Vice and Victor

He woke wrapped around her. She was all soft curves and skin against his and, damn, if he didn’t want to f–k her again. The bedroom door was open, and he could hear the TV. A game, he thought. The suspicion was confirmed when he heard Shadow’s voice raised in complaint: “No, what the f–k are you doing, Nate?”

“He missed the game on the weekend,” Vixen murmured surprising him. He wondered how she had know he was awake. Had she been awake whilst he slept? He flushed, but there was a pleasure with the embarrassment, that she would lay awake and let him sleep holding her. “And he is watching a replay. He already knows the results, so you would think that he would be a little less surprised.”

“Do you ever just do vanilla?” He wondered. The mask had slipped off in his little nap and was around his neck. He pulled it off and discarded it.

She produced a condom from her bra. “Try me, stud.”

“I prefer bareback,” he complained as he tore the packaging open and rolled the condom down himself.

“When you bring me your papers, I will show you mine, and we can talk,” she rolled to face him, and met his mouth with hers as she reached up to thread her fingers through his hair. The kiss heated between them, and he found the catch that held the pink bra in place as he kissed his way down her neck.

“Oh, f-k,” he moaned as he reached her breasts.

“A breast boy,” she laughed.

“Bliss,” he declared tasting the metal bar through her nipple with his tongue.

“So, how vanilla are we talking?” She asked. And then gasped as he slid down further. “Answer that later. Your tongue is better employed where it is.”

He discovered that there was a tattoo that would have been covered by body hair if she possessed any, that said in capitals: Mine, Not Yours. He wondered how painful that would have been to have done.

Her nipple was not the only thing pierced and his exploration of the new metal discovery took her to the edge of orgasm, if the clasp of her thighs around his face was any indication, he thought smugly as he lifted back over her and took her mouth with his. She sucked on his tongue as if finding the flavour of herself irresistible, and he groaned as he positioned himself.

She arched up as he pressed into her. “Oh, stud, I have a sudden renewed appreciation for missionaries.”

He chuckled and stroked along those fabulous legs from hip to calf, until she crossed her ankles behind his hips. “Hold on, princess,” he told her, his forehead against hers, holding those spectacular bi-coloured eyes with his. “Hold on tight.”

He gripped the wrought iron bedhead and pulled back against the determined grip of her legs before thrusting forward with enough force the bedhead hit the wall.

She grinned. “Give me all you have got, stud,” she told him, gleefully.

“You asked,” he bared his teeth in a feral grin and set to work until the strike of the bedhead against the wall was chipping the paint. F–k it, he thought, pleased with the wanton destruction, for Vixen was on the edge of orgasm, her head thrown back and her fingers clawing against his back, a blush of colour across her cheeks and chest, her lips open as in invitation for his.

When she came, he lowered his body over hers so that he could steal her cries from her lips, sealing his mouth over hers, as he filled another condom. He was going to have to go to his GP, he thought, and get another blood test to satisfy her requirements. He would much rather spill in her, and that was a thought that gave his orgasm an extra kick.

“The boy has skills,” she laughed it out. “Even if he serves his ice-cream like whiskey. Alright, stud,” she patted his bottom. “Up and off. I have to take my f–k boy Shadow home, or his mummy will worry about him. It has been a few days since I have returned him, and she gets fretful after so long.”

“Shadow lives with his parents?” Raven was reluctant to move, procrastinating.

“Technically mum lives with me,” Shadow said from the doorway. Raven glanced over his shoulder. The other man leant against the doorframe, eating chips from the bag, and the door was now wide open. He wondered how long Shadow had been watching, and then wondered at why he found the idea that Shadow had been watching all along so sexy.

Raven looked back at Vixen, and she indicated off with her head, but her crooked grin took the sting from it. Raven sighed and lifted from her, removing the condom himself and tying it closed.

“Do you want it?” He asked her. “You seem to have a fetish for the things.”

“Ta,” she took it, surprising him, holding it one hand as she wriggled into her jeans.

He raised an eyebrow. “I am not being implicated at a crime scene with my jizz, am I?” He asked.

