlude was over. Mark could feel the minute shock of tension as Nicholas came awake, searching for any sign of danger only to relax as he found something else instead. Mark shifted backwards slightly, settling himself more flush against the man behind him.
"Don't tempt me," Nicholas grumbled but he bent forwards and placed a soft kiss at the junction of Mark's neck and shoulder. "And good morning."
Mark couldn't see but he could feel the shift in Nicholas' body and by the sudden silence knew that he had dealt with the alarm. Practicality said they should be get up but he wasn't quite ready to be practical again yet.
"We have an hour," he noted.
Nicholas nuzzled the back of his neck. "We do," he agreed. "But we both have to get ready and it wouldn't do for you to be late. Especially today."
Even as he spoke he stroked idly along the curve of Mark's hip. Mark half-rolled towards him, catching his hand and guiding it firmly to his erection.
"I'll skip breakfast," he offered.
Nicholas' fingers closed around his cock. "We'll have to make it quick."
"I think," Mark breathed as Nicholas caressed his cock and balls, long clever fingers mapping out the contours and textures, "that that shouldn't be too much of a problem."
Nicholas began to work the firm flesh quickly. Unlike the night before there was no finesse to his actions, just the sure touch of long practice. His breath was hot against Mark's neck as he pressed close and Mark leaned back against him, enjoying the sensation. As Mark had promised, it didn't take long.
"Time for a shower I think," Nicholas commented wryly when they had finished.
With the remnants of the previous night dried unpleasantly against his skin as well as the sticky residue congealing on his stomach Mark was inclined to agree. He did not, however, like leaving things half done and he could hardly miss the evidence of Nicholas' arousal when it was pressed, hot and insistent, against him.
"What about you?" he asked, concerned.
"I can shower afterwards."
"Nicholas," Mark warned. Nicholas deliberately turned his head and looked at the clock. "Fine," Mark conceded, "but you can at least share the damn shower with me."
It was one advantage of a really good hotel that the shower could fit two grown men with ease. If they had wanted, Mark suspected they could have fitted in a few more people for good measure. Not that he had any interest in doing so. Age might have made its mark on both on them but Mark thought Nicholas looked glorious as he stood under the water and he found he was not at all inclined to share.
As the warm water washed away the last of his lethargy Mark couldn't help watching as Nicholas washed efficiently, hands that had caressed Mark so effectively running over his own flesh. He was still erect as he soaped his groin, his cock slick and shiny as the water rinsed the suds away, the head dark with blood where distension and motion pulled the foreskin back. Mark caught Nicholas' eye and deliberately looked down. Nicholas' cock twitched noticeably. Mark slid down to his knees taking the wet length of Nicholas' cock in his mouth before Nicholas could come up with a bad reason why he shouldn't. The spray beat a rapid tattoo against his skull as Nicholas' surprised exclamation turned into a gasp.
"Mark..." Nicholas groaned, shifting closer. Mark figured that was probably permission to continue.
Nicholas' cock tasted of nothing so much as the water that was cascading over both of them. The flesh was as luscious as he remembered, plump and hard against his lips. He sucked on it greedily, working it with hand and mouth. He would have liked to take his time but, as Nicholas kept pointing out, time was a luxury that they did not have. Instead he concentrated on bringing Nicholas as much pleasure as he could until, with a gasped warning, Nicholas came. Mark coughed slightly, unaccustomed to the sensation, but managed not to choke as he swallowed most of the bitter pulses of fluid. The rest was carried away by the water, unnoticed by either man.
Nicholas' hands caressed the sodden hair, pushing it back from Mark's face before his fingers brushed down, tracing the line of cheek and jaw. Nicholas' eyes were bright and curious as Mark looked up.
"I changed my mind about breakfast," Mark said blandly as he stood, ignoring the stiffness in his knees. "It is the most important meal of the day after all."
"Christ, Mark," Nicholas' head fell back against the tiles with a noticeable thunk.
"We should get ready," Mark prodded when Nicholas didn't move.
"You," Nicholas complained, still slumped against the wall, "really do dreadful things to my self-control."
"But good things to the rest of you, I hope." Mark kissed him and with one final scrub of his hair got out of the shower. Nicholas followed slowly, levering himself off the wall and rinsing himself off before he reached for the remaining towel.
Mark wrapped his own towel around his waist and went to the sink to rinse his mouth out. To his pleasant surprise there were two new toothbrushes, a tube of travel toothpaste and a shaving kit waiting for him.
"You even arranged for toothbrushes?" Mark said impressed.
Nicholas smiled knowingly at him in the mirror as he walked towards him. He pressed himself gently against Mark's back, his hands resting on Mark's hips. "And aren't you glad?"
Their eyes met in the glass.
"I better..." Mark waved towards toiletries.
"Yes," Nicholas agreed and turned away but Mark didn't reach for the brush until Nicholas had wandered into the bedroom, towelling his hair roughly as he went and taking the sight of his naked arse with him.
He was mostly dressed by the time Mark had finished. The pile of condoms and the gun were gone from where Nicholas had put them the night before. As Nicholas went to take his turn in the bathroom Mark saw the black bulge of the full holster sitting heavily in the small of his back. Where the condoms had ended up he didn't ask.
As Nicholas had promised, one of Mark's suits hung in the wardrobe, off to the side and almost hidden in the shadows. Hanging next to it was one of his favourite shirts, one that Jane had always said brought out his eyes in interviews. She had inevitably got him wearing it, or its predecessors, when publicity was important and the habit had stuck even after she had left. Was it Nicholas who had noticed? Or whichever of Mark's staff Nicholas had finagled into his scheme? Mark had considered wearing it for his interview the previous day (and had it only been the previous day?) but it hadn't seemed right given its associations. He smoothed the crisp material down over his chest, tucking it into his trousers before he fastened them. It felt right now.
Nicholas emerged as Mark was doing up his tie. Reaching past Mark for his own, Nicholas finished buttoning his shirt and put it on. Short hair already dry, he slipped into his jacket and looked like nothing more than the respectable civil servant he claimed to be. They looked at each other, once again two sober professionals and only the slight smile on Nicholas' face, the one that always suggested that he knew what Mark was thinking, was out of place. Mark had never wanted to kiss Nicholas more.
The knock on the door broke them apart. Mark went to answer it but Nicholas stopped him, waving him deeper into the room and out of line of sight of the doorway. Mark frowned at him but did as he was told.
"It's Chris," the voice on the other side of the door announced.
Mark waited until he had heard Nicholas greet Chris and usher him in, shutting the door behind him, before he stepped forwards. He thought he saw the hint of approval in Nicholas' eyes.
"Ready to go, sir?" Chris asked, handing Mark his briefcase.
"I think so. Nicholas..." He wasn't sure what to say. 'Thank you' seemed wrong. 'When will I see you?' seemed unfair as in all probability he would be the one whose schedule kept them apart for a while.
"I'll talk to you soon," Nicholas assured him. "Go and fix the world."
Mark laughed. "Try and not break it too badly while I'm not looking."
"M16 does not break anything," Nicholas objected with dignity. "We might occasionally make use of a few cracks..." Humour danced a quickstep in his eyes. "For the good of the country, of course."
"Of course," Mark agreed, refusing to acknowledge any but the most innocent interpretation of Nicholas' words. "Soon," he promised in good bye.
"Later," Nicholas agreed.
Mark had thought he was beyond blushing. He was just grateful that Chris was too much of a professional to ask.