She laughed pulling the band t-shirt over-head, without the bra. “No, stud, I am not that devious.”

“What do you do with them?”

“Face masks,” she winked, slipping into her shoes.

“She likes to make sure they are disposed of responsibly,” Shadow said. “It is not good to flush them, you know?”

“Bad for the waterways,” Vixen added as she scooped her hair free of the collar of her t-shirt.

“Shit,” Raven found himself grinning. “An environmentally friendly, punk rock dominatrix.”

“And don’t you love it,” she leaned over and kissed him hard, and left him holding the bra. “Present to keep you thinking of me, stud,” she said over her shoulder as she stepped out of the bedroom, Shadow falling in behind her like his namesake.

“When…” Raven could not believe that she had reduced him to asking the question like a needy, clingy ex-girlfriend of his had every time he had left her. “When will I see you again?” He stopped in the door of his bedroom. Vixen had already left.

“When she decides it is time,” Shadow told him. “Don’t worry, we like you, so it won’t be long,” he added as he closed the apartment door.

“F-k,” Raven swore and thrust his hand through his hair hitting himself in the face with the bra he had forgotten that he was holding. What the actual f–k was happening to him? Here he was in his skin at two in the afternoon on a Monday, holding a neon-pink latex bra like it was a lover’s token (was it?) and stressing over when he would next see the object of his lust. 

What was it about Vixen that had him panting like a Catholic school boy?

But, man, did he like it, he added ruefully as he took his naked arse to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Well, as he did not have anything else on the agenda to take up his time, perhaps he would take a drive into the hills and see if Vice and Victor would feed him dinner. Their food was always good. He could tell them that he had found out absolutely zilch since his last call, but that he had at least made a contact… Three times and damn, wasn’t he counting on a fourth.

It would be easy, he thought as the gates to Vice and Victor’s mansion opened before him, to be jealous as f–k of his old university friends. But he knew they had earned every penny of their money, and they had this attitude about it that saw that self-same hard-earned money distributed generously to help support family and friends.

The sum they paid him to look into things for them as they arose was above his going rate. He had tried offering mate’s rates, but they weren’t interested, and that was just so typical of them as people.

He had not met Mirage, yet, and he was intrigued to find out what she was like, and to check out for himself that she was good for his friends. What sort of woman took two men to bed…? Well, besides Vixen, he adjusted. But even Vixen only had one man at a time… So far, he amended again, and damned if that didn’t make him hot. Imagining Vice and Victor in bed with Mirage was just f-king sexy, too, he decided and then rolled his eyes at his own lost cause as he parked out front of the house. F-k, Vixen had him fantasising about his best friends in bed, now.

Not that Vice and Victor were not fuel for some seriously good fantasies. There was a reason they had been so successful in the industry – and that reason had a lot to do with aesthetics. Victor was easily as tall as Shadow, and as built, whereas Raven shared more the same physique as Vice, to the point that he had not been above raiding Vice’s wardrobe when he had needed a suit for court or something that looked high roller for a surveillance.

Vice did high roller well. Hell, Vice did everything well.

Where Vice looked like an underwear model – all lean, smouldering dark good looks and clean shaven – Victor was golden haired, body building, and stubble jawed… Okay, he had gone the full beard, Raven smothered a laugh as he caught sight of the blonde man waiting in the open door. A well-groomed beard with a manbun, to be precise.

“If you offer me coffee, I am not responsible for my reaction,” Raven said.

“What?” Victor raised an eyebrow and stroked his beard between his forefinger and thumb. “You don’t like the beard? Apparently, they are the current fashion, and it doesn’t raise a rash on Mirage. Anywhere,” he added with a glint in his eye.

Raven snorted. “You grew a beard so you that didn’t prickle your woman when you went down on her?”

“What can I say,” Victor snickered. “I am in love. Come, have a beer.”

“I am hoping you will feed me dinner,” Raven said hopefully.

Victor laughed. “Scrounge.”

“Absolutely. Your house is the only place I get a balanced meal,” Raven shrugged as he stepped into the house. He inhaled. “It smells like woman. That is new.”

“Does it?” Victor inhaled. “I can’t smell it.”

“You live in it. Smells nice. Sexy.”

They moved into the open planned living area. He heard laughter and could see Vice and Mirage on the float in the pool, making out. “I’ve interrupted,” Raven realised. “You guys were mid-orgy.”

“Nah,” Victor shrugged and opened the fridge pulling out two beers. “Working towards it, perhaps, but that is a standard afternoon when we are all home. Vice is just Vice,” he looked out at the pool and laughed. “Perpetually horny.”

“Nothing has changed.”

“Nope.”

The float unbalanced and Mirage shrieked. Victor laughed, a genuine belly laugh, as his girlfriend and partner disappeared into the pool and resurfaced spitting water and laughing. Raven grinned, glad to see his friends so happy.

Mirage and Vice swam out of the view of the kitchen. Raven was tempted to lean back in order to improve his view, but, in front of Victor, thought it probably not the wisest move. He suspected Vice had persuaded Mirage into a water-quickie just out of sight of the kitchen. It was what he would have done, after all.

He looked at Victor, wondering what the blond man felt about being left out of the action, but Victor’s expression was indulgently indifferent. “So,” he asked Raven. “How are things regarding Gregory Holmsworth?”

Raven drew in a breath and grimaced, tilting his head, and took a mouthful of beer. “I have made a contact. Gregory has some serious shit going down, Victor. On the surface, he is clean, but then there is this subsidiary company, Iblis holdings, which tracks offshore and splits into like a hundred different little companies that seem to have no business, no product, no trade, but a shit-tonne of money that goes through them.

“I can’t put my finger on anything expressly illegal, there is no obvious gang connection, or any form of organised crime, and you would need a forensic accountant to unravel the finances, which I am not qualified to do for you… But one thing he has been doing very actively over the last five or six years is buying up in the music industry, which I have found interesting.”

“Five or six years,” Victor’s eyes went out to the pool. “Would be around the time that Mirage came into her inheritance and went her own way.”

“Yeah,” Raven took another swallow of beer. “So did he start buying into the music industry intending to cut things off for her, and fail – which doesn’t ring true for him, he seems pretty cut-throat about getting what he wants. Or…”

“Or?” Victor looked at him expectantly.

Raven shrugged a shoulder. “With anyone else, you would think he has got a granddaughter into music, trying to make it on her own, he has got a bit of money behind him, so he is buying into the industry to try to give her helping hand.”

“Interesting,” Victor murmured. “He hasn’t reached out to her in all this time.”

“There is a third theory,” Raven offered.

“What?”

“Well, you are getting on, right, no heir interested in keeping up the business, whatever the business actually is that brings in the big bucks, so you legitimize what you can, before you shuffle off your mortal coil, so you have something more substantial to hand on? Here are a few music studios and concert venues as my goodbye gift? He could adopt me. I would be happy with that sort of gift.”

“Any sign of illness?” Victor wondered. “That might motivate such a move?”

“Besides being f-king old?” Raven finished his beer and gestured for Victor to produce another. “Not that I have dug up, but that sort of guy, with that sort of money, they are the type to bury that information, for fear it hurt the business.”

“And this contact?” Victor asked, putting the second beer in front of him. Victor had not finished his first, barely tasted it. Watching his weight, Raven speculated, as they were about to release another album and there would be photo shoots and public appearances. It would also explain the size of Victor’s biceps. He had been hitting the weights hard. “What sort of contact?”

“Sexy as hell, wicked as sin, but that is not what you are asking,” Raven grinned at him, and drank his beer with relish. No public appearances for him. “I am not sure her connection to the business exactly. I suspect that Gregory has noticed that I am looking and set her on me to find out what I know. We are playing a bit of cat and mouse as result, along with a bit of hide the sausage,” he leered.

Victor was just taking a mouthful of beer and almost coughed it out. “F-k Raven,” he wiped his eyes. “I can’t believe I am paying for you to get f-ked.”

“Well,” Raven shrugged. “I am not charging you for when I am actually f-king.”

Victor laughed. “So, when are you seeing her next?”

Good question, Raven thought glancing at his phone screen. “Soon.” He hoped.